"All right, all right, you can ... but you may like to do some reading while you're running away.” Frank tossed a police report at him, which indicated that the Scalper had struck again, this time killing a woman and almost the woman's child as well. “Last night, after Park?” Dean could hardly believe it. “Why the elaborate set up to make Park the fall guy if the killers then go out and announce to the world they're still on the loose?"
"Hey, we're not dealing with rational people here."
"Oh, but the set up at Park's that was rational, calculated."
"Double personality, then, a schizo, right?"
"Has to be. What about the kid, you talk with him?"
"Her. A little girl named Nola Jimenez. She was in shock when found wandering into traffic."
"When do you intend to talk to her?"
Dyer shook his head. “She saw her mother murdered."
"And she may be able to give us a clue."
"Not for a while. The trauma center has her, and there's no way to get to her for the time being. What do you care, anyway? You're heading for home."
"I care, Frank ... that's my problem."
"Good, then maybe you'd like to talk to another witness to last night's homicide?"
"Another witness? Who, where?"
"Sid didn't tell you anything about it. He said he was about to when you got it in your head to run out on us, like Hodges wants. Hell, man, we need you here now more than ever!"
"You're sure, Frank, this isn't the work of a copycat killer? It still makes no sense that they should attack again after the setup at Park's. Did you question the woman's husband, boyfriend, relatives—anyone? You know as well as I do that more than eighty percent of crimes committed against people are by people they know—"
"We've got a witness says one man he saw was pintsized, a dwarf."
"Damn, then it was them. Where's this witness?"
"Sobering up, downstairs, in holding."
"A drunk?"
"He was in the alley where they did the woman, says he saw the whole thing. When we arrived he was there. He didn't call it in, he says, ‘cause he didn't have a quarter and believed he was hallucinating from the drink. Says he didn't dare move, though, the whole time. He was in behind some cans, in a doorway. Says the girl hid right alongside him for a little bit, before racing off. The dwarf was after her. Says the other guy was normal in size, well-dressed ... said the dwarf looked like a refugee from a circus, like a clown or monkey, covered with hair, except for a section of head—"
"The scalp?"
"You got it."
"These two make no sense. There's no pattern, no handle here, except maybe..."
"Maybe what?"
"The other victims stack up each a different nationality or color. Now here comes a woman named Jimenez, Spanish—"
"And her kid. We might've had to call it double homicide if the old man can be believed. Nobody outside the few of us on the case—and Peggy Carson—knew of the dwarf. And Peggy was sworn to keep it in house. The papers, the TV people, nobody knew. Now we've got this old souse who says right out it was a dwarf and another man. So you tell me—is it or isn't it our Scalpers?"
"Guess these men are truly driven,” said Dean. He struggled for an answer within. The killers so far had displayed an unusual fixation on hair, and if the drunk could be believed, now a desire for the scalp of a child. Hair had always been the killers’ reason for taking a life. A child's scalp now, was that the new atrocity they planned for the city? It was as if just thinking the awful thought made it so. Like Sid, Dean felt like he was the cause of the horror, rather than an agent bent on ending it.
"You see now, Doc, why you can't go?"
Dean saw all right: he saw red. It was as if the killers had done this animal thing to taunt him, to send a clear message to him that no matter what he did, they were freely going about the city taking life wherever and whenever they chose.
"What do you know about the victim?” Dean asked Frank.
"Mother of three, carrying her fourth, a Spanish lady name of Jimenez, Emanuella Jimmenez. Family's in shock, pestering the hospital for the kid."
"Where did all this occur, Frank?"
"She was being helped out by family services, treated as an outpatient at Mercy. She got counseling there, medication and treatment. Her doctor is, was, Dr. Martin Zodese. We talked with people at the hospital, which was the last place Mrs. Jimenez was seen before it happened."
"Last night, while we were working over Park's remains..."
"Sometime between eight and ten, Sid puts it at. I'm surprised he didn't tell you about it, but then, I don't have what you'd call a stellar witness, and maybe ... maybe you're right ... maybe there is no connection and the old bum just conjured up what he saw out of his head...."
Dean considered every possibility. A strong desire tugged at him to go on with his plans, his life. Hadn't he a right to that much? But an equally strong professional sense of determination tugged the other way.
"I think, Frank, I'm going to my hotel, freshen up, get some rest before I make any decisions, okay?"
Dyer nodded. “Sure, sure, Doc, I understand."
"Need a lift, stranger?” came a female voice from behind him, and Dean turned to face Peggy.
"I can catch a cab, Peggy."
"You trying to dodge me, Doctor?"
"No, no ... just very tired."
"Then let me drive you."
"All right, we need to talk anyway."
"Just my feeling exactly."
Behind him, as they went for Peggy's personal car, Dean heard Dyer say, “I know whatever you decide, Dr. Grant, will be the right choice."
Dean wasn't so sure anymore.
Peggy, on their way to the Hilton, tired of the silence, reached across the seat and squeezed his hand. “Been a tough time for you, I know."
"For you, too. I understand you're suspended from active duty, pending—"
"Pending, yes. Internal Affairs been all over my ... my behind."
He nodded and breathed in a deep whiff of her perfume, and it reminded him of their intimate encounter. “I.A.D. can do that, drive you to even look guilty as well as feel guilty—but don't let them. Forensics has already cleared you of the murder, Peggy. It was them, the Scalpers."
She let out a pent-up breath of air. “I was hoping you'd give me some idea what's going on. You're the man with the answers around here."
"I wish it were so!"
"I'll put my money on you.” She was silent for a while, then. “Makes people do crazy things, being out of control."
Dean was trying to formulate what he wanted to tell her, what he must keep from her, as he and Sid had agreed, for the sake of the case, to release no details. His silence made her go on. “There wasn't ever much between Park and me. Two nights, that's all ... two nights, and he was so cold and uncommunicative, well ... I decided he wasn't worth the extra effort, not at all like you. It happened before you arrived—"
"You don't have to explain anything to me, kid."
"Kid? Don't start talking to me like I'm your baby sister!"
"You could be."
"With my skin color, not hardly. Dean, don't shut me out. All right, maybe you've had second thoughts about us, and understandably, but is that a reason to stonewall me on the case? Christ, who has more right to know what's going on than me? Look at this!” She tilted her officer's cap back and displayed the scar at her forehead.
"We know you were drugged, Peggy."
"Drugged?"
"I can't say anymore than that at the moment."
"You've said enough."
"Absolutely."
She breathed deeply. “Good ... good."
"I was going to get on a plane this afternoon and leave, Peggy—"
"Without a word?"
"No, I planned to say good-bye."
"And now what?"
"Now ... now, I don't know."