Once Shadows Fall (19 page)

D
espite his fondness for beer and Scotch, Jack knew almost nothing about wine. They all tasted the same to him. Even though Beth said not to bring anything, he thought a bottle wouldn’t be out of place. She hadn’t mentioned what she was making, so choosing the right one now presented a problem. He knew red went with meat and white went with fish, but that was about it. The salesman wasn’t much help either.

“How much do you want to spend?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “It’s an informal dinner with a colleague.”

“Hmm. Fifteen dollars should get you a nice selection,” the salesman said. “Do you prefer something fruity?”

“Aren’t they all fruity? They come from grapes,” Jack said.

A quick explanation followed on the merits of fruity versus dry wines and light versus full-bodied wines, which went in one ear and out the other. The salesman remained tolerant. This was followed by the inevitable question about whether he wanted a white or red. Jack admitted he had no idea what Beth was serving. Even the salesman was stumped now. To solve the problem, he suggested a rose, which apparently fell somewhere in the middle. Jack decided to purchase one bottle of each. The salesman wished him good luck.

*

Beth lived in a subdivision of detached townhomes called Garland Square. All thirty-two of them were situated around a small, well-landscaped park with a gazebo at the center. The gazebo’s roof was green and its sides were white. According to directions sent while Jack was in the library, her home was at the end of the first street. She told him to park in the driveway.

The house was three stories high. Each of the windows had plantation shutters rather than shades. As Jack approached the front door carrying his bottles of wine, he noticed the purple and orange pansies growing along her walkway. They added a nice welcoming touch. On either side of the door, a low English Ivy hedge and azaleas lined the foundation wall.

He knocked.

After several seconds, there was no response. He knocked again and waited some more with the same result. This time he tried the doorbell. Still nothing. He listened for any sounds coming from the inside and heard none. Perhaps she was also running late. But if that were the case, she would surely have called to let him know. There were no messages on his cell phone.

Uncertain what to do, Jack called Beth’s cell and then her house phone. He could hear it ringing inside.

“You’ve reached Beth and Peeka’s house. I’m not home right now. Please leave a message.”

“This is Jack. I’m outside your door. It’s six fifteen. Call me back if you’re stuck someplace.”

Jack stepped away from the door and looked in the window. Toward the rear of the house, he could see a light on. Beyond that, there was no indication anyone was home.

There wasn’t much option other than to wait.

Jack returned to his car and placed the wine on the driver’s seat then leaned against the fender. Except for a single white cloud, the sky was blue and clear. While he was waiting and trying not to look suspicious, a neighbor walking her dog passed by and smiled at him. He gave her a small wave in return. The woman continued down the street.

Random thoughts came and went in his head. She and Pappas had gone to see Howard Pell, and that made him uncomfortable. He tried never to dwell on Howard Pell. Without warning, an image of his ex-partner surfaced in his mind as she lay dying in her bedroom, the victim of Pell’s insane surgery. To this day, it remained the single most horrific sight he’d ever encountered. In the years that followed Connie’s death, he’d often lay awake into the early hours of the morning staring at the light seeping through his curtains. That was preferable to the nightmares and the events he pushed into the recesses of his mind.

Before he was conscious of the fact, Jack’s breathing began to increase. His heart was now thumping heavily in his chest. Instinctively, he reached for his pills only to find that he’d left the bottle at home.
Next, he went through the mental exercises Morris Shottner had shown him in an effort to calm down. After a minute or two, they began to work. He took a deep breath and looked up. The cloud was still there, just over the edge of Beth’s rooftop, only it had moved higher and there was a tinge of gray at the bottom.

Fearful that she would come home and find him in the throes of a panic attack, he decided to distract himself. Pushing off the car’s fender, Jack walked to a narrow path that separated Beth’s home from the one on the right. Her backyard was visible from where he stood. Like the house, it also looked deserted. He was nearly to it when he heard a man curse. That was followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Metal scraped against metal. Jack immediately drew his weapon and broke into a run, rounding the corner at full speed.

“Freeze!”

A startled man in jeans took one look at him and the sight of his revolver and yelled, “Jesus!” Throwing his hands up defensively, he stepped backward and tripped over a toolkit lying on the ground. He landed heavily on his rear.

“Jack!” Beth yelled. “It’s my air conditioning man.”

“What?”

“It’s Rudy Volkmann, my air conditioning man,” she said, stepping between them. “It’s okay. I called him.”

Jack finally let his breath out, holstered his weapon, and shut his eyes. He now remembered the Cool-Tech van parked in the visitor spaces as he drove in.

“I’m sorry,” he said, offering a hand to Rudy.

Rudy pushed his hand away and said, “Are you crazy?” He got to his feet and turned to Beth. “What kind of people do you hang out with?”

“This is Lieutenant Kale,” she said contritely. “Jack, Rudy Volkmann. Rudy’s the owner of Cool-Tech.”

He apologized again. This time the technician shook hands, though not with much enthusiasm.

“Everything should be good, Ms. Sturgis,” he said, keeping his eye on Jack. “The system’s completely charged.”

“Thank you for coming out so quickly,” Beth said in a small voice.

“No worries. I was in the neighborhood.”

Rudy snapped his toolkit shut and shook hands with Beth. He nodded to Jack and headed back to his van, shaking his head.

When they were alone, Beth moved closer and kissed Jack lightly on the lips.

“You came to my rescue,” she said.

“I feel like the village idiot. For my next trick, maybe I can break down your neighbor’s door and let their pets run loose.”

Beth’s efforts at remaining somber were in danger of collapse. She was trying desperately not to laugh and not succeeding.

“You looked so serious. Ferocious, actually,” she said, struggling to get the words out.

“Thank you,” Jack said, blandly.

“I’m sorry Rudy didn’t stay longer. He’s really nice.”

“Probably had to go home and change his pants,” Jack muttered, which caused Beth to lose it completely.

When she regained her composure, she took him by the hand and led him inside. The gesture was wholly unconscious, but it surprised him in a good way. As they walked, the sound of her laughter remained on his mind. Pure unrestrained glee. What would it be like to make a woman like this laugh all the time? Could he allow himself to be with another person? These thoughts made him uncomfortable. Would catching the killer earn him a chance at redemption? He had no answers.

Beth informed him they were having veal scaloppini and pasta, which sounded great. Italian food was his favorite and he was famished. In view of the late start, she asked if he would lend a hand and cut up some tomato and mozzarella slices for their appetizer. Jack came into the kitchen and set about the task. When he was through, he drizzled a little olive oil and balsamic vinegar over them. Beth paused to inspect his work, nodded her approval, and returned to the veal preparations.

“I bought some wine,” Jack said. “With all the excitement earlier, I nearly forgot about it.”

“That was thoughtful.”

“Be right back.”

When he returned carrying three bottles, she looked at him quizzically.

Jack told her, “I wasn’t sure what you were making tonight, so I bought one of each to be safe.”

*

Beth came into the room carrying their dishes. She’d changed into a light-blue cotton dress that buttoned up the front and came nearly to her knees. They were joined by Peeka, who sat under the table and occasionally rubbed against their ankles to let them know he was there. Basically, an advanced form of begging.

“Do you feed him from the table?” Jack asked.

“Never,” Beth said, pinching off a tiny piece of veal with her fingers and handing it to the cat. Jack stuck his lower lip out and followed suit with a piece of his own. Peeka grabbed it and dashed off to another part of the house with his treasure.

“Well,” Beth said, “I have to say I’m surprised.”

“Oh?”

“Peeka likes you. He’s usually not fond of my dates.”

For some reason, the idea of her dating rankled him.

“Do you date much?” he asked.

“A little,” Beth said. “You?”

“Not really,” Jack said. “At least not for a long time.”

Beth took a sip of her wine and processed this without comment.

Jack added, “After the divorce, I tried a few times. It . . . they didn’t work out. It was mostly me.”

“Haven’t you been lonely?”

“Some.”

Beth was becoming attuned to his one-word responses. They were generally accompanied by a wooden expression because the topic made him uncomfortable. It was frustrating because he’d begin to open up, approach the ledge but then pull back, like sticking your toe in a pool before diving in. His reaction only served to make her more curious. But if she pushed, he’d only retreat further.

“So, did you find what you were looking for in the library?”

Once again on familiar ground, Jack said, “Not really. But I did locate a few more references to Albert Lemon and his crime spree. One article mentioned the author had used Lemon’s diary. That would be a gold mine if I could get my hands on it.”

Beth agreed. She then informed him of Pell’s reaction when she brought up Lemon’s name.

“Did he say anything that might help locate the victims?”

“He claimed not to know anything about Lemon or the other bodies. Nothing. Just a bunch of lies.”

“Actually, that’s helpful,” Jack said. “Because I know he’s lying.”

“What good does knowing he’s lying do us?”

“Ask yourself this: Why do people lie?”

“To cover something up,” Beth said.

“Or because they believe the lie will benefit them.”

“Because the consequences of telling the truth will be unpleasant,” Beth said.

Jack smiled. The girl had a quick mind.

Beth sat back in her chair and looked at him. “Do you ever get tired of being a teacher?”

Jack smiled and took a sip of his wine. “That depends on the student, Miss Elizabeth.”

*

The Soul Eater was frustrated. Everything had been working out so beautifully. Beth Sturgis was just pulling into her garage. Clever Jack was on his way. Even the miserable cat had come back inside. Then the air conditioner man showed up. Of all the rotten luck.

There’d be other chances. He was a patient man, and there were always other chances. The basement still had a way to go, and the delivery from the antiquities dealer wouldn’t arrive for two more days.

He sat in his den studying the book again, marveling how history had a way of repeating itself. What was that expression? Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it?

Clever Jack was doomed. So were Pamela and little Aaron. He did feel rather badly about the boy. Well, life wasn’t fair, was it? Time was running out for all of them.

B
eth’s eyes felt dry. She and Jack had wound up staying up late, talking about what seemed like everything under the sun. She loved the sound of his voice and wanted to know more about him as a person, which was why she suggested meeting at her house, where it would be natural to touch on things other than the case. And it seemed to be working—almost.

At one point, he asked what she liked to do when she wasn’t being a cop. She told him she was taking ballroom dancing lessons at a little place in Sandy Springs. That seemed to surprise him almost as much as he surprised her when he said he wouldn’t mind learning to dance. The talk continued with Jack growing more comfortable by increments when they touched on personal subjects. But no matter what the progress, he always shied away when it got too personal. Beth finally gave up and went back to talking about business.

One thing she and Pappas had agreed on was that there was no way Pell could have gotten past the cameras, key cards, and personnel on duty. Which meant her theory that he was working with someone on the outside had hit a wall. Over the past thirty-six months, he’d only had two visitors: his mother and some college student writing a paper about him. His mother had passed away the following year and the college student had graduated from the University of Georgia and was now doing a fellowship at a New York hospital.

Jack was inclined to agree: Pell was somehow working with the killer. The missing finger signature withheld from the public virtually confirmed it. He explained this was a trait psychologists had observed among serial killers. For reasons known only to Pell, after killing his victims, the serial killer had cut off one of their fingers as a souvenir. That
made their connection certain. Add to that the “Clever Jack” comment and it only reinforced the theory.

Beth was in the process of making out her notes regarding her meeting with Howard Pell when Lieutenant Fancher signaled for her to come into the office.

“How’s it going?” Penny Fancher asked after Beth was seated.

“Not great,” Beth said. “We’ve been getting the typical mix of calls from the public wanting to help. Two gave us conflicting descriptions of suspicious men they saw at Underground Atlanta and a bounty hunter called several times to ask if a reward’s been posted yet.”

“Wonderful. What about the others?” Fancher asked.

“You don’t want to know, boss.”

“That bad?”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Two angry ex-wives sure it was their former husbands. We checked anyway. Both have solid alibis.”

“Maybe I’ll call in about my ex,” Fancher said. “We’re taking a beating in the press.”

“I know,” Beth said.

“Chief Ritson wants to meet in the conference room later this morning to discuss our progress. He’ll probably assign two more detectives to the task force.”

“That’s fine,” Beth said noncommittally.

“He’s also thinking of calling in the FBI.”

This was the last thing Beth wanted to hear.

“If he does, we’ll lose the case, Lieutenant. You know how they operate. Besides, we already have Jack Kale.”

“Losing the case may be the point, Detective,” Fancher said.

“That’s not fair. We’ve only had it two weeks. If it wasn’t for Jack Kale, Donna Camp would be dead.”

“Let’s see how things shake out in the meeting,” Fancher said. “Right now, the chief wants to get a feel for where we are.”

“Fine,” Beth said.

“By the way, where is Jack? I left a message on his phone, but I didn’t see him come in.”

“He mentioned something about going over to Atlanta Gas Light to talk to an engineer,” Beth said.

“Why?” Fancher said.

Beth raised her shoulders.

“See if you can get hold of him,” Fancher said. “Burt Wiggins said they’re shooting for nine thirty.”

“Will do.”

She was in the process of texting Jack when he walked in the door. She was immediately conscious of his aftershave, which she’d come to associate with his presence over the last few days.

“Morning,” Jack said.

“Good morning. I was just texting you.”

“How come?”

“Chief Ritson wants a nine thirty status meeting. According to Penny Fancher, he’s toying with the idea of calling in the FBI.”

To her surprise and annoyance, Jack wasn’t upset.

“They have lots of resources,” he said. “It might not be a bad idea.”

“We don’t need them,” Beth said. “This is our case and we’ll solve it.”

Jack smiled without humor. “I wish I was that certain.”

“What were you doing at Atlanta Gas Light?” Beth asked.

“Ben identified the yellow area in the video as a pipe. I was trying to pin down who it belongs to.”

“Any luck?”

“Nothing. Someone from Georgia Power’s coming by later.”

“What about telephone and cable?” Beth said.

“Ben Furman has calls into them. The problem is we have so little to work with. We were hoping to get lucky. I’ve looked at that damn video twenty times and can’t shake the feeling I’m missing something.”

“It’ll probably come to you when you least expect it,” Beth said.

“It had better be soon,” Jack said.

*

Pam Dorsey couldn’t feel her fingers any longer. Her hands were still tied behind her back. The plastic restraints had cut off the blood supply. Her son was bound as she was. The poor thing was plainly terrified. At first he’d struggled wildly trying to get free and help her. She loved him for that. But gradually, his struggles had grown weaker and weaker. He lay on his side now, staring numbly into the darkness. She tried to catch his eye to reassure him. Too bad there was no one to reassure her. She had no idea where they were or where the madman had taken them. She only knew they were in trouble. Big trouble.

The only thing she was certain about was the person who kidnapped them was the same man who tried to wall up that woman at Underground Atlanta. Pam had watched the newscast with a neighbor as she prepared dinner only two nights earlier. How could she have been so stupid going to the park at dusk? She should have said no. But Aaron
wanted to play with his boat so much. She looked at her son lying a few feet away, wanting to hold him, comfort him, and tell him everything would be all right.

Mostly she wanted to convince herself that she hadn’t sacrificed his life over a toy sailboat.