Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series) (3 page)

Frank entered the empty apartment. One reason he did not
mind working weekends, was that Pauley worked late on Fridays and all day
Saturday. It was the best time for him to get some work done without
interfering with their social life.

He checked the answering machine. Nothing. He did a quick
sweep of the room. No note from Pauley. He changed into a tee shirt and jeans,
and dug into a box he kept in the coat closet near the front door. He found
what he wanted in the far corner under other precious paraphernalia. It took a
half an hour to pull out the college textbook he was looking for and get
everything back in its rightful place. He took the book to the kitchen table
and opened the fridge. He chose a can of Keystone Light, opened it, took a swig
and sat the frosty can on the table by the book before heading to the living room.

He started whistling again, caught himself and smiled. He
lugged the black leather case containing his laptop computer into the kitchen
and hooked it up. While it booted, he sliced some summer sausage and cheese,
and opened a fresh box of crackers. He took another sip of beer and started
leafing through the book.

The book was required for a course he had taken while at Sam
Houston State - History of Homicide. The professor, Henry Rafferty, was a
retired homicide detective and one of the most demanding in the major. The man
remained Frank's favorite, his mentor. Often, in the early days of a new case,
Henry would intrude into Frank's dreams, cajoling him to do better work and
remove a murderer from the streets. Henry had not bothered Frank yet on this
case, but then Frank had not been asleep yet either. Maybe if he reviewed the
lessons he had learned, he could avoid a nightmare.

When the computer beeped that it was ready, Frank activated
the web search and hunted for information concerning serial killers. He thought
of himself as a good profiler, but he knew there were others who were better.
Referring back and forth between the textbook and various web sites, he made
copious notes. He had opened his third beer and put an exclamation point after
the last line of his summary when he heard the key in the lock. Pauley was
home.

She burst through the door, a wisp of dark brown hair
swinging on her forehead, and slapped her briefcase on the table, leaving her
hands doubled into fists on the top. Her plum colored flannel blazer over a
matching silk mock-turtleneck sweater accented her dark eyes, and gabardine
stretch wool trousers of winter white accentuated her shapely legs. Frank
thought her beautiful. Who needed to be married? They had lived together for
years, with one minor separation, and had all the intimacy, both communal and
carnal, enjoyed by most married couples.

"Tough day?" he asked.

She reached over, picked up his beer and took a long drink
as an answer. Frank stood and pulled another from the refrigerator. He opened
it and held it out as a toast. Pauley pushed the hair off her face. It flopped
back. She ignored it.

"I thought you'd be asleep after your early
start." She took a sip from the can. "I'm glad you're not." She
slouched in a chair opposite from Frank. "Want to tell me about it?"

"Why don't you change and then we can catch each other
up."

She stared at him for a moment as if mesmerized by what he
had said, and then nodded. "Good idea, but if 1 get too close to a bed, I
might not come out until morning."

"I'll come with you and do my best to keep you
stimulated."

She grinned. "Start with a hug. I could use a
hug."

He came around the table and pulled her to her feet and into
a tight hug. "Welcome home, working girl."

"Oh, Cisco. It's good to be here. When I'm with you,
the world feels safe." She pushed away and headed for the bedroom, pulling
him along by the hand. He grabbed her jacket as she shrugged out of it, and
leaned back against the wall, sipping his beer as she undressed. When she went
to the dresser in nothing but her panties, and bent over to select a tee shirt,
he felt like grabbing her, but he did not. That would come later. It was a
ritual. She pulled on the white and black striped shirt, wiggled into black
sweat pants and brushed her hair into a ponytail that she secured with an
elastic band.

They carried their beers back to the living room and flopped
side by side on the sofa. She snuggled up under his arm, pulling her feet under
her on the couch. "Did you eat?" she asked.

"I did the sausage and cheese bit. How about you?"

"I grabbed a salad at the food court. Maybe I'll eat a
banana and have a yogurt before bed. Tell me about the new case."

"Later. I want to hear what has you so frazzled
first." He waited through her silence, knowing she was organizing what she
wanted to say.

"You remember when I told you I was thinking of
expanding the business? Well, you should always be careful what you wish for.
Mark Simeon was waiting for me when I got back from lunch. He's an executive
with a corporation that markets women's wear under several franchises, Evelyn's
Visions being the most popular here in Houston. He said he had researched The
Fashion Center and me, and wanted to make a proposal. To make a long story
short, he wants to finance two new stores under my name, one at the Woodlands
Mall and another at Katy Mills."

"Wow. That sounds exciting."

"Oh, it's exciting all right. But it's a lot to
consider."

"How much cash would you have to cough up?"

Pauley swung her legs off the sofa and reached for her beer.
She took a sip and rested her elbows on her knees as she stared at the top of
the coffee table. "That's the quandary. I would not have to invest
anything up front, only my name and management. However, it would mean giving
up forty percent of The Fashion Center and only receiving a minor percent of
the new stores until the Simeon's company recovers fifty percent of their
venture capital. Then we would renegotiate the agreement."

"What's the catch?"

"There are two, actually. One is I would lose my
exclusivity of The Fashion Center. If the new shops go belly up, I'd end up as
an employee in my own business. Of course, if one or both of the new stores
take off, eventually I would expand my leverage and have a much larger piece of
a bigger pie. Most of the market indexes suggest that consumer spending is on
the upswing, but the reality is that I have a lot more lookers than buyers
lately."

"The bigger the risk, the bigger the gain."

"Oh yeah, and the bigger the loss."

Frank knew he had no way to identify with how stressful her
decision was; everything he knew about business, she had taught him. He decided
that he had said all he could to help her in her quandary.

"And the second concern?"

Paulette turned her head, looking at him directly.
"You. Us. If I enter into this venture, I will be three times as busy as
now. It would require travel and negotiations and more time going over
statements and policy determinations. It would make major changes in our time
together."

That had been Frank's first thought when she mentioned
expanding her business. He was pleased she rated it as a high priority.

"Pauley, nothing stays the same. It would be a mistake
to avoid changes for the status quo. If you turned down an opportunity to do
what you love for 'us,' we'd shrivel and die."

"That might happen anyway."

"It might, but it would be for reasons other than
mutual self-sacrifice. It would be more palatable."

Pauley looked down and turned the beer can in her fingers.
Neither of them said anything for several minutes. Finally, she looked back at
him and smiled. "Okay, Cisco, now tell me what drug you from my clutches
at four o'clock this morning, and what you did with the blue and white. I
didn't see it in the parking lot when I came home."

Frank gave her a quick rundown on the clown case. "I
thought it was a kid at first and that made me anxious."

"You think it's a serial don't you?"

Frank looked astounded. "Why did you say that?"

"I can read upside down. When I came in, I got a good
look at what you were writing."

"Yeah, I do. We'll see."

Pauley leaned back and snuggled under his arm again, even
closer than before. "Oh, Cisco. I don't have much trouble when you're
investigating domestic violence or routine shootings in some bar, but a serial
killer is a different matter. These kinds of cases can be dangerous. Please be
careful."

"Oh, crap. You sound like Miss Kitty talking to Matt
Dillon. Don't patronize me."

She put her hand on his chest and looked him in the eye.
"You love this sort of investigation, and don't try to deny it."

He grinned. "You're right. These serial killers always
think they're too smart to get caught by dumb cops. I really enjoy bringing
them down. I just hope I can get to this guy before he kills again."

"What makes you so sure it's a guy?"

He shrugged. "It may not be, but most serial killers
are men."

She settled back. "What happened to the car?"

"Gerry's got it."

Paulette pushed herself farther away. "Who the hell is
Gerry?"

"My new partner, Geraldine Gardner, a transfer from
vice in Kingwood. Lieutenant Barker assigned us this afternoon."

"A woman?"

"A very foxy, intelligent, unmarried woman with a witty
personality, and an ex-Marine. Just my type." He was grinning.

"When do I get to meet this harlot?"

"What about in the morning? She's picking me up at
7:30."

Pauley slapped him on the chest. "You know I can't be
ready to meet someone that early on Saturday." She stood, and headed for
the kitchen. "Why tomorrow?" she said over her shoulder.

"We have a date." She stopped and turned, hands on
her hips. "With Al Shuman at the morgue."

"How romantic." She relaxed. "But I have to
meet her."

"I'll try to set something up."

Pauley ate her snack and headed for the bedroom. Frank
followed. They made love, but it was less fulfilling than usual. Pauley remained
concerned about Frank's new case and new partner, and Frank could not stop
thinking about what effect Pauley's new enterprise might have on their future.

Frank slipped out of bed early, showered, and dressed in
chinos and a button-down shirt. He used a dark blue windbreaker to conceal his
service revolver. The clock read 0725 when he glanced out the window and saw
Gerry drive into the parking lot. He grabbed his briefcase and left by the
front door. Gerry had climbed out of the car and walked to the rider's side in
keeping with an unwritten courtesy that the senior officer would drive. Frank
was happy to see she had dressed properly for a morning autopsy, no frills,
rather thin-wale corduroy slacks, a dark jersey top and her own windbreaker,
worn for the same reason he wore his. Even in late October, jackets attract
attention in Houston. Frank often figured everyone knew the jackets were
intended to hide something, and not for warmth.

As he walked toward the car, he made a point of not glancing
up at the kitchen window. He did not have to look to know that Pauley was
watching them. He also knew she would find the note he had left on the
refrigerator. I hope that by tonight she would have realized that his new
partner was no threat to their relationship.

"Morning, boss man," Gerry smiled.

"Good morning, Gerry. Did you have a thrilling Friday
night?"

Gerry rolled her eyes. "I would have rolled my coin
collection except I don't have a coin collection. It was rip-roarin.'"

Once in the car, Gerry started laughing. "When I came
out of my apartment this morning, my neighbor was sweeping off her walk. She
asked me what I had planned for Halloween. I said I was going to watch a man
cut up a body. She said, 'Aren't those fun?' and I said 'What?' and she said, 'Those
haunted houses. The Jaycees have one up near Splendora. I took the kids there
last year and it scared me to death. There was this man with a chain saw.' So I
said, 'No, I'm going to the morgue.' And she said, 'You're kidding, right?' So
I said, 'Yeah, I'm kidding,' and she laughed, but she stood there with a
strange look on her face and watched me get in the car and drive away. She may
have moved out by the time I get home tonight."

While Gerry told her story, Frank opened his briefcase and
removed his notes from the night before. He held them out for her.
"Something to read during the commute." Gerry took the notes and
leafed through them as Frank put the car in motion and headed for the Freeway.

"Man, you spent the night working. Did you get this off
the common net, or did you use a special police website?"

"Regular. I googled and got more than twenty-two
thousand hits. There's a lot of information out there."

"No way you read twenty-two thousand websites."

"I was selective, but I found a pattern. There seems to
be a consensus that profiling never caught a killer and that they are generally
wrong. As I understand it, the first criminal profiler, a Dr. James Brussels
identified a man named George Metesky back in 1957. He was right on the money.
So much so, that when they arrested the killer, he was wearing the exact outfit
the doctor predicted he would wear. He impressed many people who think they can
do the same. The FBI was so interested that they founded the NCAVC."

"The National Center for the Analysis of Violent
Crime."

"Right. Now there's a whole genre of novels classified
as 'mind hunters.' The general public thinks this is a valuable science. Even
cops know that they can't solve a crime with profiles, but they wouldn't
attempt a case without one. If you read my summary, you'll see what I came up
with."

"I saw that. A white male, probably retired or
unemployed, with money and a PT-Hedonistic personality." Frank could feel
her look at him. "You really believe that?"