Ten Plagues (23 page)

Keren started down the hall toward the OR. “Now, tell me how LaToya is holding up.”

Paul caught up with her and repeated everything the nurse had said to him.

“You felt that guy, didn’t you?”

Keren sat in one of the chairs in the waiting room, with her forearms resting on her knees, her hands clasped between her legs, her head drooping. Paul sank down in a chair next to her, so tired he could barely see straight, and he hadn’t been run down by a Malibu.

Of course he’d had a building fall on him recently.

“Yeah.” Keren turned to look at him. “I never even thought of it until Mick said that. I knew he was in that car. There’s no doubt it was him.”

“But you didn’t really see him, did you? And if you hadn’t had that sense of him, you’d have hesitated before you fired. You’d have considered it might have been an accident when he hit you.”

Keren’s eyes seemed to look into the past, as if she were reliving that race she’d run, chasing a serial killer.

“I’ve almost never talked about this gift I have and now I can’t shut up about it.”

“I’m honored.” And he was, deeply.

She spoke carefully, as if putting words to a story that unfolded in her memory. “I heard him running. I was following the sound of his footsteps, but the presence of him guided me.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a Spidey sense or something.”

Keren slugged him in the leg and managed a smile. “Great image. Maybe I oughta get a red ski mask to wear for work. It’d at least control my hair.”

Paul reached over and pulled her hair tie loose.

“Hey, stop that.”

“It was hanging by about ten hairs. Just relax.”

Keren did, probably because she was so beat up. “I’m not going to lie, I refuse to. But no one will understand the concept of a spiritual gift leading me anywhere. After the guy hit me …” She ran both hands deep into her coiled explosion hair and sat silently. At last she said, “I heard the car door slam. I heard the engine. The driver gunned it. Took off. Aimed straight for me. I think I can honestly say it was an unbroken trail that I followed from the crime scene. I heard it all.”

“And if they hammer on it long enough and don’t accept that?” Paul reached over and caught her right wrist. It couldn’t be too badly hurt; she’d fired her gun real efficiently with it.

“I’ll give them my story and they can do with it what they want. I’m a good cop with a good record. All but—” Her blue-gray eyes came up and nearly burned a hole in his hide.

“All but the bad mark you’ve got because of me.” He held on to her hand, and she let him, so that was a good sign.

“Let’s just drop it for now. I need some time to think it through, get it straight in my head.”

“I need some time to pray for LaToya.” Paul let her go before she made him.

“That, too.” Keren managed a smile. The two of them sat quietly in the waiting room and prayed.

The window in the lobby began to lighten, and they received word that LaToya was through the surgery and out of recovery. Her coma had deepened. She was now in a room where Paul was allowed in to see her for a few minutes.

She lay motionless, hooked up to every monitor imaginable. But she was alive. Paul’s most heartfelt prayers had been answered.

Higgins impatiently appeared, hoping to question LaToya.

It woke up the prowling cop inside Paul, the one he’d spent the night lulling to sleep. Higgins was just doing his job. Paul still wanted to slug the guy.

When the sunlight began to give them hope that they had a better day ahead, O’Shea came into the waiting room. “Well, I’ve got good news and bad news. And the bad news is so bad that we’ll never get to the good news if I tell you the bad first.”

With a jerked move of his hand that accentuated his distress, he tossed a copy of the Monday morning
Chicago Tribune
on the coffee table in front of Paul. A picture of LaToya appeared at the top right corner. The headline read, “Second Murder in South Side Park.”

“That’s great,” Keren said, pleased. “Did the paper agree to cooperate?”

“No,” O’Shea said with disgust. “They just got the red herring we tossed out and ran with it.”

“They’re going to be mad when we tell them the truth,” Keren predicted. “I can hear them now, ‘Police Lying to the Press,’ ‘Citywide Cover-up,’ ‘What Did the Mayor Know and When Did He Know It?’“

O’Shea said, “So what else is new? They got enough of the sensational details about LaToya to make a front-page story, but they haven’t found out about the carving or the frogs, and they also don’t know LaToya is connected to Juanita. Once the serial killer connection comes out, we won’t be able to take a step without a reporter’s camera flashing in our faces.”

“So what’s the bad news?” Paul looked at the picture of LaToya. It was one of the pictures that hung by her front door. She smiled so beautifully.

“We have another missing person. A woman. And there’s a carving.”

“Who?” Paul’s stomach skidded. He thought of several women he’d helped over the years. Which one was it? Then he thought of Rosita. Had she gone out last night to meet Manny? He should have double-checked. He should have talked to Manny himself and made sure the young man understood the seriousness of the situation.

O’Shea cut into his panic. “Her name is Melody Fredericks.”

Paul thought for a long minute. “That name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“She’s from outside your neighborhood,” O’Shea said. “The preliminary report on her doesn’t fit the profile of the other vics. She’s the co-owner of an upscale Hyde Park restaurant who never got home from work Sunday night. Her husband called the police to check for accident information when she was only two hours late. Outwardly at least, he seems frantic. She’s the mother of two. A couple of unpaid parking tickets are her only brushes with the law.”

“Is it possible it’s a copycat?” Keren asked. “Maybe her husband saw a way to save some money on a divorce settlement.”

“I don’t know yet. My report says the husband is frantic and has an alibi that, at first glance, looks fairly solid, home with the kids. Ten and six, old enough to know what time Daddy tucked them in at night. But they were asleep at the time the wife went missing, so he could have slipped out. But there’s definitely a carving, and it looks like Pravus’s work.”

“What does it say?” Paul was sure he already knew.

“Pestis ex Culex.”

“Plague of gnats. “Paul shuddered. “The other two were taken from apartments.”

“Like I said, it doesn’t fit. She’s a well-known, successful businesswoman, with no ties to the mission we can find. She certainly isn’t someone who used to live on the streets and got her life back through the mission.”

“The press isn’t talking serial killer yet. Maybe Pravus picked a higher-profile victim because he wants people to notice.” Keren noticed her barrette lying on a coffee table and picked it up. She groaned in pain when she bent over but went about corralling her hair.

“I’m heading over to her place now. I’d like you to come along, Paul. Maybe you’ll recognize her. We need your help to figure out why she was taken.”

Paul looked at the door to LaToya’s room. “I don’t think I should leave. What if LaToya wakes up? I don’t want her to be alone.”

“Can you give us a minute?” Keren asked O’Shea.

“Sure.” O’Shea walked out of the waiting room.

Keren stood and reached for him. Paul hesitated then took her hand. When she tried to pull him up, he cooperated. Keren’s body was battered, and since she seemed inclined to manhandle him, he made it easy.

When he stood, she went into his arms so simply and beautifully Paul didn’t give a second thought to his concern about being too involved with the police in general or her in particular. He just held her.

They stood that way for a long time, comforting each other, sharing their badly taxed strength. She’d done the same for him in that basement, after she’d defused a bomb and he’d enraged a murderer.

Paul liked her style.

Finally, she pulled back. He bent to kiss her.

Before he could, she said, “Call the mission. Have someone bring Rosita over here.”

“Who? The regulars at the mission are all suspects.”

“How about I go get Rosita and bring her back here then catch up with you. She can call you if there’s any change. We can be back here in a few minutes if she wakes up.” She added, “You know we’ve got to go.”

“This is what I remember about being a cop.” Paul stepped out of Keren’s arms when he thought about the life he had left behind. “All the times I
had
to go. All the important things I missed because I was needed somewhere.”

“Yeah, that’s the way it is,” Keren said with calm acceptance.

“And I was so self-centered. I always thought what I needed to do was more important than anything else … more important than my wife … more important than my daughter….”

“You were needed, Paul. That’s the life of a cop.” Solemnly Keren added, “That’s why you got out. That’s a big part of why I’ve stayed single. For far too many of us it’s not a family kind of life.”

They stared at each other for a long minute. Paul still wanted to close that distance. But he couldn’t do it. Their kisses had always been spontaneous, but now, somehow, it was as if Keren was asking him to stay away, because only hurt lay in pretending it could be different. He had to wonder if it wasn’t at least in part because she was using him, using her connection to the mission to search for a killer. Being a cop first and a woman second.

With a wrench that felt as if it broke something inside him, Paul turned away from her. “You get Rosie. I’ll go with O’Shea to see what nightmare I’ve brought down on poor Melody Fredericks.”

W
hen Pravus used his own blood to provide for his creation, the sweet, vicious agony of it actually kept the beast quiet. But as soon as he was done painting, the hunger grew again.

He studied the white gown she’d wear and fumed because he didn’t have time and he couldn’t bleed fast enough. He did what he could, but it was infuriating because he was denied her screams, denied her pleas for mercy.

The beast inside him prowled, hungry, prodding Pravus to do this right. Mocking him.

He hadn’t taken the right woman in Melody, and the end for LaToya hadn’t been right.

Pravus should never have run. What lived in him was powerful and dangerous. He should have turned it loose on the reverend and the detective. The beast had urged him to stay, fight, even to the death. But cowardice had won, and Pravus had abandoned his prize.

A quick glance at the newspaper told him the girl had died, and that had given him some shred of peace, but it had been haphazard, sloppy. And it warned him that the park was not a safe place to leave his creations. He was surprised that the police had been there waiting.

That was shrewd. But he was more shrewd.

Looking at the white gown, he saw that instead of the delicate precision of his usual painting style, he’d rushed this, he’d skimped. His child wasn’t perfect. He didn’t care for Melody Fredericks. He didn’t see how hurting her would hurt the reverend, and that was the point.

The hunger to inflict pain on the reverend rose and battered him. Then he had an inspiration and smiled. The risk was high, but it would be worth it.

A high-pitched sound reached Pravus’s ears. For a moment he thought the poor battered Mrs. Fredericks was laughing at him, mocking him, and Pravus turned to strike. But she wasn’t making a sound. That’s when he realized it was his own laughter. Or maybe the laughter of the beast.

Because it was so brilliant. He couldn’t contain his glee when he thought of how hard this would be on the reverend.

Delighted with his inventiveness, savoring the strength he’d honed his muscles to for just this purpose, Pravus waited, bided his time, picked his moment, and disposed of Melody.

When he was finished and back home, the satisfaction faded more quickly than it had before. Though he’d enjoyed it, the beast was starving. He looked around at what he’d created—his children, his people—and wanted them to be free. The reverend had stood in the way of their freedom and now he had to suffer.

He’d loitered at the mission and knew word was spreading that people connected to the Lighthouse were being targeted. And he could see the results of the warnings. No one walked alone except the mindless street people, and they weren’t who he wanted.

But neither was Melody Fredericks. Even though it had been brief, he’d gotten surcease from the appetite of the beast.

So he wasn’t going to be allowed to stalk and wait and choose with the care he preferred. That was a pity, because of them all, this was his favorite so far. The steady killing he’d done in the park. He’d spent days preparing for the plague of beasts. This gave him many chances to kill.

Accepting that wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. Even God had to compromise to achieve freedom for His people. Pravus compromised now because he needed someone new.

He needed someone
now
.

Paul spent so many hours being grilled, he almost turned into a T-bone.