The Watcher (36 page)

“Oh, I dunno, mebbe four, five months ago.”

Slater and Bauer looked at each other and both headed for Marconi’s office. Evidently Kate had found something that had meaning for her.

And for the case.

Chapter Forty

The hard eyes mocked Kate. Narrow-slit pupils like a cat’s caught in a beam of light stared into hers. The maniacal gleam frightened her more than the tight bands which cut into her wrists and ankles. His features showed completely flattened affect, empty of all human emotion and empathy. She shuddered violently beneath the coarse material and knew with absolute certainty that she’d get no mercy from her captor.

The man stepped back and stood erect, preening as he turned around in a slick pirouette, and she got a full look at his freakish, naked body. He had what she’d heard teenagers call man-breasts, his mammary glands swollen like a young girl’s budding chest. His hips flared below the waist and his belly was poochy and soft-looking like a woman who’d recently given birth.

But lower than that was the truly grotesque part of the man. From a thatch of brown pubic hair protruded the tiniest beginnings of a male sex organ. The penis was either a vestigial organ or had been partially and ineptly removed during a penilectomy.

The scientist in Kate became curious and momentarily held her fear at bay. As frightened as she was, the physician in her was fascinated by the oddity standing before her.

She’d been right. They knew from the blood sample found on Alison Mathews’ pants that their perpetrator was an XXY male, but without clinical observation and testing, there was no way to tell if he were externally hermaphroditic or not. Even now, looking at the subject himself, she couldn’t tell if hormones, environment, or genetics had created the Gorgon in front of her. He might be a true five-alpha-reductase-syndromatic person or a pseudo-hermaphrodite.

What a nightmare his life would’ve been. Without proper counseling and surgery, he had no chance at a normal life. Now a middle-aged man, he wouldn’t be a priority for reconstructive surgery, and during his childhood, few viable medical options existed.

Many XXY persons never became aware of their condition. She remembered a case study of a female Olympic runner tested for steroids who hadn’t known she was physiologically a male until the test results came back. Most likely, the killer would’ve been raised female, and at some point during or after puberty, his male hormones would’ve kicked in.

And chaos ensued.

This man’s aberration was so obvious that no one could mistake his hideous malformation. He was the nightmare stuff of Victor Frankenstein, a thing that below the waist seemed to have been put together with the discarded flesh and organs of castoffs. Another look revealed the mass of adhesions around the man’s groin. Were the ridges of scar tissue from unsuccessful surgeries? Or were they new growth that’d failed, lacking proper hormone stimulation?

Kate didn’t want to feel sorry for this creature that would’ve been a circus freak less than a hundred years ago, didn’t want to empathize with his suffering. She just wanted to survive, so she forced common sense to override sympathy and panic.

Even though her body trembled, her heart pounded, and adrenaline pumped through her limbs at sonic speed, she spoke calmly. “My name is Kate. What’s yours?”

A hiss combined with something like a snarl emanated from his mouth, and one large hand cuffed her on the temple. The blow made her ears ring and tears spring to her eyes. She felt her skin prickle with heat.

“Shut – the – fuck – up,” he growled, spitting saliva onto her face and exposed chest.

With one fluid movement the man-creature swirled around and stalked off, cutting out the light and leaving her in the emptiness of her dark prison. A respite, but for how long? Panic rose again in her throat and threatened to cut off her air.

#

The next break in the case came when Slater phoned the law office of Shawn Farley. All he got was an answering machine, so he called the Sacramento Telephone Company, identified himself, and got a home number for the attorney. Thankfully, Fraley answered on the second ring.

At first, the attorney was reluctant to skirt privilege, but reconsidered when he was informed that Slater’s questions involved the disappearance of a county sheriff. After a short-lived wrestle with his ethics, Fraley rationalized that the information he had was a matter of public record anyway.

According to the lawyer, Marconi’s long-estranged nephew had recently inherited property in the unincorporated town of New Haven, California, in the northern part of the state. He wouldn’t reveal the client’s name, just the relationship to Marconi.

Slater knew the location because New Haven’s town council contracted with Bigler County for law enforcement services. It was a quiet little place just inside the county line, and his deputies got almost no trouble from up there. Slater guessed that the N.H. in Kate’s notes stood for New Haven.

In the process of comparing the list of recent county residents with Paxton-Bell employees, Bauer also discovered the name of one Joseph McClelland, an employee newly terminated from service in Paxton-Bell’s mail department.
M. for McClelland?
There was no address on file in the human resources department, just a post office box, but there was a single reference.

Xavier Marcus Marconi.

Was the nephew Fraley mentioned this Joseph McClelland, new employee recently canned? If Marconi had any suspicions about his relative, wouldn’t he have mentioned it to Slater? What part did the Sheriff play in all this?

The records showed that Marconi had been a sergeant at the time of the Mary Stuckey investigation, in fact, the sergeant in
charge
of the case. Did the “M” stand for “Mary” rather than McClelland? Slater wasn’t sure how all the pieces fit together, but he believed that coincidence had no place in the world of rational thought.

This was their first significant lead and his immediate instinct was to rush up to New Haven after getting access to McClelland’s address. The hell with the law. Common sense, however, said he needed a search warrant and so far he had no probable cause.

Within minutes he called Fraley again, who succumbed to a little pressure and revealed his client’s name and physical address: Joseph McClelland, 10935 Maidu Dam Road, New Haven.

Slater ticked off the evidence in his head. Possible kidnapping of a law-enforcement officer investigating the abduction and violent murders of two previous victims. Blood and scuffle evidence indicating intent of physical harm. Disappearance of a county sheriff. Fingerprint evidence in Marconi’s vehicle connected to multiple homicides. Notes in Myers’ personal belongings showing a connection between Marconi and McClelland.

Dammit, if this wasn’t enough, he’d go in with exigent circumstances on a warrantless search. Kate’s life and possibly Marconi’s, if he weren’t already dead or involved in the whole mess, were at stake.

Judge Phineas J. Strickland was about to be roused from his peaceful seclusion at the Lake Tahoe cabin where he was enjoying the first family vacation he’d had in over ten years.

Slater hoped the judge was in a good mood.

Chapter Forty-one

Kate thought she’d drifted off again, although she couldn’t be sure because time had little meaning in her concrete cage. Her body shivered from the damp chill that seemed to settle deep in her bones. Because of the moisture and musty odor, she thought her prison must be underground.

The rumbling of her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten in a while. Lunch with Slater earlier today? Or was it no longer that day, but the next one? She couldn’t gauge how much time had passed.

Her captor had come and gone several times now. Kate hoped that meant he was indecisive about what to do with her, that he might not kill her. Was that false hope on her part? A bubble of hysteria formed high in her chest, but she pushed it down. Now wasn’t the time to lose control. She needed a level head and a clear mind if she hoped to outwit her attacker.

Think, Kate, think.

She heard the man before she saw him. He padded forward on bare feet, a gleaming tool in his right hand. Lying helpless on the makeshift bed, she was certain the instrument heralded pain for her, torture and ultimate death.

At that instant she vowed that she wouldn’t go gently to her end. Who said to rage at the dying light? Kate bit down hard on her lower lip to break off the scream that hovered there, to push back the hysteria that quivered at the edge of her sanity. Here she was at the precipice of death and she was quoting Dylan Thomas? She must be as crazy as her captor.

Years ago the police said that Kassie hadn’t fought back when this monster kidnapped her. Kate swore she would. She’d struggle against the dying light for Kassie. She’d fight hard enough for both of them.

For all of them.

Fighting against fear, she summoned a torrent of anger. Fury for the waste of her sister’s life. For the destruction of her parents’ marriage and their family. Her father’s desertion and failure to protect them. For all the innocent girls who’d suffered at the hands of this freak. She’d rage like no one had ever raged before.

With a shudder of relief, Kate saw that the man was no longer naked. It was easier to glare at him when he was clothed. She made her tone imperious. “Who are you?”

Silence.

“What’s your name?” she demanded.

More silence.

“You think you’re so brave,” she sneered, “but you’re too cowardly to tell me your name. You come at me with a knife while I’m bound. When you have a weapon and I’m tied up.”

His face turned reddish-purple, and he brandished the knife near her face. She couldn’t stop a gasp from escaping her lips.

“Shut up,” he warned. “Be quiet unless I tell you to talk or I’ll – ”

If he were going to kill her then she’d rather he succumb to anger. It’d be quicker that way. She’d only feel the first sharp sting of the blade. He’d be too out of control to choose his spot. To plunge the knife in the right place to keep her alive, to torture her. Her release from pain would come from his wrath. She couldn’t stop now.

“You’ll what?” she taunted. “Hurt me? Cut me? Rape me? Look at you.” She scathed her eyes down his form. “You’re not even a man. You have to use a knife because you don’t have a dick.”

A hideous distortion crossed the man’s face, fury mixed with vengeance and something else. Had she gone too far? Would he use the knife on her now? Or had she failed to go far enough? What was the emotion that registered on his face?

Enmity? Or fear?

Kate forced her voice into a lower register, but intensified the authoritative tone. She sounded like her fifth-grade teacher Mrs. Taylor. “What—is—your—name?” she commanded.

A fleeting look of uncertainty crossed his features, and he surprised her by answering. “Joey.”

“Joey. Is that short for Joseph?”

“Grandmother called me Joey.”

Grandmother?

“Joey, untie me.” Pushing her voice to sound hard and confident.

“Why?” Voice soft, timid.

“So we can talk.”

A range of emotions crossed the man’s face – confusion, rejection, fear. Finally, disbelief.

“That’s a lie, a big, fat lie,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“What’s a lie?”

He scrunched his face up like a small boy trying to remember an important fact, and the words of each phrase accented upward in a parody of imbecility. “Your name, you said it was Kate, but it’s not. It’s not. You’re that girl. You’re Kassie.”

Her sister’s name on his lips was a blasphemy. How did he know her name? A flash of intuition nearly made her sob. Of course, Kassie had told him before she died.

Kate wanted to scream and yank against her restraints, to free herself and pound his face into a bloody pulp. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn’t want to think of this freak forcing her beautiful sister to reveal her name.

No, she screamed in her head. Don’t think about it. Push the image out of your mind. She swallowed, softened her voice, and spoke firmly. “No, I’m
not
Kassie. I’m her sister. Her twin sister. I’m Kate.”

He danced around the room, brandishing the knife and speaking in the same childish tone. “No, no, no, Kassie doesn’t have a sister. You’re lying again. You’re lying to me, lying to me.”

“Listen to me. I’m Kate.”

“No, no, no, no. Not Kate.”

“Look at me, Joseph,” she compelled.

“My name’s Joey,” he screamed, covering his ears with his hands, the knife gleaming dangerously close to his face. “Joey, Joey, Joey, Joey.”

“Joey,” she soothed. “All right, Joey. Remember that day? Remember how you saw me getting off the bus? There was another girl with me, a girl who looked a lot like me. That was Kassie. I’m Kate.”

“No, no, no, no, no. You’re
not.”
Joseph paced around her in a stiff-legged march, his voice increasing in volume with each step. “No, you’re Kassie and I have to do it right this time, do it right, have to, can’t get it wrong.”

Dear God, she was losing him. Soon he’d be in the middle of a full-blown psychotic episode, a raving lunatic, and she’d have no control over the situation. “What do you have to do right, Joey?”