Chapter Eight

Elijah took a chance and walked a few blocks north, pulling his jacket collar up against the wind. As he hoped, he caught Patrolman George Vincent on his beat and offered to buy him a coffee. He looked more like a history teacher with his squat build and glasses, but he gave a tentative smile. “I guess you talked to your partner.”

“Yes.” He led him into the café next door and gave his own order, waiting while the other man stated his preference. The two black coffees appeared in an instant, a curl of steam rising from both. Handing him his cup and taking one for himself, they settled into a nearby booth for a few minutes. “I’d appreciate anything you could tell me about the altercation with Bentley. The guy’s name keeps popping up, and we want to take a closer look.”

He slurped and swallowed, rubbing one hand on his pants. “Like I told Sanchez, I didn’t like the way he had her pinned against the car. Me and Harry hustled right over. We got ’em separated, but then she said she just wanted to leave. I tried to change her mind about filing charges, but no go.” He gritted his teeth. “The bastard just smirked at us. He knew she was embarrassed by the whole thing and didn’t want to attract any more attention.”

“You didn’t get her name?”

“You know, that’s what I told Sanchez, but Harry remembered it the next day when I mentioned her call.” He pulled a small coiled pad from his shirt pocket, flipping it open. “Catherine Peaks. I guess he checked her out in case she changed her mind. She owns a fancy antique store in the East End.”

“That’s great.” He scrawled it in his notes. “You said he had her pinned. How? By the arms?”

“A wrist in each hand and pushed against the passenger door.” He shook his head. “I hate that shit. Just the thought of any man trying to treat my sisters like that drives me nuts.”

“Me, too. I’m planning to have a chat with her. I appreciate your time.” The other man took a few more gulps of coffee and then, standing, returned to his beat.

Walking back to his car, Elijah decided to take a chance and try to catch Ms. Peaks at her store. It might be easier than trying to call her at home when she would be more likely to brush him off. He struggled to find a convenient parking spot nearby and ended up walking almost ten blocks. There were a lot of high-end restaurants and shops in this area which put parking at a premium. Still, it was nice to take a break and breathe some fresh air for a change. When he located her establishment, Peaks’ Antiques, he stopped to enjoy his first impression. The front windows boasted some gorgeous Japanese Tansu chests, along with luminous vintage silks and glass vases. The latter sparkled in the sunlight that reached inside.

He let himself in through the reinforced door, noticing the security camera by the entrance. A soft musical tone announcing his arrival. In seconds, a woman appeared from behind the counter, dressed in a feminine pink suit and white ruffled blouse. According to the information he’d pulled up on his phone, she was in her early forties, but didn’t look it. Her blonde hair was pulled back in an elegant chignon. As she approached, a professional smile crossed her face. “May I help you, or would you prefer to browse?”

Smiling, he walked up the aisle to greet her and pulled out his identification. “Detective Black, ma’am. Are you Ms. Catherine Peaks?”

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if I might have a few moments of your time.”

Surprise parted her lips, then she recovered. “Of course. I believe I’ve seen you on the news, Detective. You’re with the homicide division, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I wanted to ask you about a scuffle you had about six weeks ago with a man named Jarvis Bentley.”

Elijah read embarrassment in her expression as her smile dimmed. “I didn’t report that,” she murmured.

“No, I know that. The beat cop on scene thought the encounter embarrassed you.” He needed to put her at ease. “I can certainly understand that. I was wondering, though, if you could share with me the reason for your disagreement.”

“Is this part of your case?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m not at liberty to say.”

She gripped one hand with the other, glancing around to check for approaching customers. Sighing, she waved to two chairs by the sales desk. “Do you mind if we sit?”

“Not at all.”

He waited until she was comfortable, then joined her so that he sat in the opposite chair. “In retrospect, I probably should have pressed charges, but his sudden change in behavior shocked me.” She ran a hand over the arm of her chair, her manicured nails gleaming. “We’d shared a lovely lunch, and he offered to see me to my car. I remember being pleased he was a gentleman. All of a sudden, he got quite physical.”

“I know this is uncomfortable for you, but can you tell me exactly what he did?”

She nodded. “He grabbed me and tried to kiss me,” she said as if forcing out the words from between her rigid lips. “I’m not used to such rough treatment, and I pulled away or at least tried to.”

“Did you tell him no?”

“Y-yes, I did. Several times. It was as if he didn’t hear me or, perhaps, chose not to hear me.”

“So, he grabbed you. Did he restrain you?”

“Yes. He held my wrists and shoved me against the car.”

“Anything else?”

She closed her eyes, bright color blossoming on her cheeks. “He rubbed himself against me and said, ‘You know you want it.’ ” Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes as they inched open. “It appalled me. I felt helpless. After the two patrolmen intervened, I just wanted to go home and calm my nerves.” She sucked in her breath. “I appreciated their help, I really did, but I just wanted to go home.”

Spying a nearby box of tissues near the cash register, he stood, then handed them to her and resumed his seat. “I’m so sorry to upset you by bringing all of his terrible behavior up again.”

She shook her head. “I’ve had more than enough time to dwell on it, I’m afraid. I keep wondering what I should have done differently.” Blotting the tears, she added, “I just couldn’t believe I was so stupid. I should have seen it coming.”

“Not necessarily. Predators come in all shapes and sizes.” He met her gaze. “Did the incident leave you with bruises?”

She nodded. “I had to wear long-sleeved blouses for almost two weeks. That seemed easier than having to deal with awkward questions.”

“I understand.”

“Am I allowed to ask if he’s done this kind of thing to anyone else?”

He chose his usual benign answer. “We’re looking into that possibility. Thank you so much for your honest answers. I know it wasn’t easy.”

She attempted a smile. “Actually, I feel a little better having told someone. You have a very reassuring presence, Detective.”

“Thank you, Ms. Peaks.” He handed her one of his business cards. “If you should ever have any problems with him or any other man, please call. We have people in the department who can help.”

“I’ll do that.” After bidding her goodbye, he held the door for two elderly women coming in and hoped they would distract the shop owner from her thoughts.

An unusual spurt of temper simmered as he walked back to his car. This guy’s actions were reprehensible. How long had he been getting away with this kind of behavior? As of now, his name was going right to the top of their suspect list. The lives of rapists and murderers often started with lesser crimes.

Her predicament helped Elijah understand why he had such a hard time in the dating world. In a lot of ways, he was an old-fashioned guy. He believed in good manners and had what Sanchez called ‘protector syndrome.’ It’s one of the qualities which made him a good cop. But he also liked smart, independent women who had fulfilling careers and interests of their own. So often, women seemed to appreciate one side of him, but not the other.

His partner always teased him about being such a gentleman, but his parents had raised him that way. He’d been blessed with the best parents in the world and believed in the way he’d been brought up. Every day, some small memory of them would pass through his thoughts. He liked still living in the home he’d been raised in, surrounded by their pictures. If that made him sentimental, so be it.

It was part of the reason he was so proud of his partner. She’d been raised in what he called worst case scenario circumstances and still turned out to be a hard-working, caring person. She wasn’t gushy and soft, but you couldn’t find a kinder and more honest person. A lot of others would have used their difficult childhood as an excuse to whine or ask for handouts, but she had driven herself hard to excel at the police academy and prevailed.

He’d said those words to her before, and she’d rolled her eyes. He recognized her defense mechanisms for what they were and continued to treat her like a beloved sister.

After Cara’s death, Sanchez had scraped him off the couch and made him start living again. She didn’t understand why he’d cared so much about a serial killer, but she supported him anyway. That’s the kind of friend he needed, and he treasured her.

He worked hour after hour on all the odds and ends of the case, learning nothing new. Now, night began to fall, the shadows creeping through his office blinds. He headed home.

The next morning, he dropped in to see his lieutenant and fill him in on the progress of the case. “Not much to work with, is it?” Sighing, Porter leaned back in his chair.

“No, sir, but there’s a few threads to follow.”

“Do you need some help with the computer stuff? I know that’s not your favorite.”

“Sanchez is bored stuck at home, so she offered to help.” He saw the other man’s concerned glance. “Don’t worry. She promised to work for short spurts only, propped up on the couch.”

“Okay, fine. How’s she feeling?”

He chuckled. “She said her damn stitches are worse than the wound. They’re itchy, I guess.”

“Well, if that and boredom are her only complaints, I guess we’re doing well.” He tapped a pen on his desk, the resultant beat a familiar tune. “Do you need more assistance with this case?”

“I thought I might tag Jones in on some of the footwork if that’s possible.”

“Done. I’ll have him shift a few of his cases. Do you want Hadley, too?”

Elijah tried to frame his words diplomatically, a struggle when it came to his least favorite co-worker. “I think Jones’s help will be enough for now, sir.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” He smiled. An intuitive man, he knew the score.

“I was wondering, sir, if you’re familiar with Officer Seth Parker?”

He nodded. “Big guy, brown hair, right? Been a patrolman for five, six years.”

“Yes, that’s him. I was wondering if you would have any issues with me encouraging him to take the detective’s exam.”

“No. I don’t have any objections. Why him in particular?”

“He helped me with the Marks murder and did an excellent job. I asked around about him, and everything I heard was positive. We could use a few more like him; good work ethic and an eye for detail.”

“We’re always looking for hard-working men and women, you know that. By all means, have a chat and see if he’s interested in writing the exam.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thanks for the update. Let me know if you need anything else.”

He walked back to his office and made a note to talk to Seth. When Jones showed up at Elijah’s desk thirty minutes later, he assigned him a small list of the endless follow throughs that happen with any case. He was no ball of fire, but he’d work through the list just fine.

Desperate for some fresh air, he left for a repeat interview with Bentley. It was a good thing he enjoyed the walk over, though, because the man had an appointment out of town for the day. The problem with wanting to surprise someone was that sometimes it backfired and proved to be a waste of time. Still, he couldn’t deny that the same man dating two murder victims was statistically improbable. Given the additional incidences with Parker’s sister and Ms. Peaks, follow-up was essential.

Elijah spoke to Bentley’s assistant and arranged for an appointment at nine a.m. the next day before heading back to the precinct. A visual person, he sat and stared at their white board for a long time. Pictures of the two victims were posted, along with the scant evidence they had accumulated thus far. Off to the side was a picture of Pamela Clayton and just the word Sanchez. He still had no idea if the cases were connected because of the difference in weapons. The timing made him suspicious. He would proceed as if they knew of a connection. It was the safest choice for everyone concerned.

Assailants tended to use knives when they wanted to get up close and personal. The average person didn’t realize that knives were more dangerous than guns within a twelve-foot radius. Most people would be unable to carry out an accurate pistol shot that close up. There was simply not enough room to react and aim properly. But knives could kill you with one nasty swipe at that range.

Pamela Clayton fit the killer’s type. She was an attractive, professional woman at the top of her field. Yes, she had fought him which had clearly caught him off guard, but without Sanchez’s intervention she likely would have been killed.

It made sense to use a knife in those circumstances. It involved a lower noise level so the attacker could get in and out quickly with less chance of detection. That was the theory, anyway. He’d likely chosen the location because of the four exit doors he could access. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that all three crimes involved the same culprit. Was it possible they could learn more from the women who’d survived rather than the scant evidence the deceased victims left behind?

After a few mouthfuls of coffee, he picked up his phone and called Sanchez. She answered after the first ring. “Hey, I was just going to call you.”

“I have ESP,” he teased. “You find anything interesting?”

“Yeah. Believe it or not, Clayton would give me a run for my money in the men department. Before Ray, I mean.”

“That’s really saying something.”

“I know.” She laughed. “She dated seven different guys just this month. Nothing wrong with it, of course. I’m actually kind of impressed. Anyway, haven’t found much about any of them that raises any flags.” A rustle of paper sounded over the line. “Now, Bentley’s a little more interesting.”

“In what way?”

“He makes a lot of money, right? He’s a real hotshot. Nets a couple of million a year.”

“The office space in that building doesn’t come cheap, so I figured as much.”

“Yeah, but I think he’s spending more than he’s making. I got a friend in the stock exchange who knows every damn body with big bucks. Just for giggles, I floated his name past him. When he said he knew him casually, I asked for an impression.” Papers rattled again. “He said, and I’m quoting here, ‘He’s a bloodsucker and a fraud.’ Apparently, his rich daddy paid for his firm’s startup, his snazzy apartment, even his sportscar. He’s a decent lawyer, but spending money is his favorite pastime, not practicing law.”

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t make him a killer.”

“True, but it makes you wonder what else he’s hiding. Did you have your second interview with him yet?”

He told her about the delay. Switching the subject, he asked, “Did you remember anything else about your attack?”

“No. I wish I could. I’d love to nail that sonofabitch.”

“You and me both. Thanks for the information. You still feeling okay?”

“Yeah, bored and itchy. Same old, same old.”

“All right. Say hi to Ray. We’ll talk soon.”

“Bye.”

He thought long and hard about Jarvis Bentley and then forced himself back into the trenches.

****

The killer paced around his apartment, restless. He finally grabbed his favorite file and sat at his dining room table. Entrusting this information to a device would be foolhardy. Cellphones and computers could be easily hacked, and that was an unnecessary risk.

Opening the red manilla folder, blood red for inspiration, he spread the newspaper clippings, photos, and snippets of information out. The collection almost covered the tabletop. Two uppity women down and so many more to follow. Their traitorous faces smiled up at him.

They wouldn’t be smiling for long.

The first bitch had been a restaurateur, the second a fashion designer. The potential targets left were a veritable smorgasbord of potential victims including a surgeon, a professor, even a judge. The latter made him laugh. Wouldn’t it be fun if he killed someone he’d testified in front of? That might make the victory especially sweet.

They looked past him, these women, as if he was nothing but a smudge of dirt on their high-heeled shoes. Not just past him, but through him, as if he couldn’t possibly prove worthy of their precious time. Sucking in a breath, he calmed himself. They were going to get their comeuppance. He just had to stay in control and plan everything out down to the last detail. Making mistakes could be fatal.

As much as he loved the idea of wielding his knife to get up close and personal, it hadn’t worked as efficiently as he’d hoped. Using a gun had proven to be cleaner and easier; monthly practice made him an excellent shot.

Adding rape to the scenario would just have to stay in his fantasies.

For now.