The Stranger You Seek (22 page)

“Charlie, I totally forgot. I’m so sorry. Did you wait long?”

“I waited for twenty minutes,” Charlie said. He closed the door behind him. I noticed his hair was beginning to thin at the crown. There was nothing in his cap for me.

“I’m really sorry. I have so much work piled up and everything has been just kind of nutty. I just forgot. We could go now if you want.”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Charlie said. I’d rarely seen him without his goofy smile. “I was worried. Were you with Mr. Man? Is he your boyfriend?”

“Rauser isn’t my boyfriend, Charlie. You know that. He’s my friend. Want something to drink?” Charlie nodded and followed me to the kitchen, where I found a Diet Pepsi for us both. “I would never stand you up on purpose. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he mumbled, and sat down.

“Maybe I could find us something to eat, huh?”

He shook his head.

I sat next to him and put my hand on his forearm. “You know, you’re my friend regardless of what’s going on with Rauser.”

“Okay,” he said, and laughed too loudly. “I’m sorry. I’m hungry now.”

I smiled. “You got it.”

I stood and Charlie stood too. He reached for me and I let him hug me. I hugged him back. It was no secret that Charlie had a crush on me from our very first meeting. I was in the parking lot when he rode up on his bike one day a couple of years ago. I found him absolutely charming then and now, and a little heartbreaking. Neil, Rauser, and Diane all teased me about Charlie’s infatuation. I didn’t mind.

I gave him a kiss on the cheek and turned away, but Charlie pulled me back into his arms and pressed his lips against mine. I couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d pulled a live lizard out of his ear. His hands were squeezing my arms.

I said firmly, “It’s not okay to kiss me like that, Charlie. Now let me go.”

“Because we’re just friends,” Charlie said. “Like you and Mr. Man.”

I started to twist free. One of his hands quickly moved to the back of my neck and grabbed a handful of hair. The other held my upper arm tightly. He pressed his mouth against mine again. He was strong, his teeth cutting into my lips, his hands digging into me.

He jerked hard on a fistful of my hair, forcing my face up to his. His
eyes behind his glasses were greenish brown and without any emotion at all. Nothing.

“I think I should fuck you the way Mr. Man fucks you,” he said, gripping my hair with his right arm and using his left to get his fly unzipped. I felt his erection pressing into my stomach. His slur was gone. His goofy smile had vanished. I’d never seen this Charlie Ramsey before. “Does he have a big cock?” he asked, and something inside me, something pressurized and unstable, went from a spark to a bonfire in a split second. I didn’t wait, didn’t take an extra breath before I slammed the top of my knee into his crotch. His reaction was predictable and instantaneous. He doubled over just as we’d been assured would happen in agent training, and when he did, I raised my knee again and rammed his forehead with as much force as I could muster. I had no reservations whatsoever about using what I’d learned. I didn’t like being handled, and Charlie no longer had the benefit of the doubt. His intentions had been made abundantly clear.

He staggered. When he raised his head, wheezing, the flat of my palm hammered into his nose and practically pushed it into his eyeballs. He tumbled backward. “I’m sorry,” he moaned. His hands covered his face and he was making gagging noises. “I keep forgetting to take my meds. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t tell Mr. Man.”

I stormed to my office and came back with my Glock, furious. “You ever touch me like that again, you won’t have to worry about Rauser. I have no problem at all using this. You got it? You take your meds, Charlie.”

Neil walked in and saw my face. His eyes dropped instantly to the gun in my hand, then to Charlie writhing in pain. Neil looked at me as if I’d just peed on the floor in church.

“Get him out of here, Neil. Rauser’s coming over. He’ll freak out.”

Neil bent over and looked at Charlie. He straightened, gathered up a bunch of tissues from a box on his desk, then stuffed them under Charlie’s nose. Charlie held them there pitifully.

“Jesus, Keye, what the hell?” Neil asked.

“I thought he was an intruder,” I said. Neil eyed me skeptically. “I’ll explain later. Just get him out.”

Charlie sat up holding the blood-soaked wad of tissues to his face and gagged some more.

“Jesus,” Neil said again.

I
t was an odd feeling cleaning Charlie’s blood off my floor. Sweet Charlie, the guy who brings me presents in a baseball cap. My goofy friend Charlie.

Neil helped scoop him up and agreed to drive him home, wherever home was. I felt a pang of guilt. I’d nearly broken the man’s nose and I didn’t even know where he lived. We all had the idea he was on some kind of assistance, but I’m not sure why. God, what would I do about Charlie now? He’d been my friend. He was part of our weird group. I had never ever had a moment’s pause about being alone with him. So this was Charlie off his meds? It was going to change everything between us. What had happened to his brain in that accident? Who was he before that truck ran him down in the street, before all the surgeries and the lost job and the lost family? I made a mental note to speak with Neil about getting ahold of Charlie’s medical records. Apparently, confidential files weren’t all that hard to come by. After all, mine had just been aired out in vivid detail on Channel 11. Suddenly I wanted to understand more about what had happened to Charlie. We all loved him in our own way. I wanted to believe it really was just his medication.

The door opened and Rauser walked in. “I gotta eat,” he announced. “And we need to talk. Look, Keye, I know you’re pissed off, but just so you know, I argued for you to stay on the case. This was not my choice. You gotta cut me some slack here.”

I was silent.

“Want to blow this joint and grab some Chinese food?” He grinned at me. “Ever hear of it?”

“We just call it food,” I said.

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “If that joke wasn’t so old and lame, I’d laugh,” he said, and laughed anyway. “How you feeling? Hell of a fucked-up week, huh?”

A shadow in the open door drew my attention. Jacob Dobbs was standing there. He looked like someone had pooped in his Cheerios.

“Oh joy. It’s the Prince of Darkness.” My blood pressure started a series of wind sprints. Let it go, I told myself. Hatred is unhealthy.

Rauser snickered, and Dobbs said, his eyes on me, “Professional and charming as ever, I see.”

“We were just on our way out,” Rauser replied coolly. I didn’t think Dobbs had done himself any good with Rauser when he’d arrived in town and put on a press conference before even discussing the murders with the department investigating them. I had hated seeing Dobbs on those steps too, the pompous bastard, but the press conference had been brilliant in design. Dobbs understood that giving that conference on the courthouse steps sent a message to the killer.
I know where you’re hunting now. I’m coming after you
. And it would make all kinds of subliminal connections with the families of the victims—safety, protection, authority.

Dobbs ignored Rauser. “Nice place,” he said of the old warehouse that had been converted into a modern loft. “If you like concrete. Really pulled yourself back up by the bootstraps, I see. Well, except for all the unfortunate media coverage.”

“What can I do for you, Jacob?” I’d pinched my face into a tight smile. I thought I might be developing a twitch.

“I’d have thought you’d be expecting me. I did say I’d like your notes and any other information that might be in your possession relevant to the Wishbone case.” He removed his suit coat and draped it tenderly over the back of Neil’s desk chair.

Rauser threw up his hands. “You got anything in your fridge? I’m starved.”

Dobbs followed Rauser to the kitchen. “Good idea, actually. I’m famished.” He rolled his shirtsleeves up while Rauser and I rummaged
through the refrigerator. “It’s this business of the letter being sent to you,” he continued. “I don’t like the idea of you being pulled back in.”

I bet you don’t
.

“And I’d like to know,” Dobbs went on with a wafer-thin smile, “why this offender attempted to communicate with you. Is it merely that you are accessible and involved in the investigation and therefore fair game? Or did you offer some encouragement? You must have felt … disregarded after you were fired.” He paused, then added, “Again.”

“Encouragement?”

“You’ve had no other communication with this murderer? No letters before this email you allegedly received from him?”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it.” My temper spiked. I slapped cheese and lettuce on bread, squeezed on mustard, and dropped it unceremoniously on a plate in front of Dobbs.

“He sent roses to the hospital,” Rauser added, and described the card.

“Florist?” Jacob asked.

Rauser nodded. “Florist found an envelope with written instructions and a cash payment when they opened yesterday morning. So they delivered the roses. We got the envelope, but it’s clean.”

Dobbs turned his attention back to me. “Roses too? An email, a tire adjustment, and now roses. Fascinating. Anything else you’d like to tell us? You wouldn’t actually obstruct, would you?”

“Now wait just a goddamn minute.” Rauser pulled a chair out and sat down across from Dobbs. “Keye’s not obstructing. She didn’t ask for this. She’s the victim here.”

Dobbs’s smile thinned even further.

I hit my palm against the tabletop. Dobbs’s sandwich jumped on the plate. Rauser looked at me as if I’d slapped him. “I am not a victim.”

“Well, well, look at that. Lovers’ quarrel?” Dobbs’s eyes had the happy sparkle of confrontation and they held me in a way that made me uncomfortable, had always made me uncomfortable. His eyes, his words, his stories, his hands. I’d spent a lot of time at the Bureau dodging them all.

Rauser was on his feet. “Just what are you trying to say, Dobbs?” His right fist was clenched.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I held up my hands. “Just calm down. Rauser,
sit
, please. Let’s just take a minute, okay?”

Rauser grabbed his sandwich off the counter and sank back into his chair, scowling.

I looked at Dobbs. “I would never intentionally engage in any communication with a suspect outside an investigation.
Never
. That would be improper, unethical, unprofessional, stupid, and extremely dangerous.” And then, in an effort to keep the peace, I told him I understood that he was
the
man on the case. In fact, he’d earned it, deserved it, he was just about the most deserving gosh-darn guy in the whole world. I stopped just short of slobbering all over him. Rauser groaned a little, stuffed some stale Pringles into his mouth. I went to the refrigerator, peeled the plastic wrap off a plate of brownies, and pushed them in front of Jacob Dobbs like a peace offering.

Dobbs eyed me skeptically for a moment before his sharp features softened. Then, palms together, chin rested lightly on his fingertips, something calculated to show depth of thought, the self-serving little bastard said, “Let’s lay our weapons down, then, shall we? What do you say?” He picked up a brownie, took a bite. “You’ll give me your notes and we can do some brainstorming?”

I knew his MO. Dobbs would grab the credit for anything I handed him, and, of course, I would have to give him anything and everything I could to benefit the case, Rauser, the victims, potential victims.

“Absolutely,” I agreed, and set another brownie on his plate next to his sandwich.

Rauser had a sour expression on his face and we ate in silence. Eventually, Dobbs finished his sandwich and four brownies, stood and politely excused himself to the restroom while I struggled to unravel Neil’s espresso machine.

Then the three of us, Rauser, Dobbs, and I, moved into the main area with coffee. Dobbs yawned and propped his feet on a cube.

“Anger excitation,” he said, and made one of those mysterious
hmmm
sounds that doctors and mechanics have mastered. He was reading aloud from the preliminary profile and victim assessments I’d finished in the hospital and then printed when I’d gotten home, as if he was grading a paper. I didn’t mind. If your work can’t withstand peer review, it shouldn’t be out there, and however selfish and lazy Dobbs was, he had once been one hell of a criminologist, someone I had admired, even trusted. I wondered when he had stopped needing to find the truth in a
case, any case and any truth. When had his fame become the most important consideration in his work? What had changed him?

“You don’t see it as retaliatory at all?” He looked up to ask me.

Rauser leaned forward. “Like, somebody hurt me so I’m taking it out on you ’cause you remind me of them?”

“Exactly,” Dobbs answered.

“We’re seeing a lot of stabbing. We’re seeing attacks that last an extended period,” I said. “That’s not simply retaliatory. It’s about needing to experience the victim’s suffering.”

Dobbs
hmmmed
again. “Perhaps sadistic behaviors are emerging at the scenes. But the amount of rage evidenced suggests that it’s personal. Given the link established between your victims, it makes sense that the killer came from a family involved in similar lawsuits at some level—plaintiff, defendant, mother or father or siblings somehow impacted by an unfavorable ruling, perhaps. Somehow this tore away at something in the offender’s life, directly or indirectly.” Dobbs looked at Rauser. “This will be one of the things you’ll look at in a suspect’s past. Once you actually have a suspect, of course. Along with the other things Dr. Street has already listed, such as mobility of profession, maturity, only child, donations to children’s orgs, et cetera.”

“First victim and the last two victims triggered some kind of emotional response in the offender,” I pointed out. “Anne Chambers, the first victim we know about, experienced far more brutality than all the others until LaBrecque, the last one. What was the trigger? We know it wasn’t about some civil lawsuit. LaBrecque had none in his past and neither did Anne Chambers. Then there’s David Brooks, who was shown care and respect, killed quickly and apparently silently and tucked into a sheet. I have some theories, but that’s all they are at this point.”