All I Want For Christmas Page 6
That might all be true, but Gabriel Hornsby’s last record was from today, so it didn’t quite fit into Jack’s conception of “old.” Jack managed an understanding façade, playing the game in expert fashion, pretending mild interest while digging for information. “A fight with your girlfriend, huh. Women. If it didn’t take two to tango, I’d give them up myself.”
“I’d prefer not to give this one up.”
“When it’s someone special, it makes it tough, all right. Was this a relationship-killer fight you had or just one of those kiss-and-make-up-later affairs?”
“Hopefully the latter.”
“Yeah. Send her some flowers. That usually works.” Jack made small talk while he flipped through the pages of Carolina Taylor’s folder. Married to Gregory Taylor. The Gregory Taylor, CEO of Taylor Industries, wealthy workaholic, never home. Jack scanned the latest entries in her file.
Evidently Carolina had developed other interests to entertain her in her husband’s absence. Young men, several of them, one a particular problem. He was Gregory’s younger brother. The last entry was dated December 15.
“Dr. McKnight would be extremely upset if she knew you’d read that file.”
“Would she? Why don’t you call and tell her we’re here? We’ll see how upset she is.”
Bobby made no move toward the phone. Jack was not surprised. His story about working here was obviously true, but he wasn’t too eager to let the dragon lady know he was spending his evenings perusing files that read like the soaps and starred the faces from the Times-Picayune society pages.
Bobby picked up Carolina Taylor’s file as soon as Jack put it down. He carried it to the open cabinet and slid it into place. “There’s no reason to wake Dr. McKnight tonight, or even to mention any of this as far as I can see. You’re doing your job, and I’m doing mine. And she has enough on her mind. Hopefully someone finds that lunatic who’s tormenting her before he kills again.”
“Did she tell you about that?”
“Yes. Does that surprise you?”
Actually it did, but Jack wasn’t sure why, except that he’d asked her to keep a lid on this. One leak and the media would spread the news of a possible serial killer like mayonnaise on an oyster po’boy, and the perp would probably stop forecasting his intentions.
And that would be a major disaster. Without the link between the killer and Susan McKnight, it might be impossible to stop the murders.
“Do you have any decent leads, officer?”
“Information about the murder is confidential, Chambers, just like the doctor’s files.”
“Dr. McKnight trusts me implicitly. She warned me to be on the lookout for anyone snooping around the office. At the time, I had no idea she meant the police.”
“No, but since we’re both here and since you’re already in on privileged information, why don’t we have a talk?”
“It would be a waste of time. I haven’t any idea who would do such a thing. I mean I hardly know Dr. McKnight’s patients, but I can’t imagine any of them taking a life, unless it was their own.”
“Well, let’s just chat anyway, seeing as how neither one of us is in a hurry to go home alone.”
Bobby took a seat in a chair opposite Susan’s desk. Jack took the doctor’s place of honor. He grilled the secretary for over an hour and got exactly nowhere. No unusually irate patients that he’d noticed, no one calling or coming by on suspicious business, at least nothing Chambers chose to mention.
And Jack had no reason to suspect Chambers himself of anything more than unprofessional curiosity. He’d stopped to read a couple of patient histories before he filed them away. Probably no more than a thousand secretaries in the New Orleans area did every day.
Jack let Chambers leave. A couple of hours and dozens of files later, he left himself. The rain had stopped but water dripped from the branches of the oaks, the light drops rolling from Jack’s hair and into his eyes. He dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief from his back pocket.
The handkerchief smelled of peppermint, leftover fragrance from wiping Timmy’s sticky hands when he’d finished the candy cane Jack had given him.
His mind drifted back to the afternoon at the park. Timmy and Rebecca were great kids, but the doctor had a hard time relaxing enough to enjoy them. If the woman didn’t let up, she’d drive herself and them nuts.
Rebecca had hit the nail on the head the first night he’d met her. Dr. McKnight needed a husband. In fact, he’d never seen a woman who needed a man more.
Someone to relieve her of a little of the responsibility that weighed so heavily on her shoulders. Someone to teach her that life was to be lived, not analyzed. Someone to make love to her, to bring that luscious body to life and have her moaning with delight.
His body responded to the thought, coming alive when it should be gearing down for the night. Gritting his teeth, he climbed into his car and gunned the engine. No way would he let himself even think of getting personally involved with Susan McKnight. The woman would chew him up and spit him out like so much grit.
A twist of a knob and the car radio filled the air with a jazzed-up rendition of “Jingle Bells.” Jack sang along, letting loose with his strong baritone voice and adding a few drumbeats of his own, his large hand slapping the steering wheel. It didn’t help. The image of Dr. Susan McKnight moaning in pleasure did not abate.
“Ho, ho, ho,” he grumbled as the song faded to a commercial. The dragon lady and Santa Claus. Not a chance. Not even Disney could create a fantasy that would pair those two and make it believable. He’d be sure to keep that in mind when he showed up at the doctor’s apartment in the morning.
Saturday, December 18
4:00 a.m.
SUSAN ROLLED OVER and kicked the covers to the foot of her bed. She’d slept soundly through the early part of the night, before a nightmare had cracked through the barriers of her consciousness. Now she was wide-awake, her mind rocking with frightening scenarios and a million terrifying questions.
Why had the killer chosen her to be his intermediary? Did he want to be caught and stopped, or did he merely want to torment her with his madness? Or was he mad at all? Could this be a calculating murderer, who craved notoriety for his deeds?
Kicking her legs over the side of the bed, Susan scooted her feet into a pair of terry slippers and pulled on a yellow kimono, a gift from one of her patients who’d recently traveled to Asia. Another man Detective Jack Carter might consider a suspect.
He had come to Susan at a point in his life when suicide had seemed the only option. She’d helped him through the worst of his depression. In the process, he’d fancied himself in love with her, a natural and frequently occurring part of the therapeutic process. Now he was emotionally healthy and engaged to be married.
Susan placed the teakettle on a stove burner. No matter that it was four in the morning. Sleep was over for the night, and she might as well go back to work on the list of possibilities she’d promised to have for Jack by 10:00 a.m.
She’d just poured a cup of tea and buttered a slice of toast when the doorbell rang. Her breath caught in her throat. Who could possibly be at her door at this time of the morning? She grabbed the phone, and started to dial 911.
But it was probably just a prankster, a late-night reveler walking home through the Quarter. But her mind didn’t rest easy. If the bell rang again, she’d call the police.
The house was quiet, dark except for the kitchen, and her heart was pounding in her chest. It was the first time she could remember being this afraid in her own home. But Timmy and Rebecca were asleep in their rooms She had them to think of now. And the man who’d left the note in her office, who’d murdered Maggie Henderson, could be standing at her door.
She waited for what seemed an eternity. The bell didn’t ring again, and there were no sounds coming from the porch. She tiptoed through the dark foyer and peered out into the night. Her stoop was well-lighted. No lurking shadows, no hidden corners. There was no one there.
No one now, but someone had been there a minute ago. Fear balled in her stomach and tasted metallic on her tongue. You will be begging for mercy before Christmas. The words ran through her mind over and over.
Finally, she turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The corner of an envelope stuck out from under her mat. She reached out and grabbed it and then slammed and locked the door. Fingers shaking, she pulled the note from the envelope as she walked back toward the lighted kitchen. And once more she read a message from a madman.
Dr. McKnight,
It’s time for another Christmas surprise, something special I dreamed up for you. Strangling Maggie Henderson was such a delight that I’ve already chosen my next victim. She’s a young woman who doesn’t value relationships the way you do. Such a pity.
Happy Holidays
Susan read the note again as terror pummeled her insides. She wanted to cry, to beat her fists against the wall, to strike out at something, anything.
She didn’t. As always, she bit back her tears and forced her emotions into submission. Steady and calm, a woman in control, she walked into the bedroom and fished Jack Carter’s pager number from her handbag.
JACK SKIDDED TO A STOP at the corner of Decatur and St. Ann. It was 4:30 a.m., and the streets were quiet, though not deserted. People still strolled in front of Jackson Square and sipped café au lait at the Café Du Monde. He turned left on Ursulines, heading away from the Mississippi River and toward Susan’s apartment.
He was running on less than four hours’ sleep, but his heart was pumping ninety to nothing. He couldn’t miss the anxiety in Susan’s voice. Her attempt at control had lacked conviction. Not that he blamed her. He dealt with homicide cases every day, but this one was scaring the hell out of him.
Now note number two had been delivered. The man calling the shots had obviously toppled well over the edge. In this state he’d make mistakes. With a little time they could catch him. But for someone who didn’t value relationships, time was running out.
And if Jack didn’t stop the killer soon, time was also running out for Susan McKnight. He didn’t need a note to tell him that. This man was seriously bound to Susan McKnight, even if only in his twisted mind. And he was bent on destruction.
Jack pulled up in front of Susan’s apartment, jumped from the car and hurried up the walk. The second note had brought a new urgency to everything. The serialkiller task force had been alerted. They would be working hand in hand with Jack.
Now the Chief couldn’t balk at the protection Jack had already ordered for Susan McKnight and the children. A police officer would be watching her house within the hour. The on-duty cop would know immediately if someone dropped off another note, and he’d be able to answer a call for help within seconds.
Best of all, this second note would surely convince Susan that she had to be more cooperative. Her charts on their own meant little to Jack. It was her expertise in reading them he needed.
She knew her patients and she had an extensive background of both academic research and practical work with psychopaths. Not to mention that she’d grown up with Dr. Kelsey McKnight, the acclaimed expert in the field.
She should be able to give him some solid leads about which patients to concentrate on. First she’d have to loosen her tight ideas about confidentiality though. He understood her position, or at least he was trying to. But frankly, he couldn’t care less what skeletons rattled amidst the furs and Armani suits in Uptown’s fancy closets.
His job was catching the bad guys, and if a few secrets escaped or a few toes got stepped on in the process, so be it.
Bruised toes healed. Dead bodies didn’t.
He knocked softly on the door, avoiding the doorbell in the hope he wouldn’t wake Rebecca and Timmy. That was the one thing he and the dragon lady did agree on. Those kids had been through enough without getting dragged into this mess.
The door opened and he barreled in. One look at Susan’s expression and he was keenly aware of his early morning dishevelment. He hadn’t tucked in his shirt or taken the time to shave. Susan McKnight, on the other hand, who should have been a mass of fluttering nerves, looked great. No makeup, but her hair was brushed into place as neat as a pin. Her face was scrubbed fresh, her nose and lips shiny.
A sweat suit hung loosely from her body, but it didn’t hide the swell of her breasts or her tiny waist. And it wasn’t knotty and scuzzy like the ones he usually wore on Saturday mornings. This one was the color of butterscotch drops, and the fabric was soft and cuddly, the kind that tempted children and weak men to sink their fingers into it.
“Hello, Jack. Thanks for getting here so quickly.”
He tipped his baseball cap. “It’s my job. Besides, I’m as anxious as you to stop this guy. The Chief is, too. He’s moved this case to top priority.” Actually he hadn’t yet, but he would when Jack gave him all the facts.
“What does top priority mean in terms of handling the situation?”
“It means we don’t have to haggle over resources— manpower or bucks. But it still needs to be kept hushhush at this point. Not only would we panic half the town if the details leaked out, but it would make it a lot more difficult to catch the lunatic.”
“I haven’t breathed a word.”
“Haven’t you?”
She eyed him warily. “I’m sorry. I did tell one person, my secretary, Bobby Chambers. But he’s as dependable as you or I. I felt it necessary that he keep his eyes and ears open for anything suspicious.”
“I agree. You can’t be too careful. Now, don’t tell another soul, even one as dependable as you or I.” Jack tossed his cap to the sofa.
So she trusted Bobby implicitly. Would she if she knew he’d been in her office last night perusing the patient files? He’d have to tell her, of course, when the time was right, and that wasn’t now. She might become a little hostile when she found out he’d perused a few dozen of the thicker files himself last night, and at this moment he needed her to be totally cooperative.
“I made coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“I’d love one.” He followed her into the kitchen, and his gaze settled on the neatly stacked files and open notebook on the wooden table. “It looks like you’ve been hard at work.”
“I couldn’t sleep. I was in here going over files and making notes when…When the note was delivered.” Her voice shook.
Jack walked over and took the empty cup from her trembling fingers. “Don’t be embarrassed about being afraid of a man like this. You’d be crazy if you weren’t.”
“I’m not just afraid for me. I’m afraid for the next victim. And for Rebecca and Timmy. What’s to keep him from breaking into the house to leave his notes? What’s to keep him from getting to me through them?” Her hands clutched the edge of the counter.
Jack fought an unexpected urge to comfort her, to hold her against his broad chest, to whisper in her ear that it would be all right.
He held himself in check. Susan McKnight was not the kind of woman to cling to a man for support. One wrong move on his part, and she’d have him out the door and on the street before he could whistle “Jingle Bells”
He settled for pouring both of them cups of coffee and holding out a chair for her to sit in. “You and the children will have protection around the clock. And we will stop this man. He’s desperate—he’ll make a mistake. When he does, we’ll nab him.”
“How many women will have died by then?”
Jack took a long sip of the strong chicory-laden brew. Susan didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t have one. What he had was a lot of questions of his own. They also had to take care of details. He had to talk to her about the necessity of tapping her phones at work and at home, and arrange a time for her to look through mug shots to see if any of New Orleans’s known criminal element had been patients of hers.
Not bothering with niceties, he barged right into the nitty-gritty. “Who among your patients and friends doesn’t value relationships?”
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“The majority of my patients have problems with relationships.”
“I can believe that. So do the majority of cops. What we need is a way to narrow this down. The man who’s sending the notes obviously enjoys playing mind games,” he said, toying with ideas out loud. “He’s someone who prides himself on his intelligence. Which of your patients would that description fit?”
“Again, an overwhelming percentage of them. We have to have more to go on.”
“It would help if we knew why the killer chose Maggie Henderson.”
Susan pulled her chair closer to the table. “I don’t have any record of having dealt with anyone by that name. Maggie is a total mystery to me. What were you able to learn today about Gabriel Hornsby? Does he have an alibi?”
“We’re still working on that, going through the back door, so to speak. We have no grounds for questioning him at this point.”
“So you got no farther than I did?”
“We will. Now, why don’t we start with the names of patients who have quit coming to you lately because they didn’t like your methods?”
Jack bombarded her with questions. After they covered every angle of the latest note and the clue the killer had provided, Jack went over his plans for tapping Susan’s phones.
And just as Jack expected, every detail met with conflict. She welcomed having her home phone tapped, but her office was a different matter. They would have to install special equipment, which she would turn on only if she suspected the message might be valuable to the police.
She refused to tape her patients’ conversations without letting them know they were being recorded. And if she let her patients know what was going on, they might as well splash the full story of their killer across the front page of the Times-Picayune or put it on the six-o’clock news.
Besides, as she pointed out, the madman hadn’t called yet. His communications had all been written correspondence. By the time they were ready to switch gears and discuss mug shots, Jack felt as if he’d been in hand-to-hand combat with a heavyweight. But he had to admit he had a real appreciation for Susan’s courage and tenacity.