Читать книгу Brody Law - Carol Ericson - Страница 18

Chapter Ten

“Why is he doing this?” Elise sat on a table strewn with colorful wooden blocks, one leg crossed over the other, kicking back and forth.

“For fun. For attention. He’s a sick SOB. The rules don’t apply to him.”

Sean paced in front of her. The Oakland P.D. had already been out to question the boy and get a description, which had been useless—a white man with a baseball cap and sunglasses is all Eli could give them. Oh, yeah, and the stranger had a badge.

That last bit of information had punched him in the gut—not as if any Tom, Dick or Harry couldn’t get a fake badge to fool a kid.

The teachers on playground duty hadn’t been much more helpful than Eli. Mrs. McKinney had seen him from a distance. The stranger must’ve seen her barreling toward him because before she’d made it halfway across the field, he’d hightailed it out of there. He’d completed his business anyway. He’d given Eli the note to give to Elise.

Why was he harassing Elise? It wasn’t good enough for him to taunt the lead detective on the case?

“How did he know where I taught? Do you think the kids are safe?”

Sean stopped pacing and flicked the leaf of a plant growing in the well of an egg carton. “He had your purse, your wallet, your phone. He probably figured out the name of your school from something in your purse.”

“My paycheck stub.” She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I had picked it up from the mailbox that night and crammed it into my bag.”

“That made it easy for him.”

“And the kids?” She hopped from the table and took up the pacing where he’d left off. “Do you think he’ll do anything to the kids? I couldn’t stand it if something happened to any one of them.”

She covered her face with her hands and choked out a sob.

Despite his better judgment, he readied himself to go to her, to comfort her, but she looked up at him with dry eyes and a tight mouth.

“If he so much as touches one of these kids, I’ll take care of him myself. I still have my .22 at home.”

Her ferocity called to him even more than her pain. On his way to her side, he tripped over one of the little plastic chairs, which tipped over and bounced once before he caught it.

He righted it and then put an arm around Elise’s rigid shoulders. “He’s not interested in those kids, but the Oakland P.D. is going to have a patrol car here during school hours for the rest of the week. Doesn’t hurt that one of the officer’s wives works here.”

“Viola Crouch. She teaches kinder with me. She’s the one who told me what ‘187’ meant.” She shivered beneath his arm. “If he knows that and has a badge, maybe he’s a cop.”

Sean dropped his arm and turned away. “A lot of people know that 187 is the penal code for homicide, especially if they follow crimes, and anyone can pick up a fake badge.”

“I’m sorry.” She touched his back. “I didn’t mean to insult you or your profession, but it does happen, doesn’t it? I read somewhere that a few arsonists actually become firefighters or arson investigators.”

“It happens.” What was happening to his cool, calm demeanor? He’d always prided himself on his poker face, and now he was allowing all kinds of emotions to spill over for this woman to read. Or could she just see through his barriers easily?

“I suppose there won’t be any fingerprints on the note or the gate since Eli said the man was wearing gloves, not to mention Eli handled the note and Viola and I touched it, as well.”

“He’s arrogant, but he’s not stupid. He’s not going to get caught over a set of fingerprints. The Oakland cops looked anyway and they’ll let us know.”

“What do you think those numbers mean, other than the 187?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll find out. These guys aren’t as clever as they think they are.” Sean traced his fingers along the edges of the blocks. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you get out of here?”

“Three more days.” She strolled to the whiteboard and erased the number four, grabbed a red marker and wrote three in its place. Then she changed the date in the upper-right corner of the board for tomorrow.

Sean focused on the date and approached the whiteboard, his muscles tense. “It’s June twelfth tomorrow.”

“Our last day is the...” She dropped the marker and spun around. “It’s six, twelve tomorrow.”

“One plus one equals 187, and six plus twelve equals 187.”

“He’s going to kill again tomorrow. One plus one?”

“Maybe he’s going to kill more than one person.”

Elise put her hands over her eyes as if she could block out the truth. “Why is he telling me? I don’t want to know this.”

This time he did take her in his arms—hard. He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her body. She stiffened for a second. He knew she wanted to stand on her own, but then she melted against him, her arms curling around his waist.

The trembling of her body subsided, and Sean stroked her silky hair.

Sighing, she tipped back her head. “I guess I am involved in your work, whether you like it or not. He’s sending messages to both of us now.”

“I definitely don’t like it, but this does have a weird silver lining.”

Her eyes widened, and he felt her heart pick up speed.

Did she think he was going to admit having her in his arms was the silver lining? Not even that could make it okay that she’d become the obsession of some serial killer.

“Since he’s communicating with you, he’s not going to want to hurt you. For whatever reason, he wants to brag to you, keep you in his sick loop. For now, that’s keeping you safe.”

She dropped her head in a sharp nod and pulled away from him. “I guess that’s something.”

He’d disappointed her, and he immediately wanted to make it up to her. “I’m going to follow you back to your friend’s place.”

“That’s not necessary.” She hoisted her school bag over one shoulder and her purse over the other. “Didn’t you just say I was safe as long as he was still communicating with me?”

“Safe is a relative term. What are your plans for dinner?” He flicked off the lights of her classroom and stepped into the hallway as she pulled the door shut and locked it.

“Food.” She spun away from her classroom door, and her low heels clicked on the floor as Sean tried to keep up with her.

She unlocked her car door and he stepped in front of her to open it for her. “Is Courtney going to be home?”

“I’m not sure.” She opened the back door of her car and tossed her bag inside. “She sometimes sees clients late so they can come in after work.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He didn’t want to leave her on her own. “I’ll be right on your tail just to make sure you get back to her place safely.”

Elise wheeled out of the parking lot and Sean followed her through the rough neighborhood. It didn’t surprise him that she taught the kids in this area, and they needed a teacher like Elise—strong and fearless and willing to go up against a killer for them.

He tailed her across the Bay Bridge, and that other bridge invaded his thoughts. Why had this killer chosen to dump his victim in view of the Golden Gate? Was it a nod to those other murders so many years ago? The murders that impacted his life, formed him, shaped him?

He rubbed his knuckles across his tattoo—a Phoenix that symbolized his rise from the ashes of his early life. A life that threatened to stake its claim over him with these recent murders.

Twenty minutes later, he turned onto Courtney’s street and watched Elise’s taillights disappear into the underground parking garage. He pulled to the curb and exited his vehicle. He waited by the building’s entrance until Elise peeked out the window, cupping her hand around her face. The electronic lock clicked and he pulled open the door.

“That’s not a bad commute for you to your own place, either.”

“It’s a lot better when I leave school at my regular time. You know, the days I’m not involved in a police investigation.”

He jerked his thumb toward the garage. “Is Courtney home yet?”

“No.”

“Do you want to share some dinner with me?”

“Dinner?” She folded her arms across her chest and gripped the straps of her bags.

“My stomach was growling all the way over, so I ordered some Italian to be delivered here.” He spread his hands. “It would be a lot better if I could eat my dinner here and share it with you instead of hauling it home to eat by myself.”

She hunched her shoulders. “Is that allowed? Are you still working?”

“I thought I told you. I have the day off today. Can’t you tell?” He plucked at his T-shirt. “I think I’m allowed to eat where I want on my day off.”

A small red car squealed to a stop at the curb.

“I think that’s your dinner now.” She pointed out the door as the driver climbed out of his car and popped his trunk.

“Our dinner. A little ravioli, eggplant parmigiana, chopped salad, garlic bread.”

“Is there enough for two?”

“I ordered for two. Even if I didn’t, you don’t look like you could make much of a dent in a pile of ravioli.”

She snorted. “You’d be surprised.” She stepped around him and pushed the door wide, gesturing to the driver. “Get that food up here.”

The kid stumbled, his eyes darting from Sean to Elise.

Sean laughed. “It’s okay. She’s harmless, just hungry.”

The delivery boy thrust the box, piled with white paper bags, toward Sean.

Sean dug into his pocket for some bills and paid the kid. “Lead the way.”

By the time they got to Courtney’s door, the smell of garlic filled the hallway.

Elise stepped into the condo and pulled him in after her. “Quick, before Courtney’s neighbors riot. They’re a snooty bunch.”

He placed the bags on the granite countertop of the kitchen’s center island. “Restroom?”

She pointed to a door across from the staircase.

By the time he returned, she’d pulled plates, bowls and silverware from the cupboards and drawers.

He lifted the foil tins from the bags and removed their covers. Steam rose from the dishes, and Sean’s mouth watered.

Elise scooped up the salad and dropped it into the two bowls with her head tilted to one side. “You actually laughed down there.”

He tore a piece of garlic bread from the loaf and bit into it, a warm trickle of butter running down his chin. He blotted his face with a napkin while he chewed. “I do occasionally laugh. I am human.”

And despite the circumstances, he felt more human than he had in a long time. Despite the death all around him, more alive.

“Well, I like it.” She popped the lid off a plastic container full of salad dressing and held it above one of the salad bowls. “Do you want me to do the honors, or do you prefer to put your own dressing on?”

“Dump it on there.” He pulled another piece of bread from the loaf and held it to her lips. “You gotta try this.”

She ducked her head and sank her teeth into the spongy part of the bread, soaked with garlic butter, which dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she murmured, “Mmm.”

“You have—” he dabbed the corner of a napkin on her luscious lips “—a little bit of butter right there.”

“Charming. That’s almost as bad as having spinach between your teeth.”

“Blame it on the bread.” He picked up the salad bowls and walked to a round table next to the sliding glass doors that led to a balcony that overlooked the city.

Elise followed him with the pasta and bread. “Do you want something to drink? I’m sure Courtney has some wine around here.”

“Just water.”

“Oh, are you not allowed to drink even a little when you’re driving?”

He reached for the silverware and arranged it on the two placemats. “As long as I’m not working it’s okay, just like anyone if I stay under the legal limit. But I usually never drink and drive. I’m fine with water. Don’t let me stop you.”

“I told you the other night I’m not much of a drinker.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s a good thing, too, because I may not have regained consciousness so fast in that trunk.”

It always came back to that. The laughter, the food, the sexual tension between them—none of it mattered, none of it would’ve been possible if some maniac hadn’t stuffed Elise in the trunk of his car.

But Sean would do his best to make it normal, and for the remainder of the meal he tried to do just that.

He held up a spoon full of pasta. “More ravioli?”

Elise pushed her chair away from the table and patted her flat tummy. “I’m stuffed. I had pasta for dinner last night and for lunch today, too. With all that carb loading, I could probably run a marathon tomorrow.”

“Sorry, I could’ve ordered Chinese.”

“Had it for lunch yesterday.”

“Greek?” He lifted one eyebrow.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had Greek food.” She dabbed at a crumb of bread with her fingertip and sucked it into her mouth.

“We’ll have to remedy that sometime. There’s a great little place in North Beach, right smack in the middle of all the Italian places.” The words came out automatically as if this were a regular date with a regular woman.

There was nothing regular about this date—or Elise Duran.

She stood up abruptly and grabbed the rim of her plate with both hands. “Are you still eating, or can I take your plate?”

He handed her the plate. “You can take it, but I’ll do the cleanup since I sort of invited myself over.”

“We’ll both do it. I’ll wrap up the food. If you can rinse the dishes, I’ll stick them in the dishwasher.”

“Deal.” He gathered the silverware and glasses and followed her to the kitchen. He ran the warm water and swiped a dish sponge across the streaks of tomato sauce and bits of cheese stuck to the plates.

Elise replaced the lids on the food containers and glanced over her shoulder. “You’re pretty good at that for a single guy, or maybe that’s why you are so good at it since you have to fend for yourself in the kitchen.”

“Believe me, I got a lot of practice growing up.”

“Ah, was your mom one of those liberated women who believed in teaching her sons how to do housework? Sounds like my kinda woman.”

He ducked his head to scrub at a stubborn piece of cheese. “My mom was...ill. My brothers and I did most of the work around the house.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That must’ve been tough on your dad, too.”

Why the hell had he brought up his childhood? A voice in the back of his head chided. You’re the one who wanted this to be a regular date.

“My dad...”

“Who opened an Italian eatery in my place and forgot to tell me?”

Courtney burst through the front door to save the day.

She waved a hand in front of her nose. “I can smell that garlic all the way down the hallway. The homeowners’ association is going to bring it up in their next meeting and give me a lecture.”

She dropped a laptop case and a leather briefcase in the corner of the room and spun around. “Oh, hello.”

Sean lifted a soapy hand. “Hope you don’t mind me barging in.”

Courtney’s dark eyes darted from his face to Elise’s. “Nope. How was your day, Elise? Those little monsters still running you ragged?”

“My kids are not little monsters. How about you? Busy day?”

“I saw a new client today. Those first sessions are always a little rough.” Courtney checked her phone and then connected it to her charger on the counter.

“Do you want some food before I finish wrapping it up?” Elise held up one of the containers.

“That’s okay.” Courtney pointed to her bags. “I picked up a sandwich in my building before I left, but I will have a glass of wine while you tell me what happened today that a cop has to follow you home and eat dinner with you.”

Elise sighed and stood on her tiptoes to reach for a bottle of wine in the cupboard. “If you insist.”

She opened the bottle and splashed a quantity of the ruby liquid in the glass. When she carried it to her friend, Sean joined them at the table.

Courtney sipped her wine as Elise told her what had happened at her school.

When she finished, Courtney threw back the rest of her wine and held out her glass for a refill. “That’s creepy, Elise. How did he know where you taught?”

Elise reached behind her for the bottle. “I had a pay stub in my purse. He probably got it from there. He may have even seen something on my phone. Heck, maybe he even did a search for me on the internet. It’s not like he doesn’t already know my name and address.”

Courtney turned to Sean. “What do those numbers mean?”

He slumped in the chair and stretched his legs in front of him. “The penal code for murder is 187. We figured the one plus one means two murders or two people. The six and twelve might mean tomorrow’s date.”

Courtney had covered her mouth with her hand, and it slid to her throat. “What about the other numbers?”

“Don’t know yet. I sent the note to the station, and one of the detectives is working on deciphering it.”

“Do you think there’s going to be another murder tomorrow?”

“If so, I hope the other numbers tell us where.”

“Who, what, when, where and how.” Elise took a sip of Courtney’s wine and puckered her lips. “Is that obnoxious journalist still bothering you?”

“What are you implying? Do you think he’s involved somehow?”

“Seems awfully anxious to get some big scoop.”

“That’s his job. It doesn’t mean he’s a killer.”

Courtney snapped her fingers. “I know that guy. Ray Lopez, right? I’ve seen him on the local news. He’s a big mouth, but he’s entertaining in a tabloid kinda way.”

“Yeah, that’s him. You’ve seen him do other stories?” Elise asked.

“He has that half-hour show after the news. I heard his promo today, and he’s going to feature Katie Duncan’s murder.”

“Great.” Sean rolled his eyes. He just hoped none of the officers had talked to Lopez and revealed any of the details they wanted to keep hidden from the public—like the severed finger.

“In fact—” Courtney rose from the table and stepped down into the living room, where she swept the remote from the coffee table “—I think he’s on right now.”

A commercial blared from the TV and Courtney tossed the remote on the couch. “I’m going to soak in the tub and scrub off my clients’ troubles. I’m sure I’ll see you later, Detective Brody.”

“Sean, and sorry again for intruding on your space.”

She waved a manicured hand. “Any...friend of Elise’s is welcome as long as she’s staying here.”

Sean turned back to the TV just as Lopez’s program began. As Courtney promised, Lopez jumped right into Katie Duncan’s murder and connected it to Elise’s escape the night before, although he didn’t mention Elise’s name on the air.

Lopez stared into the camera. “The autopsy report on Katie isn’t finished yet, but preliminary reports suggest she received a blow to the head before she was sliced.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” Elise crossed her arms and perched on the arm of the couch.

“Didn’t think I had to. We knew her murder was connected to your assailant.”

The next shot featured Lopez stationed in front of the Speakeasy, and Elise’s grip on her upper arms tightened.

“In the attack in front of this club, the killer pretended to be injured with a cast on his arm, and then used the plaster cast to viciously hit the victim over the head. This incapacitated her, and he was able to stuff her into the trunk of his vehicle.”

Lopez went on to describe the vehicle and show Elise’s composite sketch.

“We can turn this off.” Sean reached for the remote, but Elise snatched it up first.

“Wait. I want to watch the rest.”

As the half-hour show drew to a close, Lopez was back in the studio. “The interesting thing about these murders is that this city has seen something like this before.”

Sean’s eye twitched and he tightened his jaw. He wanted to punch his fist through the TV as Lopez continued blabbing.

“Almost twenty years ago, another serial killer in the city used the same M.O. He feigned an injury to lure in his victims, knocked them out and then cut them to ribbons.”

Elise murmured something that Sean couldn’t hear over the pounding in his head.

“That serial killer murdered five women but was never caught. And the strangest thing about that old case and this new one?” He paused for dramatic effect. “The killer twenty years ago was communicating with SFPD Homicide Detective Joseph Brody, and the current killer is communicating with Brody’s son, SFPD Homicide Detective Sean Brody.”

Elise gasped. “Sean?”

And then there it was. A picture of a young officer with dark hair and brooding eyes.

Not satisfied, Lopez continued in his awed voice. “The story gets even more bizarre. Detective Joseph Brody was actually suspected of being the murderer, and the killings stopped after Brody threw himself from the Golden Gate Bridge.”