Читать книгу The Inquisitor - Gayle Wilson - Страница 11

“We’ve seen the tip of this iceberg in the questions that were thrown at Jenna. We should all be prepared to be asked about that same kind of information concerning serial killers, particularly this one. Background, psychological profile, predictions. We’ll be questioned by the media and by whomever we’re standing beside at the next Christmas party. And we damn well better be prepared to answer them.”

Although Paul hadn’t looked in her direction, the fact that he’d prefaced his admonition with a mention of her interview made Jenna feel that his comments had been directed at her. Responding that way was just what she’d thought yesterday—paranoid. She was simply the first to be ambushed. It could have happened to any one of them.

And would any of the others have come across as being sympathetic to a serial killer?

The fact that she’d gotten so little sleep last night wasn’t helping her put this into perspective. She shouldn’t be so worried about the opinion of one man. And as far as she knew, that was all Sean Murphy’s warning amounted to.

“Unless someone has something else…?” Paul waited, allowing the silence to build. “Okay, then, I guess it’s back to the salt mines. Have a good day. Or at least try to.”

People began to rise from the table, the casters on the heavy leather chairs moving silently over the thick carpet of the conference room. Several people began conversations with those seated around them. Not one of them met her eyes or tried to include her.

Although that isolation could certainly be attributed to a normal give-and-take among colleagues or even to her proximity to the head of the table where Paul was still standing, it felt to Jenna as if something else were going on. Some kind of censure, perhaps, for the way she’d handled herself?

She pretended to be occupied with gathering up her notes and putting them into her briefcase. When she finished, she bent to pick up her purse. She straightened to find Paul watching her.

“Sheila said you had a visitor yesterday.”

She shouldn’t be surprised that her secretary had told someone what had happened. And gossip traveled as quickly in this office as in any other. She should have anticipated that and talked to Paul about it herself. Since she hadn’t…

“Some kook with an ax to grind,” she said, trying to remember how much of the conversation Sheila might have heard.

Nothing more than Murphy’s opening salvo, she decided. That in itself had been revealing enough.

“Narrow the field,” Paul suggested. “What kind of kook?”

“He’d seen the interview I did and wanted to berate me for being sympathetic to the killer.”

“Is that all?”

She hesitated, wondering if she wanted to give more validity to the man’s warning by mentioning it. She waited until a couple of people had moved away from where she and Paul were standing before continuing. She didn’t want an audience.

Beth Goldberg, the member of the staff Jenna was closest to, had stopped behind Paul, her brows raised. She was obviously wondering what was going on, and knowing Beth, also wondering if she needed rescuing.

Jenna tilted her head toward the door. A gesture of dismissal that Beth immediately recognized.

When the rest of the staff had also eddied toward the exit, she turned back to meet Paul’s gaze. He had propped his hip on the edge of the conference table, obviously prepared to wait until she spilled her guts.

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. If she suddenly disappeared, she wanted someone to be looking for her.

And why in the world would you suddenly “disappear”? Stop buying into Murphy’s mind games.

“He claimed I was a match for the police profile of the victims.”

She realized that she’d managed to surprise Paul. The head of the practice was seldom at a loss for words, but the silence after her statement stretched for several seconds.

“I didn’t know they’d issued one.”

“Neither did I. Apparently, someone has. Maybe the FBI. Maybe it’s based on the murders he’s committed in other locations. I don’t think the police here are talking about it yet, but…” She took a breath, reluctant to put reality into words. “The pictures on TV this morning…” The images she’d worked so hard to dismiss last night were again in her head. “He could be right, Paul. They all had dark hair. And they were career women, not street people or prostitutes—”

“Stop it.” Paul took her elbow and shook it.

She hadn’t even realized she’d crossed her arms over her body. Or that her voice had risen as she’d repeated the things Sean Murphy had said to her yesterday.

“Just stop it,” Paul repeated, sliding his hand comfortingly up her arm until it rested on the top of her shoulder.

Despite the fact that the room was now deserted, he leaned nearer and lowered his voice. “First of all, we need to talk to the police. If there is anything to this profile business, we’ll deal with it. He could have been making that up, you know. You said he was a kook. Maybe he saw you on TV and decided to have some fun at your expense.”

“That’s not how I read him. I know that’s what I called him, but…” Unconsciously she shook her head. “He seemed serious. Deadly serious. He clearly didn’t like what I said in the interview, but I think his warning about the profile was genuine.”

That’s why it had bothered her so much. Whether the guy was right or not, he had believed what he said. And if he were as well informed as he appeared to be, then…

“I think I’d like to talk to the police,” she said, the words out almost before she realized she’d made the decision.

Paul nodded encouragingly, as if she were a patient who’d just made a breakthrough, before he released her shoulder and again took her arm. “Then let’s make the call and set it up.”

Jenna had told everything to the officer who’d taken her statement. What had happened in her office. That she believed Murphy had been waiting for her to leave the building last night. About his car pulling up beside her as she’d prepared to make her turn.

The policeman had barely seemed interested, making her decide halfway through that she’d wasted the afternoon. None of the murders had been committed in the jurisdiction of the small police department where her office was located. When he’d called, however, Paul had been told to send her there.

The three separate law enforcement agencies where the three bodies had been found were only taking calls that directly related to the murders. Whoever Paul had talked to obviously hadn’t believed that her call did, so she’d ended up telling her story to someone who didn’t seem to know any more about what was going on with the investigation than she did.

She’d attempted to remedy her own lack of knowledge as soon as she’d gotten home. Paul had insisted she have Sheila clear her schedule for the entire afternoon, so when she’d left the police station, she hadn’t returned to the office. Instead she’d picked up both the morning and evening newspapers and read every word they contained about the case.

Tonight’s had included a lot more information on the previous murders, as well as the FBI’s psychological profile of the killer. There was nothing in it she hadn’t already suspected. Maybe this wasn’t her field, but the fact that this guy had killed so often and still avoided detection gave plenty of clues as to the kind of person he was.

Exactly the kind Murphy had described. Smart. And in no hurry.

As for the victims…

The photos in the paper were grainy and too dark to distinguish details. Still, it was clear that the facts he’d laid out before her yesterday afternoon concerning the type of women the killer was attracted to were essentially correct. And if he was right about that—

It didn’t mean he was right about the murderer coming after her. To think that he would feel a compulsion to kill her because he’d seen her on television…

Talking about him. Dissecting him.

Jenna straightened, as if backing away from that double row of black-and-white pictures. When she did, she realized her back was stiff from the hours spent leaning over the coffee table where she’d spread out the newspapers.

With one hand pressed against her spine she reached down with the other and picked up the plate with her half-eaten sandwich. As she did, she glanced toward the front windows and saw that in her haste to read the news, she’d forgotten to close the blinds.

She must have reached over and turned on the lamp at the end of the couch at some point, but she hadn’t consciously realized it had gotten dark outside. She looked at her watch as she set the plate back on the coffee table and walked across to pull the cord. It was already after six.

Without thinking, she looked down at the next section of the complex, which stretched out across the mountain perhaps a hundred feet below her own. Her gaze had already traced across the cars parked behind those units, most of them familiar, when she noticed the black SUV in the row almost directly across from her apartment.

There were thousands of big, dark SUVs in this upscale neighborhood. She would swear that this one, however, had someone sitting in the driver’s seat. Someone—

She quickly stepped away from the window, hardly able to believe what she was thinking. Could Sean Murphy be sitting out there watching her apartment? Hoping she’d come out?

The policeman who had taken her story this afternoon had told her that if she had any more trouble with the man who’d come to her office she should call them. Paul had told her the same thing.

But what if it wasn’t him out there? What if she was seeing dangers where they didn’t exist?

She turned to look at the phone on the table at the end of the couch. And then her eyes flicked back to the newspapers still spread out over the coffee table.

Although the reporters had been careful about what details they’d released, there had been enough of them to leave no doubt the murdered women had suffered horrifically. Had one of them been suspicious and not called the cops because she didn’t want to make a fool of herself?

Jenna walked across the room and picked up the phone. She hesitated another second or two before she punched in 911.

As she waited through the rings, she looked back toward the window, but from this angle she couldn’t see the line of cars.

“Jefferson County 911,” a woman answered. “What’s your emergency?”

“I talked to the Mountain Brook Police today about a man who’s been harassing me. I think he’s outside my apartment.”

“He’s at your door, ma’am?”

“I think he’s parked across the parking lot.”

“You think? Can you see him?”

“I can see someone sitting in a car that looks like his.”

“And what’s he doing, ma’am?”

“He’s just sitting there. I think he’s watching my apartment.”

There was a long silence. Although the dispatcher’s voice had been expressionless, the questions themselves had become more telling.

“The officer I spoke to this afternoon told me to call if he bothered me again.” Jenna fought the urge to slam down the phone in the face of the almost palpable disbelief.

“Did you get a restraining order, ma’am?”

“Nobody suggested that. Do I need one?”

“Well, it would require him to stay so many feet away from you or your property. If you don’t have one, and if he isn’t bothering you…”

The dispatcher let the sentence trail, but it was obvious what the woman was suggesting. The police weren’t going to do anything. Not until Murphy did.

“You do know there’s a serial killer on the loose?” Jenna asked, no longer bothering to hide her own frustration.

“Yes, ma’am. Most of the officers in this area are working on some aspect of those murders.”

Again, although there had been only politeness in her voice, the dispatcher had made her point. Jenna could only commend whoever had trained her.

“Ma’am, if you really feel you’re in danger…” Again the dispatcher’s words were allowed to trail.

Did she? Did she believe Sean Murphy was the murderer the police were seeking? Did she believe he was out there in the parking lot because he intended to kill her?

“Thanks,” she said, pushing the off button with her thumb.

If she got the police out here, what were they going to do? Tell Murphy to move on? He wasn’t doing anything except sitting in his car. Even she was forced to acknowledge that.

Carrying the phone with her, she walked to the window again. This time she made no attempt to hide the fact that she was looking out it.

Nothing had changed during her conversation with the dispatcher. The SUV was parked in the same place, the security lights shining down on its top.

Her eyes focused on the interior. That’s when she realized she’d been wrong. Something had changed. There was no one in the car now.

She scanned the parking lot. Although the people who lived in this complex usually came and went throughout the evening, not a single soul was outside now. Even the curtains on the lighted units across the way were drawn, shielding their inhabitants from the night.

Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe one of them had been sitting in his car. Listening to the ending of a song. Or to one of the popular sports discussion shows. Finishing a conversation on their cell phone.

There were a dozen legitimate reasons for someone to be sitting in their car.

Jenna almost dropped the phone when it shrilled, vibrating in her hand. She lifted it, holding it out in front of her as she waited for the number to appear on the caller ID display.

It wasn’t one she recognized, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe someone from work who’d heard about what had happened was checking on her. Or maybe the dispatcher had decided to pass her call on to the police after all.

When the phone rang a second time, she punched the talk button, bringing the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

“Should I be expecting a visit from the cops?”

There was no doubt in her mind who was on the line. The same deep voice. The same nearly unidentifiable accent.

“Any minute now.”

“You don’t lie worth a damn, Dr. Kincaid. I would think that someone with your training would be much better at that.”

“I’m not lying.”

He laughed, sounding genuinely amused. That should probably have unnerved her as much as seeing him sitting outside her building had. It made her angry instead.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded.

“Absolutely nothing, I assure you. Not one thing.”

“Then why are you out there?”

“Out where?”

He wasn’t going to admit what they both knew. He had parked across from her apartment so he could watch her.

“I’m sorry you thought I was sympathetic to him.” If placating the man would put an end to this nonsense, Jenna was more than willing to do that. “Nothing could be further from the truth. He’s vicious and sadistic, and believe me, I want him caught as much as anybody in this town.”

“It’s good to hear we’re in agreement.”

“Look, I’ve said I’m sorry for the way I came across. I don’t know what else you want me to say—”

“I told you. I don’t want a thing from you, Dr. Kincaid.”

“Then why are you outside my apartment? Why did you wait for me to come out of the office last night? What kind of game are you playing?”

“I’m not your concern, Dr. Kincaid. Believe me, I don’t intend you any harm.”

“Then stop stalking me.”

“Legally, what I’m doing—”

“Don’t talk to me about ‘legally.’ You followed me. You’re outside my apartment. You’re calling me. If that isn’t stalking—” She stopped the tirade because she knew she was giving him what he wanted. Control. “Just go away and leave me the hell alone.”

The catch in her voice on the last word made her furious. The day she let this bastard make her cry—

“Did you read those papers, Dr. Kincaid?”

He must have been parked out there when she’d arrived this afternoon, the newspapers under her arm. She had been so focused on getting inside and devouring them that she’d never thought to check out the parking lot. Of course, that wasn’t part of her normal homecoming routine. It would be from now on.

“I read them,” she answered.

“Then you know what I told you yesterday is true.”

About how well she fit the profile? “I don’t think—”

“Good,” he interrupted. “Don’t think. Just close your blinds, lock your doors and stay inside.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that if I were a woman in this town who looked so much like the rest of them, that’s what I’d do. It’s what other women all over this town are doing right now. I’m suggesting you join them.”

Jenna tried to come up with a response, but she couldn’t find words to express how his advice made her feel. Angry, of course. Yet fearful, too. And furious with herself that with a few words he could make her feel that way.

“Leave me alone.” Her voice was soft, but she allowed the emotion she felt into her tone, something she rarely did.

“I know you won’t believe me, but that really would be your worst nightmare. You do exactly what I tell you, and I promise nothing is going to happen to you.”

Jenna opened her mouth to respond, but the click on the other end of the line told her it was too late. He’d had the last word, just as he’d intended.

Frozen in shock by what had just transpired, she realized she was standing with the phone still pressed against her ear and her mouth open. She closed it, swallowing her fury, and lowered the phone. She pushed the off button as she took a deep breath, trying to think.

She wasn’t going back through 911. And she for damn sure wasn’t going to talk to the Mountain Brook police again. She was going straight to the task force instead and demand that she be allowed to meet with one of the detectives working the case.

At the very least, Sean Murphy had some kind of fixation with the killer. And at the worst…

She’d get the restraining order the dispatcher had mentioned. Something that would keep him off the grounds of her apartment complex and away from her office as well.

Paul knew a lot of people in this town. He would help her figure out whom she should call. Then, if this bastard pulled this same stunt tomorrow night—

The police would deal with him, and she wouldn’t have to. Never again.

And right now, that’s really all she wanted.