Chapter Thirteen

 

I

 

What a day, Jane thought, frustrated at her desk. And what a night.

The latter proved much more pleasurable a thought than the former. All of a sudden it seemed that she had a boyfriend, or a lover-or something. Maybe to him it was just a one-night stand. That was the way of the world these days, especially in Florida. Everything was a fling. Everything was just about having a good time for the moment. Jane hoped that wasn't the case here, but she knew she was very vulnerable right now. Last night, their lovemaking had been so good, she felt guilty. She felt like she'd somehow cheated on Matt even in death. It had been the best sex of her life.

Don't get your hopes up, she told herself. Don't be naive. It would be easy to be naive in this situation.

She hadn't been with another man since the night of Matt's murder. She'd thought about it sometimes, and she thought about what it might be like to date somebody-but the idea always wilted. She wasn't interested. It just seemed too strange and stressful.

But she couldn't turn off last night's memory. Steve had made love to her three times. It was different each time, which made the experience even more exciting. It was almost as if he knew her: He knew exactly how to tend her desires, he knew exactly how she liked to be touched, he knew exactly how she wanted to be taken.

It had been frenetic but gentle, passionate but aggressive. She knew that she shouldn't feel guilty, and she knew that Matt wouldn't want her to. If anything, the sex had been too good.

After the second time, Steve had rolled over, exhausted, his arm around her. The memory was so vivid.

"I feel like lighting a cigarette, but I don't smoke anymore," he said, laughing at the cliché.

"Neither do I. We're both better off for it."

"I know. I don't want to have cigarette breath. Then you wouldn't want to kiss me."

"I'll always want to kiss you," she whispered, but then bit her lip. It was too soon to come on strong, or to take this for granted.

"That was great," he said, still breathing rather hard.

"Tell me about it. That was my first time in...well, I won't tell you how long."

"Same here."

Jane cuddled up right next to him. She felt too good now, better than she had in so long. Contentment and joy and the sweetest exhaustion all wrapped up around her. She could feel his heart beating through her chest as they lay there, pressed to one another, arms draped and legs entangled. Then she tightened her embrace as if to retain something... and she knew what it was.

The feeling.

The feeling in her heart and soul. It was as if she were hanging on to it, a desperate clasp to prevent that sensation from slipping out of her arms, escaping her. She'd do anything to keep from losing that, but then, a moment later, she knew that she would. Other things began to surface in her mind. No, no, just drop it. Don't even mention it. You might ruin it all.

But it wouldn't stop hounding her.

Her eyes were wide in the dark when she said, "There's still a whole lot you're not telling me, isn't there? You keep too much to yourself."

"I know."

Just drop it! But she couldn't. Her curiosity was a curse. "Like this business with the bell-shaped symbol, and the stuff you were saying earlier about cults."

"I know."

"And now that guy on the TV show, the bearded man. You should've seen the look on your face when that came on. Steve, you acted like he meant something to you, some bad memory or something. Your reaction was like you knew him."

"It is a bad memory, a really bad memory. I don't really know him. But I sure as hell know who he is."

"Who? What is he to you?"

Steve didn't answer. Suddenly the darkness seemed smothering, the silence in the bedroom clawing at them.

"Whatever this is all about," Jane said, "it's easy to see how much it's bothering you. I can tell. It's eating you up. Why?"

"It's a really bad subject, Jane."

"The recent murders? I know that's a bad subject. The whole town's still in shock. Everything seems different; it doesn't even feel like Danelleton anymore."

"It's not just that," he said, his voice so low it was nearly inaudible. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

"All right. I'll tell you."

He told the strangest story, strange in that it seemed very familiar but it was a different time. "It was just about twenty years ago. There was a disturbance call at a house in the neighborhood, just a few blocks away as a matter of fact. A nice house, new paint, nice yard, a house like most of the houses around here-a house just like yours. It was a ten-twenty-two that came over the radio-it means unknown trouble. You always have to be careful on those because you have no idea what to expect. Could be a cat in a tree or it could be some guy gone nuts holding his wife and kids hostage with a shotgun. You just never know, so you're really on your toes. You've got the snap off your holster so you can draw faster, just in case. The weirdest part was feeling like that in a town like this. A peaceful, quiet little town. Well, it wasn't peaceful and quiet that day. A bunch of us pulled up at the same time, we were all getting out at once, rushing up to the house.

Danelleton was a lot smaller back then. It was the kind of place where your biggest crimes were kids toilet papering the school on Halloween, an occasional drunk driver, nickel-dime stuff like that. But when the ten-twenty-two came through, we all just got a really bad feeling in our guts. Anyway, we surrounded the house, and it was me and my partner who got the order to take the front door. We kicked it open and..."

Jane knew that what was about to be described would be traumatic. She even thought of telling him to stop, to forget it, because it was obviously tearing him up, but she couldn't. She couldn't let go of it. She just squeezed him tighter and said, "Tell me."

"For some reason, everything turned silent. I don't know why that is, but ask any cop. When you walk into a crime scene like that, it's like you're wearing earmuffs. You're so focused on what's suddenly in your face that you don't have any outside attention."

"What... was in the house?" Jane asked.

"Are you sure you want to know?" he repeated.

"Yes."

Now his voice shifted down even more, to a grating monotone. "Blood," he said. "There was blood all over the place. It was the first thing we saw when we kicked open the door. In the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. It looked like a half-inch of blood on the floor. And then the body, a woman. She was lying on her back, on the stairs, her feet pointing upstairs so all the blood would drain out of her neck into the foyer."

"Out of her..." Jane winced as she tried to picture the scene. But she didn't get it. "You mean somebody cut her throat."

"I mean somebody decapitated her. They arranged the body like that so it'd be the first thing we saw when we went in: a headless body...and all that blood."

Jane's curiosity just grew more morbid against her will. She didn't want to know but she had to know. "Where was the..."

"In the kitchen. It was sitting upright on the counter, right next to the phone-again, on purpose. He'd left it there like that deliberately. It looked like the head was looking at us, like it was waiting for us." Steve sighed, an anxious frustration. "Some kind of facial rigor had set in, I guess. The eyes were open. She was smiling at us."

"Good Lord," Jane whispered.

"And then the rest."

"There's more?" she asked, alarmed.

"Jane, that was just the beginning of the day. That was just the first house."

"What?"

"It was impossible, it was insane. What we walked into that day, each house after that? It was like nothing we could ever imagine. We found two other bodies there, two kids. Butchered. Just like what?"

"Marlene Troy did," Jane finished. "I can't believe this. An identical crime, but twenty years ago?"

"Yeah-well, sort of. See, the wife didn't do it. She was a victim just like the kids. Somebody else did it. They did it and left. When they left, they went to the next house, then they killed everybody there and went to the next house. Then the next house and the  next house. Like that."

Jane gasped.

"That was the real nightmare. When me and my partner walked out of that first house, everything went crazy. Cops from every department within ten miles were responding because we simply didn't have enough units. City cops, Clearwater, Largo, county sheriff's department were all tearing down the road. Me and my partner were standing on the lawn of the first house and we looked up the street. All those other units, all those other cops, were pulling up in front of every house on the street."

"What happened next?"

"We were both half in shock, I guess. We just turned into robots and went to assist. One house after another, every house on the street, and every occupant of each house butchered in place. By the time we got to the last house on the street, we'd counted over twenty dead bodies, most of them like the woman in the first house. Turns out that the killer had actually started at the other end of the street. First victim was like most of the others, a housewife. It was her kid who found her body and called the police. He told us who the killer was."

"Who!" Jane blurted.

"It wasn't hard tracking him down. It was a postal employee walking a delivery route, only he didn't deliver anything-he just killed everybody. He just went from one house to the next-no one survived except for the kid. He's the only one who saw him. This guy took out an entire street. And then..."

Jane squeezed his hand.

"We tracked the guy back to the main post office, but... too late. When the guy finished killing everyone on his mail route, he went straight back to the post office and murdered every one there too. Just like what Marlene did, only worse. This guy used a meat cleaver, hacked them all up into pieces."

He paused for a few moments. The darkness seemed to tick around them, with their hearts.

"He wasn't quite finished by the time we arrived. My partner went back to the car to call for backup. I was standing in front, near the clerk stations, and that's when I heard someone in back scream, so I drew my gun and ran. There were bodies lying everywhere, all down the halls, all around in the sorting and handling areas and the loading dock. Chopped down. Hacked up. Couple times I slipped and fell-all the blood on the floor. By then, though, the screaming had stopped. I could tell it had been a woman, and then I saw one. Another employee. She was convulsing on the floor; the guy'd just hacked her head half off in one swipe with the cleaver. It was my first look at him-the first time I'd ever seen a murderer, for that matter. Normal looking guy, mid-thirties, I guess, normal build. But when I looked in his eyes, he wasn't normal anymore. It was something worse than insanity looking back at me. That's when I put my sight on him. What you have to understand is that I was so focused, plus in shock, so I wasn't noticing details at first. The guy's shirt was open and there was blood all over him. Hell, I thought it was the blood from all the people he'd killed, but it wasn't. It was his blood. The bay door was open and he was standing at the edge of the dock, and then I noticed something else. There was something around his neck. A rope, I figured. It went from his neck to the overhead rail of the bay door. I yelled at him to put his hands up or I'd shoot, something like that. And you know what he did?"

"What?" Jane asked, but she thought she already knew.

"He just grinned at me. For a second his face didn't even look human. It looked all ridged. His head looked warped. His eyes looked as big as cue balls. Then he said, 'Behold the Messenger. The arrival of the Messenger is at hand.' Then he jumped off the edge of the loading dock and hanged himself."

"My God."

"And it wasn't rope he'd done it with. He'd cut his own belly open, Jane. He cut out a length of his own intestines... and that's what he used to hang himself with."

Jane lay rigid, trembling. "That's impossible. It's just like Carlton."

"Yeah, just like Carlton. But even that's not all. You asked about that symbol, the bell-shaped design we found written in blood at Marlene's house and at the girls' school. Well, we found it here too. Everywhere. The killer had written on the walls, on the delivery trucks, even on some of the bodies."

"The same symbol," Jane repeated. "Twenty years ago."

"Exactly."

They lay silent for a while. Jane hoped he'd fall asleep, and she tried to herself, but his recital of those events left her wide awake in distress. How must it have been for him? To see all that, all in one day? "My God, Steve. That long ago? You couldn't have been much more than a kid back then."

"I was a greenhorn, a total rookie. I'd just got out of the academy at the beginning of that summer. I'd been on the force all of two months when this happened."

"And all those people-murdered for no reason."

"Murdered by a postal worker, Jane. Like Marlene, like Carlton. Same MO, same details and implications, but it was all two decades ago."

Jane looked for some way to dismiss it as coincidence, but that was impossible. "I guess there's no denying it. There's a direct connection between what Marlene and Carlton did this week, to what this guy did twenty years ago. There's no way that that's not the case."

"I agree. Marlene and Carlton worked for the post office, and so did this guy. The bell symbol was found on the crime scenes this week and the crime scenes twenty years ago. Christ, the guy committed suicide the exact same way Carlton did, and Carlton didn't even live here twenty years ago. I checked his records. He lived in North Carolina, for God's sake, so how could he have known about the guy killing himself that way so long ago?"

Jane had no response.

"And to top it all off, Carlton, Marlene, and the killer back then even worked at the same post office."

Jane's train of thought stopped. "Wait a minute. I thought you said this guy from twenty years ago worked at the main post office. Carlton and Marlene worked at my post office, the west branch, which is brand-new."

Steve paused, looking at her in the dark. "That's where you're wrong, Jane. The PO you just opened last week? It's the same post office from twenty years ago. The same building."

"But...I don't understand."

"Jane, twenty years ago, Danelleton was a lot smaller, it was a blossoming little suburban community. The town council members put a lid on those murders as fast as they could, and the first thing they did was close the post office, shut it down for good. They couldn't afford the notoriety. A mass murder like that? Not the kind of thing that's gonna do wonders for real estate values. So they built a new post office, what's now the main branch on the other side of town. Time went by and-believe it or not-everyone forgot about it. Most of the people who lived here then aren't even here anymore. No one on the town council is the same. None of the postal workers are the same. Hell, there aren't even any Danelle ton cops who were here back then. I'm the only one. About the only good thing about those murders is how fast people forgot."

Jane could see what he was driving at. "But now Danelleton has grown so large that one post office wasn't enough to handle the influx of new residents."

"Right. Now the town needed an auxiliary post office to handle the extra mail load. They talked about building a second office but they figured why bother? We still got the old place sitting there. It's been closed for twenty years, and no one remembers. So instead of spending a ton of money building a new place, they refurbished the old place."

"My post office," Jane muttered.

"Yep. The west branch that you're running is the same place where the murderer worked twenty years ago. And the same week the place gets reopened, two of your employees go out and do the same thing. This has been gnawing at me since the thing with Marlene. I'm the only one who knows, the only one who remembers. I just kept thinking, it's impossible. No coincidence like that could ever happen. The chances aren't even one in a million, they're one in a billion."

"You're right. It is impossible. It's uncanny."

"And that damned symbol is the link," Steve went on. "I'm not sure how, but it's got to be. All that stuff I was saying before, about satanic cults-the stuff you didn't believe. It's got to be true. That's the only way that the connection can exist."

Jane tried to think of a way to deny it. She tried to find a hole in the logic. But couldn't.

"That guy we saw on TV tonight? Yeah, I know who he is. His name's Alexander Dhevic. He claims to be some sort of demonology scholar. Every now and then I'll see him interviewed on those hokey documentaries about the occult. He used to go around the country on these talk shows, spieling about the upsurge of cult activity in recent years. Satanism, these teen groups that practice Black Mass and animal sacrifice, hype like that. But when all this went down twenty years ago, Dhevic was snooping around in Danelleton. So he's another link."

"Dhevic," Jane whispered the strange name.

"I don't know his story, but there's something really fishy about the guy. There he was then, and here he still is now. We tried to question him twenty years ago, but he slipped

out of town, like fast."

"Why would he do that?"

"Wish I knew. But that's why I figure the symbol is demonic-Dhevic's a so-called demonologist, and that's why I was asking if you thought Carlton and Marlene could've been involved in some kind of cult."

"And maybe Dhevic."

"Right. Maybe this crackpot Dhevic is more than just a demonologist. Maybe he practices all this crap too."

Jane shivered. Like everything else this week, this was too much information to deal with all at the same time. Murders, past and present. Identical crimes twenty years apart. Symbols and suicides. Links to satanism. Links to Jane's post office. And now this man named Dhevic. It's just...too much, she thought. She hugged Steve tighter. "It makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It's hard to believe this sort of thing could ever happen here."

"Let's not talk about it anymore," Steve whispered. All that stress in his voice-when he'd been telling what had happened-was gone. He was himself again, which was what Jane wanted, what she needed. He was hugging her back now. "Just forget about it ..." And then he was kissing her again.

Jane fell back into the oblivion she yearned for. Her desires were surging again, and that's all she cared about. In a moment they were consuming each other with their kisses, their bodies cringing for the touch of the other. Jane's bliss returned and swept her away. This time their lovemaking was even more frenetic than before-they knew each other well now, they knew each other's bodies. Jane simply let herself go, let herself be taken by this man.

She had no idea how much time had passed when they were done. What am I going to do? she asked herself, exhausted yet again, happily worn out. I can't be falling in love with this guy, can I? It can't happen that fast.

A little while later, Steve got up. "I better go now," he said regretfully. "I'd like to stay but-"

Jane didn't want him to go but she knew he had to. It was very difficult for her to say, "I know. It's too soon. Let's not rush this." She was determined to not get emotional or make a fuss. Don't be a pain in the ass, Jane, she ordered herself. That's the last thing he needs. She watched him get dressed, her eyes straying over his lean body. Oh, God, came the drifting thought. No, I cannot let myself screw this up...

She stood up, unabashed by her nakedness. She embraced him and kissed him one last time for the night. She didn't want to let go of him, and she clearly sensed that he felt the same way.

"When can I see you again?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know, let me think. How about...anytime you want."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

He smiled at her in the dark, kissed her hand, and was gone.

She sat on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap. She could still feel him in her, and she liked the feeling. She could still smell him on her. Outside, she heard his car start and drive away. He wasn't even gone five minutes and she couldn't wait to see him again. Was that infatuation, or something more? Jane knew. Yeah, I guess I'm in love. How do you like that?

How much time passed while she was sitting on the bed she couldn't be sure. She lay back down, didn't bother getting under the sheets. The window was open, a cool breeze flowing in. It felt so nice the way it ran over her skin. She thought more about Steve, couldn't get the image of his body out of her mind. No, she wished he hadn't left, wished he'd stayed and made love to her one more time, but that was crazy. They'd both worn each other out. She was getting aroused again, though. She couldn't help it. Her nipples began to tingle as though he were still here, kissing them, stroking them between his fingers. She brought her hands to her belly, was tempted to slide them down lower and begin to touch herself, but her fatigue was getting the best of her now. Oh, God, I hope I see him tomorrow. Her hands fell away, and she turned over, to let sleep take her down.

"Hey, peeping tom!" a voice shot out.

Jane bolted up. Her eyes were used to the dark now; she looked over at the open window. Did a shadow jerk away? Jesus! Someone's been out there the whole time, watching us! Probably just a kid, some teenager peeping in windows, but still... It was too creepy. She jumped up, switched on the light and pulled on her robe. She quickly called the police emergency number, then wondered what to do. Yes, it was probably just some kid but-

What if it wasn't?

She grabbed the heavy flashlight she kept by the bed, a makeshift weapon, then ran to the window and looked out.

"I'm calling the cops, you pervert!" the neighbor's voice called again.

She saw somebody running away, could hear the rapid footfalls pounding across the grass. Thank God he's gone. All the lights flicked on in the next house, and the owner, an amiable retired man, came out in his robe. "How do you like that, huh, Jane? A peeping tom."

"Yeah, just what we need at this hour," she answered through the screen.

"Well, I wouldn't worry. He took off like a bat out of hell, and I called the cops."

"Me, too. Thanks."

Later, a patrolman came by to take down some information. The night had been ruined now. Jane just said to hell with it and made some coffee, breaking her off-and-on caffeine pledge. The cop, too, told her there was nothing to worry about. Things like this happened every now and then, and they were harmless. They'd keep a cruiser in the area. He even said that another neighbor may have gotten a tag number.

Jane sluffed it off. The cop was treating it like no big deal so she figured she should too. But there was one thing she didn't tell him.

For a sliver of a moment, when she'd seen the shadow move at the window, she thought she'd Seen the face too. She didn't tell the cop that it looked a lot like Martin Parkins.

That had been last night. The memory still hovered over her head as she sat at her office desk. Her time with Steve had calmed her; just thinking of it seemed to make the day's headaches go away. When Sarah Willoughby stuck her head in the opened door, Jane had almost entirely forgotten about the bad business with Martin.

"You wanted to see me, Jane?"

Did I? Oh, yes. Come in."

Sarah was a nice girl and a reliable worker. Never late, never called in sick, never a problem. She was still young, and still lower on the pay-level ladder, but Jane had every confidence in her.

Sarah entered and took the opposite seat, smiling perkily. "That's too bad about Martin. I was just helping him move those boxes of spare parts down in the basement. I had no idea he was drinking."

"Oh, I know. It was bound to happen. I feel bad about suspending him but at this point, there was nothing left to do. And with that done, I have an opening. You're next in line, Sarah. Martin didn't want to be DPS foreman anyway, which I offered him before I caught him drinking. You don't have as much seniority but your work record is flawless, and I have nothing but confidence in you. I hope you take it. It's also a one-level pay raise, and after ninety days, you go up one more level."

Sarah's pretty eyes bloomed with surprise. "Wow, this is unexpected. Thank you, Jane. I know I can do that job better than anyone, and I know the whole routine. I won't let you down."

"I'm sure you won't, Sarah."

"That's odd, though, isn't it? I mean, Martin had all...all those years of time-in-grade. He could've turned himself around. Why didn't he take the job?"

"Well, I suppose it's because-"

"Because he'd only have it for one day before he got suspended," a familiar voice entered the room. Steve was standing there in the doorway. "Sorry to eavesdrop. I saw the door open."

Jane and Sarah looked up in surprise.

"Sarah, why don't you get your things moved into your new cove," Jane suggested, a polite way to get her out of the office. She was thrilled to see Steve, but she could tell by his tone and expression that he had something serious to talk about. "I'll stop by and talk to you a little later, and give you your new job description files."

"Sure, Jane. And thanks again." Sarah scurried out, a big smile beaming on her attractive face.

But when Steve sat down, he wasn't smiling.

"Hi," Jane said. "I can tell something's wrong. And how did you know I suspended Martin today? Did someone out front tell you?"

"No. I didn't know you suspended him."

"But you just said-"

"Martin Parkins," Steve droned. "His car's right out in the employee lot, the red Escort."

It wasn't a question; Jane was being told. "I guess he's still in the building, clearing out his desk. I had to suspend him because I caught him drinking down in the basement. I'm pretty sure he'll save himself the embarrassment of an appeal hearing and just quit. Anyway, that's why his car's still out there."

Steve nodded. He opened an envelope. "Could you call him in here? I have to show him this."

"What is it?"

"An arrest warrant."

Then Jane knew. She'd forgotten for a moment. "Last night after you left, my neighbor called in a peeping tom complaint, and the policeman who responded said-"

"That somebody got a tag number," Steve finished. "Another resident at the end of your street saw him burning rubber out of there. Christ, I wished I'd been there when it happened-I could've taken him in right then and there. There's no doubt. He's the guy. Motor Vehicles gave us his street address so I went by there and he wasn't in. I hope he's ready for a big surprise."

"So you're actually going to arrest him?"

Steve looked puzzled. "Why not? Don't you want him arrested?"

It seemed harsh, especially right after losing the job he'd had for ten years. But...I guess it'll teach him a lesson, and that's definitely what he needs right now. Maybe a hard knock and a little probation'll show him the light, give him the motivation to get his act together.

"You're right," she agreed. She picked up the phone and asked the front service manager to have Martin come to her office. Then she turned to Steve: "To tell you the truth, it's not very surprising. He's always been sort of a bad apple. Bad attitude, doesn't get along with his coworkers, not to mention several suspensions for drinking on duty"

"You never know with guys like that. What they do when no one sees them, I mean. He probably peeps in women's windows all the time, just never been caught."

When the phone buzzed, Jane picked it up, listened, then frowned. She hung up. "They just told me Martin's not on the site."

Steve frowned himself, nodding. "He probably saw me walking in or pulling up in the parking lot and put two and two together." He flipped back the blinds and looked out the office window, into the sunny parking lot. "And look at that, his car's still there. I'll have someone from the station come out here and put a lock block on his tire. He must've

left on foot. I gotta get some people out there to look for him." All of a sudden, Steve looked harried. Jane could only imagine the frustration: Last night they'd made love and it had been wonderful; now they were stuck together by this problem with one of her employees. They couldn't be themselves in this scenario. He glanced at his watch and pocketed the arrest warrant. "I have to go and get this guy picked up. But I'll call

you later, okay?"

Jane stood up and walked around the desk. She closed the door. She didn't say anything at first, she just kissed him. "I understand," she whispered, hugging him after the kiss. "You have your job to do, so go do it."

"I'm just...a little worried about you. I don't want that weirdo coming back here. He could be close to going over the edge-"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

She kissed him again and showed him out. The last thing he needs is to be stressed out over me. She walked him out to the parking lot-he waved sheepishly as he drove off.

Jane just smiled.

She stood there in the sun for a few moments. It was going to be a hot one. When she looked around, she felt gratified. Her little west branch post office was bustling, customers coming and going, trucks pulling up in the back lot. Everything normal. Everything like clockwork, the way it was supposed to be.

And me and Steve, she thought. Together. Still more gratification. The feeling darkened, though, a few moments later, when she realized what she was looking at. The dusty red Escort, Martin's car. It reinforced the uneasy truth. He's out there somewhere. Where would he go? What was his state of mind? Was he really close to going over the edge? In this day and age, the situation was almost proverbial: disgruntled postal employee goes psycho, and comes back with a gun. It happened all the time, and it had happened here. The only difference was Marlene was disgruntled. She was part of a cult, and so was Carlton...and no one ever knew until it was too late. And twenty years ago? Now she was staring at the building. Another mass murder took place. Right in there. And the act had been perpetrated by a man, a postal employee, who...

Was in a cult.

The worst questions marauded her now. Is Martin part of that cult, too? She shivered in spite of the rising heat, and even in the blazing sunlight, she didn't feel safe.

The clerks up front had said that Martin was no longer on the site, but how could they know for sure?

Maybe he's hiding, Jane thought, her stomach tightening. Maybe he's still in the building...

...Oh...

"Jesus. Why can't anything be normal in my life?"

"What's that, Chief?" Stanton asked.

Steve had whispered the comment unconsciously to himself, hadn't even realized he'd said it. Stanton, a sergeant, was his day-shift watch commander: hard, smart, by the book. I don't need him to hear me talking to myself, Steve thought. "Nothing," he said. "Just thinking out loud."

The warrant had a full-search provision. Right now they were standing in the middle of the private residence of one Martin D. Parkins.

"Why is it these places always look the way you think they're gonna look?" Stanton asked.

"Well, I hate to be judgmental," Steve said, "but it seems to me that Martin Parkins is a shit head. It makes perfect sense to me that a shit head's gonna live in a shit hole." The place was an efficiency just out of town. A lot of the old fleabag strip motels were converted to apartments, and this was one: a total dump. Garbage piled up everywhere,

rotten carpet, a dilapidated wall-unit air-conditioner that rattled so loud they turned it off in spite of the heat. Lawn furniture for chairs and a busted futon for a bed. Cockroaches watched them from the sink, antennae fidgeting.

"Piece of shit car, piece of shit apartment, no possessions worth a dime," Stanton said. "But the guy's been with the post office for years? Those guys make decent scratch. What's he do with his money?"

"Strippers, it looks like," Steve answered. On a table by the wall were matchbooks from a multitude of local strip clubs. There was also a Polaroid camera and a stack of photos; Steve picked up the photos. "Correction, strippers and crack whores."

Stanton groaned when he eyed the pictures. "What a high-class guy." The pictures showed a variety of skinny, pallid broken-down women posing naked on the futon. Broken teeth and broken lives. Any cop knew the look.

"I better book these pictures with evidence, have somebody compare them to any Jane Doe morgue shots," Steve said. "This case feels worse every minute."

"Guy like that? Loner? Antisocial? He could be killing hookers and who would know?"

Yeah, Steve thought. He wouldn't be surprised.

"Hey, Chief? The chick at the post office say Parkins is a drinker?" Stanton asked, nosing around the bed now. His expression crumbled at another stack of photos on the floor, next to a pickle-can wastebasket full of soiled Kleenex. Some of the photos looked just as soiled.

The chick at the post office, Steve repeated in his head. He meant Jane. Steve hadn't been able to stop thinking about her.

He shook off the distraction. "Yeah, she suspended him for boozing on the job. He'd had several write-ups in the past." A big metal garbage can sat in the corner of the filthy kitchen, the kind most people put out at the end of their driveway. Steve lifted the metal lid and whistled.

"What do you think, Stanton? You think Parkins is a drinker?"

Stanton looked in the can and rolled his eyes. It was full of empty whiskey bottles. "He could start his own glass factory. You know, I drank that stuff during my first semester of college, and I never had a hangover. Got D's in all my classes, but I never had a hangover."

"Let that be a lesson to you. Be smart. Stick to tequila."

They snooped around some more, found more of the same. A footlocker full of porn videos. More Polaroids. More cockroaches. At one point, they heard a loud clack! and both turned with guns drawn. It was a rat that had run across the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

"Let's get out of this dive, Chief. My wife'll kill me; it's making my uniform stink."

"I'll get someone from evidence section to come over and pick up the Polaroids. Parkins won't be coming back," Steve estimated. "He's probably on a Greyhound bus heading north."

"I'm sure you're right," Stanton said. "But just to be safe, put somebody in an unmarked outside to watch the place from the street."

Steve slapped the sergeant on the back. "Great idea. Perfect way for you to spend the rest of your shift."

"Thanks."

They were leaving, but Stanton's voice halted Steve at the door. "Hey, Chief. Check it out."

Steve turned. Stanton was holding a scribble sheet he'd found on the kitchen counter. Steve looked at it. "What's this? Doodling?"

The sheet had various phone numbers scribbled on it, plus pen lines, squares and circles, like when someone unconsciously doodles while they're talking on the phone.

"This is really starting to freak me out," Stanton said. "What the hell's going on in this town?"

One of the doodles was a bell with an asterisk star for a striker.