Ladykiller (6 page)

In the half-light of the sepulcher-silent side street, Nita opened the
heavy metal door. She closed the door behind her with a clank and
pulled on it to make sure it was locked. She turned around.

Then she saw Ace. Standing two feet from her. An odd, hard
smile stretched across his face. Nita jumped and gasped.
“I’ll walk you home,” Ace said quietly.
“Oh,” Nita said, struggling for control. “You startled me.” She
glanced up and down the deserted street. She edged away from him in
the opposite direction from her usual path home.
“There’s a coffee shop a couple of blocks away,” she said. “It’s on
my way. Maybe we could talk there for a—”
Ace grabbed her arm violently and yanked her in the other direction. “No.You live this way.”
Nita pulled away. Her purse fell off her arm, spilling its contents
on the sidewalk.They both stopped and stared at it.The danger in the
air evaporated. Nita simmered with anger. Ace seemed about to cry.
“I’m sorry,” Ace said. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to see you.
That’s all.”
Nita glared at him and stooped to pick up her things. He squatted, too, and awkwardly handed her a few items.
“I’m going home now,” Nita said, coldly furious. “We’ll forget
this ever happened. Now goodbye.”
She rose, shouldered her bag, and walked off briskly.
“I’m sorry,” Ace called after her, helplessly, rooted to the spot. “I
didn’t mean to.” Defeated, he shifted his weight and heard a sound. He
looked down at his feet. He slowly moved his right boot. Nita’s key
ring lay on the pavement.

Nita could sense the boots following her. She could feel the
leather-soled roll of his feet on the pavement. Her own shoes snapped
briskly over the sidewalk, past the dark, brick buildings like so many
tombstones. She frowned at a sound behind her, and pulled the coat
tighter around herself. Her purposeful walk picked up speed. Not
running. Not willing to show panic.

Ace loved her bobbing gait, the utterly female click of her low
heels on the sidewalk. Loved how her legs were moving faster. He
longed to see those legs, longed to rub his hands up them. Starting at
the ankle, over the fleshy promise of the calf, past the dimpled intrigue of the knee, and — fingertips only now — skating up the sleekness of her thigh, drawn into —

Nita reached the front door of an apartment building. Above the
entrance, a weak yellow lamp gave barely enough light to make out
the outline of the lock. No other human soul was about; the world lay
curled up under its blankets, sleeping through the time of the wolf.
Nita unzipped her handbag and rummaged frantically in it for her
keys. Ace was enraptured. How he had gotten to her.

Nita darted her hands into her coat pockets, then foraged madly
through the depths of her bag again.
Ace spoke from close behind her. His grin was demonic. He
raised his right hand in the air.
“I have something for you,” he said. He jingled the key ring up
above his head.The lamp’s sickly illumination caught the metal.
Nita whirled to face him. Ace was surprised by the set of her
face. It wasn’t quite fear she showed.Was it —?
A large hand clamped onto Ace’s shoulder from behind and
pulled him backward.The jingle of the keys in Ace’s hand sounded in
the night. Before he could recover his balance, Reuben stepped
around him and smashed his face. As Reuben’s knuckles connected
with his cheek, Ace let out a wail of pain. He crumpled to the ground
and lay still.The keys fell from his grasp.
Nita cowered in the doorway, holding her purse against her with
both arms.
Reuben stooped and picked up the keys. Shaking his aching hand,
he clumped over to her and leaned against the wall, panting. “Are you
okay?” Reuben gasped. “Did he hurt you?”
Pale and shaken, Nita took the keys from him carefully. “I’m
okay. How did you —”
“I was worried about you. I turned the machine on and left.
Lucky thing I caught up with you. I thought you lived about ten blocks
away from here and—“
Reuben was suddenly pushed from behind and knocked off balance against Nita. “What the hell?”
Ace ran away, screaming incoherently, a dark banshee in full
flight. Reuben held Nita’s shoulders to keep her from falling. Reuben
and Nita watched Ace run. Reuben still held her shoulders.
She squirmed out of his hold. “Let him go. It’s all right.”
“Yeah. Right.” Reuben nodded sagely. “The important thing is
that you’re okay. Let’s get you inside.”
Nita didn’t reply. She shrunk back against the wall.There was an
uncomfortable pause.
“Come on,” Reuben coaxed. “You’ll be okay.” In the weak light,
she could tell he was warming to the role of protector. His half-smile
had a concerned, paternalistic cast.
“I’m okay. I’m fine,” Nita said. “Listen, you ought to go back.”
“Go back?” He laughed incredulously. “Those crazies can wait.”
He laughed again, then stopped abruptly. “Hey, you know, we ought to
call the cops.This guy is dangerous.” He gestured that they should go
inside together.
Nita didn’t budge. “I will. I’ll call them in just a minute. I want to
catch my breath.You head back. Listen, thanks, Reuben.Thanks a lot.”
“I’ll wait. I don’t mind. I want to help you. I want to make sure
you get inside okay. Hey, your hands are shaking. Let me have those.”
He snatched the keys from her quickly. She made an effort to
grab them back, but was too late. He turned toward the door, easing
his bulk past her. Reuben started trying the keys in the lock and
looked back at her over his shoulder. He smiled with pleasure.
“I’ll make sure you get in and get settled,” Reuben said. “Maybe
mix you a drink.Your nerves are probably shot.”
He had tried all the keys in the door. Then he turned slowly, inspecting the dangling keys in the penumbral light, puzzled.
“Hey,” he said thickly, “none of these keys fit.”
Nita had slipped on her gloves. She reached into her bag and produced the .45. She spread her legs and brought the gun up,
two-handed, to his head. Combat shooter style.
Reuben’s jaw hung open. A small gagging noise came from his
throat.
Nita’s face was terrifying, a Kabuki mask of rage. Her unearthly
snarl was the last sound he heard.
The bullet tore perfectly through Reuben’s right eye, blowing
out half his skull.

Nita quickly returned to the crisis center. No messages on the machine. Good. She stood peering into the quiet utopia of the fish tank,
as if for inspiration, while her bright-scaled subjects darted randomly
about. Nita’s breathing fogged the glass.

With effort, her swirl of thoughts coalesced. This was the first
time things hadn’t gone according to plan. Had she been right to kill
Reuben? She had acted on instinct, but had it been a good one? The
man had learned that she didn’t live at that building. Even someone
with his sea urchin’s intellect could figure out something strange was
afoot.

From a broader perspective, however, Nita was better off rid of
Reuben. He seemed to have a fixation on her and was bent on being a
pest. From an even broader perspective, he wasn’t doing the clients
much good at the crisis center.

She was actually pleased with how well she had improvised. Her
plan had been to take care of Ace on the way to the coffee shop, as
they passed through a deserted playground. After he surprised her by
spilling her purse onto the sidewalk — thankfully, the .45 was safe in
its zippered compartment — it was the inspiration of a moment to
leave the key ring. It was a challenge, and she had proved up to it. Unfortunately, Ace remained to be dealt with.

“She’s hot for you, Dillon,”Wise said.
“Very hot,” Safir agreed.
They were bellied up to the bar at McSorley’s, long after midnight. A lot of four-to-twelve uniforms were there, not ready to return to the wives and kids. Deep-throated male laughter punctuated
the whiskey-sweet air.

Dave smiled and shook his head. “Let’s leave her alone tonight,
guys. Besides, you’re imagining things.”
“A man gets a feel for this,” Wise said.
“A sixth sense,” Safir said.
“You two got no sense,” Dave said amiably and finished his draft.
“Listen, I got to get back to my cat.There’s a lot of work to do tomorrow.”
“I hope we get luckier than we got today,” Wise said.
“Hookers ain’t such good witnesses,” Safir said. “What do they
got against cops, Dillon?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Dave said evenly.
Safir realized he had strayed into forbidden territory. He held up
his hands. “Hey, I didn’t mean nothing by that. Honest.”
The bartender told Dave he had a phone call.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Dave told the older detectives.
It was Blake. “Looks like the Ladykiller again,” the lieutenant
said.“Only this time, the stiff’s no lady.”

“Reuben, where in God’s name are you?” Nita kept her voice at
its usual modulation. “Aren’t you coming back? You’re still on duty,
you know. If you forgot and went home, please call and let me know.
It’s kind of busy.”

Sometimes, Dave thought, you could see the killer in the victim’s
face.That’s what his father had said.The last person the victim saw was
the killer. In the glare of his flashlight, Dave tried to read the last face
this victim had seen with his one remaining eye, which was flared
open. In surprise?

Dave got up from his crouch and dusted off his knees. “No doubt
about it.The same perp.”
“Men now,” Blake said.
“Two nights in a row,”Wise said. “Perp is moving a lot faster.”
“This crime scene is a residential neighborhood,” Safir said.
“That’s different, too. Always before, we got a deserted area.”
“This might as well be deserted,” Blake said. “The neighbors
who’ve come forward so far said they saw nothing. One heard a man
shouting. Then a gunshot a little later. But he was in bed and half
asleep. Everybody was asleep.”
Jamie stood very close to Dave, close enough for him to smell
her perfume. He didn’t seem to notice. “What have you got, Dave?”
she asked.
Dave was thumbing through the victim’s wallet. “Name’s Reuben
Silver. He works at a place called the West Side Crisis Center. Not far
from here.”
“Still no pattern to the victims,” Wise said.
“None,” Safir said.
“No, that’s it,” Dillon said quietly, almost to himself. “That’s got
to be it.That’s what we’re looking for.That’s the link.”
“What?” asked Jamie.
“The missing link,”Wise said.
“The Ladykiller’s making a monkey out of us,” Safir said. They
both laughed.
Blake crinkled his forehead. “A middle-aged social worker?”
“The West Side Crisis Center,” Dave said. “They deal with nut cases
and street people, don’t they.The hooker — I’ll bet she went there.”
“And the stockbroker?” Safir said with heavy irony. “Come on,
Dave.”
“Wait a minute,” Jamie urged, thinking out loud. “If the hooker
and the social worker both knew their killer from the crisis center,
maybe there
is
a connection to the others, as well. Somebody at the
brokerage house. A messenger. A guy in the mail room.”
Dave nodded warmly at Jamie. “A pusher who worked the cheerleader’s high school. The housewife’s brother. I don’t know, but it’s
there, all right. I feel it.”
A tingle of excitement, like an electric charge, sizzled between
them. Jamie felt a small shudder go down her spine.
Safir and Wise, not sharing Dave and Jamie’s enthusiasm, looked
at each other skeptically. Everyone turned to Blake, who paused
thoughtfully before speaking.
“Right now,” he said, “we need to interview neighbors before
memories fade. Maybe one of them wasn’t sleeping.Tomorrow, Dave,
you go over to this crisis center and see what shakes. It’ll be closed
now. Personally, I have another press conference to worry about in the
morning.”
As the detectives dispersed to canvass the block, Jamie turned
her best smile on Dave. “I’m sure you’re right. I really am.” She
meant it.
Dave smiled back.

Nita had discovered the utility of the .45 at an early age. It was a sturdy
weapon.You could throw the .45 on the ground and it wouldn’t go off.
The gun loaded easily, with a magazine of bullets shoved into the
handle. Jams were cleared just as cleanly, by sliding the gun’s carriage
back and forth.Yet the .45’s power was its best point. Nita admired her
gun’s ability to carve out half of a target’s brain.

Her father had introduced her to the .45.As usual, he began with
a history lecture.The United States at the turn of the century, he had
told her with maddening pomp, needed a more powerful sidearm to
put down an insurrection in the Philippines. Filipino rebels, hopped
up on hemp and fanaticism, and protected by body armor of cane,
laughed at the stopping power of American service revolvers. They
weren’t laughing after the .45 came on line.

Every weekend, her father would take her to the pistol range in
the suburbs to practice with the .45, which he had brought home
from the Korean War. He taught her how to take it apart, how to clean
and oil it, how to align the front and rear sights, how to grip it with
both hands, how to squeeze the trigger so gently that you weren’t
aware of squeezing it at all.

“I don’t care how many twisted goons this godforsaken city turns
out,” he told Nita. “When you have a .45, no one can touch you.”
Since the gun was too big to carry under his suit, Lars Bergstrom
kept it in his briefcase. Her father carried that briefcase everywhere,
even on the walks he took every Sunday. “This weapon,” he told her, “is
my best friend.”
Looking back at the bitter, cold man that was her father, Nita
thought to herself, “That I could believe.”

Dave Dillon dragged into his apartment at an hour when only hungry
cats were up. Dave’s cat was affectionate only to its owner — and displayed that amply tonight. He rubbed Dave’s ankles with a
where-ya-been-when’s-dinner insistence.

Dave opened a can of tuna and dumped it into the cat’s dish,
adding a sprinkling of crunchies.As he lowered the dish to the kitchen
floor, the cat bobbed up to gobble a mid-air sample. Once the dish
reached the floor, the cat attacked it with the zest of a ravenous lion.

“When you grow up into the king of the jungle, that’s how you’re
gonna take care of the antelopes, huh?”
Dave tacked a picture of Lydia Daniels onto his wall, next to the
other victims’ photos. He would need a day or two to obtain a picture
of Reuben Silver. Jimmy Conlon thought he was obsessed. “How can
you put gruesome crime-scene pictures on your wall?”
“Maybe obsession is a good thing in a detective,” Dave had told
his friend. “Particularly one under a cloud.”
Staring at the roster of victims, Dave tried to read their bloody,
smashed faces.
Then he permitted himself to gaze on something else. Something
pretty. For a minute. No longer. He kept the picture hidden in his
dresser drawer. It was a glamorous, show-biz shot. Her smile was
wide and electric. Her dark eyes had exotic power. And once, for a
brief time, she had been his.

Safir and Wise went to Nita Bergstrom’s apartment. A voice asked
who they were and they identified themselves to a locked door. The
woman who finally opened the door was a real looker, even in her
bathrobe.

“Let me see your badges, please,” she demanded in an uptown
voice before removing the chain. She let them in but did not ask them
to sit down.

Safir said, trying to tell how nice her tits were beneath the bulky robe.
“Oh, and what is that?” A cool one, this chick.
“You were working the late shift on the hotline phone at the crisis center with a Reuben Silver last night?”Wise said.

“Yes. And he left abruptly about a half hour into the shift. Said he
was going for a walk. Most unprofessional. Is he in trouble?”
The woman seemed more concerned that workplace rules had
been broken than in the welfare of a co-worker.
“I’m afraid he’s dead, Miss Bergstrom,” Safir said. “He was shot in
the head a few blocks from the crisis center. We believe by the same
person responsible for the Ladykiller shootings.”
She closed her eyes for a second. “Reuben? Murdered?” The
detectives waited patiently while she absorbed the news. “Why
Reuben?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Miss Bergstrom,” Wise
said. “Did he give you any indication that he was going to meet someone?”
“No.We weren’t very close.”
“Was he acting strangely?” Safir asked.
“Reuben was a bit of an odd duck. It’s hard to say.”
“Did he seem to be nervous or afraid?” Wise asked.
“Reuben wasn’t afraid of anything,” she said dryly. “Unless you
count women.”
“Did he—” Safir began.
“If you will excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, “I’d like to be alone
now. Although I admit I wasn’t close to Reuben, we were colleagues
and this is very upsetting. Perhaps we could talk later.”
“No problem,” Safir said. “A Detective Dillon is going to come by
the crisis center later today.You can talk to him.”
“That would be fine,” the woman said.
On the way out, Safir said, “Woof. I wouldn’t kick her out of
bed.”
“That bitch?” Wise said. “I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick.
She’d be nothing but trouble. I know women.”

Blake called Dave early to ask him to fill in at the morning press conference at One Police Plaza on Reuben Silver’s death. “I’ll be tied up
at the medical examiner’s,” he said.