Ronald Tierney - Good To The Last Kiss - Crimes of the Depraved Mind Series

‘How do you know all that?’ McClellan asked.

‘What he’s done fits the pattern established by other serial killers who have left these kinds of victims.’

‘What color is the van?’ McClellan asked, arms folded. Gratelli wished he would just shut up and listen.

‘Probably black, dark gray or dark blue. Dark in any event. Or at least plain.’

McClellan shook his head.

‘None of this works for Bateman,’ she continued. ‘He’s either changing his target which is possible, or something has changed in his life. Perhaps he has built some confidence. She could have been some sort of accident, a miscalculation on his part. Could be just that the opportunity was so right, he couldn’t resist.’

‘Our perpetrator could have done Bateman. I believe he did,’ McClellan said.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Like I said, a change or insight on his part, a graduation of sorts based on increased confidence, an opportunistic decision. Any of those would explain what amounts to a modest modification of his behavior. She was the most recent victim, right?’

‘Yes,’ Gratelli said. ‘As far as we know.’

‘Since this one was somewhat different, perhaps this signifies a change in pattern.’

‘Any other possibilities?’ Lieutenant Thompson asked.

McClellan and Gratelli were dismissed. The meeting, however, continued.

‘ W hat more can I say?’ Paul asked his two visitors, Inspectors Gratelli and McClellan as he handed them an inch-thick manila folder. ‘These are a few of the recent cases, the nastier ones. There’s also a little file on a Darvy McWilliams. She testified against him in a parole hearing. And I’ve put in a little profile of Ezra Blackburn, her former employer who might have a grudge. Might not.’

Gratelli and McClellan had been all but banished from the serial killings. The task force and new homicide detectives were following up on what was becoming increasingly cold leads in deaths of the others – the girls. No new deaths that fit the pattern. No new leads.

Bateman’s case remained on the fringe. Gratelli and McClellan still had it, though it was clear what Gratelli and McClellan were doing was now little more than clerical as it related to Julia’s possible connection. They were to build files to show the police had followed all the leads. ‘Cover your ass’ was the operative philosophy. The task force was divided on the Bateman connection. On one hand, it really didn’t fit. On the other, there was the tiny detail – the rose tattoo. For Gratelli and McClellan, Bateman was the only link to the deaths worth pursuing. So despite the short shrift the department gave the investigation, Gratelli and McClellan continued to pursue it.

‘You’ve been very thorough,’ Gratelli said to Paul Chang. ‘Appreciate it. But could you tell us a little more about her?’ Gratelli sat on the edge of the day bed. McClellan leaned against the windowsill. Paul was in his adjustable chair. He swiveled away from the drafting table.

‘Like what?’

‘How about, where were you the night this happened?’ McClellan asked.

‘How about here. My apartment. Here.’

‘By yourself?’

‘Um. Uh. Yes. Working.’

‘Anyone with you?’ McClellan continued.

‘I just said I was by myself.’

‘Well you didn’t seem too sure.’

‘I was trying to remember if Bradley was here. He wasn’t.’

‘Bradley being your close buddy?’ McClellan’s question was punctuated with a nasty grin.

‘You could say that.’

‘I could say a lot of things,’ McClellan said.

‘Problem there is that not much of it would make much sense,’ Paul said.

Gratelli looked around the apartment. Nothing had changed since he and McClellan did a little illegal search. He felt a little awkward knowing so much intimate stuff about Paul Chang. He knew it was unfair. If only cats could talk.

‘What about friends?’ McClellan said.

‘Mine?’

‘Hers, dummy,’ McClellan said.

‘Sammie Cassidy. She works at DRP Insurance, one of the companies we work with. They’re not real close, but have lunch, hang out every once in a while. Workouts at the gym. That sort of thing.’

‘Surely there is someone else,’ McClellan said, turning back. Gratelli scribbled Sammie’s name in his notebook.

‘Me,’ Paul said, seemingly having trouble thinking of another. ‘We spend a lot of time together. Otherwise she was pretty reclusive. Nobody special.’

‘You and her get together outside of working hours?’ McClellan asked.

‘Sure. Shopping. Movies. Plays sometimes. Galleries.’

‘David Seidman. I guess he’s nothing special,’ Gratelli said.

‘Yes, of course, I forgot David,’ Paul said.

‘Why did you forget David Seidman?’ Gratelli asked.

‘I don’t know. He’s forgettable.’ There, he had said it.

‘Maybe I could take your little smart ass down to the rubber room sometime,’ McClellan said.

‘Not into rubber.’

McClellan’s laugh was filled with disgust. He turned, looked out of the window, down across Hayes Street. The peeper was on the other side, the alley side of the building.

‘But Julia Bateman likes Seidman,’ Gratelli said.

‘Yes, she does, but not as much as David would like.’

‘Oh?’ McClellan turned back around. He seemed interested in the conversation again.

‘I don’t think so,’ Paul said, answering McClellan’s cryptic suggestion.

‘Don’t think so, what?’ McClellan asked.

‘David Seidman did not attack Jules. No way.’

‘Why not?’ the overweight detective said, coming toward Paul, nearly tripping over the little brown cat.

McClellan let out a string of obscenities and the cat went toward Gratelli, unfazed by it all, hopping on Gratelli’s lap.

‘It’s like Chat knows you guys,’ Paul said.

‘People make that mistake all the time,’ Gratelli said. ‘Nobody knows Mickey. Not even Mickey.’

‘Makes sense to me,’ Paul said. He turned to McClellan, answering his question. ‘Because David loved Jules.’

‘She didn’t love him is what you’re saying,’ Gratelli said.

‘She liked him,’ Paul said. ‘They spent time together.’

‘Did that bother you?’ McClellan asked.

‘No,’ Paul said. He laughed.

‘Because he wasn’t a threat to you?’ the heavier cop continued.

‘This is weird,’ Paul said, standing up. ‘I have a life. Jules has a life. I hope she has, anyway. I was neither threatened or unthreatened. I wanted… want her to be happy.’

‘She couldn’t be happy with this David guy?’ McClellan said.

Paul shook his head. ‘Listen carefully. David is a nice man. Jules is a nice woman. But no bells. No magic. No symphonies. No tingling sensation. You getting any of this?’

‘You’re coming about this close,’ McClellan said putting finger and thumb about an inch apart, ‘to being on my enemies list. And that’s not a place to be.’

‘Part of our job is to ask questions other people think are stupid,’ Gratelli said. ‘Any other boyfriends? Maybe the recent past?’

‘No. The only guy she goes out with is David. Aside from me, that is.’

‘That doesn’t count for much in the man-woman department, does it?’ McClellan asked.

‘No.’

‘So, c’mon now, anybody make her bells ring lately?’ McClellan asked, his face up next to Paul’s.

‘I don’t know if I’d tell you anyway.’

‘Go sit down, Mickey,’ Gratelli said.

‘She had dinner with Thaddeus Maldeaux,’ Paul said. ‘Just dinner. A little magic, I think.’

‘But you don’t think he buried the sausage? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘I’m sorry, I was unable to put it so poetically,’ Paul said.