Frank Zafiro - Beneath a Weeping Sky

On top of that, there hadn’t been a whisper of activity at MacLeod’s house during the surveillance by officers there. No appearances by the rapist there or anywhere while she was on patrol. Chisolm reported no suspicious activity at the hotel they were staying at, either. That led to amateur hour, with Lieutenant Crawford trying to convince him that the Rainy Day Rapist had hopped a train out of River City. He wanted to shut down the operation.

So what did that make it? Strike four? Five?

Tower decided to dump the baseball analogy. Instead, he imagined this to be a back-alley scrap. One with no rules other than the most basic rules of conflict — never give up and the last man standing wins.

He wasn’t going to quit. He was going to find the son of a bitch.

He reached for the small stack of tips and leafed through them. All were vague and unlikely candidates. He decided to pass them back to Crawford. The lieutenant would give them to Finch and Elias to run down, which was fine by Tower. Let those glory boy homicide dicks do a little work for someone else for a change, instead of the other way around.

Tower half-chuckled, half-snorted at his own thoughts.

Jeez, am I really turning into that big of an asshole?

Rather than study that question any further, he reached for the list of license plates that the surveillance officers had jotted down. At his request, they’d noted any cars that pulled onto Calispel during surveillance, as well as cars parked a block in either direction. It was a long shot, but at this point, he didn’t have much else.

Systematically, he began running the license plate numbers through the Department of Licensing computer. That gave him the registered owner. If it were a male, he’d run that male through the criminal database. He’d also run a history on the address and get any other male names from that, which he’d also run through the criminal database. Anyone with a criminal record would be a nice start, but he figured he should look hard at anyone whose car didn’t belong in the neighborhood by virtue of living there. Maybe the Rainy Day Rapist had driven by to case MacLeod’s house.

As he worked, he thought about the women who’d been victimized in this case. While his analytical mind worked on the license plate data, he let the unconscious part of his mind drift over the names.

Heather Torin.

Patricia Reno.

Maureen Hite.

Wendy Latah.

How were they different?

How were they the same?

How did he pick them? Was it coincidence or design?

Tower kept tapping information into the computer, reviewing the returns. Both sides of his brain whirred with activity, but the only thing that he knew for sure was that the Rainy Day Rapist was getting progressively more violent. Tower was pretty certain that if he didn’t find the suspect before he struck again, the news media was going to have to change his name to the Rainy Day Killer.

Graveyard Shift

2129 hours

“So?” Matt Westboard asked Katie as soon as they were clear of the basement of the police station.

“So what?” she replied from the passenger seat, but she knew what he was asking.

“How are you holding up?” Westboard asked.

Katie gave a long, irritated sigh. “Please, Matt. Not you, too, okay?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Katie watched the scenery of River City’s West Central neighborhood flit by. The smaller single-family homes were some of the older houses in the city. It was easy for Katie to tell which were owned and which were rentals, as the well-tended lawns and neatly painted homes alternated with the overgrown yards and houses with chipped, peeling walls. She greatly preferred working up in Hillyard instead, even though the scene there was much the same, just with homes from the 1950s instead of the 1920s. But since Westboard was driving, his choice as to where they’d patrol was pretty much the default. Maybe she’d suggest they give Hillyard a try later in the shift.

“How’s Putter doing?” she asked, changing the subject.

Westboard smiled knowingly. “Your cat’s doing fine. He likes to sleep on the recliner in my living room.”

“And you let him?”

Westboard snorted. “He’s a cat. Like I can tell him what to do.”

“I don’t let him sleep on the furniture,” Katie objected lightly.

“Yeah, well, he’s a guest, so he gets special privileges at my house.”

Katie shrugged. “Your call. I hate to see how spoiled your kids will be one day, though.”

Westboard didn’t answer. After a few moments of silence, he repeated his earlier question. “What’d you mean before?”

Katie turned her head, facing the other officer. There was no sense of guile about him. She felt momentarily guilty for including him with most of the others. While they didn’t hang out away from work, Westboard had proven to be a good friend on duty. He probably didn’t deserve any attitude.

“I’m sorry, Matt,” she said. “It’s just been a frustrating week.”

“Not enjoying your vacation with Chisolm?”

She shrugged. “That part isn’t so bad. Tom’s a nice guy. He gives me my space when I need it, but he’ll hang out with me if I’m in the mood. We’ve watched Jeopardy just about every night. He’s pretty good at it.”

“That comes with getting old,” Westboard joked. “Pretty soon, Alzheimer’s will kick in and that streak will end.”

“Maybe. But he’s been cool through all of this. I mean, I’m sure there’s someplace he’d rather be.”

Westboard grinned and said nothing.

Katie noticed the grin. “What?”

Westboard shrugged and shook his head. “Nothing.”

She figured it out then. “My God, Matt. You’re as bad as the others.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he protested.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t ,” he repeated.

“You didn’t have to,” she repeated back. “You guys are all alike. So does everyone else think the same thing?” She imagined it were so, but had held out a futile hope that maybe, just maybe some of her co-workers would give her the benefit of the doubt. Or Chisolm, for that matter.

Westboard glanced over at her. “Oh, you mean does everyone think you and Chisolm are fooling around?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. Duh.”

“I don’t know. Probably a few. That’s not what I meant, though.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not. Honest.”

Katie frowned at him. “Really?”

He gave her an emphatic nod. “Really.”

“What did you mean, then?”

Westboard turned on Nettleton Street, slowing to a crawl. He scanned the sidewalks as he drove. “All I meant was that I don’t think there’s anywhere else Chisolm would rather be than protecting you. That’s it.”

Katie narrowed her eyes, thinking. “That’s almost the same thing.”

“Not even close.”

“Saying that Tom and I are shacking up at the hotel and saying that there’s no place he’d rather be than shacking up is pretty much the same thing, Matt.”

“That would be,” Westboard agreed. “But that’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said.”

“Okay, then it’s not what I was referring to.”

“Then what?”

Westboard stopped for the stop sign at Boone. He turned to look at Katie before answering. “I’m just saying that the kind of guy Chisolm is, being on a protection detail for a platoon mate is probably his idea of heaven.”

“I doubt it.”

“Come on, Katie. That’s exactly what drives the guy. You ever hear him talk about anything away from work?”

“No, but neither do you.”

Westboard shook his head. “Sure, I’m private, but at least you know when I’ve gone to Mexico on vacation or seen a baseball game. I told you when I bought a new truck. Chisolm ever talk about something like that? Does he ever talk about anything ?”