Frank Zafiro - Beneath a Weeping Sky

“I took a Civil Service exam.”

“Ah, that explains a lot.”

“You made lieutenant the same way,” Reott reminded him.

“True, but at least I’ve figured out why it came with a pay raise.”

“So you can drink more?”

“No.” Crawford shook his head. “So that when you’re sitting alone at your house with no friends anywhere to be seen, crying in your cups, at least you can commiserate with a little bit finer brand of booze.”

Reott let out a long, knowing chuckle. “Oh, that’s rich.”

“It’s true.”

“I know,” Reott said, still laughing.

Crawford smiled and drank his coffee.

Reott allowed himself a few more quiet chuckles, thinking of the two bottles of seventeen year old Glengoyne single malt Scotch whisky at home in his cupboard. He’d dropped over a hundred bucks for the two of them right before Christmas last year, so maybe Crawford had a point.

His laughter tapered off. He resumed chewing his Rolaids and swallowed. When he’d finished, he leaned back in his chair. “So where are we on this rapist?”

“We’re nowhere,” Crawford replied.

“Aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine?”

Crawford shrugged. “It is what it is. Tower hasn’t come up with anything. The victims didn’t see anything. The forensics is a bust.”

“What about the composite sketch?”

“Tons of responses, just like I expected.”

“And?”

“And Tower ran them all down. Most of them, anyway. I’ve got Finch and Elias running down some of the others, along with the other dicks in Sexual Assault.”

“But no luck,” Reott concluded.

“No luck,” Crawford said.

“Which leaves us with what?”

“It leaves us with nothing,” Crawford said, the frustration in his voice apparent.

“We can’t keep MacLeod in limbo like this forever,” Reott said. “How long has it been?”

“Only a week and a half.”

“I’ll bet ‘only’ isn’t a word MacLeod would use to describe it.”

Crawford shrugged. “You want my take on this?”

“I didn’t ask you in here for your theories on police pay scales.”

Crawford ignored the jest. “I think he’s moved on.”

“You mean left River City?”

“Yes. I think that when things got too hot, he packed up and moved on.”

Reott looked at Crawford, appraising the Investigative Lieutenant’s words. Finally, he said, “The investigation part of this is your call. I don’t know if I agree with your theory, but it’s your call to make.”

“I know.”

“But I’m curious why you think this guy’s gone.”

“He was on a rampage, Mike. He couldn’t control himself. Then he almost gets caught. Now there hasn’t been a stranger rape for two weeks.”

“That’s not very long.”

“He raped two of them one day apart,” Crawford pointed out, shaking his head. “No, this guy is compulsive. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried.”

“What does Tower think?”

“All he cares about is catching the guy. He’s not going to admit the possibility that this suspect is out of his reach.”

“Did you talk to the Prosecutor?”

“Yes. Patrick Hinote said he doesn’t have an opinion on the matter. He’s more concerned that if we do find the guy, he gets a call right away. Unless the evidence in this case opens up, a conviction is going to be tough.”

“How about his team?” Reott asked. “They seemed pretty hard core during that meeting we had.”

“I don’t know. That’s Hinote’s problem and he said he’d handle it.”

Reott sighed. “Sounds like just about everyone is ready to give up. I don’t like that idea.”

“It’s not giving up, Mike.”

“What would you call it?”

“Re-allocating our assets,” Crawford replied immediately.

“Does that include the MacLeod detail?”

“They’re your people, but I’d say yes.”

Reott pursed his lips in thought. “What if this guy is just waiting for us to do exactly that? What if he’s been watching for that this entire time?”

Crawford met Reott’s eyes with his own steady gaze. “Well, if that’s the case, then it will still be true no matter when we pull the plug on this detail, won’t it?”

Reott thought about it for several long moments. He rose from his chair and walked back to the window. Reaching through the opening, he let the thick spring raindrops pepper his palms. Then he wiped the cool water on his face and neck again. “Is this one of those tough decisions we were talking about earlier?” he asked, more to himself than anyone else.

Crawford answered anyway.

“Only if you make the wrong one,” the lieutenant said.

1804 hours

Tower glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after six already, which put him an hour past quitting time.

He didn’t care.

Lieutenant Crawford informed him earlier that afternoon that both the surveillance and the protection details were being pulled. He took the news in stride, knowing that there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Moreover, he struggled to find fault with the decision. That didn’t stop him from being pissed off about it.

Listlessly, he flipped through the three most recent tips. He found nothing interesting, so he reached for another license plate and tapped the information into the computer. As he waited for the return, his telephone rang.

He snatched the receiver off the hook, hoping it was something helpful. “Tower,” he barked.

“John? It’s Stephanie.”

Disappointment settled into Tower’s chest. Was he ever going to catch a break?

“Oh. Hey.”

“Don’t sound so enthused,” she chided gently.

“Just busy, babe. What’s up?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering when you’d be home. I was thinking of cooking some steaks.”

Tower felt a pang of guilt. “I, uh, I don’t know exactly,” he said.

Stephanie was quiet on the other end of the line. Then she said, “John, just come home. We’ll have some steak and some wine and then I’ll take you to bed.”

“That sounds good,” Tower admitted. In fact, it sounded very good.

“Great,” she said. “Then I’ll see you soon?”

Tower looked at her picture on his desk, then at the open case file. The stack of license plates next to the case file were his best lead right now, probably his only lead. He should probably finish them before calling it a night. But that would take hours.

“Steph, I don’t know. I’ve got these license plates to check through — ”

“They’ll still be there in the morning, right?”

Tower sighed. “Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be home.”

Stephanie was silent a moment, then sighed herself. “Okay, John. Your couple of hours usually turns into all night, but okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” she said, and hung up.

He stared at the receiver for a few moments afterward, shaking his head to himself. What was he doing? He was going to screw things up with this woman if he didn’t pull things together pretty fast. Most women would have probably already called no joy and split.

Tower hung up the telephone and turned to back to his stack of license plates. The computer let out a soft ding. He took a look at the vehicle registration return.

Goodkind, Jeffrey A.

Tower suppressed a sigh. That certainly didn’t sound like a serial rapist to him, but he’d dig into Mr. Goodkind a little bit just the same, exactly like he had all the others.

Time for another trip down another blind alley.

“Working late, John?”

Tower turned toward the voice behind him. Ray Browning stood near his desk, a light jacket slung over his shoulder.