Frank Zafiro - Beneath a Weeping Sky

“Just trying to find the piece that breaks things open,” Tower said.

Browning nodded knowingly. He settled into the chair at the empty desk opposite Tower. “You want a little help?”

Tower shook his head. “Thanks, Ray, but no. Take off. You’ve got a family to get home to.”

“Don’t you have a Stephanie?”

“She’s a big girl,” Tower said. “She understands.”

Browning nodded again. He adjusted the small wire frames on his nose and observed in a quiet voice, “Be careful you don’t take advantage of that, you know?”

Tower cocked an eyebrow at him. “So what, you’re a relationship counselor now?”

“No,” Browning said. “Just someone who has gone before telling a fellow traveler about the dangers of the road ahead.”

“That sounds more like Buddha than a counselor,” Tower remarked dryly.

Browning let out a small chuckle. “Well, if it helps, I don’t care if it makes me sound like Bobcat Goldwhaite.”

“Point taken, Ray. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And the offer’s open, if you want the help.”

Tower shook his head again. “No, it’s all right. There’s nothing but grunt work here anyway.”

“I’ve done plenty of that.”

“ Boring grunt work,” Tower corrected, then added, “that doesn’t net anything.”

“Done that, too.”

Tower smiled grimly. “I’ll bet you have. But really, I’m just going to run a few more of these registered owners and then I’ll head home.”

Browning nodded, but Tower could tell the older detective knew he was lying. He must have understood Tower’s angst, though, because he had the decency not to call him on the lie. Instead, he rose to leave.

“You should go home, too,” he told Tower. “Those plates will still be there in the morning.”

“That’s what Stephanie said.”

“She’s right. Besides,” Browning added, “if you leave them for tomorrow, you’ll be fresher when you look at them. Detail work like that, you don’t want to miss anything.”

Tower nodded, but made no move to leave.

Browning gave him a warm smile. He slipped his arms into his jacket. As he adjusted it around his shoulders, he said, “You know, John, when you find this guy, he’s not going to live up to your expectations.”

“I don’t have any expectations. I just want to stop him.”

Browning’s smile widened. “Don’t kid a kidder,” he said. “This guy has brutally raped at least four women. He assaulted a police officer. He’s gotten more violent every time out. Has the teacher come out of her coma yet?”

“No,” Tower whispered. “She’s still unresponsive.”

Browning raised his eyebrows and nodded. “And he’ll be even worse the next time.”

“Probably.”

“So when you find him, you’ll expect him to be some evil, maniacal genius. You already half-imagine him to be a man capable of sprouting horns on his head and spitting fire from a forked, demonic tongue.”

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Barely,” Browning said. He reached up and stroked his graying goatee. “But the point is that no matter how much you’ve built him up, you are going to be disappointed in the end. That’s because what you’ll discover is that he is a sad, sick, flawed, insecure, inadequate creature who figured out how to do one thing well in life. When you take that away from him, all the rest of the bravado falls. All that’s left is the weakness.”

Tower stared at Browning. A sarcastic reply of “profound” died on his lips. Instead, he swallowed and thought about Browning’s words. Then he asked, “Is that how it is with you? With the murderers you investigate?”

Browning nodded slowly. “Every single one of them.”

Tower glanced back down at his open case file, then at his picture of Stephanie. When he looked back up at Browning, the older detective was still staring at him. His warm brown eyes radiated empathy.

“He’s just a man, John,” he said. Then he reached out and squeezed Tower on the shoulder. “Just a sick, sad man.”

Tower nodded his thanks.

Browning turned and made his way out of the Sexual Assault Unit.

Tower thought about it a moment longer. Then he decided that Detective Ray Browning was pretty much the best cop he knew, so he should listen to the man. He pushed the PRINTbutton on the computer, getting a copy of Mr. Jeffrey A. Goodkind’s registration information so that he could start with that particular blind alley again in the morning. Then he reached for the phone.

Stephanie answered on the second ring.

“Babe?” Tower asked.

“Yeah?”

“Put on the steaks,” he said, “and pour the wine.”

2048 hours

Graveyard Shift

Katie MacLeod laced up her patrol boots, cinching down the knot. She reached for her duty belt, strapping it around her waist. She slipped the thin leather belt keepers under her regular belt and around her duty belt to secure the two together. After a quick glance in the mirror to make sure she was presentable, she grabbed her patrol bag and left the locker room.

In the hallway that led down to the sally port in the basement, she dropped her bag. She’d pick it up after roll call on the way downstairs. She made her way toward the briefing room, but was intercepted by Lieutenant Saylor.

“MacLeod?” he said. “I need to see you for a second.”

Katie gave him a professional nod, but inside she suppressed a sigh.

What is it now? I’m going into the Witness Protection Program?

The two stepped into the conference room next to the sergeant’s office. Even after being on the job for five years, going into the so-called “spanking room” with a sergeant or lieutenant gave her a sense of unease in the pit of her stomach.

Saylor closed the door. He turned to face her. Up close, Katie could see the hard lines of his face. He always reminded her of a paradoxical cross between a kindly grandfather and a Marine drill instructor.

“It’s been a bit of a rough ride this last couple of weeks, hasn’t it?” he asked her.

“It’s been fine, sir,” Katie answered. Unconsciously, she found herself standing as straight as she could.

Saylor smiled slightly. “My experience has been that room service is only good for about a day or so. Usually less than that.”

Katie flashed to the tasteless sandwiches and soggy fries that she’d been subsisting on at the hotel. He’d hit the nail on the head. “It hasn’t been gourmet,” she admitted.

“Well, I’ve got some good news,” Saylor told her. “It’s over.”

“Over?”

Saylor nodded. “That’s the word from above.”

“Did they catch the guy?”

“No.”

Katie narrowed her eyes in thought. She wondered why this change of heart had occurred. “So I can check out of the hotel and go home?”

“Yes.”

“And I don’t have to ride with anyone tonight?”

Saylor shrugged. “I suppose that’s between you and Sergeant Shen. But there’s no directive from the Captain that says you have to.”

Katie stood in the small conference room, a mixture of emotions rushing through her. There was an overwhelming sense of relief and exhilaration at the situation ending and at returning to something akin to normal. At the same time, she experienced some hesitation and gnawing concern. “I wonder why now?” she asked aloud, more rhetorically than not.

Saylor answered anyway. “I think they figured he’d moved on.”

“You mean left River City?”

“Maybe. Or just emotionally. There’s been no sign of him these last two weeks, right?”

Katie shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Then that’d be my guess.”