Steven James - Opening Moves

The server returned. I prefer Cherry Coke, but the only cola on the menu here was Pepsi. She refilled Ralph’s coffee and my soda, giving me a moment to consider my response.

“Pat, there’s a limit to what science and reason can explain. For example, no philosopher yet has ever been able to prove that we’re not all just brains in a jar.”

I’d read about that famous philosophical dilemma before: “I think, therefore I am.” But how do you know you’re not just a mind thinking that you’re a person with a body? It’s the quintessential question of how we know we truly exist and I couldn’t think of any good response.

He folded his hands. “I want to hear more about this deal with you and coincidences, but right now, finish up with what you were saying a minute ago. Pastiches. The alley. Dahmer.”

“Right. The timing and nature of the previous homicides to what we have here certainly makes it appear that they’re related.”

“But we studied the case files all morning, didn’t find anything solid. It’s possible they’re not.”

“Correct. So let’s just take the crimes last night for a sec. They go much deeper than just some teenager finding out that alley is next to where Dahmer used to live, and then spray-painting profane graffiti on a wall or leaving a chopped-up mannequin in the alley. We’ve had that before.”

“I can only imagine.”

“No, our guy was all in, playing for keeps: threatening a woman’s life, forcing Vincent to drug and abduct another man, strip him, leave him out there in that specific alley.”

“Not to mention cutting off Colleen’s hands.”

“Not to mention that.”

He paused. “So, we hold back from assuming that the cases are connected, dial in as much as we can on the Dahmer angle, maybe explore any other possible Dahmer pastiches in the past, or things at the first two homicides that we might have missed that could be related to Dahmer’s crimes. Maybe pastiches to other killers.”

“Yes. Locations in particular. When he was a teenager, Dahmer murdered his first victim in Bath Township, Ohio, just over an hour north of where the first body was found down near White Oak. There might be more there that we can look into.”

“Interesting.”

And that’s when our food arrived.

Honestly, I was ready for a respite from thinking about cannibals, amputations, and dead bodies-especially now that I had a juicy cheeseburger in front of me. Ralph must have been thinking something along the same line because, as he went at his beef goulash, he asked me about my hobbies, my background, steering our conversation away from the case.

“I grew up not too far from here, in Horicon. I like to rock climb, get out west to Yosemite when I can. I was a wilderness guide for a while in college, got my criminal justice degree: UW-River Falls. Ended up attending the police academy two weeks after I graduated.”

He eyed me. “And you’re what? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”

“Twenty-five.”

Mentally, he did the calculations. “Then how are you a homicide detective already? A department as big as Milwaukee’s, it must usually take what, at least six, seven years on the force for that?”

I wasn’t really sure what to say. “I notice things. Thorne noticed that.”

Ralph gazed across the restaurant and gestured toward a man in a gray business suit four tables over, his empty dishes in front of him. “So, Armani over there; what do you notice about him?”

I glanced at him momentarily, then back at Ralph.

“He was expecting a petite woman whom he knows well, and whose company he enjoys, to meet him here more than twenty minutes ago. He’s disappointed that she never showed and is still holding out hope that she will. He ordered the fish and chips and a large Pepsi, drives the black Ford Explorer parked outside, isn’t a very big tipper, and is about to get a parking ticket.”

“What the-?” Ralph stared at me. “How do you know all that?”

“There were two menus on his table when we first came in. Two waters, but no one else ever showed. He ordered her a cup of coffee. He checked his watch four times and finally ordered his meal.”

“So he was expecting someone, okay, but how can you tell that it was a petite woman that he likes?”

I pointed to the main entrance on our left. “Whenever anyone comes in, he looks that way, but the door is backlit from the outside, so from where he’s sitting it’s not possible to see people’s faces when they enter. You’re left with-”

“Ah. Posture and frame.” Ralph caught on. “So, when a group of people or a man, or maybe a tall or large-framed woman enters, you’re saying he doesn’t look as closely at them.”

“But when a shorter, slimmer woman enters-”

“He watches her until she steps away from the door and isn’t backlit,” he concluded.

“Where he can see her face. Yes.” The door opened as we spoke, Armani looked that way as a six-foot-four guy lumbered in. Our man in the suit promptly glanced down at his watch.

“And you just happened to notice this while we were sitting here talking?”

“Yes.”

A pause. I took a bite of my cheeseburger. It really was good.

“But you said he knows her well. What tells you that?”

I swallowed, wiped some ketchup from my chin. “Remember the coffee on the table?”

“Yeah, he ordered it for her. So what?”

“You typically wouldn’t order coffee for someone you’re meeting for the first time and he knew she took cream and added it. You wouldn’t do that unless you’re expecting someone momentarily.”

“Cools it too quickly.”

“From what I hear, yes. And you don’t add cream to a woman’s coffee unless you know her well-it’s a bit of an intimate act. People are pretty protective about their coffee and what they put into it to…calm it. So he has-”

“A close relationship with her and he expected her right away.”

“So it seems.”

“And the Ford Explorer…Let me guess, his keys there next to the newspaper. You saw the vehicle parked out front when we came in. Guessed it was his?”

“Didn’t have to guess. You can tell by the key fob that he’s driving a rental. The Explorer out front has Maine plates and an Enterprise agreement form lying on the passenger seat.”

He blinked. “You saw that when we passed by?”

“Yes. He’s tanned; it’s November in Wisconsin.”

“And in Maine. So he’s not from either state.”

I shrugged. “Can’t tell for sure, but it helps give context.”

“And why’s he about to get a ticket?”

“Parking is strictly enforced in the blocks surrounding police headquarters.”

“Okay, I get that.” We both ate for a moment, then he stopped and lowered his heaping spoonful of goulash. “You said he had fish and chips and a Pepsi. There’s an empty tartar sauce packet on his plate, that’s easy enough. And now that I think about it, the menu lists only Pepsi products and there’s a little dark-colored pop left in his glass, so-”

“Soda.”

“What?”

“We don’t call it pop here; that’s more of a Michigan deal. We call it soda. You should also know we call drinking fountains ‘bubblers.’”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. It’s a Milwaukee thing. And yes, Pepsi is the only dark-colored soda being served today. Nowhere near as good as Cherry Coke.”

“You still haven’t explained how you know he isn’t a big tipper.”

“The cost of that meal, drink, and a coffee plus tax compared to the bills he set on the table. Only an eight percent tip.”

Ralph examined the man’s table once again, this time even more closely. “But there aren’t any bills there.”