John Lutz - Fear the Night

When it was time, Melbourne lifted the receiver and identified himself.

“You know who this is?” came the answering voice. Neutral, sexless, perhaps filtered through something that might disguise it.

“I know. What do you want this fine morning?”

“What did he say?”

“He?”

“Don’t play tricks to try keeping me on the line. That might cost somebody their life, and that would be on your conscience.”

“He said no.”

A laugh, as cold and neutral as the voice. “He’ll change his mind. I know him. Know about him. Captain Vincent Repetto. Hero and legend. Know him as well as I know myself.”

“I’d say there’s a lot of difference between you two.”

“Only the twists and turns of fate.”

“Hardly. I know Vin Repetto.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“So tell me about yourself.”

“I’ll tell you what I want, who I want, and that’s Captain Vincent Repetto. The only worthy opponent in your entire incompetent bureaucracy.”

“He’s no longer part of the bureaucracy.”

“He can be again.”

“I told you, I asked him. He said no.”

“Then ask him again. Be persuasive. Give him the third degree. I’ll accept no one other than Repetto.”

“The choice isn’t yours to make.”

“But it is, and I’ve made it.”

“Listen-”

“Better think of some way to give me what I demand, and soon. I’m patient, but I won’t wait forever.”

Click. Buzzzzzzzzz.

Melbourne replaced the receiver and looked at his watch. He knew the killer had cut the connection soon enough.

Mathers stuck his head back in the office. “The call was from a cell phone, sir.”

“Sure,” Melbourne said, knowing that if the phone were ever found, it would turn out to be stolen and wiped clean of prints. “We record the call okay?”

“You betcha.”

Instead of leaving his office, Melbourne sat behind his desk for a long time, thinking of ways to be persuasive.

At ten the next morning, Repetto was seated at his desk cleaning his father’s old.38 police special revolver, when the doorbell rang.

Lora was upstairs selecting paint samples to show a client. Usually she didn’t hear the doorbell there. Repetto put down the container of bluing he was holding and wiped his hand on the rag the gun had been wrapped in, then made his way to the front door and peered through the peephole.

A tall woman with long red hair stood on the concrete stoop. Repetto opened the door to get a less distorted look at her.

Since it was a sunny April morning, she wasn’t wearing a coat. She had a good figure beneath a brown blazer with a matching skirt. Her face was angular, her eyes green and pink-rimmed beneath strands of hair the breeze had laid across her face. She appeared to have been crying, but he suspected her eyes were always like that, in the manner of some redheads. Her makeup was sparse but it was there, pale lipstick, paler green eye shadow. Repetto guessed her age at about forty.

She smiled. Straight teeth, nice smile. She said, “Only an ex-homicide detective could size up a woman like that.”

Repetto grinned, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It wasn’t. .”

“Lascivious?”

“No. I mean, yes, it wasn’t.”

“So what did you decide about me?” She cocked her head to one side as she asked the question, almost the way Lora did.

“We haven’t met,” Repetto said. “You’re educated-that word lascivious-and well enough off financially but not wealthy.”

She raised her eyebrows. There wouldn’t have been much to them were it not for eyebrow pencil.

“Your clothes,” Repetto explained. “A good cop can judge clothes like a fashion expert, at least when it comes to price. Yours are in good taste, and medium-priced except for your shoes. They’re expensive.”

“You can’t be too kind to your feet,” the woman said.

“You’ve got a job, maybe a profession, that pays you well enough. You’re unmarried.” He saw her glance at her ringless left hand. “You’re well adjusted and reasonably happy, ambitious, and you want something.”

She smiled. “What makes you think I want something?”

“You’ve managed to stir my interest and keep me talking while you’re sizing me up.”

“You can learn a lot about people from what they think about you,” she said.

“If they’re honest.”

“A former NYPD detective would be honest.”

“Different kind of honest,” Repetto said.

She seemed to think that over but didn’t say anything.

“You don’t strike me as the type who’s selling something, so what do you want?” he asked.

“My name’s Zoe Brady,” she said.

“I wondered when we’d get around to that. You obviously know things about me, including my name, I’m sure.”

“You’re Vincent Repetto. The legendary Repetto. Tough cop and true. Smart and every kind of honest.”

“Now I know you want something.”

“I’m a profiler in the NYPD,” Zoe said.

“And I know what you want.” Repetto stepped outside and closed the door behind him; it wouldn’t do for Lora to hear any of this. “Lou Melbourne sent you.”

“He okayed it. Coming here was my idea.”

“Whoever came up with the idea, it wasn’t a good one. I’m not going to change my mind about the sniper.”

“The thing is,” Zoe said, “he’s not going to change his mind about you. I’ve worked to get inside this guy’s head, and I’ve got some small idea of how he reasons-or thinks he reasons. He’s not going to give up on something he wants, and he wants you to engage in a contest with him.”

“He isn’t going to get what he wants.”

“Well, we want it too. Because we know how dangerous the sniper is. And we understand why he wants you as his nemesis. You’re legendary, and in his mind, he soon will be.” She stared earnestly at Repetto. “Have you at least given the matter any thought since Captain Melbourne talked with you?”

“I have,” he said. “I haven’t changed my mind. The game this sicko wants is one I’m finished playing.” He smiled at her. There was something he liked about her despite her mission, despite the fact she wasn’t really a cop. If only he didn’t have to get professionally involved with her. He’d never been crazy about profilers. In his experience they were more often wrong than right. And when they were right, it was about the obvious-male, certain age bracket, poor or unemployed, tough childhood … “I’m sorry, Zoe, but I’m not subject to threats from a psychotic killer. Next time the sniper contacts you, tell him I said no, I don’t want to play.”

She shrugged. “Okay, I tried and failed. The AC was right about you. You’re a hard man.”

“Was I just insulted?”

She backed down the steps gracefully and grinned up at him. “Not by me. I like hard and proud. That way I know where I stand.”

“You’ll tell Melbourne what I said?”

“I’ll tell him.” She nodded to Repetto, then started to stride down the sidewalk. After a few steps, she stopped and turned. “I’ll also tell him that the way I size you up, I don’t think you’re likely to change your mind.”

“You’ve got me profiled.”

“Sure. You’re a cinch.”

Repetto smiled at her, nodded good-bye, then opened the door and went back inside to his wife and his new life and his father’s gun.

Jim Lu had a talent given by his ancestors. Even as a child in Dom Ning he could sketch likenesses of anything, but especially of people. He had never attended school beyond his basic education in China, and never had the benefit of an art class. But what he saw, he could draw. He could look into it, understand it, see what made it what it was; then he could recreate it.