Karen Rose - I’m Watching You

11:00 p.m.

Abe stopped short at the base of the stairs. There she was, once again. Standing at the glass doors that led to the street, nearly swallowed up in her bulky coat, her rich red hair still in the tight twist that made his head ache just looking at it. Her profile could have been hewn from stone, she was so still. He was surprised to see her. He thought she would have left half an hour before, when the meeting had disbanded and they’d all gone their separate ways. Spinnelli had gone back to his office to order uniformed watch over the three sites indicated by the maps. Mia disappeared with a large box filled with Ray Rawlston’s personal effects.

His new partner was efficient, eradicating all traces of the man who’d owned that desk for twenty years. He didn’t envy her the task of taking personal effects to the widow of a fallen officer. He’d done it himself, once, before making detective. It was his partner’s baseball cap, and he’d held the woman left behind, awkwardly patting her back as she sobbed, clutching the baseball cap to her breast. His partner’s wife hadn’t cried at the hospital or the funeral, but it was somehow holding that damn cap that lowered her floodgates. He’d gone home and pounded the punching bag in the garage until Debra had come to find him, worried. She’d kissed his sore knuckles, then held him, murmured in his ear the comforting things that only a wife can. Could . Past tense. Debra was gone, truly gone.

God, he missed her. He let himself yearn for just a moment, to wish for what might have been, to wonder what if. Then realized he still stood in the same spot. Still stared at Kristen Mayhew’s profile as she stared out onto the darkened street. And he wondered what went through her mind. He assumed she was scared. She had every right to be. Even though Spinnelli had ordered a unit drive by her house every hour and even though she had every one of their personal cell phone numbers, she had every right to be afraid.

He approached slowly and cleared his throat. „Am I out of pepper spray range?“ In the window’s reflection he saw her lips quirk in rueful amusement.

„You’re safe, Detective,“ she said quietly. „I thought you’d be gone by now.“

He stopped a few inches from her right shoulder, closer than he’d intended. But he caught the scent of her fragrance and his feet refused to move. When she’d clutched his arm in the garage she’d been this close, but his head had been filled with the odor of stale oil and exhaust. She smelled good, he thought. Pretty. And he wished he hadn’t noticed. „I’m on my way home. I thought you’d have been out of here a half hour ago.“

„I’m waiting for a cab.“

„A cab? Why?“

„Because you have my car at Impound and the rental car place is closed.“

Abe shook his head. Of course. He couldn’t believe one of them hadn’t thought about that before going their separate ways. „Don’t you have a friend you can call?“

„No.“ It wasn’t a bitter retort, just no. No, you don’t have a friend you can call, or no you don’t have a friend ? The thought hit him out of nowhere, accompanied by a profound need to protect. From a vigilante murdering peeping Tom? From having no friends? From me ?

„I’ll take you home. It’s on my way.“ It was a lie, of course, but she didn’t have to know.

She smiled. „How do you know? You don’t even know where I live.“

He recited her address, then shrugged a little sheepishly. „I was listening when you told Spinnelli your address for the patrol drive-bys. Let me drive you home, Kristen. I’ll check out your house and make sure no vigilante peeping Toms are hiding in the closets.“

„I was worried about that,“ she admitted. „Are you sure it’s no trouble?“

„I’m sure. But I do have two favors to ask.“

Instantly her green eyes went wary and he wondered why. Or who . A woman that looked like Kristen Mayhew would find it impossible to escape opportunists who wanted special favors. „What?“ she asked sharply.

„First, stop calling me Detective Reagan,“ Abe said simply. „Please call me Abe.“

He could see her shoulders relax through the heavy winter coat. „And the second?“

„I’m starving. I’d planned to stop someplace for a quick bite. Join me?“

She hesitated, then nodded. „I never ate dinner, either.“

„Good. My SUV is parked across the street.“

Wednesday, February 18,

11:00 P.M.

He was ready. He ran a soft cloth down the matte barrel of his rifle. It was like new. It should be. A wise man cared well for his tools. It had served him well these past few weeks.

He pulled the photo in its cheap silver frame just a little closer. „Six down, Leah. Who will be next?“ Carefully he laid the rifle on the table and stuck his hand in the fishbowl. Once the bowl held Leah’s goldfish. Ever since he’d known her, Leah had a goldfish. Cleo had always been its name. When one died, a new one would miraculously show up in the bowl the next day and it would be named Cleo. Leah never acknowledged one fish was dead, never made a fuss. She just went out and bought a new fish. He’d found a dead Cleo in Leah’s fishbowl the day he’d identified her body. He hadn’t the heart to buy a new one.

Now the fishbowl held the names of every person who had escaped justice under Kristen Mayhew’s watch. Murderers, rapists, child molesters, all out walking the streets because some morally bankrupt defense attorney found a loophole. The defense attorneys were no better than the criminals themselves. They just wore better suits.

He riffled his hand through the little slips of paper, searching, pausing when his finger caught a dog-eared edge. He’d worried over whom to target first. Over which crime was more serious than the rest, which victims deserved justice before the others. He’d only have so much time, especially now that the police were involved. He’d known that Kristen would involve the police before he’d tipped his hand, but it seemed a justifiable risk for the satisfaction he’d receive just by knowing she knew. So he’d put all the names in the fishbowl and let God guide his hand. He pulled out the folded piece. Looked at the corner he himself had turned down. He’d given God a little help, that’s all.

What was the punishment for that dog-ear? he wondered. There were crimes that were worse than others. Rape and child molestation had a premeditation, a wickedness that must be punished, eliminated. So he’d gone back and dog-eared all the sexual crimes.

He stared at the folded paper for another long minute. The last pick had yielded a prime target. Ross King deserved to die. There wasn’t a decent person that would disagree with that. He hadn’t died easily, or quickly. And in the end he’d begged so piteously. He’d often wondered, in the past, if he could beat a man who begged for mercy. He now knew he could.

He’d done well that night, ridding the world of a parasite too dangerous to live with decent people. God would be pleased. The innocents were just a little safer today. So his decision was made. He’d choose all the dog-eared names first. There was still a random nature, the choice in the end was still God’s. When there were no more dog-eared names, he’d go on to the lesser crimes. And if he never made it that far, at least he’d go on to his reward knowing he’d gotten the biggest bang for his buck.

He unfolded the little piece of paper and his smile turned grim. Oh, yes. I’m ready .

Wednesday, February 18,

11:35 p.m.

„It’s good.“

Abe chuckled. „You sound surprised.“

„I am.“ Kristen studied the gyro in the strobing light of the passing streetlamps. They were just a few miles from her house, but she’d torn into the sandwich less than a minute after leaving the drive-thru saying she was hungrier than she’d thought. „What’s in it?“