Cuts Like a Knife: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 1) (46 page)

• • •

Jimmy picked up a giant deep-dish pizza from Giordano’s and I ate three full pieces—no small feat for a man of any size, and simply amazing for a delicate young lady like myself. At least that’s what Kaylen said. I’m going to run five miles in the morning. I may be under stress and Lloyd may think I’m too thin, but I haven’t lost my appetite.

I plop between James and Kendra to watch the fourth Shrek DVD. I like the music. I love the tickling and cuddling, but James really does have a weird thing about sticking his feet in my face that gets irritating after a while. Plus you never know when he’s going to hit you where it hurts when he starts roughhousing.

Jimmy is sitting on the floor in front of Kaylen and is rubbing her feet. I feel a pang of jealousy. James is sticking his feet in my face again and asking if they stink. Kendra is clutching her Kristen doll, the one with a far better figure than the real-life model, and stroking my hair. I sigh. No complaining. Life’s not too bad. Not too bad at all.

Earlier Kaylen asked if I was up to coaching Kendra’s soccer team in the fall.

“Please, Aunt Kristen,” Kendra immediately chimed in.

How do you say no to that? I think the Snowflakes are going to take some people by surprise, come next season. Attila the Hun is probably already preparing for us. We handed his Lady Titans their only two losses of the season.

The phone rings. Jimmy gets up to answer while Shrek and the donkey fight some bad guys made up of fairy tale characters. There’s no blood. Must be nice.

“Who was it?” Kaylen asks.

“Your mom. She’s coming over.”

Jimmy plops down on the couch beside Kaylen and kisses her on the head. He gives her slightly growing belly a tender caress as they wordlessly look each other in the eyes. Oh man. I am a loser when it comes to love.

• • •

Mom, Jimmy, Kaylen, and I are sitting at the table drinking coffee. The kids have gone upstairs to go to bed. They’re not happy about it. James got a swat on the butt when he yelled, “Smell my feet!” as he tromped up the stairs. Sorry, buddy. You deserved that one.

They don’t know how good they have it. I worked four fourteen-hour days Monday through Thursday and another twelve today. I would love to be heading upstairs for bed. Heck, I may jump in James’s bottom bunk I’m so tired. The Cutter Shark has said his next kill won’t be until summer. That’s three hours away—though he didn’t specify a time in summer. So what am I doing here? Not much less than I would have been doing in the office. The Shark and his brother have disappeared. Zaworski ordered us home to get some rest—and to be back in the office at seven sharp—but I couldn’t help but notice he and Konkade were still on a phone conference with the FBI contingent across town when I left. I could hear Willingham’s voice booming over the speakerphone. I assume Reynolds and Van Guten and a host of agents and staffers are there with him. Don had left but he’s put in even more hours than me this week.

Who knows? Maybe tonight will go uneventfully. Mayor Doyle finally called a press conference and advised women to stay in tonight with all doors locked. I wonder how many false alarms will get called in to 911 the first time someone hears a creak in the house. It doesn’t help that a bunch of bars are holding Cutter Shark parties. I heard a radio commercial for one promising free Bloody Marys to the first hundred women who showed up. The scary thing is, the place will be packed.

I think back to lunch at the Devil Dog. Our team was so excited when we finally had not just a lead, but a lead with a name and face to it. Okay, a couple names to it. Dean Pierre. Dean Jorgenson. Dean Woods. But the excitement was waning by Wednesday—and tempers were short and flaring yesterday. We could almost feel him in our grasp, but the trail went cold immediately. No sign of Dean—every motel and hotel front desk clerk in the city has been shown his picture. No sign of Dell either. He hasn’t called me back. Is he more involved in this than I want to admit? At minimum he’s seriously enabled his brother.

Mom had watched the end of the movie with us but kept asking questions about what things meant and what she had missed and kind of ruined the mood. How do you explain that Captain Hook wasn’t really part of the story of the Three Pigs. Mom, you are confused, but I guess I have to keep you. It’s about ten now and she looks up at me as if she just remembered something.

“You had dinner at Klarissa’s house tonight. You must have left awfully quick.”

“Ha ha,” I answer. “Very funny. We were supposed to have dinner
last night.
She blew me off.”

“She told me that. Not that she
blew you off
but that she had to cancel. She got assigned to do an interview with someone from the mayor’s office, you know. But she said you two rescheduled for tonight. That’s why she didn’t come over with me when I called.”

Mom has things mixed up in her mind. Again.

“And when did Klarissa tell you this?” I ask sarcastically.

“There’s no need for that tone, Kristen.”

“Sorry, Mom, but for some reason this story feels like Klarissa shifting blame for us not getting together my way. We made no dinner plans tonight.”

“She wasn’t blaming you for anything, Kristen. Are you sure you don’t have things mixed up? Because you do have a lot on your mind these days with that awful Cutter Shark case. And you don’t always listen as well as you should.”

Even my mom is calling him the Cutter Shark?

“I guess it’s possible, Mom, but I still suspect she got a better offer than rescheduling with me and didn’t want to talk about it with you tonight. Her and Warren are talking again, you know.”

Why did I say that? I promised I wouldn’t.

“She told me,” Mom and Kaylen say in unison. So much for having the inside skinny. I was probably the last to know.

Time to change the subject from Klarissa. I’m still a little mad at her. Jimmy wanders off to the bedroom with a book. Mom, Kaylen, and I chitchat another thirty minutes. I’m not really listening and my head is starting to bob as I almost fall asleep. I look at my watch. If I don’t leave now I am going to end up sharing a room with James. I have to get some sleep. I yawn loudly, stand up and stretch—no pain in my lower back from the kidney shot anymore—and tell everyone I’m going to hit it. I go upstairs to say goodnight to James and Kendra. James is fast asleep. Kendra is about in la-la land too. She still has her Kristen doll held close in one arm. Her purple hippo that Dad gave her is in the other. I tell her I love her. I think she tells me she loves me back, but she’s so sleepy, her words aren’t clear.

I go back downstairs and give Mom and Kaylen a hug and kiss and head out the door. I press in the clutch with my left foot and fire up my Miata and shift into reverse. I back out of the driveway and shift into first to head up Oakmont Lane, across Belmont and up Clark toward my apartment.

I look in my rearview mirror and see headlights. I’m comforted and uncomfortable seeing them. My police escort is still on the job. I shake my head. How long will I have a security detail assigned to me? I’ve already told Zaworski he could cancel it, that I’m fine and can take care of myself. He and Willingham said absolutely not. But how long will that resolve last? I, too, have been forced to wonder if Dean has already fled town. If he has, does that mean I’m safe? He’s never returned to any of his crime cities. But who is to say he won’t break pattern? It’s pretty broken already. I wonder again how close I was to being his victim.

Van Guten is convinced I would represent a prize victim for Dean; a dramatic flourish to express his superiority over his pursuers. Might be wishful thinking.

Nope. He’s not gone. He isn’t done. I can feel it. And he did say the next killing will be in summer. Less than two hours.

Dear God, please don’t let him get away to start over somewhere else.

73

June 20, 10:05 p.m.

NOW I
KIND
of wish I wasn’t leaving tomorrow. It’s not been easy, but I
think I’ve set the world to
rights in the last few
days.

Allen Johnson?
No more self-aggrandizing ChiTownVlogger to clutter my story.

Carrie? I may not hold my big brother in high regard,
but he is my brother. First Detective Conner dumped him. Then the stupid, giggling blonde cut him off. It was a bad rebound date for you, Dell. You deserve a lot better than her. She wasn’t worthy of your attention or the full extent of my craft. So
I just knocked on the door, pushed my way in,
and broke her neck.
That was quick—and different.
Not satisfactory by any means, but interesting. That’ll give the
FBI something to chew on for a while.

Detective Conner? Sadly, the
girl has too many sets of eyes watching her. Might be pressing
my luck at the moment. I
like to keep a neat pattern. But Chicago is such a mess I will stop back through sometime in the future to rearrange the pieces. I’ve always left kids out
of my work. But maybe
that little niece of
hers would show the Conner
family what happens
when you mess with the
Woods boys.

Today was
pleasant and relaxed.
Klarissa drove off in
her shiny silver sports car at noon and I
spent the rest of the afternoon in her place. I
wish she’d been more considerate and stocked the refrigerator better for me. She got home later
than I thought she would. But
when she opened the door
and saw me standing there, the look on her face
was priceless. I wish
I had had a camera to capture the moment.

She was terrified by the tattoos
and stubble. She was petrified when she saw it
was me behind the disguise.

I planned to go easy on her. I gave her just enough pentobarbital to keep her docile—but awake. Maybe I should
have just done the deed then.
But I sent the FBI and CPD a clear message that my next victim would
be done the first day of
summer. I want to leave town with them knowing who was in charge of this game, the whole time. So I have to
wait until the clock strikes midnight to get
started.

But now I’m not sure I should stay
in her house any longer. Her mom called three times. What a meddler. I finally let Klarissa
pick up and tell her mom she already had plans. And she did good. A
sharp knife held against her throat made sure of that. I think it’s funny she said she
was with her sister.
Can’t wait for that to
get back to Kristen,
once Klarissa’s dead.

But what now? I really think I need to move
her. Where should we go?
A hotel? I don’t think
I’ll be recognized with my new look. But they’ll want a credit card, and the cops will track it after they find
her body. I don’t know
how long I’ll need to
use it once I hit the road.

I
can’t believe Dell has cut me off from my accounts. He and I’ll
need to chat about that.

No, a hotel room won’t
work. Hotels are too impersonal anyway. I
want this to be special.

There is Carrie’s apartment. She obviously
doesn’t need it anymore.
But that might be even more risky than a hotel.
Someone is going to start
looking for her sometime and it could be tonight. The whole block where her apartment is located is mostly empty with DePaul out for the
summer. Most of the primates have gone home. But
no, still too many street lights and I might be
seen carrying an unconscious news reporter into
an apartment complex. And there is the matter that there is already a dead body in her apartment. That’s not a pleasant thought.

There is Dell’s place. I checked again this morning. The easy-to-spot unmarked police car hasn’t been out front—or back—for two days. All the furniture
is still there. And Dell
is almost as neat, clean, and orderly as I am. Almost.