 |
| Click image to access installments |
He passed Taylor’s door but there was no one there. He walked into his own office and sighed at the thought of no more field work. However, June was right, this was where he belonged.
Line two on Blake’s intercom sounded: “It’s Peter. Could you come to Operations?”
Blake pressed the button. “I’ll be right there.”
He started around the walkway and marveled at how strange things felt. It was as if he were doing things for the first time. The doctors had warned him that there might be times of déjà vu during which a memory that the drug had erased would suddenly react to an event or place and he would feel as if he had done it before, because he had done it before, but forgotten because of the drug. The doctor had promised it wouldn’t last, and Blake hoped he was right.
His crew– all but Wayne – were gathered around the big table in Operations, and when he opened the door, they turned and faced him and began to clap and shout. “Welcome back, boss!”
Tears came to his eyes. He felt that this wasn’t an honor he deserved. He had let them down and here they were cheering him. He raised his hands and waved them until it became quiet. “I want to say, I’m sorry for my past actions. If not for Shelley and Bobby, I wouldn’t be standing here today. I can only ask you to forgive me for my foolishness. I’m thankful I didn’t do more damage.”
Shelley walked over and put her arms around Blake’s neck. “You kept us on track. From the very beginning, you said the killer lived in that town, and you told us to forget the other ones. We did that and we got a killer.”
Now Mary Winehouse walked over too, put her hand on his shoulder, and looked into his eyes. “If anyone let us down, it was me. I had everybody looking for a man. It never crossed my mind that the killer could be a woman.”
Taylor raised a beer bottle. “When you win, as we did, any and all missteps are forgotten. In this business, how we get to the endgame isn’t as important as the results, and this was a good result.”
Blake took a couple of steps toward the table and picked up a beer. He held it high and smiled at everybody. “I can sure drink to that.”
They kicked around a few funny stories about their adventure at Reelfoot, and then it was time to get back to work. As Blake turned to walk out, he said to Taylor, “Can you join me?”
The two men walked back to Blake’s office. Blake sat down behind his desk and Taylor settled into a chair in front of the desk. “Are you doing okay?” Taylor asked him.
Blake gave a half-laugh. “Most of the time I feel fine, but then, sometimes, I’m searching for a word that is right on the tip of my tongue, and I can’t find it.”
Taylor seemed worried. “Did the doctor say how long it would last?”
Blake shook his head. “He didn’t seem concerned about it, just said the chemicals in my brain have to readjust, and it may take a week, a month, or a year, but it’ll happen.”
“Jeez, possibly a year!” Taylor thought about what Blake had just said. “Blake, I know you don’t like to be second-guessed—”
Blake held up his right hand and stopped Taylor. “That was the old Blake. If this ordeal has taught me anything, it’s that we can’t afford mistakes. From now on, we question everybody and everything. Nobody has the right answer until we all agree it’s the right answer. If someone has doubts about something, we all need to hear it.”
Taylor was nodding his head and smiling. “I believe you’ve come up with a winning formula. I’ll make sure the word gets out.”
Blake picked up two folders from his desk. “Are these new cases?”
Taylor raised his hands as if to say he had nothing to do with them. “The computer spit them out yesterday. Peter said we can expect more as more files are uploaded to the main servers.” He shook his head. “The boy talks about that computer like it’s a woman – one he’s crazy about.” Blake nodded in amused agreement.
Blake set the files aside to read later. “What’s going on with the Hometown Killer?”
Taylor laughed. “Wayne has been living on the streets for— Let me see, I guess this is going on to his third week. He’s trying to get a feel for how the killer might be picking his spots to rape and murder these women.”
Something about that didn’t sit right with Blake. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? He’s out there alone with no backup.”
Taylor moved uncomfortably in his chair. “I weighed the pros and cons. It’s dangerous, but I have the 2nd Precinct keeping an eye on him, and if he can pull this off we’ll have a very valuable player on our side, one with great first-hand insight.”
Blake picked up the files once more, meaning to signal that the meeting was over. “Have the 2nd Precinct give us a sighting report every day. I want to know he’s alive.”
Taylor was going out the door. “I’ll take care of it right away.”
Blake started to open one of the files but instead called Peter to his office. It took Peter a while to get there, and Blake thumbed through one of the files while he waited. A serial killer in the Seattle, Washington, area was up to seven murders to date. Blake was making a note to contact the police in Seattle and offer his team’s help – his team’s computer help, that is – he didn’t want his people on the ground there.
He looked up when Peter knocked on his door. “Come in, Peter. Have a seat.”
Peter was hesitant. “Am I in trouble?”
That hadn’t crossed Blake’s mind. He laughed. “No, no, you’re not in trouble. I wondered if you might not have something new on our push-knife killer?”
Peter seemed to be fighting within himself. “I have an idea, but it’ll sound nuts to you.”
“Peter, I thought the idea that Betty Walker could be a killer was crazy. But I know now that there are no crazy ideas. We’re dealing with serial killers, and they live in the world of crazy, so thinking the way they do is how we catch them. What do you have?”
Peter shifted in the chair. “Mary, as she has said before, thinks he’s traveling by bus.”
Blake was interested. “I remember Mary saying he was traveling by bus. So, what are you thinking now?”
Peter put his hands together in front of him as if praying. “He’s killing for only two weeks a year, but he’s doing it over a wide geographical area. If he drove his own car, there would be a chance he’d be spotted leaving a crime scene or breaking down on the road. Flying costs too much and leaves a paper trail. But a bus goes to all these places and no one pays any attention to people that ride buses. When I was making the big bucks before,” he hesitated, “– you know, when I crashed and burned – anyway, trust me, to the kind of folks who take Uber to the airport, bus riders are invisible.”
Blake was impressed. “Once in a town, he can use the local bus line to move about. It’s so simple, it’s ingenious.”
Blake’s praise was not lost on Peter, who instantly brightened and said, “I’ve started a search of the bus CCTV databases. I wrote a program to search for repeat appearances at different stations.”
Blake was amazed. “Damn good work, Peter! When will we know who our killer is?”
Peter squirmed in his chair and looked away. “It’s not that easy. Thousands of people go through these stations and show up over and over. The computer is learning, but it’s taking time. She has to learn to discard those who show up only three or four times. There’s also the problem of the cameras in the stations. Some don’t work, some are pointed toward the floor or out a window. I guess what I’m saying is: don’t get your hopes up, this may not work. But right now it’s the only thing I have going.”
Blake nodded his head thoughtfully; he understood the problem. “Well, you get back on it, Peter. It’s more than we had, and there’s a chance it’ll work. You can be proud, you – and her – have done a damn good job.”
“Thank you.” Peter seemed inordinately pleased as he stood and walked to the door.
Blake waved at Peter, picked up his phone, and dialed the Seattle Police Department. “Hello, can you connect me with Special Crimes.”
| Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers |
No comments:
Post a Comment