Harry’s shabby suede Paraboots, waiting for him to make his next move.
Her eyes met Harry’s across the cigarette-scarred Formica table. “Isn’t Squeeze an odd name for a dog? Shouldn’t he be called Rover or Fido or something?”
“He’s called Squeeze because he can squeeze out of any place. As he proved when he was just a pup. You nameit, he squeezed out of it. Under the backyard fence, out of a car window, out of my bedroom at night. I thought about calling him Houdini, but then I thought, nah, too fancy. Squeeze is better.”
She nodded, agreeing with him, and her chrysanthemum crop of blond hair, sequined with raindrops, fluttered like petals across her smooth brow.
Harry dragged his eyes from her and passed her a grease-spotted plastic menu. “What’ll you have? I can recommend the ham steak and home fries.”
She threw a quick glance at the heaping plates being passed over the counter. “A beer will do just fine.”
Beer did not seem her style; he would have thought she would go for coffee—black no sugar—but he guessed shrewdly that she knew when to play at being one of the guys.
He signaled Doris and ordered two beers. Doris’s jaw dropped when she saw his companion. “Two beers?” she demanded, astonished. “Ya should be buyin’ this lady champagne. Cheapskate.”
Mal laughed as Doris winked at her. “Us women gotta stick together,” Doris said, heading to the counter. She was back in a flash with the beers and her order pad.
“Could ya just put your autograph on here, Mal?” she asked, thrilled. “Otherwise my kids are not gonna believe it when I tell ’em who was in Ruby’s tonight. Aw hell,” she added resignedly, as Mal signed her name with practiced ease, “they’re not gonna believe me, anyways. They’ll think I just made it up.”
“But you and I will know you didn’t.” Mal smiled up at her.
“Yeah. And that’s what counts. Thanks, Mal, I appreciate it. And while you’re at it, don’t let this hunk give ya the run-around. I always tell him he’s all muscle and no brains.”
There was laughter lurking in Mal’s blue eyes as shetook a sip of her Bud Light. Then she slipped off her red jacket and looked squarely at Harry.
“Okay, Jordan,” she said, suddenly all business, “you’re on.”
“I feel like I’m auditioning for the show,” he said uneasily.
“You may be. So get on with it.”
He told her the facts about the murders and that there had been no connection between the three young women—they had not come from the same towns or even from the same states. They had not known each other. They had not lived near each other. They had not attended the same colleges.
“These were not random killings,” he said. “This guy is precise. He’s an organized killer. He knew exactly what he was doing. I think he knew where his victims lived and their daily routine, what times their classes were, and when they were likely to be alone.”
Mal’s eyes widened, and a little shiver ran down her spine. “You mean he
stalked
them?”
“I believe he did.”
“That’s terrible,” she said soberly. “A maniac on the loose around all these college kids. He can just take his pick. Don’t you have any line on him at all?”
“Forensics is working on scene-of-crime evidence—fibers, hairs, semen. We’ll have the DNA in a couple of weeks, and I’m certain it will link him to the two previous attacks. And the students are aware of the danger now. They’ve been warned not to wander around campus after dark. The schools have escort services to walk young women back to their dorms. It’ll help for a while.”
“You think he’ll strike again?”
“I’m certain of it. The FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit has a psychological profile. They say we’re looking for a guy with a deep psychosis against women. Cutting off their hair is symbolic—he’s divesting them of their femininity.Rape proves his power over them, and the slitting of the wrists
Her eyes met Harry’s across the cigarette-scarred Formica table. “Isn’t Squeeze an odd name for a dog? Shouldn’t he be called Rover or Fido or something?”
“He’s called Squeeze because he can squeeze out of any place. As he proved when he was just a pup. You nameit, he squeezed out of it. Under the backyard fence, out of a car window, out of my bedroom at night. I thought about calling him Houdini, but then I thought, nah, too fancy. Squeeze is better.”
She nodded, agreeing with him, and her chrysanthemum crop of blond hair, sequined with raindrops, fluttered like petals across her smooth brow.
Harry dragged his eyes from her and passed her a grease-spotted plastic menu. “What’ll you have? I can recommend the ham steak and home fries.”
She threw a quick glance at the heaping plates being passed over the counter. “A beer will do just fine.”
Beer did not seem her style; he would have thought she would go for coffee—black no sugar—but he guessed shrewdly that she knew when to play at being one of the guys.
He signaled Doris and ordered two beers. Doris’s jaw dropped when she saw his companion. “Two beers?” she demanded, astonished. “Ya should be buyin’ this lady champagne. Cheapskate.”
Mal laughed as Doris winked at her. “Us women gotta stick together,” Doris said, heading to the counter. She was back in a flash with the beers and her order pad.
“Could ya just put your autograph on here, Mal?” she asked, thrilled. “Otherwise my kids are not gonna believe it when I tell ’em who was in Ruby’s tonight. Aw hell,” she added resignedly, as Mal signed her name with practiced ease, “they’re not gonna believe me, anyways. They’ll think I just made it up.”
“But you and I will know you didn’t.” Mal smiled up at her.
“Yeah. And that’s what counts. Thanks, Mal, I appreciate it. And while you’re at it, don’t let this hunk give ya the run-around. I always tell him he’s all muscle and no brains.”
There was laughter lurking in Mal’s blue eyes as shetook a sip of her Bud Light. Then she slipped off her red jacket and looked squarely at Harry.
“Okay, Jordan,” she said, suddenly all business, “you’re on.”
“I feel like I’m auditioning for the show,” he said uneasily.
“You may be. So get on with it.”
He told her the facts about the murders and that there had been no connection between the three young women—they had not come from the same towns or even from the same states. They had not known each other. They had not lived near each other. They had not attended the same colleges.
“These were not random killings,” he said. “This guy is precise. He’s an organized killer. He knew exactly what he was doing. I think he knew where his victims lived and their daily routine, what times their classes were, and when they were likely to be alone.”
Mal’s eyes widened, and a little shiver ran down her spine. “You mean he
stalked
them?”
“I believe he did.”
“That’s terrible,” she said soberly. “A maniac on the loose around all these college kids. He can just take his pick. Don’t you have any line on him at all?”
“Forensics is working on scene-of-crime evidence—fibers, hairs, semen. We’ll have the DNA in a couple of weeks, and I’m certain it will link him to the two previous attacks. And the students are aware of the danger now. They’ve been warned not to wander around campus after dark. The schools have escort services to walk young women back to their dorms. It’ll help for a while.”
“You think he’ll strike again?”
“I’m certain of it. The FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit has a psychological profile. They say we’re looking for a guy with a deep psychosis against women. Cutting off their hair is symbolic—he’s divesting them of their femininity.Rape proves his power over them, and the slitting of the wrists
Similar Books
