“According to Ozeroff, serial killers think they’re smarter than the police,” said Casey.
“Perhaps they are,” said Emma.
“So they leave deliberate clues. The killer’s letters to the papers, for example. Or revealing that he kills every thirteen days, mocking police efforts to catch him.”
Emma said, “So other than the letters to the police, what other clues has he been leaving?”
“No others as far as I know. The police don’t tell us. Knowing that the killings occur every thirteen days hasn’t helped either, even with extra police everywhere on the night.”
They walked. She was very aware of him beside her. His bulk and height. The dark tracksuit, the canvas gym bag in his hand. The tweed cap, the red hair curling at the neck. And his blue eyes looking calmly down at her.
She pulled his head down and kissed him.
They didn’t go to Devlin’s. They went to her place instead. Emma made Irish tea, sent by her mother.
Emma said, “When’s the next one-the thirteenth day, I mean?”
“January tenth, a Wednesday.”
“That’s my Parents’ Night. Seven to nine.”
“I’ll walk you there and pick you up- wait-Wednesday’s bad for me too. I have a parks board meeting. It’s my job. The Stanley Park Zoo is on the agenda. They’ll be discussing the whale pool. Big issue.” He shrugged. “Can’t miss that.”
“That’s okay. I’m only a couple of blocks from the school. What can happen in two blocks?” She smiled. “I’ll be quite all right.”
“You could have a taxicab take you there and pick you up.”
“I will do no such thing. Two blocks? That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous, Emma. Look, this maniac targets his victims, I’m certain of it. You’re a regular at the gym. He’s sure to have seen you there. What if you’re on his list?”
“Holy Mother of God! Don’t say that! Why would I be on his list?”
“I’m not saying you are. But think of those letters he sends the police and the newspapers about harlots. About the way they dress. You’ve got to admit you look… pretty stunning in those tights and things!”
“Things, is it? All I wear is exercise clothing! Usually a very unrevealing extra-large T-shirt over my leotards. What about the men in their skimpy tight shorts? It’s all right for them to be parading around showing off their family jewels, is it?”
“Och, all I’m saying-”
“I’ve finished my tea. You can kiss me now if you like.”
“Well, I haven’t, so you’ll just have to wait.”
A little while later, he had kissed her several times. Then he made his way home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The thirteenth day.
Wexler called Casey at home and reported that the West End was wall-to-wall cops, most of them in plainclothes.
Casey telephoned Emma at six thirty, on his way out, and she promised him, for the second time, she would take a taxi.
“I’ll not be able to concentrate on a thing they say at the parks board meeting unless I know you’re safe.”
“Casey, I promise. I’ve already ordered Yellow Cab. It’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“What about when you get through at nine?”
“The same Yellow will pick me up.”
She wore her jungle outfit, which was what she called her green-yellow-black camouflage-design cotton skirt and matching jacket. It was smart and stylish, yet not too stylish that it would bother the moms and dads. She pushed her stocking feet into a pair of comfortable black pumps and hung a warm ski jacket with hood over her shoulders against the cold rain. She felt ridiculous riding two blocks, but the driver didn’t seem to mind.
“I am hating to say it, miss, but West End killer very good for business.” He smiled apologetically. “I come for you later, yes? Nine o’clock?”
“Make it nine fifteen, okay?”
She joined a thin stream of parents moving into the school.
The rain had stopped when she finally got out, late, delayed by a mother intent on making Emma fully informed of her son’s history since the day of his birth.
The same taxi driver was waiting. He seemed surprised to see her, as though surviving a parents’ night was an accomplishment deserving of congratulation. Which it was, thought Emma. Perhaps that was why she had unconsciously chosen the jungle outfit. There had been a good turnout tonight, but now all the parents had gone.
The driver let her off at Killarney Place. She overtipped him.
“Thank you, miss.” He gave a friendly wave and drove off. She looked about her. The street was empty and quiet. Traffic activity had ceased.
Key in hand, Emma approached the lobby door, breathing a sigh of relief that she was home. She pushed her key into the lock. She didn’t see the man in black step from the bushes. She was only aware that she’d been ambushed when his arm snaked about her neck and dragged her into the shrubbery.
She screamed.
Casey heard the scream.
He had been standing on the opposite side of the street from Emma’s apartment, having arrived just in time to see her alight from the taxi. He watched her walk to the lobby door. And saw the dark figure attack her.
Casey raced across the street, dove into the shrubbery. He leaped onto the man’s back. But the killer smashed his left eye with his elbow, and Casey saw stars. He fell beside Emma, dazed with pain.
The attacker ran away. Casey rose groggily to his feet and tried to run after him. But, half blind with pain, he lost him in the darkness.
He returned to Emma, still lying on the ground, and kneeled beside her. “Emma, it’s me, Casey. Can you stand if I help you up?”
“Casey?” Her voice was a croak.
“Let’s get you inside.” He took her weight on his shoulders. “I need your keys.”
“In the door…”
The keys were in the lock. Casey opened the door and eased Emma into the lobby.
From there he helped her into her ground-floor apartment. She collapsed, half conscious, onto the couch.
Then she struggled, trying to get up.
“Stay where you are, Emma. Relax. He’s gone. You’re safe.”
“Where…?”
“He got away.”
“Did you…get a look at his face?”
He shook his head. “No. Did you?”
“No.” She noticed his eye, already swollen.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m all right.”
“Your meeting…?”
“Didn’t go. Had a feeling about you… Jack covered for me. Close your eyes and relax.”
When her breathing settled, he called the police. Then he looked at his eye in the bathroom mirror. Swollen,
