I'd been stabbed once, years ago, by a gang-banger with a switch blade. Knife went into my belly. I had minor surgery to stop the bleeding, was off my feet for a month. The pain had been one of the worst I'd ever experienced, a combination of a cramp, an ulcer, and a third-degree burn. The thought of a man violating that wound...
I shuddered. Then I got up and rewound the crime scene tape to watch for the umpteenth time, my determination fiercer than ever.
Chapter 17
HE CALLS FIRST, FROM A PAY phone a block away. A machine answers. Perfect. He drops the receiver, not bothering to hang it up, and walks over to the front door of Jack's apartment building.
With a discreet look in either direction, he begins to press buzzers. On the eighth button he gets someone on the intercom.
'I'm from Booker's Heating and Cooling. Here to look at the furnace.'
He's buzzed in.
It's an old building, straight middle class. The halls are clean and recently painted, but there's no doorman, no security camera, and the lighting is low wattage to save the landlord on his electric bill.
It can't get any easier.
Jack lives on the third floor, apartment 302. He takes the stairs, reasoning he's less likely to encounter someone in the stairwell than on the elevator. But even if he does, he's dressed for the part; a stained brown jumpsuit, a toolbox, and a name tag that reads 'Marvin.'
The Gingerbread Man makes it to Jack's floor without seeing a soul. The hallway extends out in either direction in an L shape, and he easily locates the right apartment.
He knocks on it softly. There's always the chance that Jack is home and just didn't pick up her phone. There's also the possibility that she has a dog. Knocking should make the dog bark, unless it's very well trained.
But no one answers, and nothing barks. He takes a thin billfold out of his back pocket and opens it up, selecting an appropriate tension wrench and lock pick.
Foreplay.
Opening deadbolts is almost as easy as opening car doors. He has the penal system to thank. He went to jail on a B&E charge. Even though he had killed before, he was naive in the ways of properly committing a crime. Prison turned out to be the perfect school for honing his skills.
It takes him forty seconds to knock back the tumblers. The deadbolt turns with a satisfying snick, and the Gingerbread Man enters the home of the cop assigned to catch him. He locks the door and looks around.
It's perfect. No dog, no witnesses, and Jack has even been good enough to leave the lights on for him. He tugs on his latex gloves and giggles. Now for phase two of the plan.
He does a quick tour of the apartment, not knowing how much time he has until she gets home. It doesn't take long to deduce the bedroom closet is the best hiding place. It's roomy, has a hamper that he can sit on, and is only a few steps away from the bed. Plus, there's no window in the bedroom, no chance of anyone looking in. He gets to work.
Opening his aluminum toolbox, he takes out the rechargeable drill and a quarter-inch bit. He makes a hole in the closet door about three feet from the floor. Then he rubs off the splinters on both sides with a small file, and uses a roll of duct tape to pick up all the sawdust on the carpet. Next he sprays some WD-40 on the closet hinges, until it opens and closes as silent as death.
Satisfied with the setup, he goes to the bathroom and empties his bladder.
He enters the closet and shuts the door behind him. The adrenaline is pumping like hot oil through his veins. Sitting on the hamper, he has a perfect view of Jack's bed from the hole in the closet door. He removes the gun from the bag, an old .22 with the serial numbers filed off, and practices opening the door and creeping up to the bed.
On the third try he's confident he can sneak up to the sleeping lieutenant without making a sound.
He sits back on his perch in the closet and waits, letting the fantasy build. Hopefully he won't have to use the gun. He needs it just until he can jab her with the Seconal needle. Once he's sure she's completely out, he can tie her up and take his time with her.
He becomes aroused thinking about it.
His video camera is in the toolbox. He didn't take the bulky tripod, but the thought of doing it handheld is exciting. He can get some intimate and gory close-ups.
His eyes gradually adjust to the dark. He removes a sandwich he's brought along and eats, planning the evening's festivities in his head.
He didn't bring his hunting knife -- didn't want to risk getting stopped on the street with that incriminating piece of evidence on him. But he has the twine, some pliers, a soldering iron, and the drill. When it comes time to give Jack her present, he's pretty sure she has a knife in the kitchen large enough to make a deep hole.
It's a shame he'll have to gag her -- he so wants to hear her scream.
He finishes the sandwich, wondering if Jack has a cheese grater.
The front door opens.
He grips the gun in his hand, making sure it's cocked. His palms are sweaty in the latex gloves. His heart beats so loud that he thinks he can hear it.
'Relax,' he tells himself.
Eye pressed to the hole in the closet, he waits for Jack's entrance.
Chapter 18
I ENTERED MY HUMBLE ABODE AT close to ten o'clock, lugging take-out Chinese. A full night loomed ahead of me, and I hoped a full stomach would get me drowsy.
