The pale blue oxford shirt hit Leo in the face before he had a chance to catch it. The shirt was soaked with perspiration and smelled of B.O. and Obsession cologne. Obviously, Jordan had cut it off Meeker’s body. There were so many incisions it hardly looked like a shirt anymore.
“Check the label,” Jordan said.
It took Leo a moment to find where the collar was. But then he saw the label:
“That was a chain of stores in the D.C. area,” Jordan said. He set the garden shears down on top of the dryer. “I remember, because my stepmother took me shopping there during a trip to D.C. about seven years ago. I think it’s closed now. Check out the material—and the buttons. Does that shirt look like it’s twenty years old? More like five or six years old, wouldn’t you say?”
Leo studied the shirt—or at least what was left of it. Jordan was right. It didn’t look all that old.
“So—he hasn’t been to the Beltway area in twenty years, huh?” Jordan said. “He’s lying again. He bought that shirt in Washington, D.C., six or seven years ago, around the time he strangled those two women.”
“For God’s sake,” Meeker moaned. “I got the shirt last year at a consignment shop in Seattle!”
Jordan let out a skeptical laugh and half smiled at Leo. “Does he look like the kind of guy who shops around secondhand stores? You think it’s just another coincidence he’s wearing a shirt from a store in the Washington, D.C., area—where they had two Mama’s Boy–type killings six years ago?”
“Jesus Christ,” Meeker grumbled, shaking his head. “I was going to take the high road and give you guys a break, not press charges. But I’ve had it! I’ll see they throw the book at both of you!” His face was turning crimson. He glared over his shoulder at Jordan. “They ought to lock you up. You’re a fucking lunatic. You belong in an institution. If you think for one minute there’s any chance—”
Jordan didn’t let him finish. He swiveled around and punched him in the kidney. Meeker let out an anguished cry. He might have crumpled to the floor if he hadn’t been strapped to the worktable. “Screw you!” Jordan yelled, hitting him again—in the face this time.
“That’s enough!” Leo shouted, grabbing Jordan and wrestling him away from the defenseless man.
His head drooped against the table, Meeker coughed and grimaced. His teeth were covered with blood.
Leo had to hold Jordan back to keep him from lunging at Meeker again. Jordan was shaking with rage. “You need to calm down,” Leo whispered. “Just—just step back for a few minutes. Go upstairs and cool off, Jordan. Get a glass of water or something….”
Rubbing his knuckles, Jordan nodded. “Watch him,” he grunted, and then he lumbered up the stairs.
Leo still had the tattered shirt in his hand. He looked at Allen Meeker, slumped over the table, crying. Leo hurried over to the laundry sink and ran a section of the shirt under cold water. Then he went to the man and gently dabbed at the blood around his mouth.
“Could I have another glass of water, please?” Meeker asked in a quiet, shaky voice.
Leo quickly filled the measuring cup with cold water and brought it to him. Meeker drank from it and sighed. “You—you seem like a nice guy,” he whispered. “What’s your name?”
“Leo,” he said—a bit reluctantly. As much as he doubted Jordan’s judgment right now, he didn’t trust this guy either.
“Leo, can’t you do anything to stop this?” he said under his breath. “All I’m asking is that you call the police. You know that’s the best thing for you—and even for your friend. He—he’s crazy. I’m not a murderer. If I was really this mass murderer, why would I be begging you to call the cops? Hell, I’ve never even been arrested. I sell hospital equipment, for Christ’s sake. You met my fiancee. Does she look like someone who would hook up with a mass murderer?”
All Leo could do was shrug.
“She’s worried. She’ll probably call the police—if she hasn’t already. And they’ll come checking here. They’ll think you were in on this whole thing.” Meeker frowned at him. “Hell, Leo, for all I know, maybe this is some ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine you two dreamed up.”
“It isn’t like that at all,” Leo sighed.
“Is his mother really dead? Was she really one of those Mama’s Boy victims—or is this some kind of weird game you guys are playing with me?”
“Of course his mother’s dead,” Leo said. “And we’re not playing any kind of game.” He couldn’t really answer the other part of the question for certain. It was all still too new to him. Until today, he’d never even heard Jordan mention Mama’s Boy.
“Listen, I have reason to believe someone has been stalking my fiancee,” Meeker said. “Ever since she and her son drove up here yesterday, someone’s been following her and watching the house. I have a feeling it’s your friend.”
Leo shook his head. “That’s impossible. I was with Jordan practically the whole day yesterday. He isn’t stalking anybody.”
“Well, someone’s been following Susan around, and if it’s not your friend, then the guy’s still out there—and she’s all alone, with her little boy.” He tugged at the ropes. “Shit! God, I—I should be with her right now, watching out for her. Y’know, if something happens to Susan or her son while I’m stuck in this lousy stinking basement, it’ll be your goddamn fault, Leo. I’m going to blame you.”
Leo wondered if he was telling the truth about this stalker. He’d been on the level earlier when he’d said the woman was his fiancee. And while Jordan had claimed to have caught him in a lie twice, both times Meeker had a fairly rational explanation. Leo couldn’t help putting himself in this guy’s situation right now—if he was indeed innocent. What a nightmare this had to be for him.
Meeker lowered his forehead on the worktable and quietly cried. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Here I’m trying to get you to help me. I’m hoping you’ll look into your heart and do the right thing, and how am I handling it? I’m threatening you. I’m sorry, Leo. I’m just scared—and yeah, angry, too. Plus every part of me aches. My hands have fallen asleep. I can’t feel them anymore.” Tears in his eyes, Meeker gazed at him. He looked so pathetic and defeated. “Could you—could you help me blow my nose?”
Leo hesitated and then grabbed the cut-up shirt. “Is this okay?”
Meeker nodded.
Leo held the material up to Meeker’s face, and the man blew his nose in it. There was a string of snot and blood attached to the makeshift hanky when Leo pulled it away. “Sorry,” Meeker muttered. “Let me do it again.” He blew his nose once more, and Leo was careful to wipe above his lip before he pulled the cloth away. “Thank you,” Meeker whispered. “Leo, could you just loosen the rope a little? Please? He has it pulled so tight, it feels like I’m on a rack or something.”
Leo stepped back from him. He shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
Meeker stared at him and winced. “Jesus, you’re going to let him kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered.
“No, I won’t let that happen,” Leo said resolutely. “I’m going to talk him into calling the state police. Until then, I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t hurt you again. But I’m not going to untie you or loosen the rope or do anything that might help you get away.”
Meeker glared at him. “You stupid…” he said under his breath.
“If Jordan’s acting crazy, it’s because he saw you this afternoon, and it triggered something,” Leo said. “He’s been my best friend for six years. Maybe today I suddenly feel like I don’t know him as well as I thought I did. But I don’t know you at all, Mr. Meeker. And to be honest, I don’t really trust you. I’m going along with Jordan on this.”
“God help you,” Meeker whispered.
The dark look in his eyes was so chilling Leo backed away even farther.
As he turned and hurried up the creaky cellar steps, Leo still had doubts. But he felt good about one thing. He was glad he hadn’t loosened that rope.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Susan was so relieved to see people and traffic and all the bustle—or, at least, what passed for bustle in downtown Cullen. It was a refreshing change from the quiet seclusion of the rental house, which was starting to
