The first piece of music is light-hearted and catchy, but sounds really dated. Doyle thinks he’s heard it before, but isn’t sure where. Maybe in a rerun of a very old TV show. It fades out, to be replaced by an orchestral piece, grander and more sweeping, but still sounding like it’s from an old movie.
‘You know what they are?’ The caller sounds excited now. Even after he’s killed, he’s still finding a way to extract some entertainment value from it.
‘Not a clue.’
‘Jesus, Cal. You’ve just come from seeing the victim, and you still can’t put two and two together? Am I wasting my time here?’
‘Like you said, I’m a man of limited capabilities.’
‘All right, look. The first one, it’s from a show called
‘I’ve heard of it. A little before my time, though.’
‘Okay. So the witch, Samantha, has a baby. And the baby’s name is. .’
‘I haven’t the faintest.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Cal. Work with me here. All right, try the other tune. A TV soap from the sixties. A family saga. Always started with a voiceover saying, “In color, the continuing story of. .” ’
‘The sixties? Just how old do you think I am?’
‘I know exactly how old you are, Cal, but that’s not the point. There are certain things ingrained in TV history. Besides, I’m not telling you about something that hasn’t happened yet. All you have to do is put what I’ve just told you together with the crime scene you just visited, and you get. .’
Doyle doesn’t answer. He doesn’t get this at all. He’s starting to think he’ll never be able to stop the killings, even with a shit-load of clues.
‘Lord, give me strength,’ says the voice. ‘It’s
No words come to Doyle. His brain is too busy dealing with what it’s just heard. Turning the words over and over while it examines them for something it may have missed. What did he say? Did he say Tabitha Peyton? That can’t be right.
Or was it just another clue? Another example of his deviousness? He gives out the pointers to Tabitha so that I think she’s the intended victim, when in fact she’s just another link in the chain to Helena. Yeah, that must be it. He would do such a thing, just like he did with Vasey.
‘Cal? You there, buddy?’
‘Uhm, yeah. It’s late. My brain’s slowing down. I think I get it. You’re saying that if I’d heard those two tunes, then maybe I could have kept Tabitha Peyton alive.’
He tenses as he awaits the answer. The words that say something along the lines of,
‘Exactly. Honest to God, Cal, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re cut out for this. Maybe I made a bad choice here.’
He said,
Jesus fucking Christ.
Doyle feels his hand begin to shake. He tries to keep a tremor from creeping into his voice too.
‘Don’t underestimate me. I’m still gonna put your ass in jail. Meantime, I’ll think about your offer.’
‘You do that. But like I said, don’t put it on hold too long. I’ll be calling you again for an answer soon.’
The line goes dead. Doyle drops the phone on his desk and exhales heavily. He tries to absorb what’s just hit him.
He’s made a mistake.
The man who seems to plan his murders to perfection has finally made a mistake.
He wasn’t being rash when he killed Helena Colquitt. He wasn’t being blasé about the possible return of Tabitha while he carried out a calculated murder. He didn’t even know that two people were staying in the apartment. As far as he was concerned, there was nobody else likely to come through that door while he was there.
And because of all that, the wrong person died.
Doyle leaps to his feet, almost knocking over his chair. He grabs his leather jacket and dashes out of the squadroom.
Sooner or later, the killer is going to realize his mistake. Even if it’s only through hearing the victim’s name on the news, he’s going to learn that he screwed up in a big way. And when that happens, he may just want to put it right.
Doyle prays that he can get to Tabitha before the killer does.
TWENTY-ONE
He’s thumbing the buzzer of Apartment 2B, hoping that it’s the right one, praying that he’s not too late. 2B is the only one without a name against the buzzer. It has to be the vacant one that Mrs Serafinowicz was talking about.
A voice breaks in eventually. It’s croaky with tiredness and all that crying.
‘Quit buzzing! Who the hell is this?’
Doyle puts his mouth close to the intercom. ‘It’s Detective Doyle. We spoke a few hours ago? I need to see you again. Can you let me in, please?’
‘Now? Do you know what time it is? Can’t this wait till the morning?’
‘No. Please. It’s urgent. It won’t take long.’
Hiss over the intercom. Then: ‘All right. Keep it brief, okay?’
She admits him, and he runs up the stairs to the second floor. The door to 2B is already open. Tabitha standing there, belting up her robe. Her eyelids looking like they want to slide down to her mouth.
‘Get inside,’ he says.
The command seems to shock her awake. ‘What? Who do you think-’
‘Inside. Now!’
He pushes her into the living room and follows her.
He says, ‘Get dressed. Pack a few things. You’re leaving.’
‘No. What are you talking about? You can’t just come in here like this-’
‘Tabitha, listen to me. Your life is in danger. We’ve had some information. The guy who killed Helena, we think he’s gonna try to kill you too. You have to leave here.’
She blinks. Confused. Scared.
‘No. I don’t. . I mean, I don’t understand. Who wants to kill me? How do you know all this?’
Inside, Doyle twists and turns about what he can tell her. Without at least some honesty she’s not going to believe him. And that means she won’t save herself.
‘All right, I’m gonna tell you something. Nobody else knows this. Not the press. Not the families of the other victims. Nobody.’ He pauses to let this sink in. ‘He calls us. The murderer. When he’s killed somebody, he calls the cops to taunt us for not catching him. Tonight I took the call. He did his usual thing, making fun of us. Calling us clowns. Only this time he said we were idiots for not preventing the death of Tabitha Peyton.’
Her face seems to drain of blood. She shakes her head. ‘No. What do you mean? Are you saying he made a mistake? That Helena was a
Put like that, it makes Helena’s death sound even more of a waste than it was already. All that Doyle can say is, ‘I’m sorry.’
She pushes her hands through her hair and looks around the room, as if searching for an escape route from this bad dream she must be having.
‘I can’t do this. I can’t take any more. Why would somebody want to kill me? I haven’t done anything.’
