The Inquisitor

“Just wanted to check on you,” Paul said. “I meant to get down to your office this afternoon, but you know what they say about good intentions.”

She nodded, unsure what this was about.

“You okay?” Paul asked, his brow slightly furrowed as he leaned forward, peering into the car.

“Just tired and stressed. Like everyone else this time of year.”

“The thought of having to make the annual holiday pilgrimage to visit the folks in Douglasville has me thinking seriously about some good mood-altering pharmaceuticals.”

Although Paul had smiled at his own slightly twisted brand of humor, she knew there was a certain level of truth to what he’d just said. He’d often joked that he had gone into psychiatry because of the practice he’d already had with his extremely dysfunctional family.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share your stash?” she asked, answering his grin.

“You’re not still worried about that interview, are you?”

It was the perfect opportunity to tell him about the man who’d burst into her office. For some reason she didn’t; maybe it was the same ambiguity in her feelings about Sean Murphy that had prevented her from calling the police.

“As long as you don’t feel I said something I shouldn’t—”

“Nothing but the truth. If it makes one woman more cautious or one cop more diligent, that’s a good thing.”

She nodded again, hoping those would be the only consequences. Again the idea of unburdening herself to Paul brushed through her mind. Before she could, he smiled.

“We’re going to talk about all this tomorrow morning.”

“All this?”

Did he intend to warn the others to be wary of getting ambushed during interviews? Or maybe to keep their opinions to themselves if they were asked about the murders? She would be uncomfortable with his issuing either of those admonitions. As if he were urging the others to learn from her mistakes.

“If these homicides go on much longer,” Paul continued, “we’re going to have some serious fallout. People are naturally nervous just knowing there’s a serial killer in the area, and that stress is going to build with each subsequent murder.”

“Do you know…” Jenna hesitated, unsure she wanted an answer to the question she’d been about to ask. It was probably better to be informed, however, than to continue to operate in the dark. “Do you have any idea how long that might be? I mean, have the police given any kind of timetable…?”

The question ground to a halt. It seemed inappropriate somehow, with three women already savaged, to be wondering when they should expect the next victim to surface.

“One of the cable networks said he goes months between acts. Apparently he’s a meticulous planner. That’s one thing that’s made it hard for the authorities to get a handle on him.”

The matter-of-fact answer wasn’t comforting. Of course, Paul had no reason to suspect she might need comfort. And unless she told him…

“Anyway, glad you’re feeling better,” he said. “Don’t let the local yahoos get you down. If they were any good, they wouldn’t be stuck in this market.”

She laughed. “No, I won’t. I just didn’t want to say anything that might embarrass the practice.”

“I don’t think you could ever do that, Jenna. You did fine, especially considering you had no way of knowing what was coming.”

She’d explained to him that she hadn’t heard the announcement from the police. If she had, she might have been more prepared.

“Thanks. I really appreciate that.”

“Only the truth. Just like what you said.” He stepped back but kept his fingers wrapped over the opening in the door where the glass disappeared. “Okay then, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He tapped the knuckles of both hands on the window frame before he turned to walk to his car. As he opened the door of the Porsche, he glanced back at her. Although it was too dark to see his face, she imagined that same furrow forming again as he wondered why she was still sitting there.

She raised her left hand, palm toward him. He acknowledged the gesture with an answering wave.

She let her hand fall to the button that raised the window. As it slid up, she put the car into Drive and pressed down on the accelerator. The Honda responded, moving toward the ramp.

She exited the parking deck, turning to the right, which took her around the front of the building. A couple of patients hurried across the crosswalk that led from the main entrance to the public lot, causing her to slow.

As she waited for them to clear the street, her eyes considered the line of cars they were heading toward. Almost in the center of it, directly in front of the crosswalk, was a black SUV, with someone sitting in the driver’s seat.

Although it was too dark to determine the man’s coloring, there was something eerily familiar about the shape of his head. Something that created a trickle of alarm.

She strained to see through the twilight gloom. As the people who’d been crossing the street passed by the SUV, the man inside turned to look at them. His profile was backlit by the halogen lamp on the main road.

Not only was that close-cropped head familiar, she realized, so was the outline of his nose. She’d noticed it when he’d been in her office. Almost aquiline, it was marred by a slight ridge, indicating that at some time in the past, it had been broken.

A horn sounded behind her, one short tap. She looked into the rearview mirror, recognizing the distinct headlights of the Porsche. Caught up in the realization that the man who’d warned her about being a target of the killer was parked in front of the building, she hadn’t even been aware of the Paul’s approach.

With a last glance at the SUV, she pressed the gas, driving through the crosswalk and on toward the highway. As she did, she tried to decide whether that information tipped the scales in favor of calling the police.

To tell them what? That a man who believed she might be a target of the killer had come to warn her? That he’d been parked outside her building more than an hour after he’d issued that warning?

Neither fact made him a murderer. With all the tips and prank calls she knew would be flooding the hotline the cops had set up, that information would only peg her as another kook coming out of the woodwork.

She glanced in the mirror again, trying to decide if the SUV had pulled out behind her. There was definitely another car behind Paul’s, but the Porsche’s lights were too bright for her to be able to tell anything about its size, much less the make. Maybe when she made the turn out of the office park, she would be able to see the vehicle more clearly.

With that thought, she looked up at the traffic light, which had already turned green. Trying to avoid having Paul blow at her again, she accelerated rapidly, directing the Honda out onto 280.

Merging into the heavy afternoon traffic took a few seconds of complete concentration. By the time she was able to check her mirror again, the Porsche’s headlights were right behind her. The reflection of the crowded intersection beyond them appeared as simply a mass of lights and cars. It was impossible to determine if the one that had followed Paul around the office building had already made the turn.

The line of traffic ahead began to move. Forced to focus on the normal rush hour stop-and-go of the busy thoroughfare, a major artery on this side of town, Jenna was unable to check behind her very frequently. In none of those quick surveys was she able to identify a black SUV.

She took a breath, again trying to put things into perspective. Although she was sure Sean Murphy had been sitting in that SUV, she couldn’t prove he’d been waiting for her. And she couldn’t be sure he’d followed her away from the office park.

All she was sure of right now was that she was becoming paranoid. She’d let some stranger rattle her so badly that she was looking over her shoulder, imagining that someone was stalking her.

She’d bought into the hysteria that had been growing in this town since the suggestion was first made that the three local murders might be connected. Now that they had been officially, the nutcases were starting to surface.

Including the one who’d shown up at your door today.

She often told patients that their fears had only the power they gave them. Right now she was giving far too much credence to one man’s opinion. Even if the killer had heard what she’d said, the idea that it would cause him to target her was so far-fetched she should refuse to spend another second worrying about it.

She was approaching the intersection where she would exit onto the road that would eventually take her up the crest of the mountain to her apartment. She concentrated on the promise of a long, hot bath, followed by a stiff drink and some mindless television.

She wouldn’t watch the news. She would put this negative merry-go-round out of her mind and get on with her life. She was no more likely to be a target than any other dark-haired woman in Birmingham. And she couldn’t even venture a guess how many of those there might be.

Jenna slowed for the red light, glancing to her left to check for oncoming traffic before she made her turn. As she waited for a couple of cars to clear the intersection, she unthinkingly allowed her gaze to drift to a car pulling up beside hers.

Her recognition of its driver was instantaneous. Although she couldn’t see their color, she could feel the intensity of those blue eyes. Fear jolted through her chest, as powerful as if Sean Murphy had pointed a gun at her.

He nodded before he turned to look out his windshield. Apparently the light had changed in the seconds he’d held her gaze because he put the SUV into motion immediately, moving past her car and on through the intersection. Paralyzed by a combination of disbelief and dismay, she watched until his taillights became indistinguishable in the string of red that stretched out in front of her.

At some point she became aware of the blare of horns behind her, their cacophony not nearly so patient as Paul’s quick honk had been. Hurriedly she made the turn, hands trembling on the wheel.

Only when she had reached the peace of the narrow street that led to the apartment complex overlooking the city did she begin to calm down. As the noise of traffic faded behind her, so did the burst of terror she’d felt when the SUV had eased up beside her.

Coincidence, she told herself. Even if it weren’t, it would have been easy enough for him to find out her home address. She was listed in the phone book as J. Kincaid, not exactly a reach for anyone of normal intelligence. And obviously not the smartest decision she’d ever made.

That listing had been done before she’d finished her Ph.D. and gone into practice. Although it could be rectified—and it would—it was too late to do anything about it in this case.

Too late. The words had a finality to them she didn’t like. Or want to accept. She would call in the morning and get her number unlisted in the next book. Right now…

Right now she was home. And there had been no headlights coming up the street behind her.

She pulled into one of the vacant parking places in front of her unit and turned off the engine. Music drifted out into the night from inside one of the apartments. Mannheim Steamroller. One of their Christmas albums.

Peace on Earth.

Except not tonight. Despite the Jack Daniel’s and the long, hot bath she’d promised herself, Jenna knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Everything would run through her head like a videotape on high speed. All she’d read or heard about the murders. The descriptions of the victims. What Sean Murphy had said.

Those were the things that would reverberate over and over again. The accusation that she’d fed the killer’s fantasy of his own importance. That she’d been sympathetic. The troubling claim that she fit the victim profile.

She took a breath, knowing none of this was getting her anywhere. She needed to get inside, lock the door and try to forget it all. There was nothing else she could do tonight.

As with most of the other things she’d worried about during her life, this would all look better in the morning. She’d have that talk with Paul and get his advice, which she’d always found to be both reasoned and knowledgeable. Until then…

Until then she would do her best to put Sean Murphy’s words out of her head, refusing to give them—or him—any more control over her life.

Four

“We’ve seen the tip of this iceberg in the questions that were thrown at Jenna. We should all be prepared to be asked about that same kind of information concerning serial killers, particularly this one. Background, psychological profile, predictions. We’ll be questioned by the media and by whomever we’re standing beside at the next Christmas party. And we damn well better be prepared to answer them.”

Although Paul hadn’t looked in her direction, the fact that he’d prefaced his admonition with a mention of her interview made Jenna feel that his comments had been directed at her. Responding that way was just what she’d thought yesterday—paranoid. She was simply the first to be ambushed. It could have happened to any one of them.

And would any of the others have come across as being sympathetic to a serial killer?

The fact that she’d gotten so little sleep last night wasn’t helping her put this into perspective. She shouldn’t be so worried about the opinion of one man. And as far as she knew, that was all Sean Murphy’s warning amounted to.

“Unless someone has something else…?” Paul waited, allowing the silence to build. “Okay, then, I guess it’s back to the salt mines. Have a good day. Or at least try to.”

People began to rise from the table, the casters on the heavy leather chairs moving silently over the thick carpet of the conference room. Several people began conversations with those seated around them. Not one of them met her eyes or tried to include her.

Although that isolation could certainly be attributed to a normal give-and-take among colleagues or even to her proximity to the head of the table where Paul was still standing, it felt to Jenna as if something else were going on. Some kind of censure, perhaps, for the way she’d handled herself?

She pretended to be occupied with gathering up her notes and putting them into her briefcase. When she finished, she bent to pick up her purse. She straightened to find Paul watching her.

“Sheila said you had a visitor yesterday.”

She shouldn’t be surprised that her secretary had told someone what had happened. And gossip traveled as quickly in this office as in any other. She should have anticipated that and talked to Paul about it herself. Since she hadn’t…

“Some kook with an ax to grind,” she said, trying to remember how much of the conversation Sheila might have heard.

Nothing more than Murphy’s opening salvo, she decided. That in itself had been revealing enough.

“Narrow the field,” Paul suggested. “What kind of kook?”

“He’d seen the interview I did and wanted to berate me for being sympathetic to the killer.”

“Is that all?”

She hesitated, wondering if she wanted to give more validity to the man’s warning by mentioning it. She waited until a couple of people had moved away from where she and Paul were standing before continuing. She didn’t want an audience.

Beth Goldberg, the member of the staff Jenna was closest to, had stopped behind Paul, her brows raised. She was obviously wondering what was going on, and knowing Beth, also wondering if she needed rescuing.

Jenna tilted her head toward the door. A gesture of dismissal that Beth immediately recognized.

When the rest of the staff had also eddied toward the exit, she turned back to meet Paul’s gaze. He had propped his hip on the edge of the conference table, obviously prepared to wait until she spilled her guts.

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. If she suddenly disappeared, she wanted someone to be looking for her.

And why in the world would you suddenly “disappear”? Stop buying into Murphy’s mind games.

“He claimed I was a match for the police profile of the victims.”

She realized that she’d managed to surprise Paul. The head of the practice was seldom at a loss for words, but the silence after her statement stretched for several seconds.

“I didn’t know they’d issued one.”

“Neither did I. Apparently, someone has. Maybe the FBI. Maybe it’s based on the murders he’s committed in other locations. I don’t think the police here are talking about it yet, but…” She took a breath, reluctant to put reality into words. “The pictures on TV this morning…” The images she’d worked so hard to dismiss last night were again in her head. “He could be right, Paul. They all had dark hair. And they were career women, not street people or prostitutes—”

“Stop it.” Paul took her elbow and shook it.

She hadn’t even realized she’d crossed her arms over her body. Or that her voice had risen as she’d repeated the things Sean Murphy had said to her yesterday.

“Just stop it,” Paul repeated, sliding his hand comfortingly up her arm until it rested on the top of her shoulder.

Despite the fact that the room was now deserted, he leaned nearer and lowered his voice. “First of all, we need to talk to the police. If there is anything to this profile business, we’ll deal with it. He could have been making that up, you know. You said he was a kook. Maybe he saw you on TV and decided to have some fun at your expense.”

“That’s not how I read him. I know that’s what I called him, but…” Unconsciously she shook her head. “He seemed serious. Deadly serious. He clearly didn’t like what I said in the interview, but I think his warning about the profile was genuine.”

That’s why it had bothered her so much. Whether the guy was right or not, he had believed what he said. And if he were as well informed as he appeared to be, then…

“I think I’d like to talk to the police,” she said, the words out almost before she realized she’d made the decision.

Paul nodded encouragingly, as if she were a patient who’d just made a breakthrough, before he released her shoulder and again took her arm. “Then let’s make the call and set it up.”

Jenna had told everything to the officer who’d taken her statement. What had happened in her office. That she believed Murphy had been waiting for her to leave the building last night. About his car pulling up beside her as she’d prepared to make her turn.

The policeman had barely seemed interested, making her decide halfway through that she’d wasted the afternoon. None of the murders had been committed in the jurisdiction of the small police department where her office was located. When he’d called, however, Paul had been told to send her there.

The three separate law enforcement agencies where the three bodies had been found were only taking calls that directly related to the murders. Whoever Paul had talked to obviously hadn’t believed that her call did, so she’d ended up telling her story to someone who didn’t seem to know any more about what was going on with the investigation than she did.

She’d attempted to remedy her own lack of knowledge as soon as she’d gotten home. Paul had insisted she have Sheila clear her schedule for the entire afternoon, so when she’d left the police station, she hadn’t returned to the office. Instead she’d picked up both the morning and evening newspapers and read every word they contained about the case.

Tonight’s had included a lot more information on the previous murders, as well as the FBI’s psychological profile of the killer. There was nothing in it she hadn’t already suspected. Maybe this wasn’t her field, but the fact that this guy had killed so often and still avoided detection gave plenty of clues as to the kind of person he was.

Exactly the kind Murphy had described. Smart. And in no hurry.

As for the victims…

The photos in the paper were grainy and too dark to distinguish details. Still, it was clear that the facts he’d laid out before her yesterday afternoon concerning the type of women the killer was attracted to were essentially correct. And if he was right about that—

It didn’t mean he was right about the murderer coming after her. To think that he would feel a compulsion to kill her because he’d seen her on television…

Talking about him. Dissecting him.

Jenna straightened, as if backing away from that double row of black-and-white pictures. When she did, she realized her back was stiff from the hours spent leaning over the coffee table where she’d spread out the newspapers.

With one hand pressed against her spine she reached down with the other and picked up the plate with her half-eaten sandwich. As she did, she glanced toward the front windows and saw that in her haste to read the news, she’d forgotten to close the blinds.

She must have reached over and turned on the lamp at the end of the couch at some point, but she hadn’t consciously realized it had gotten dark outside. She looked at her watch as she set the plate back on the coffee table and walked across to pull the cord. It was already after six.

Without thinking, she looked down at the next section of the complex, which stretched out across the mountain perhaps a hundred feet below her own. Her gaze had already traced across the cars parked behind those units, most of them familiar, when she noticed the black SUV in the row almost directly across from her apartment.

There were thousands of big, dark SUVs in this upscale neighborhood. She would swear that this one, however, had someone sitting in the driver’s seat. Someone—

She quickly stepped away from the window, hardly able to believe what she was thinking. Could Sean Murphy be sitting out there watching her apartment? Hoping she’d come out?

The policeman who had taken her story this afternoon had told her that if she had any more trouble with the man who’d come to her office she should call them. Paul had told her the same thing.

But what if it wasn’t him out there? What if she was seeing dangers where they didn’t exist?

She turned to look at the phone on the table at the end of the couch. And then her eyes flicked back to the newspapers still spread out over the coffee table.

Although the reporters had been careful about what details they’d released, there had been enough of them to leave no doubt the murdered women had suffered horrifically. Had one of them been suspicious and not called the cops because she didn’t want to make a fool of herself?

Jenna walked across the room and picked up the phone. She hesitated another second or two before she punched in 911.

As she waited through the rings, she looked back toward the window, but from this angle she couldn’t see the line of cars.

“Jefferson County 911,” a woman answered. “What’s your emergency?”

“I talked to the Mountain Brook Police today about a man who’s been harassing me. I think he’s outside my apartment.”

“He’s at your door, ma’am?”

“I think he’s parked across the parking lot.”

“You think? Can you see him?”

“I can see someone sitting in a car that looks like his.”

“And what’s he doing, ma’am?”

“He’s just sitting there. I think he’s watching my apartment.”

There was a long silence. Although the dispatcher’s voice had been expressionless, the questions themselves had become more telling.

“The officer I spoke to this afternoon told me to call if he bothered me again.” Jenna fought the urge to slam down the phone in the face of the almost palpable disbelief.

“Did you get a restraining order, ma’am?”

“Nobody suggested that. Do I need one?”

“Well, it would require him to stay so many feet away from you or your property. If you don’t have one, and if he isn’t bothering you…”

The dispatcher let the sentence trail, but it was obvious what the woman was suggesting. The police weren’t going to do anything. Not until Murphy did.