The Stranger You Seek - By Amanda Kyle Williams Page 0,110
is screaming, and Charlie Ramsey’s one slippery bastard. I told you he lost my teams a couple times. And my detectives are no dumbasses. The timeframes fit with when he started fucking with Melissa Dumas twelve to fifteen hours before he actually killed her. And if the ME’s right on time of death for Dobbs, it’s consistent too. We thought Charlie was inside sleeping before we picked him up the first time, but he must have slipped out.”
I thought about that day we’d left the station after Charlie’s first interview with Rauser and the possible dead body call that came over Rauser’s radio. Charlie must have known while he was sitting there being his goofy innocent self in the interrogation room that the call was going to come in any minute, that Dobbs’s dead, mutilated body was baking in a hot, bloody car on Eighth Avenue. I closed my eyes. The killing no longer seemed so distant.
“You figure out how Charlie’s losing you?”
“Uh-huh,” Rauser said. “It was that self-storage warehouse. We set a honey trap for him, got the unit next to his and wired Bevins, put her in a wife beater and short shorts and an old car filled up with thrift-store crap.” Detective Linda Bevins was blonde and curvy, a little wide-eyed, the kind of woman guys really go for, the kind of woman guys usually underestimate. “Charlie pedaled by a couple times on his bike, then went for it. Offered her help unloading. Bevins put some of the bait out, mentioned she was in a legal thing with a boss that had fired her. She played it, didn’t push, waited for Charlie to ask the questions. I told her to say she had another load, so he’d know she was coming back and he could make his move. He was getting pretty comfortable, then he spotted a goddamn Salvation Army price tag on a lamp, and he put it together pretty fast. Threw the lamp down and rode off.” I heard Rauser hit his cigarette. “Here’s the good news: We finally got someone that recognized Charlie’s mug on TV. Says he raped her. She had a rape kit done after the event, but no one was able to pull in a viable suspect. And Balaki’s following up on another call. Same deal. Six weeks ago. This woman claims her attacker had a knife. If it pans out, I’ll have him in custody by morning, and he’ll have to submit to DNA testing for the rapes. Then I can get his ass off the streets while we build the Wishbone case.”
“That’s huge!” I said, and thought about the day Charlie had grabbed me, the language he had used, sexual and angry. I’d worked serial rapist cases at the Bureau. Some of them started as peepers, then escalated as they began to fully realize their violent fantasies. “Can you put him in Florida?”
“No. Not yet.”
“You’re a good cop, Rauser. I wouldn’t want to be the bad guy.”
Rauser’s strategy with compliments was to deflect rather than accept. “Tell me about the Smellys,” he said.
“They own the cabins where Quinn booked me. Nice. Well, their cabin is nice, anyway. Mine has a lot of embroidered framed roosters. Why do people do this to cabins? I mean, what is it about a chicken that makes you think cabin-in-the-woods? I just don’t get it.”
“Yeah,” Rauser said. “I think antlers and shit like that more than chickens.”
I laughed. “Well, they’re very nice people. They’re letting me use their roof to talk to you because this wall of mountains is blocking my reception.”
“Straight couple?”
“Gay women. Why?”
“Have you noticed the lesbian thing is a continuing theme in your life?”
“In your life,” I told him. “It’s all you think about. What is it exactly with the two-women fantasy thing and guys? I don’t get that either. It’s not like that with women. Just so you know. We don’t fantasize about men doing it.” I sank down into one of the Smellys’ espresso-colored lounge chairs. It was just after sundown, and the stars seemed so close here in the mountains, away from the city lights. “Okay, I take that back. We do think about it, but only if they’re underage and you can bounce a quarter off their rear ends.”
“So are these real lesbians or just women you think are hitting on you?”
“They live together and hold hands and everything. And I’m sure they would hit on me. They’re just obviously in love.”