Rejected

Part 1

 

He could feel her terror. The sound of her heart beating wildly was like a Congo drummer gone insane.

            She stood in front of the cloaked figure, her eyes wide with fear. Her assassin was clad in a long coat and fedora. Wool knit gloves covered his hands, and the sun reflected the gleam of the knife.

            Her trembling voice was muffled by her hand over her mouth. “Please don’t hurt me. Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry!”

            She stepped back as the banshee-like laugh assaulted her.

            “You’re sorry? You don’t know what the word means! I’ll teach you to laugh at me. You’re not laughing now, are you? Are you??”

            “Why- why would I laugh at you? I don’t know you!”

            He yanked the fedora off his head, revealing his face. “Do you recognize me now, bitch? I asked you out for a cup of coffee, but you looked at me like I was some kind of bug. I wasn’t good enough for you, was I? So, you laughed at me. You couldn’t take time out from your precious schedule to be nice to me.”

            The tears were streaming down her face. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Look, I’ll go out with you. I’ll do anything you want me to. Just please don’t hurt me!”

            He threw his head back and cackled. “So the high and mighty slut is begging now! It’s too late. You had your chance. You think you’re so beautiful. Well, when I’m through with you, your own mother won’t be able to stand the sight of you. Go ahead, laugh at me. I said, laugh at me!”

            She backed up against the couch, sobbing openly. “Please, God, don’t kill me. I didn’t mean to hurt you! Please!”

            With a final roar, he closed the distance between them. As the knife rose and fell and her blood covered him, he chanted over and over again.

            “Laugh at me! Laugh at me! LAUGH AT ME!”

            His rage abated and he looked down at her lifeless body. His tears mixed with her blood.

            “Why did you have to laugh at me?”

            He bent down and dipped his finger in her blood. Slowly, he wrote the message on the wall: REJECTED.

            David Starsky sat up in the darkness. The sweat glistening on the hairs of his chest chilled him in the cool night air. The hair on the nape of his neck stood up as the sound of her screams filled his mind. Shaky, he got out of bed and walked to the open window, inhaling the fresh air in huge gulps. Gradually, the pounding of his own heart lessened and he was able to think clearly again. The abject terror that he felt during the vision intensified as the sight of the woman’s face came back to him. He’d seen that face five days a week for the past eight years.

            He shook his head emphatically, refusing the credibility of what he’d seen. For most of his life, he’d denied the existence of the curse bestowed on him, to himself and everyone else. Usually, he was successful in pushing the unwanted premonitions away, but not this time. Starsky sagged against the windowsill as the truth crashed in on him. He’d just witnessed the brutal murder of one of his co-workers.

            “Oh, my God! Jeannie!”

            Still clad in the jogging pants that he wore to bed, Starsky threw on a t-shirt and shoved his bare feet into his blue Adidas. He shrugged into his black leather jacket, grabbed his car keys and ran out the door.

            Starsky turned onto the street leading to the small community where Jeannie Gordon lived. He slowed his red and white Torino down as he saw the blue lights of the squad cars parked along the curb. An ambulance sat in front of the cottage, its lights turned off. He parked behind a truck and fought his way through the crowd of onlookers. Two uniformed officers blocked his way as he tried to enter the house.

            “Whoa, hold on a minute. You can’t go in there. This is a crime scene.”

            Starsky pushed against their arms. “I have to see her! She’s a friend of mine!”

            To his left, a tall man, wearing a tan trench coat, turned around and gazed steadily at him. Sympathy flickered in his blue eyes as he stepped closer.

            “If you’re a friend of hers, then you really don’t want to see her. What’s your name?”

            “Starsky, David Starsky. We work at the same agency, O’Neil and Associates. It’s true, then? He really killed her?”

            Sympathy was quickly replaced by suspicion. “She’s dead, that’s true. What do you know about this, Mr. Starsky?”

            Starsky realized his mistake and tried to compensate. “I don’t know anything. I was just dropping by and saw all the lights, and I was afraid something had happened to her. Your officer said that this was a crime scene. Since I don’t see Jeannie anywhere around, I assume something did happen. By the way, who the Hell are you?”

            The blond man flashed his badge briefly. “Lieutenant Ken Hutchinson, BCPD, Homicide. The call came into Dispatch just a few minutes ago. Our officers responded as soon as they could, but it was too late. You said you worked with the victim?”

            Starsky nodded warily. “Yes, we’ve worked together for almost eight years.”

            “Then we need to talk. I’d appreciate it if you’d come down to the station with me. It won’t take long.”

            The look on his face told Starsky that it wasn’t a request. He nodded reluctantly and motioned to his car.

            “Would it be all right if I followed you? I don’t want to leave my car, and I’ll need it to get home.”

            “Of course, but—I’ll follow you.”

            Starsky walked slowly back to his car, cursing under his breath. How was he going to explain this one? Jeannie’s body was still warm when he’d showed up at her door. How did he know that she’d been murdered? Experience had taught him that revealing his ability would only earn him a skeptical look and a padded cell. Hutchinson looked like the typical hard-boiled detective and wouldn’t take kindly to Starsky’s explanation of visions in the middle of the night.  He would have to watch what he said, very carefully.

            Hutchinson’s battered Ford followed Starsky closely as he drove to the 9^th Precinct. Starsky shook his head at the detective’s transportation. What they say about a cop’s salary must be true. If the poor guy can’t afford better wheels than that, he really needs a raise.

            Starsky pulled into a parking spot labeled “Visitors” and got out of the car. He waited on the sidewalk while Hutchinson parked his car. The Lieutenant motioned for Starsky to follow and walked up the steps. Once inside, he directed the brunet to a small room.

            “Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? I can’t promise it will be fresh, but I can guarantee that it will wake you up.”

            “Sure, why not? It can’t be worse than the coffee in our machines at work.”

            Hutchinson smiled briefly. “Don’t bet on it.”

            He walked to the coffee maker and poured the strong brew into two cups. He looked over his shoulder. “Do you need cream, or sugar?”

            Starsky nodded. “Both please.”

            Hutchinson carried the coffee and the condiments to the table then sat down across from Starsky. He pulled a yellow pad closer and took an ink pen out of his pocket.

            “OK, let’s get the formalities over with first. Your name is David Starsky. Do you have a middle name?”

            “Yeah, it’s Michael.”

            “And what is your address?”

            “2000 Ridgeway Avenue.”

            “OK, how long have you lived there?”

            “Four years.”

            “You work for O’Neil and Associates, and you’ve been there for eight years. Is that correct?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good. You worked with the victim, Jeannie Gordon. Is that correct?”

            “Yes. I think Jeannie had worked there for about two years before I started, but I’m not sure.”

            “What exactly do you do there, Mr. Starsky?”

            “O’Neil’s is an advertising agency. I handle accounts for our clients. I design their ad campaigns and take care of their publicity.”

            “And what did Ms. Gordon do?”

            “She did the same thing. We’re assigned clients by our department heads, and we each have a specialty. I handle our sporting goods division and Jeannie handled the fashion accounts.”

            “So you never actually worked together on anything.”

            “No. I saw her around the office and we attended a couple of seminars together. She was intelligent, and had a good eye for what the clients wanted. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill her.”

            Hutchinson put down his pen and sat back. “I didn’t say she was murdered, Mr. Starsky.”

            Starsky bought himself some time by sipping the coffee. He grimaced at the bitter taste. “When I asked you that before, you didn’t say she wasn’t, Lieutenant. Why else would a Homicide detective be on the scene?”

            The blond nodded slightly. “OK, I’ll give you that one. So, you’re saying that Ms. Gordon didn’t have any enemies that you know of?”

            “No! I know that advertising can be pretty competitive, but let’s be reasonable. My God, Lieutenant, there are a hundred agencies like us in this city! If a client isn’t satisfied with what we do, he just goes somewhere else. It’s not worth killing someone over.”

            “What about her personal life? Did she have a husband, or boyfriend?”

            Starsky shook his head. “I don’t think she was married and if she dated, she never talked about it. I never saw her with anyone in particular.”

            The blond rubbed a hand across his face and sighed. “What about ex-boyfriends? Did you ever see her quarreling with anyone?”

            Starsky drank the last of the coffee and turned the cup around in his hands. Disconcerted by the steady gaze of the Lieutenant, he got up and put the cup back beside the coffee pot.

             “No, I didn’t. I don’t get it! I’ve been rejected a few times in my life, but I’ve never wanted to kill anyone, for Christ’s sake!”

            Hutchinson’s head came up, his voice soft and deadly. “What did you say?”

            Oh, shit! Why did I say that? Starsky kept his back to the detective and shrugged nonchalantly. “I just said that I’ve been rejected by women before, but I never wanted to hurt them. I mean, you’re asking me about boyfriends and husbands, so obviously you think she knew her killer.”

            The blond shoved the yellow pad aside and walked over to where he stood. “You know what I think, Mr. Starsky? I think you know more about this than you’re telling me. That’s not a good idea. “

            “I don’t, Lieutenant, but I’m not stupid, either. I read the papers and I know the statistics. Most homicides are committed by people the victims know. Random violence doesn’t happen that often.”

            “That’s true, but I find it curious that you used that particular word: rejected. Tell me again: why were you were you going to Ms. Gordon’s tonight?”

            “I wasn’t going to Jeannie’s. I was driving around and found myself in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by. I saw the lights and was afraid something had happened to her.”

            “Elmhurst is a long way from your apartment, Mr. Starsky. You expect me to believe that you just happened to find yourself in her neighborhood? Are you in the habit of dropping in on your co-workers at this time of night?”

            Starsky wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “No, I’m not. I was driving around because I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t going to stop until I saw the lights. I told you this already! I was afraid something was wrong.”

            Hutchinson walked back to the table and drank the last of his coffee. He glared at Starsky and pointed his index finger at him.

            “I think you’re hiding something, my friend, and that doesn’t make me happy. When I saw you tonight, you were a lot more upset than a casual acquaintance, or a co-worker would be. I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me what you know, or else I’m going to charge you with obstruction and throw your carcass in a cell. Maybe that will give you some incentive to be straight with me.”

            “I am being straight with you! I’m not your killer, Lieutenant! And you’re wasting time, tormenting me, when you should be out there looking for him!”

            “Sit down, Mr. Starsky. I said, sit down!”

            Starsky reluctantly took his seat and looked up at the detective. The blond man remained standing.

            “I’m not tormenting you. I’m trying to solve a homicide and I’m not getting any help from you. I think it’s very interesting that you keep calling our killer a “he”. I haven’t told you anything about the crime, but you keep calling it murder. I also want to know how you managed to show up at the scene of a crime, minutes after it happened. And frankly, I don’t buy your story about how you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

            “And FRANKLY, I don’t give a damn what you buy! When I said “he”, it was just a figure of speech. It doesn’t mean that I have inside information. I didn’t break any laws, Lieutenant. Now, if you’re going to charge me, then do it! Or else, let me go. I’m really tired and it’s been a long night.”

            Hutchinson sighed then nodded. “All right, you can go, for now. But be warned, Mr. Starsky. I don’t believe your story for a minute. Rest assured we’ll talk again.”

            Starsky stalked to the door and waited for the officer on the other side to unlock it. He turned back to the Lieutenant and snarled, “I can hardly wait.”

            The blond detective scowled at the yellow pad on the table. He ripped the first page off and crumpled it.

            “Damn it!”

                       

Hutch sat at his desk, staring at the picture in front of him. The smiling face of the little girl was caught forever in the lens. Her white dress would never get dirty, the barrettes in her hair would never fall out and the ice-cream cone in her hand would never melt. And the crushing pain in his heart would never leave, either.

            For the millionth time, he whispered the apology. “I’m sorry, Melanie.”

            A deep voice behind him brought him back to the present. “You have to stop kicking yourself, Hutch. You did the best you could.”

            Hutch glared up at his friend. “If I did the best I could, she wouldn’t still be missing, Harold.”

            The large black man shook his head sympathetically. “You can’t solve every case, Hutch. We didn’t have any leads. She disappeared without a trace and so did her kidnapper. It’s been over a year. Let it go.”

            Hutch gently put the picture back on his desk. He looked up at Harold Dobey. “I’ll let it go when I find her. We both know that she’s dead, but the family deserves some kind of closure. They can’t have that until I find her body.”

            It was an argument they’d had several times. As Chief of Detectives, Harold Dobey had watched Hutch climb through the ranks, growing from a raw recruit into the excellent officer he was now. Hutch’s tenaciousness had solved more than one difficult case, but it could also be the man’s downfall. The one thing that he could not tolerate was an unsolved case, especially when it concerned a child.

            Dobey nodded briefly then changed the subject. He pointed at the wrinkled piece of yellow paper with amusement.

            “Did you lose your temper again, Hutch? What did that defenseless piece of paper do to you?”

            “Very funny. I just can’t figure this guy out. He shows up at the scene before anyone knows about the crime, then he says he just happened to be in the neighborhood. I don’t like coincidences, Harold. “

            “I assume you checked him out.”

            “Yeah, he’s clean. Other than a couple of minor scrapes when he was younger, he’s never been in any trouble with the law. He hasn’t even had a parking ticket in three years, and for this town, that’s saying something.”

            “So, what’s the big deal?”

            Hutch glared down at the yellow paper as if it was keeping secrets. “I get the feeling he knows more than what he’s telling me. It’s not so much what he said as the way he said it. I can’t explain it, but my gut is telling me to watch this guy.”

            Dobey shrugged. “So, watch him. What did the autopsy and lab reports show? Were they any help?”

            Hutch made a face. “Maybe, if we arrest a suspect. He got into the house by cutting a small section of screen in the back door. Then he unlocked the door, wearing gloves of course, and got into the house without anyone seeing him. The neighbor that called it in just said she heard screaming and was afraid Ms. Gordon was hurt. She didn’t see anyone going in or out. We found fibers from the gloves he was wearing, but they can be bought at any department store. The knife was large, maybe a carving knife, but there isn’t anything distinguishing about it. If we find it, there should be traces of blood on it, but so far, we haven’t found squat. The only thing we do know for certain is she wasn’t raped. He didn’t move the body after he killed her, either. If he went out the back door, he didn’t leave any bloody footprints. The lab boys are back over there this morning, checking to see if there’s any blood in the rest of the house.”

            “So, what’s your next move?”

            Hutch rubbed his face. “I’m going over to O’Neil and Associates this afternoon. I checked several sources, and O’Neil’s seems to be a reputable company. There’s no hint of scandal, no lawsuits, and no problems with the IRS. It’s simply a small agency, with a nice profit margin.”

            Dobey scowled. “That’s hardly the kind of place where you’d think this kind of homicide would happen.”

            “No, it isn’t. And Jeannie Gordon isn’t the kind of person that you think this would happen to. That’s why I’m going over there. I want to know what the office gossip was. If she was having problems with anyone at all, the grape vine should know it. Besides, it will give me the chance to scope David Starsky out again. The man looked like he’d been punched in the gut when I told him that she was dead, but then he said they seldom saw each other socially. If they had something going, the grape vine will know that, too.”

            “OK, let me know what you find out. Try not to antagonize anyone while you’re over there. My mother always said you could attract more bees with honey than with vinegar. That’s something you seem to forget.”

            Hutch slid the yellow paper into a folder and stood up. He gave his Captain a cocky grin.

            “I’m not after bees.”

           

            O’Neil and Associates was located in one of the newer buildings on Main Street. Its modern architecture contrasted with the other buildings on the street. David Starsky parked his Torino in the garage and took a deep breath before entering the building. Undoubtedly, Jeannie’s death would be common knowledge by now, but he had no desire to stand around and eulogize her. The gruesome crime still haunted him and he wasn’t sure he could keep his emotions a secret from her friends. Hutchinson had been right about one thing: he was more upset than a co-worker would be and if anyone saw that, they would start to wonder why. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was more questions.

            He strode purposefully past Peggy, the receptionist and general watchdog in the lobby, and headed for the elevator with only a brief smile and a nod. He composed himself as he waited for the doors to open. Predictably, Reba Dowd caught him before he could escape to the safety of his office.

            “Oh, David, have you heard? Poor Jeannie was murdered last night! The police said someone broke into her house and attacked her with a knife. It must have been awful! And it's so frustrating, because they won't say who they think did it, or why.”

            Starsky smiled slightly. “That's standard operating procedure, Reba. They don't want the killer to know what leads they have, because it could hurt their case. They'll let us know what's going on when they're ready and not before.”

            Reba sniffed. “I suppose you’re right. Poor Jeannie, we’ll really miss her around here. She was such a good person.”

            He patted her shoulder. “Yes, she was, and I know she would want us to carry on. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.”

            She smiled bravely and patted his cheek. “Of course, David, that’s exactly what she would want.”

            He pasted a smile on his face as he backed into his office and closed the door. Slumping against it, he made sure it was locked before stumbling to his desk. He sank into his chair and leaned back.

            “Well, that was fun.” He ran his fingers through his curly hair and closed his eyes, remembering her last moments of life.

            “Dear God, Jeannie, who is he and why did he do that to you?”

 

 

            Hutch kept his appointment with the CEO of O’Neil and Associates that afternoon. He noticed the subdued atmosphere immediately when he entered the building. The news of Jeannie Gordon’s death had affected everyone. Most of the employees talked quietly with each other, with only a few casting curious glances in his direction.

            Hutch knocked on the CEO’s door and entered, as a distinguished looking man came forward to meet him. Raymond O’Neil was in his early fifties, with gunmetal gray hair and a winning smile. His grip was firm as he shook hands with Hutch.

            “Come in, Lieutenant, and sit down. This is such a tragedy for the firm that I would like to see it resolved quickly. So, let’s get right to the point. How can I help you?”

            Hutch sat down in the chair. “I’m afraid we have very little to go on, Mr. O’Neil, so anything you can tell me will help. I’ve checked your company out, and it seems to be doing well, and has a good reputation in the city.”

            “I like to think we do, Lieutenant. We handle the smaller businesses that the higher profile firms won’t. We have fifty-four long-term clients and have twice that in seasonal accounts. You won’t find us in Forbes magazine, but we have a good profit margin and pride ourselves on customer satisfaction.”

            “How many employees do you have?”

            “I think we have around 185 at the present time. This is a busy time for us, because of the many fall campaigns we’re working on, so we do have some temporary employees. If you like, I can arrange a meeting with our personnel director, Ms. Taylor. She can give you full access to all of our personnel records.”

            “That will be very helpful, thanks. Can you tell me anything about Ms. Gordon? What kind of employee was she?”

            O’Neil shook his head, regretfully. “Jeannie was one of a kind, Lieutenant. She started out as a secretary for our Fashion division and worked her way up. She had an incredible instinct for what our clients wanted, and knew exactly how to talk to them. Some of our clients have very definite ideas about their advertising, but sometimes they need a little nudge in the right direction. Jeannie was very good at making them see what was best for their company, even if it didn’t completely agree with their vision. “

            “Did she get along well with the other employees?”

            “As far as I know, she never had any problems with anyone.”

            “Would you know anything about her personal life? Was she having any problems with anyone, romantically?”

            O’Neil scratched his head. “I really can’t say for certain, Lieutenant. I think her closest associate would be Jane Thompson. They’ve worked in the same department for several years. If anyone could tell you about Jeannie’s personal life, it would be Jane.”

            Hutch nodded. “OK, I’ll talk to her. What about here? Has anything unusual happened lately? Like, strange phone calls, or hate mail, or any former clients harassing your employees?”

            “I don’t think so, Lieutenant. At least, no one has reported anything like that. If any former client caused that kind of trouble, it wouldn’t take long to get around. No reputable agency would take on that kind of client, no matter how much money they offered. It’s simply not worth it.”

            Hutch sighed and got up. “Well, thanks for your time, Mr. O’Neil. If you happen to think of anything that might help, please don’t hesitate to call.”

            “Of course, Lieutenant. If you’ll let me know when you’ll want to talk to Ms. Taylor, I’ll set up an appointment for you, at your convenience. And if you need further assistance, my door is always open.”

            “I’ll let you know, Mr. O’Neil. We’re still waiting for a few reports to come back, so I’m not sure what to look for. If you don’t mind, I’d rather wander around and talk to some of your employees first. I have some general questions I’d like to ask.”

            O’Neil walked Hutch to the door. “By all means, Lieutenant, talk to whomever you want. I’ll notify everyone that you are to receive full cooperation.”

            Hutch walked casually around the floor, watching the interaction between the employees. He saw a man delivering mail and approached him with a friendly smile. He took a quick look at the man’s ID badge.

            “Mr. Barnes? I’m Lieutenant Hutchinson. I know how busy you must be, but I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

            The man looked at him warily. “I guess so. What do you want to know?”

            “Well, I assume you know what happened to Jeannie Gordon. Did you know her?”

            The mail clerk shrugged. “I took her the mail, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t really know her.”

            “Did she ever receive any suspicious packages, or letters?”

            “She got lots of mail, like everyone else does. I don’t know what you mean by suspicious.”

            “Did she ever seem upset by something she got in the mail?”

            “Not really. She didn’t say anything, if she was.”

            “Was she nice to you?”

            William Barnes shrugged again. “She was OK, I guess. I wasn’t one of her friends. I just work in the mail room. We didn’t socialize.”

            Hutch was beginning to get angry. “Mr. Barnes, I’m investigating a serious crime. Everyone has been genial, so far, but I’m afraid they haven’t been much help. I’m not out to get you into any trouble. I need to know as much about Ms. Gordon as possible. Now, let’s try this again. What was she like?”

            Barnes frowned. “She didn’t really notice me, much. I guess she was friendly with the people in her department, but she could be kind of snobby when she wanted to be. But, that’s nothing new. We’re not the chosen ones. We’re just the gophers around here.”

            “How did that make you feel?”

            Barnes grinned sardonically. “I’ve been with the firm since it opened, Lieutenant. I worked ten years for the post office before that. I was delivering mail when some of these kids were still in diapers. It really doesn’t bother me. These people don’t sign my paycheck. Mr. O’Neil does, and as long as we do our work, he doesn’t give us any problems. Ms. Gordon wasn’t being hateful. She just had other things on her mind.”

            “That’s a very mature attitude. Does everyone else in your department feel the same way?”

            “I don’t think they worry about it. We have our friends and the account executives have theirs. It’s not a big deal.”

            “Have you ever seen Ms. Gordon get into an argument with anyone?”

            Barnes laughed derisively. “Her? No, man, she was too sophisticated for that. If she got mad, she just gave you this cold look, or ignored you. Or she’d say something to cut you down then smile at you. But, she never gave us the time of day. We weren’t important enough for her to notice.”

            Hutch smiled wryly. “At least you aren’t acting like she was some kind of saint. Can you think of anyone that would be angry enough to want to hurt her?”

            “No, but I don’t think she let anyone around here get too close to her. I never saw her with any particular guys, and she never got any visitors, except for her clients. If she had a social life, she kept it secret. Maybe one of her friends could tell you, but I’m not one of her friends.”

            Hutch sighed. “OK, thanks for talking to me. I might stop down in your department later, to talk to the other clerks. If you think of anything that might help, don’t hesitate to call.”

            Barnes nodded. “Sure, Lieutenant, but I don’t know what else I could tell you.”

            He waved slightly and went back to work. Hutch grumbled under his breath.

            “I stopped believing in saints years ago. Somebody has to know what she was like, and I’m going to find them!”

            Hutch spent the next half hour talking to various employees, and got the same responses from them. Jeannie Gordon kept to herself and didn’t socialize with her co-workers. She was good at her job, but could be very difficult if angered. When Hutch asked about Jane Thompson, he was told that she’d taken the day off, apparently shaken by Jeannie’s death. He called the personnel office and got her address, making a note of it. At the same time, he got David Starsky’s office number.

            He walked up to the door and knocked. A few moments later, Starsky opened the door. Starsky wasn’t surprised to see him.

            “Hello, Lieutenant. I was wondering when you’d stop by. Come in.”

            Starsky motioned for the detective to sit down. “How goes the investigation?”

            “It’s not going that well, truthfully. On the outside, this seems like a friendly place to work, but no one seems to know anything about anyone, especially Jeannie Gordon. I confess that I find that a little strange.”

            Starsky raised an eyebrow. “Oh, why is that?”

            “Well, you said she’d worked here for about ten years, so she wasn’t exactly a strange face. Your CEO says this is a relatively small company. It would seem to me that if she had been here for that long, others would at least know if she was married or not, or if she had a boyfriend. Small companies are notorious for gossip. I can see people not talking about the CEO, but Ms. Gordon was simply an account executive, like you. I’ve heard from one employee that she could be cold to workers in other departments, and had a temper, but everyone else has portrayed her as some kind of saint. I don’t believe in saints, Mr. Starsky. I have to wonder why most of the people around here are trying to make me think she was one.”

            Starsky rubbed a hand across his face, and stood up. He paced for a moment then shrugged slightly.

            “I don’t think they’re trying to hide anything, Lieutenant. These people just found out that Jeannie was killed. They’re in shock. And there’s that old saying that you don’t speak ill of the dead. Right now, Jeannie seems like a saint to them. Once the shock has worn off, they’ll be a little more realistic about what she was like.”

            Hutch thought about that then nodded. “OK, I’ll buy that. This is a quiet company, so I imagine these people haven’t had much experience with violent crime. I’ll give them a few days then ask my questions again. What about you, Mr. Starsky? Now that the shock has worn off a little, what can you tell me about Jeannie Gordon?”

            Starsky sighed and flopped back into his chair. “I don’t think the shock has worn off that much, Lieutenant, but I’ll try to help as much as I can. I’ve been thinking about Jeannie all night. What I told you is true. I didn’t socialize with Jeannie. As a co-worker, she was intelligent, dependable, and very creative. I guess she could be a little snobby with the people in other departments. She worked her way up from the secretarial pool, and made a name for herself, without anyone’s help. Maybe that colored her perception of others. I don’t know. She did have a temper, and I’ve seen her in action a couple of times. She never cursed, or yelled. She’d fix you with this frosty stare and look down her nose at you. She could cut you to the quick with just a few words. My mother used to refer to people like Jeannie as ‘haughty’.”

            “How often would you say you saw her in a day’s time?”

            “Not very often, I’m afraid. Most of our clients come to us, so we’re locked up in our offices most of the day. Other than the seminars that I told you about, we never spent much time together.”

            Hutch sighed. “OK. Mr. O’Neil said that a Jane Thompson was close to Ms. Gordon. Do you know her?”

            Starsky smiled for the first time. “Yeah, I know Jane. Now there is a truly good human being. Jane’s not an angel, don’t get me wrong, but she has a good heart and treats everyone the same way. She’s honest and she’s straightforward. If she disagrees with you, she lets you know it. She’s never phony. Jeannie had a way of manipulating her clients into doing what she wanted. We’re all con artists, to some degree. You have to be to get ahead in this business. But Jane always seemed to get what she wanted without conning anybody. To be honest, I was always surprised at how good friends they were. I guess it’s an example of opposites attracting each other. I know that Jane took the day off because of what happened, so I guess she was really shaken by Jeannie’s death.”

            “That’s what I heard, too. I’m going to try to talk to her today, if I can. Let’s get back to Ms. Gordon. You said you saw her temper in action a couple of times. Can you tell me about that?”

            Starsky sat back and thought for a few minutes. He frowned as he remembered the arguments he’d witnessed.

            “You know, come to think of it, most of the time Jeannie was angry at other employees. No matter what she thought of the clients she handled, she never showed it. I remember coming in early one morning, and Jeannie was ragging our Housekeeping supervisor. Jeannie was missing a letter from one of her clients, and she was accusing the housekeeper of throwing it away. The supervisor offered to go through the trash, but that wasn’t enough for Jeannie. She wanted the person responsible fired, and even when she found the letter in the client’s file, she never apologized for her tantrum. And she jumped on our mail clerks several times, for not delivering all of her mail, or not mailing something urgent when she told them to. But, that’s all happened over the past couple of years. I don’t see how that would have anything to do with her death.”

            “It’s a place to start, Mr. Starsky. And you’re sure you never saw her with anyone outside of the company? You never had reason to believe that she was having problems in her personal life?”

            Starsky shook his head emphatically. “No. I never saw her with anyone that I didn’t recognize. I’m pretty sure she’s never been romantically involved with a co-worker. Like you said, gossip runs rampant around here. If something like that was going on, everyone else would know about it.”

            “Do you think Jane Thompson would know about her personal life?”

            “I think if anyone knew Jeannie that well, it would be Jane. She won’t lie to you, Lieutenant. Jeannie was a good friend, but if it will help you catch whoever did this, I’m positive she’ll tell you anything she knows.”

            “Well, thank God for that much. OK, Mr. Starsky. Thanks for your help. If I have any more questions, I’ll be in touch.”

            Starsky walked the Lieutenant to the door. “I don’t know how much more help I can give you, but you know where I am. I really do want you to catch whoever did this, Lieutenant. You never think something like this is going to happen to someone that you know, and it’s terrifying when it does. “

            “Violent crime happens everywhere, Mr. Starsky, and it’s always terrifying.”

            Starsky watched him go then slumped against the door. And it’s even more terrifying when you see it first hand, Lieutenant. For the thousandth time, he wished the ability he’d been cursed with would just go away.

 

            Hutch knocked on the door to Jane Thompson’s apartment, and waited. He heard a soft voice telling him that “I’ll be right there”, and then heard footsteps coming closer. Moments later, the door opened a crack, and part of a face with one red-rimmed brown eye peeked out at him.

            “Yes, may I help you?”

            Hutch held up his badge so she could see it. “I’m Lieutenant Hutchinson. I’d like to talk to you about Jeannie Gordon.”

            The eye filled with tears, but she nodded and closed the door. He heard the sound of the chain lock being removed, and then the door opened.

            Jane Thompson was a thin woman, with short sandy-blonde hair and narrow features. Hutch’s first thought was that she was the exact opposite of Jeannie Gordon. Starsky wasn’t exaggerating when he said these two were completely different.

            Jane wiped her eyes with a small handkerchief. “Won’t you come in? I’m sorry that I’m such a wreck. I just can’t believe that something like this would happen to Jeannie!”

            “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Thompson. I understand you and Ms. Gordon were really close. I wouldn’t bother you at all, but we’re trying to catch the person that did this and we don’t have much to go on. Anything, anything at all, that you know would help. “

            “Please, sit down. I’ll try to answer your questions as best I can.”

            Hutch smiled encouragingly. “Thank-you, Mrs. Thompson. I’ll try to be brief. I’ve talked to some of the other employees at O’Neil’s, and to Mr. O’Neil himself, so I think I have everything I need pertaining to her job. What I need from you is information about her personal life. I understand that she kept to herself, and didn’t socialize much with the other employees.”

            Jane nodded. “Jeannie was always kind of aloof. I know she came off as snobby to a lot of people, but that wasn’t it at all. Jeannie worked really hard to get where she was, and I think it crippled her, in a way.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “She spent most of her adult life on advancing her career, so she didn’t really know how to interact with people. To Jeannie, everyone else was either a way to move up, or they were trying to keep her from moving up. The advertising business is like every other business, Lieutenant. It’s still a man’s world. For an attractive young woman to succeed, she had to be very strong and very distrustful. She couldn’t risk letting anyone get too close, because that would have made her vulnerable. Jeannie’s career was her whole life. On the outside, she was strong and determined. On the inside, she was lonely and insecure.  It was very hard for her to make friends, because she couldn’t see past what they did and see who they were. “

            “But you were her friend. She let you get close.”

            Jane smiled wanly. “Look at me, Lieutenant. I never was a threat to Jeannie. She was always the beautiful vixen, and I was the girl next door. I’m a widow, and Jeannie has never been married. And our professional lives were as different as our private lives. Our clients were from opposite ends of the spectrum. She handled the modern fashions, the hip crowd. She thrived on competition. My clients are more straight-laced, if you will. Some designs never go out of fashion, and my clients cater to the same clientele year after year. We became good friends because we lived in different worlds.”

            “You said she wasn’t married. Did she have a boyfriend?”

            Jane smiled tolerantly. “She had several, Lieutenant. But she was unwilling to commit to any of them.”

            “Was she involved with anyone recently?”

            “Yes, up until a couple of months ago. His name is Jonathan Freely. Jeannie never had much time for dating, but I think she met him through her brother. Jonathan is an attorney, and his specialty is business law, so they had that in common. Sad to say, but I think he was more interested in Jeannie than she was in him. When he was offered a partnership with a good law firm in Boston, he wanted to get married and have Jeannie move away with him. Jeannie turned him down. She said her life was here and she’d worked too long to get where she was to leave it all behind.”

            ‘How did he react to that?”

            “He was heartbroken, of course. Even after he moved to Boston, he still wrote her and called her often. He was hoping he could change her mind, but she was adamant. I think he finally stopped calling because he realized it was hopeless.”

            “And to your knowledge, she never saw him again?”

            Jane shook her head. “No. Once he moved away, the relationship was over, as far as Jeannie was concerned. And there hasn’t been anyone since. I think it hurt her more than she would admit, and she decided to throw herself into her work even more than she had before she met Jonathan.”

            Hutch nodded briefly. “Do you have an address for him? I’d like to speak to him, just to get some information.”

            “I think I have his address here, somewhere. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if I can find it.”

            “That would be helpful. Go ahead, take your time.”

            While she was gone, Hutch organized his thoughts. The real Jeannie Gordon was becoming clearer, but he still had no reasonable suspects in her murder. If her latest boyfriend had moved to Boston months ago, who had hated her enough to slash her to ribbons?

            Jane returned to the living room and handed him a piece of paper. “After Jonathan moved to Boston, he lived in a hotel for the first few weeks. This is his permanent address, though. Jeannie told me that he offered to buy an expensive condo if she agreed to marry him. When she finally convinced him that wasn’t going to happen; he rented a modest apartment close to the firm where he was working.”

            Hutch took the paper and put it in his pocket. “Thank-you. Did Jeannie ever mention getting any threatening phone calls, or letters? And I don’t mean from only Jonathan. Was there anyone that she was afraid of, or that she thought might wish to harm her?”

            “No, and I’m sure she would have told me if she had. I’ve tried and tried to think of anyone that wanted to hurt her, and I can’t! This is all so senseless! Jeannie wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t do anything to justify this. She didn’t deserve to die, and certainly not this way.”

            Hutch put his hand on hers. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Thompson. I know this is hard for you. You’ve been a big help. If you think of anything else, would you please call me?”

            He took a card out of his pocket and gave it to her. “This card has my numbers on it, both night and day. You can call me any time.”

            She nodded woefully, and walked him to the door. “I hope you find the person that did this, Lieutenant. Jeannie wasn’t a monster, and even if she was, nobody deserves what he did to her.”

            “I understand, Mrs. Thompson. We’ll do our best, I promise.”

            He squeezed her hand one more time then closed the door gently behind him. He waited until he heard the chain lock being engaged then walked to his car.  He ran his long fingers through is hair and looked back at the small window on the second floor. This was the part of police work that he always hated. Violent crime never touched just one person. There was always someone left behind to mourn the victim, and to wonder why. Jane Thompson had been a good friend of Jeannie Gordon’s, and if Hutch’s instincts were right, Jeannie didn’t have that many. He made a silent promise to that window. I’ll find who did this, Mrs. Thompson, and when I do, we’ll both know why.

            After stopping in the commissary to grab a light lunch, Hutch sat down at his desk and wrote his report of the day’s events. So far, they were no closer to solving the crime, but at least he had a few leads to follow up. He was thinking about his next move when Dobey stopped at his desk.

            “Well, since I didn’t get any irate phone calls from Mr. O’Neil, I assume your interview went well?”

            Hutch grinned knowingly at his Captain. “I didn’t step on anyone’s toes, if that’s what you mean.” Then he frowned at his report. “I didn’t get much help, either. Jeannie Gordon was no worse or no better than any other law-abiding citizen in this city, so I still have no idea why she was targeted by this psycho.”

            Dobey sat on the edge of Hutch’s desk. “Maybe that’s the point. We’re looking for a psychotic killer. His reason for killing Jeannie Gordon exists in his own mind, and no where else. Have you checked out known felons?”

            “I’ve got R&I doing that now. They’re cross-referencing the MO with our known psycho’s, to see if there’s a match. It’s always possible, but my gut tells me this isn’t a random killing. As far-fetched as it seems, I think our killer knew what he was doing when he went after Ms. Gordon. I just don’t know why yet.”

            “OK, I’ve always trusted your instincts. What’s your next move?”

            “I’ve got the address of Jeannie Gordon’s ex-boyfriend, in Boston. I’m going to see if I can get him to talk to me on the phone. If I hear anything I don’t like, I’ll make a trip to Boston. I don’t think he’s our man, but I’m keeping an open mind.”

            “That’s all you can do.  Well, let me know if you come up with anything.”

            Dobey stood up and gazed down at the blond. “For now, why don’t you go home and get some sleep? You haven’t stopped since the call came in. Take the night off and start fresh in the morning.”

            Hutch grinned and put the report in his folder. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. I’ve been banging my head against a brick wall, so a night off sounds great.”

            He stuffed the folder into the top drawer of his desk, and grabbed his jacket.

            “See you in the morning, Harold. Let’s hope we both have a quiet night.”

            Dobey knocked on wood. “Be careful what you say, Hutch. We both might live to regret it.”

Hours later, while Dobey and Hutch were tucked securely in their respective beds, David Starsky sat rigidly in his recliner, his eyes staring ahead at nothing. He was focused on the scene transpiring inside his mind.

            Tom Rowan stood in the middle of his living room, gazing at the specter in front of him. The phantom in black was back again.

            Rowan’s voice was filled with false bravado. “Who are you? What do you want?”

            “What do you think I want? It’s not Halloween, Rowan. I want you!”

            “What do you mean, you want me? I don’t have time for childish games. Get out of my house, immediately!”

            The phantom pulled the knife from under his robe. “This isn’t a game and you aren’t in charge any more. I’ll leave when I’m finished with you, and not before.”

            Rowan took a step back, fear surfacing in his eyes. “What are you doing with that knife? Why would you want to hurt me? I don’t even know you!”

            The phantom took off his hat, revealing his face. “Do you recognize me now, you son of a bitch? Or are you so caught up in your precious career that you’ve forgotten who I am?”

            Rowan caught his breath. “YOU! But, this doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never done anything to you! Why would you want to kill me?”

            The phantom’s voice raised an octave. “You’ve never done anything to me? You laughed at me! I wanted to be your friend, but you wouldn’t even take time out from your precious schedule to have a lousy cup of coffee with me! You acted like I didn’t exist!  I wasn’t good enough for you!”

            “That’s not true! I was just busy. I didn’t realize that it meant so much to you. If that’s what you want, we’ll have coffee next week, any time you want. Just name the day and time.”

            The maniacal laugh sent Rowan reeling backwards. “It’s too late! I don’t want your charity. I don’t need your pity. You’re all alike. You think you’re so much better than everyone else. Well, you’re not. You think everyone knows who you are, but they don’t. Just like me. You’re not that high and mighty. By the time I’m finished with you, no one will want to see your face. And a few weeks after you’re gone, they won’t even remember your name. JUST LIKE ME!!!”

With a final roar, the phantom leaped across the room. Over and over, the knife rose and fell. As his victim’s blood splattered on him, he chanted.

            “You laughed at me! You laughed at me! You laughed at me!”

            After the frenzy was over, he wiped the knife on the dead man’s clothing. His tears mixed with the blood.

            “Why did you laugh at me?”

            The phantom dipped his fingers in the blood and wrote his message on the wall.

            REJECTED

 

            Starsky lurched forward with a gasp. He put his head in his hands and waited for his heart beat to slow. He bolted out of the chair then stopped.

            No! I can’t go over there. If Hutchinson sees me, he’ll know something’s up. There’s no way in Hell that he’ll buy another coincidence. Dear God, why can’t I see this guy’s face? If I could see him, I’d find a way to stop him, no matter what I have to do. Why is he doing this?

            Shakily, he poured himself a drink and sat back down in the recliner. There was nothing he could do, anyway. Rowan was dead. Getting into trouble wouldn’t bring him back. Starsky knew that the only thing he could do was wait and watch. Maybe he could figure out who the killer was on his own. What kind of person could kill like that and then act as if nothing had happened? Starsky made a face. The answer to that one was easy. Only a psycho would kill like that, and no one would know who he was by looking at him. Psychos didn’t go around wearing name tags on their shirts. He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He knew what the morning would bring. All he could do now was try to rest.

 

 

            Hutch was making his third trip around the blood-splattered room when he heard the deep voice behind him. Wearily, he nodded at his captain.

            “Sorry we had to haul you out of bed, Harold. I thought you’d want to see this one for yourself.”

            Dobey looked at the body on the floor then turned to Hutch. “What have we got?”

            “His name is Tom Rowan. He was forty-five years old, divorced, no children. Guess where he worked?”       

            Dobey’s eyes narrowed. “O’Neil and Associates?”

            “Give the man a cigar. I think we can forget about the random violence scenario. It’s the same MO, right down to the message on the wall. Two people murdered from the same company are just too much of a coincidence. There’s only one possible explanation; somebody is really pissed at these people. The only question is: why?”

            Dobey sighed. “The only question is always why. What did the lab boys say?”

            “They found the hole in the screen door that he cut, probably with the same knife he used to kill Rowan and Ms. Gordon. I’ve got people canvassing the neighborhood, but don’t expect any eye witnesses. This guy seems to sneak in and out without a sound.”

            The black man snorted. “Of course not, when has it ever been that easy? So, what are you going to do now?”

            Hutch scanned the room carefully. “There’s only one thing about this that’s different from Ms. Gordon’s case: David Starsky. He knew about her almost before we did, but he’s conspicuously absent now. I think I want to have another chat with him.”

            Dobey frowned. “Isn’t it a little late to be interviewing potential witnesses? Besides, like you said, he isn’t here. What makes you think he’ll know any more now than he did the other night?”

            “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be interrupting his beauty sleep, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can’t explain it, Harold, but I think he knows a lot more than what he’s told me. I want to see his reaction when I tell him another one of his co-workers are dead, and I don’t want to wait until morning.”

            “Well, you’re the senior investigating officer on this case. Just watch yourself. If this man has something to do with the murders, you could be in danger, too. And if he’s innocent, and you start stepping on his toes, you could find yourself walking a beat again.”

            Hutch gave a quick shake of his head. “I don’t buy the man for the murders, Harold. I just think he knows more than what he’s saying. And I intend to find out what that is before someone else dies.”

            “OK, let me know if you find out anything useful. Meanwhile, we’ll let the crime team do its job. I’m going home and see if I can finish that dream I was having. I’ll see you in the morning.”

            Dobey walked past the body on the floor. He looked back at his detective.

            “And Hutch, get some sleep, too.”

            Hutch waved a hand toward his Captain. “Sure, I’ll sleep, after I talk to Starsky.”

Twenty minutes later, Hutch knocked on David Starsky’s apartment door and waited. His eyes widened in shock as the door slowly opened, revealing the dark haired man.

            “You look like Hell.”

            Starsky smiled mirthlessly and walked away. “Good evening to you, too, Lieutenant. You didn’t stop by at 2am just to give me a critique on my appearance, did you?”

            Hutch followed him into the room, closing the door behind him. “No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. I thought you might want to know that there was another murder tonight.”

            Starsky walked over to the window. “Oh, who was it?”

            Hutch followed him. “I have a feeling you know, Mr. Starsky.”

            Starsky kept his back to the other man. “How would I know who it was?”

            Hutch swung him around, and two pairs of blue eyes clashed. “I think you know a whole lot about who it was! The man’s name was Tom Rowan. Does that ring a bell? He worked at O’Neil and Associates. I have two dead people that happened to work at the same place. You showed up at the first scene moments after it happened, Mr. Starsky. You were freaked out; even though you swore Jeannie Gordon was only a co-worker. Then tonight, another co-worker is murdered and you look like you’ve been punched in the gut. I don’t like coincidences, Starsky.”

            Starsky moved away from the detective. “I don’t know anything! Leave me alone, Lieutenant!”

            Hutch grabbed the other man by his shoulders and pushed him into the recliner. He put his hands on the armrests and bent down until they were eye to eye.

            “You do know something, Starsky! You knew Jeannie Gordon was dead almost before we did! You knew what the message was that the killer wrote on her wall. You even used the same word yourself; rejected. That particular piece of evidence hasn’t been released to the public. How did you know? Talk to me, Starsky!”

            Starsky pushed the blond away and got up, stalking around the room. He spun around and faced the Lieutenant.

            “I saw it! Do you want me to tell you all the gory details, Lieutenant? I saw him attack her and I saw him kill her. I saw him dip his fingers in her blood and write that word on the wall. I saw everything, Lieutenant!”

            Hutch faced the other man. “What do you mean, you saw it? You said you were here all night long. You told me that you were just driving around and stopped when you saw the squad cars in front of her house. If you weren’t there, how did you see anything?”

            “I was here, Lieutenant. I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t kill her, and I didn’t kill Tom Rowan.”

            “Then how could you see something that was happening miles away?” Hutch stopped as the thought occurred to him. He shook his head, disbelieving. “Oh no, you don’t mean-.” He shook his head again. “You’re not telling me that you’re some kind of psychic.”

            Starsky’s smile was gruesome. “I’m not a lunatic, Lieutenant, so you can stop looking for the little men in their white coats. It’s not something that I’m proud of. I’ve spent most of my life denying this damned curse. It’s sure as Hell not something that I wanted. But, to answer your question, yes, I am psychic.” He laughed mirthlessly at the expression on the detective’s face. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant, it’s not catching.”

 

           

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