The next day, Steve, Mark, Amanda, and Jesse gathered in the hospital lounge, reviewing the case. Steve had brought the case file and the artist's sketch drawn from the description provided by the college student who had seen someone running from the scene of the attack.
"Terri wasn't able to identify the sketch," he told them, showing them the picture of a man with short, brown hair cut close to the head, and fairly neutral features, wearing a hat. "There really isn't much particularly distinctive in the description. He didn't even get a good look at the guy's shape – he was apparently wearing one of those loose, formless raincoats. And he had the hat pulled low over his face, so the kid wasn't even too sure of the features – certainly he didn't see anything that particularly stood out."
Jesse looked at the picture disparagingly.
"Actually, it could be almost anybody," he said. Steve nodded glumly.
"Terri couldn't even say for sure that it wasn't the guy she said frequently shows up to stare at her during the shows. We'll show it around to the other staff at the Tulip Club when they open tonight, but I doubt that we'll do much better with anyone else."
"Maybe you'll get lucky and the guy'll be there tonight," Jesse suggested.
"Did you have any better luck with the letters?" Mark asked.
"Not much," Steve replied. "She couldn't remember much about the envelopes or postmarks at all. And the letters were all typed."
"It doesn't look like there was a lot of physical evidence, either," observed Amanda, who was reading the forensic report. "Although I see they did find a couple of light brown hairs on Pete's jacket."
"Which aren't likely to be Pete's, since he had almost black hair," noted Mark.
"Could they have been Terri's?" asked Jesse, who hadn't yet met her.
"No, Terri's a blonde," replied Steve.
"So there's at least the possibility that they could be the murderer's," Jesse said. "Which means that when we find a good suspect, we should be able to do a DNA match."
"Yeah, but first we have to find a good suspect," replied Steve. "Right now, we're a bit short on those."
As they were discussing the case further, Steve's cell phone rang. He answered it, listening in surprise to the message relayed by the desk sergeant at the police station. He turned to his father and friends when he got off.
"I'm going to have to go, guys," he told them. "We just got a call from Terri – she's received another one of those anonymous letters."
"Make sure she filled that prescription I gave her," called Mark as Steve headed for the door. "Tell her I'm going to check on her tomorrow to make sure it's getting better!"
Steve grinned and waved in acknowledgement as he left.
When he arrived at Terri's house, he found her rather distraught by the arrival of the new letter. She had just been fixing herself some herbal tea, which she claimed to find soothing, and she persuaded Steve to join her in a cup while he read the letter.
"Terri You mustn't succumb to the blandishments of men. Bad things happen when you do – to them and you."
"Sounds like a trashy Victorian novel," snorted Steve, taking a sip of his tea. He tried not to make a face – he really didn't care much for herbal teas.
"That's partly why I didn't take them too seriously," agreed Terri. "But now, it's got me scared."
"I can't say that I blame you," Steve replied sympathetically, reflecting that a very 'bad thing' had certainly happened to Pete. "Did any of the other letters threaten you?"
"Not exactly," Terri said. "They just sounded like vague warnings against giving in to the 'wicked desires' of men because I'd be sorry afterward – that kind of thing. I never thought of them as threats." She grimaced. "Actually, it wasn't all that different from some of the stuff my father used to tell me when I was younger."
Reflecting that her father sounded like a real prize, Steve said lightly, "Speaking of fathers, mine wanted me to make sure you filled that prescription he gave you. He said he's planning on checking on you tomorrow to make sure the rash is clearing up properly." He had the satisfaction of seeing her expression lighten a bit as she automatically glanced down at her arm.
"Tell him not to worry," she replied with a smile, "it's much better already. I have been using the cream he prescribed."
"He'll be glad to hear that," Steve declared, smiling back at her. Her face took on an expression of curiosity.
"Your father sure seems to be very different from mine," she observed, her tone slightly wistful.
"Well, Dad's pretty unique," Steve replied with a glint of humor in his eyes. Watching him, Terri could see the obvious affection underlying the amusement.
"I can't imagine ever kidding around with my father the way you guys do," Terri commented. "He was always so concerned about being properly respected; he never tolerated that sort of familiarity from anybody, least of all his kids."
"Sounds tough," Steve said sympathetically, noticing again the bitterness that entered her tone whenever she mentioned her father. Curious, he prompted her to continue. "Sounds like he must have been difficult to live with."
"He was," Terri responded emphatically. "That's why I left as soon as I could. Of course, he was glad to see me go. I didn't behave at all the way a doctor's daughter should."
"How should a doctor's daughter behave?" asked Steve.
"Oh, I should have been a 'little lady', and stayed away from boys and taken up nursing," Terri said, her voice mocking. "If I'd been a son, I suppose he would have wanted me to be a doctor, like him, but he didn't think much of women doctors. So I was supposed to be a nurse. Wanting to be something as 'vulgar' as a dancer was the absolute last straw as far as he was concerned." She looked at Steve curiously. "Did your father ever want you to be a doctor?"
"Dad always said he'd support whatever I wanted to do. And I just wasn't interested in being a doctor."
"He didn't try to influence you at all?" Terri asked. Steve shook his head. "And he didn't mind you being a cop?"
"Actually, he wasn't crazy about that idea," Steve replied seriously; "he worries. But he never said anything." He grinned again, suddenly. "Besides, he likes getting involved in solving cases."
Terri smiled in response. Then, noticing the time, she declared that she had to start getting ready to go to work at the club. Observing that the worried expression had returned to her face, Steve volunteered to drive her to the club to make sure she arrived safely.
"And I can have someone pick you up and bring you home afterwards, if you can tell me what time you'll be done."
"That would be great," Terri said thankfully. "I'm on early tonight; I should be done by 9:00."
Steve promised to have an officer take her home, and Terri went off to dress for work. As he waited for her, he took a closer look at the envelope the anonymous letter had arrived in. The first thing he noticed was that the stamp hadn't been cancelled. While it was not completely unknown for a piece of mail to escape cancellation at the post office, it was rare. The greater probability, Steve thought, was that it hadn't gone through the mail system at all, but had simply been placed in the mailbox. Which meant that there was a distinct possibility that the writer had been to the house that day. It would be worth checking with the neighbors to see if anyone had noticed someone putting something in the mailbox.
As he continued to examine the envelope, he also noticed a single strand of light brown hair, the end of which had apparently gotten caught in the glue of the flap. It looked to him like a match for the hair they had found on Pete's jacket, and Steve felt a flicker of excitement. If it was a match, they had their first concrete evidence that the letter writer and the murderer were one and the same. He bagged the letter, envelope, and hair to submit to the forensics lab. He also took out his cell phone to call to have someone come out to dust the mailbox for prints. The odds were that there wouldn't be any, but it paid to be sure.
Chapter 5When Steve brought Terri to the Tulip Club, he went in with her, figuring he might as well show the sketch of the suspected murderer around to see if anyone at the club could identify it. He was also hoping that Terri's 'creepy' fan would show. Both efforts were a failure, however. No one was able to recognize the picture, and there was no sign of the anonymous fan. However, Steve did find himself talking to one of the other dancers, an attractive brunette named Karen, who was apparently a close friend of Terri's.
"It's too bad about Pete," Karen said. "He was a really nice guy. Terri said he looked like being the first positive relationship she'd ever had with a man." She rolled her eyes. "She certainly didn't get on with her Victorian dictator of a father!"
"I gathered they weren't exactly close," Steve said, curious to hear what else Karen could tell him about Terri. She snorted.
"That's putting it mildly! He was a real jerk, if you ask me," Karen declared. "He wouldn't even let Terri date anyone – said all guys were just after sex and she was supposed to keep herself 'above reproach'. He had Terri so messed up – I'm surprised she managed to pull herself together even with the shrinks."
Steve's eyebrow went up as he absorbed this information.
"You seem to know a lot about her," he observed. "You two must be very close." Karen looked like she was suddenly realizing just how much she had said.
"Terri and I have been friends since high school," she explained briefly. "We came out here together to try to get started as dancers." She looked at her watch. "I've really got to go get ready," she said, starting to turn away. She paused for a moment, looking back at him. "Terri's a great person," she told him. "I really hope you get the creep who's been doing all this."
"We'll do our best," Steve replied. As Karen left to get ready, Steve headed back out to his car. Just as he was walking out the door, however, one of the waitresses ran up to him.
"Hey, Lieutenant – wait!" she called. Steve turned around. "That guy you were asking about – the creepy one who watches Terri – he's here!"
Great – this might not be such a washout, after all, thought Steve, heading back into the club. The waitress pointed out an inconspicuous man being seated at a corner table. Reaching for his id to show the man, Steve started towards him. Just before sitting down, the man glanced over and saw Steve approaching. Moving with unexpected swiftness, he grabbed the waitress who had just shown him to the table, flung her directly into Steve, and bolted for the back door.
Taken by surprise, Steve lost a few seconds as he disentangled himself from the waitress, then took off after the fugitive. Pulling his gun, he ran out the back, into the parking lot, pausing for a moment to let his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As he glanced quickly around, taking a moment to try to ascertain the direction the man had taken, a car shot across the lot straight towards him, tires squealing as it raced for the exit without stopping.
With barely a second to spare, Steve dove out of the way of the oncoming vehicle, hitting the ground hard and rolling into a pile of boxes, which cascaded down on top of him. Groaning slightly, he pushed himself up, holding his right arm which had been badly jarred when he had landed on it. What the hell was that all about? he wondered. Pulling out his cell phone, he called in a description of the car, along with the partial license plate number he had been able to get, and asked for the driver to be picked up for questioning. Anybody who was that anxious to avoid an encounter with a cop had to have something he was hiding, Steve reflected. Rubbing at his aching arm, he walked over to his car, hoping that maybe this case was starting to break.
