Chapter 30

Monday, July 5, 1:30 p.m.

Monday morning, before Sam could bring up the sting idea to Lester, the Sheriff called him into his office and told him the car had been found.

"'Found it right outside Charlotte," Lester said. "Wiped clean and sitting in a suburban shopping center, keys in the ignition."

"'Nothing at all to help identify our man?"

"Not a goddamned Kleenex," Lester responded. "That fucker drove that rustbucket clear to Charlotte and left it sittin' out, hoping some kid would come along and steal it. He's long-gone, Sam."

"I'm not so sure, Sheriff. There's airplanes leaving here nine times a day. If he wanted to make tracks, it would have been easier to wipe the car clean right here, park it, and cab over to the airport and out. Maybe our man isn't finished with Twin Rivers. Maybe he likes our town. Hell, maybe he lives here, and knows he can't risk any further association with that car."

"You're dreamin' Sam. Charlotte-Mecklinberg promises me they'll go over the car with a fine-tooth comb, but so far, nothin'."

"Lester, I think the son of a bitch is still here. I think we ought to follow through with your idea, right away."

"What idea?"

"You know," Sam was winging it, remembering Madeleine's dim view of male intelligence. "... The idea that the killer is triggered by women who... display themselves to him. The idea that he might do it again."

"So how do we follow through with that?"

"We pull a sting, Lester. We put out another woman like Emma Majeski -- a looker, who isn't too careful about what she gives you a look at. We keep watch on her, and when somebody acts too interested, we reel him in."

"If slobberin' over pretty women was a crime, Sam, the Sheriff of this county would be up for life as a recividist," Lester declared.

"We don't arrest him, Lester. We follow him, photograph him, if we can, or just find out where he goes so we can give our witnesses a look at him. If Mumford or the Governor can identify him, well, we'd have a righteous bust. From there, we could go with the hair samples from the car, and a DNA-based positive identification from the semen.

"Who would you use for the girl?... Mandy Ipock?"

Mandy Ipock was famous around the courthouse. She was a clerk in the Sheriff's office, a young woman of truly spectacular endowment. At the mention of her name, Sam's mind wandered briefly to a pleasant vision of her most prominent qualifications for the job at hand.

"No, Lester, Mandy wouldn't do," Sam said, gratified that the Sheriff hadn't dismissed his idea out-of-hand. "If our perp is a local man, he'd know she was connected to the Sheriff's Office. It's gotta be an out-of-towner. Maybe the State Bureau of Investigation would detail someone."

"Where's the money for all this gonna come from?" Lester had taken another mode of attack, one about which Sam had given plenty of thought.

"Lester, you know you'd authorize another week on this case for me and Fulcher. All we'd need is the two of us, the girl, and some cooperation from local people. I think the Hilton Riverside would sit still for a free room for a week. What I'd do, I'd have the woman make herself evident around the hotel, and do some casual shopping at the Mall, maybe the Wal-Mart, maybe some big grocery stores. Me and Hugh would run a light surveillance on her, all the time, see if anybody does more than just look."

Sam was rolling, now. "We know the guy followed Emma Majeski around for days," he said, talking faster. "If this guy gets a sniff of another beautiful woman -- one who shows it off a little too much -- maybe he'll follow her, too."

"Yeah, maybe he'll kill her, too."

"Somebody like Mandy Ipock is out," Sam responded, still trying to steer the Sheriff into buying the idea. "We need a trained officer -- somebody who can protect herself. But don't forget, the risk will be small. All we gotta do is get our man to raise his head up a little bit... Then we make the ID and bring him in."

"I ain't never seen a woman, 'works for the State Bureau, that couldn't be mistaken for a man," Lester said.

Sam thought the Sheriff was beginning to weaken.

"We could try SBI," Sam said, "or we could ask for help from police departments away from the immediate area. Even a local man isn't going to be able to identify a lady cop from some other town, well-away from here."

"Let's get back to where the money comes from," Lester said. "'County'd have to pay this lady cop. 'Budget's really tight, Sam."

Sam was dying. He'd had Lester on the ropes, and now the Sheriff was slipping away. The budget was usually Lester's last word on anything.

Sam sighed. "I know a woman, 'do it for free," he said.

Lester just laughed. "Madeleine Deneau... right?"

Sam said nothing. He didn't have to. "Damned hick Sheriff," Sam thought. "He's always doing this to me."

"O.K., Sam, 'you talk the Hilton into a free room, and you got Fulcher for another week, starting tomorrow. If this don't bring out our man, you'll have to send the lady back to Greensboro. 'County'll spring for her meals 'n stuff. And Sam?"

"Yes?"

"You'll have to stay cool, 'round Madeleine, while she's here. Our boy won't want to have to compete for her favors with a Chief Deputy Sheriff."

Madeleine was on duty when Sam called Greensboro. He left a message with the desk sergeant, asking for a return call. Her callback came within 15 minutes.

He told her she was in, if she wanted in, and apologized for Lester's tightwad conditions. Sam hadn't made arrangements with the Hilton yet, but he planned to pay for Mad's room himself, if the hotel management couldn't or wouldn't cooperate.

"I'm definitely in," Madeleine said. "But I'm not even going to ask to be detailed down there. They'd never go for it, and I don't want them to get a shot at saying 'No.' I've got leave coming, and I'm going to take it. I'm also going to let the Chief know that I don't want the advanced ID training. I'll come down tonight, after my shift."

"What time do you get off?"

"Five. I'll go right home, pack some clothes, and drive down. I can use my car for the week. 'Better get me some untraceable plates."

"Uh, Mad, are you sure you're up for this?"

"I'm sure, Sam. And when I pack, I'll bring along a few things to wear while I'm 'on duty.' I have a few ideas along those lines. It's going to be interesting, Sam."

"Maybe you could model these work clothes for me?"

"If I understand the planning, you're supposed to keep your distance, and I'm supposed to do my modeling for frisky older guys."

"Correct. But let's meet tonight and refine the procedure. I'll ask Fulcher to come by my house... what? Around 10?"

"I can be there by 10. I'll need the address. Order a pizza or something, will you? I'm not going to stop for dinner."

Sam called the manager of the Hilton Riverside and asked to see him. He was invited over immediately. The manager, a youngish, square-jawed man named Marshall Craig, greeted Sam at the reservations desk and invited him into his office.

"Mr. Craig," Sam said, "I've got an unusual request. I want you to know, up front, that if you tell me 'no, ' I'll go away gracefully."

"Please call me 'Marsh, ' Deputy Wicks. "Tell me what you need. Is this a follow-up on your ID sketches?"

Sam told him that it was, indeed, a follow-up connected to the sketches Craig had reviewed earlier. Sam explained that he needed a room, beginning that night, and continuing, possibly, for a full week. He explained in some detail what was planned, and, embarrassed, he explained that the Sheriff's Office didn't have the budget to pay for the room. If necessary, Sam told Craig, he'd pay for the room himself, but he was hoping for the hotel's cooperation.

"Explain to me exactly what this woman will be doing here, Deputy Wicks. I gather she's going to be trying to attract a particular man's attention. Does this mean she's likely to act... brazen? Are our customers going to think there's a prostitute roaming the hotel lobby?"