Ten Plagues

“He’s taken less time with each room,” Higgins observed. “The setup, the larger paintings, were obviously done before he took the first vic, before he started to deteriorate. The things he added after each kidnapping get progressively sloppier.” Higgins pointed at the pictures showing awful bleeding cuts on Wilma’s arms. “The display of photos is rushed. Each gown shows he’s getting more and more out of control.”

Paul stared at the oversized pictures of Wilma. From where Keren stood, she couldn’t tell whether he was the cop or the pastor. He seemed to be frozen somewhere in the middle. Finally, he visibly relaxed and Keren knew, for the moment, he was letting the cop take charge.

“This is the latest vic.” Paul pointed at the walls.

“You know her?” Higgins asked.

“First one I’ve been able to ID since LaToya,” Paul said. “I wonder if Caldwell is back to his original plan of taking women I know, or was Wilma just handy? Get forensics in here. The DNA won’t really help catch him, since we already know who we’re hunting for, but when we get our hands on him, there will be plenty in these rooms that’ll help put him away.”

Paul and Keren finally had a chance to brief Higgins and Dyson fully on Wilma.

“She doesn’t fit at all.” Dyson almost foamed at the mouth, he was so furious. “Elderly, alcoholic, lives on the streets.”

“Fredericks and Hardcastle didn’t fit either.”

Dyson spun around, his fists clenched, and glared at Paul. “Don’t you think I know that?” He stormed off.

Paul could hear him ranting for long minutes after the man left the apartment. Dyson acted like Paul and Keren had deliberately set out to thwart him.

Higgins said, “We’ll keep our focus on tracking Caldwell. I don’t care if he’s living in a bunker under a nondescript building, I’ll find him. You two go check the rest of the laboratory supply stores. He still needs a shipment of locusts. And it’s a cinch he won’t have them shipped here now.”

When they came out of the tenement house, they ran into reporters.

They fought their way through the crowd and got onto the street, only to have cars staked out to follow them.

“They know my car,” Keren said quietly, her voice carrying below the racket of shouted questions. “Do you have one?”

“Nope. Let me drive yours again.” He held out his hand for the keys. “I’d forgotten how much I like it.”

“Do you have a license?” They got through the throng of reporters and set a fast pace toward Keren’s car.

Paul shrugged. “I don’t think it’s lapsed.”

Keren gave him a long look. “But do you have it with you?”

“I’ve got forty-eight hours to produce it if I get ticketed for driving without it. You know that.” Paul held out his hand again.

“But driving without it is still illegal, Pastor P. A couple of days ago you were hassling me for speeding.”

“What’s your point?” Paul wiggled his fingers impatiently.

Keren glared at him, but she could see inaction right now would drive him right to the limit of his self-control. She handed him the keys.

The reporters gave chase, and a little parade formed in the passenger’s side mirror. “Head for the expressway so you’ve got room to maneuver.”

“Way ahead of you.” Paul gave her a No-backseat-driving look.

“How do you survive without a car?”

Paul pulled onto the expressway and moved across three lanes of traffic to the fast lane. “I take the El. A car is an albatross around my neck in this city.” He swerved in front of a car in the slower lane then cut sharply onto an off-ramp and left the few remaining reporters in the dust. He turned around and backtracked, changing directions until he was sure he’d shaken any tail.

“They’re going to make it hard to do our job.” Keren glanced at her watch. “I had hopes of getting to all these places today, but we won’t make it now.”

They went to the first address on the list.

An hour later, as they left the second supply store, Keren said, “I can’t believe how many people wanted this strange combination of bugs. What are the chances that a dozen companies in Chicago were in desperate need of gnats, flies, and frogs all at the same time?” She stared at her notes, but they stayed the same.

Paul had taken his own notes but didn’t check them because he was driving again, trying to get to the next place before it locked down for the night. “But these orders were all for other things, too. And there is no order for locusts. And what about the beasts? What in the world will he do for that?”

“I can’t stand to think of it.”

“And boils, and good grief, hail. How’s he going to produce a plague of hail?”

“He’s an artist,” Keren said dryly. “I’m sure he’s very creative.”

“He may have ordered other things to throw us off.” Paul tapped the steering wheel as if he were listening to music. “We may have to track down every name we’ve been given, but a lot of these orders add up to serious money. And most of these ordered test tubes and microscope slides and a variety of chemical solutions worth thousands of dollars.”