Just One Look Read online

  Should she warn them that they fit the profile of the Jack o’ Lantern killer’s victims? Julia quickly discarded the idea. The tipster might walk in, see her with the girls and mistakenly believe she hadn’t come alone. She’d warn the girls after she talked to her informant.

  Suddenly a skinny man with a scraggly blond beard vacated a bar stool and Julia rushed to claim it. She ordered a Blue Moon, “In the bottle, please,” no open glasses for her in this dive. Under the guise of drinking her beer, she noted the ancient, disheveled man on her left – no threat there – and the emaciated young man crying into his whiskey sour on her right – perfectly harmless.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she swiveled her stool around to watch the crowd. It had started to rain, the blowing kind that followed Brew and Burgers’ customers, all men now, right through the door. Where was she? Julia glanced at her watch. The tipster was already thirty minutes late.

  Julia ordered another beer, hoping she looked like a paying customer amusing herself with a night on the town out of her element rather than an anxious journalist wondering how long she should wait for her source. Another thirty minutes, she decided, and she was done.

  She swiveled toward the door again but nobody new came through. Was it any wonder? The rain had intensified and was now slashing against the greasy windows as if the elements had a vendetta against Brew and Burgers.

  The thought of racing through the downpour in high heels to catch the “L” train made her want to hide somewhere and not come out till the sun was shining and the killer had been caught. Another fifteen minutes and she’d text Rick to come and get her.

  “You don’t see many women drinking Blue Moon.”

  Julia swiveled back to the bar and turned to the man who had spoken. Where had he come from and what had happened to the grizzly old codger who’d been sitting on her left? This man fit the model for tall, dark and handsome.

  “Hello.” His smile dazzled. “I’m Jim.”

  “Julia.” If he recognized her, he kept it to himself. She took another sip of her beer and smiled at him over the top of the bottle.

  “If I’m horning in on some lucky man, just let me know.”

  “No. You’re not.” She felt a small pang of guilt followed by the memory of the advice Annie had given her last week. Just how long are you supposed to wait for Rick? He can’t have his cake and eat it, too.

  “Great. I’ll drink to that.” He clicked his glass against her beer bottle. “Bottoms up.”

  Why not? Obviously, her informant wasn’t coming. Not in this storm.

  “Bottoms up!” She’d share this beer with Jim and find out more about him. As she drank she studied him more closely. There was an air of elegance about him that pegged him as upper crust. Privileged. Edu…ca…

  Jim caught her as she swayed toward him. “Whoa, there. Somebody’s had a little too much to drink.”

  Had she? She couldn’t remember. She tried to tell him that, but her tongue felt thick and the room was spinning.

  “Come on, darling. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Darling? That wasn’t right. And why was he leading her toward the back? Suddenly the back alley flashed through her brain. Dark. Deserted.

  No! No! NO!

  Her inert body refused to run. Then she was being lifted off her feet and the world went black.

  Chapter 4

  Julia came to in stages. Cold. Lumpy mattress. Naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. Four bare walls. No windows. Bare room.

  No. Wait. What was that in the corner?

  Her brain was foggy and her vision was still slightly blurred. She forced herself to concentrate. The unidentified object was a chamber pot.

  Even more chilling was what lay folded on the floor beside it - a blue sequined dress. Suddenly all those posters on Chicago’s landmarks whirled through her mind, a kaleidoscope of colored sequins and horror.

  She was in the hands of the Jack o’ Lantern killer.

  Panic seized Julia.

  No, no. Don’t go there. That’s what he wants.

  For psychopathic killers, the thrill was less about violence and more about controlling his prey.

  She reeled as she sat up and her hair tumbled around her shoulders. He’d taken her hairpins. And her shoes. Clever. He wasn’t taking any chances she could pick the lock or use her stilettos as a weapon.

  She still wore her suit but the wool was damp. She remembered the terrific downpour, the dark alley. And then…nothing. How long had she been in this room?

  Julia struggled to her feet and stood there swaying before she could catch her balance. Then she began her slow progress toward the door.

  “One foot in front of the other.”

  The sound of her own voice strengthened her. She was alive and she was capable.

  She was also out of breath and still weak from whatever he had slipped into her beer. Probably one of the date rape drugs. She’d done a series of articles about them last year.

  Iron bars marched across the narrow opening on the door at eye level. The lock was a deadbolt with both empty keyholes staring at her. Still, Julia tried the door knob. Locked. She was a prisoner in this cold, stark room.

  She tried to slow her elevated pulse rate with deep breaths. Then she leaned against the door and put her face to the opening.

  Her limited view showed a small portion of duct work along the ceiling and the top of a stainless steel door. A vault? An industrial-size appliance? Were there other doors beyond her vision? Other women, trapped and terrified?

  “Hello. Is anybody there?”

  The echoing silence chilled her.

  I can’t say over the phone. He’s close.

  Oh, God, had he taken the tipster first? Is that why she never came?

  “I’m Julia Ford from Chicago World.” Not a sound. She tamped down the urge to scream. “If you’re there, talk to me.”

  The eerie silence was followed by the sound that punctuated her day on the crime beat in the city, footsteps on concrete. She was in a basement. Julia cringed then forced herself to stand tall and unbowed. Whoever was headed her way would not encounter a quaking victim.

  “They can’t answer you, Julia.”

  She heard his voice before she saw him. Jim. Tall, dark and handsome. Privileged. Educated.

  Suddenly the FBI profile flashed into her mind. The evidence and manner of the crimes point to a man who is attractive and charming enough to lure his victims and strong enough to overpower them. He is likely highly intelligent and educated, possibly in the field of medicine. His knowledge of anatomy is evident in the way he follows the body’s musculature as he carves his victims.

  “Hello, Julia.” He was suddenly standing right in front of her, his satin lapels indicating he was dressed in a tuxedo, the pattern of the bars doing nothing to mar his almost perfect features. She inched closer but she couldn’t see his hands. Was he carrying a stun gun to subdue her and a knife to carve her face? The smile he used to dazzle filled her with terror and revulsion. “I see from your expression you’ve figured things out.”

  “You won’t get by with taking a journalist. They know at the office where I was going and why. The Chicago PD and the FBI will hunt you down like the mad dog you are.”

  They didn’t know, but Rick would have started searching the minute he realized she was gone.

  “They’re all incompetent fools. You will be my masterpiece.”

  Don’t let him see your fear.

  “No. I will be your Waterloo.”

  “You forget who has the key.” He held the key high and dangled it in front of her. “Dinner’s waiting. Put on your dress so you can join me.”

  “I’d rather eat with pigs.”

  His face twisted into something pure evil. She’d rattled him, and she could do it again.

  He quickly regained control and flashed his tooth-paste ad smile. “That can be arranged. And you’ll still end up my masterpiece.”

  Julia studied him as he walked away.
The upper body and short viewing time didn’t tell much, but it was enough. He was loose-gaited and confident. Too confident.

  Know your opponent.

  After he left, she searched every inch of the room looking for anything that might provide a clue or a weapon. There was nothing.

  She lay on the iron cot, exhausted by the drug, stress, and hunger. Just as her eyes fluttered shut, she was jerked upright by the “William Tell Overture,” blasted at decibels that would register on the Richter scale.

  In her early search she’d missed the speakers tucked into the ceiling. And the small electronic eye of a camera. He was watching her.

  Suddenly the music ceased and his voice came over the speaker. “You wanted to eat with pigs so you get slop.”

  A plastic tray slid through the slot at the bottom of the door. It contained a slice of bread, a small slab of meat and a cup of water. Had he drugged her food?

  She took a sip of water and waited. If he’d used the same date rape drug as before, the effects would be quick and distinctive. When she was certain that neither food nor water was tainted, she ate everything then lay back down to the sound of blaring trumpets.

  Chapter 5

  Beethoven’s “Fifty Symphony” blasted from speakers tucked against the ceiling in Julia’s prison.

  She resisted the urge to cover her ears and groan. She loved music, particularly classical. But after a two-day non-stop symphony, she was ready to climb the walls, howling.

  “Ju-li-a! Wake up!” It was him, screaming at the door. “Put on your dress so you’ll be pretty when you dine with me!”

  What kind of sick game was he playing? It would have been easier to drug her and drag her out.

  “No!” She marched to within five feet of the door so he could see her defiance. “I don’t dine with monkeys!”

  The insult reddened his face, but he made a quick recovery. “Think about this, Julia. I control the key, the music, the light and the food… Are you ready to cooperate now?”

  Julia wouldn’t cooperate if her hair was on fire and he had the only bucket of water. Judging from his other victims, cooperation meant putting on the sequined gown she’d kicked into the corner then walking into whatever trap he’d laid on the other side of the door and being carried off like a lamb to the slaughter.

  She had to get him to come to her.

  “Why don’t you come in here and see? Or are you a coward?”

  His face went thunderous then he bent down and slid a meal identical to all the others under the door. He was barely giving her enough water to keep her alive.

  “Lunch is ready!” His laughter was maniacal. “Or is it dinner?”

  It was dinner of the second day since she’d wakened in this godforsaken place. She’d been meticulous about keeping count.

  But where was she? In the city? Outside? She had no concept of distance or place or how long she’d been unconscious before she’d discovered that she was going to be the next victim of the Jack o’ Lantern killer.

  She didn’t make a move toward her food.

  “I seeee you!” His sing-song bellow rose above the screaming violins. “Eat your slop! Oink. Oink.”

  “And I see you, coward. You are beneath my contempt.”

  He vibrated with fury, and for one hopeful moment, Julia thought he might open the door.

  “You’re my guest.” His voice had suddenly changed from frenzied to coaxing, intimate. “I selected the music especially because I know you play classical music on your baby grand.”

  Fear clawed at her. What else did he know about her? Except for her blond hair she didn’t fit the profile of his target group. Did he know that her mother, also a blond, lived in Chicago? Would he take Rachel in order to manipulate her?

  He’d called Julia his masterpiece. Were his other killings an elaborate performance leading to a big finale - the destruction of Chicago’s most influential voice against crime? Though her paper was the smallest of the big three in Chicago, her column always polled at the top of the “most read.”

  “It pains me to see how you refuse my hospitality.”

  She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him in any way. Come on, you evil monster. Get mad enough to open that door and come in here to get me.

  “Ju-li-a.” He reminded her of a tiger toying with his prey. “If you’ll put on your pretty dress and join me, you can have anything you want to eat. Steak. Lobster with drawn butter. Soft-shell crab and... I’ll tell you what I did with the others.”

  He was smart, and she was tempted. If she knew the location of the bodies, the families would have closure and the victims would have a decent burial.

  She walked to the door and made a show of getting the tray off the floor. Up close, she could that his usual pristine shirt was rumpled and his tie was askew. Even more telling, his eyes looked like those of a mad man rapidly becoming completely unhinged.

  If only she’d studied those eyes at Brew and Burgers!

  “I see you’ve decided to become sensible.”

  “Yes. After all, you’re my host. Do forgive my rudeness.”

  “Ah, I knew you wouldn’t abandon the manners your Southern mother taught you.”

  Terror shot through her, and she prayed that years of training, of appearing impassive in the face of the most brutal crime, would keep the fear off her face.

  “Then perhaps I should say thank you for the music.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “How did you know classical is my favorite?”

  “You were very forth-coming in your last interview with Shannon Bream. I’m your biggest fan.”

  Never again! She suddenly recalled the lively exchange with Shannon, a former beauty queen from Virginia, about the hint of the Deep South in Julia’s voice. Rachel had been ecstatic that Julia gave her full credit on FOX news.

  The interview had been nearly a year ago. How long had the Jack o’ Lantern killer been watching her?

  “Is that why I’m here? Because you’re my biggest fan?”

  “Yes. And no.” He stepped closer and it took every ounce of Julia’s willpower not to shrink from him. “I’ve already told you. You’re going to be my masterpiece. I’m going to make you immortal.”

  “Like the others?’

  “No! Haven’t you learned anything?” He whirled away from the door and stormed down the hall, muttering under his breath.

  Julia strained to hear, but she could only make out a few words – you, stop, no, no, no. Finally he returned but was breathing heavily, as if he’d run a twenty-six-mile marathon.

  “My Southern manners taught me it’s so much nicer to carry on a civilized conversation over a good meal,” she said. “Won’t you please come inside so we can talk while I dine?”

  His intense scrutiny chilled her beyond imagining. What would it be like to have him standing over her with a knife, staring at her with those eyes while he created his macabre art? Would he carve her face while she was alive, or would he kill her first?

  “You bitch!”

  He whirled away and strode down the hall, fury in every footstep.

  Julia carried her tray to the cot and began the long process of testing each bite and each sip. Caged and restless, she longed to get her endorphins flowing with a series of floor exercises, even some pacing.

  Knowledge is power.

  She knew he was watching. She could feel the evil eye of the lens he’d placed in the ceiling, hopelessly out of her reach.

  She slumped onto on her bunk as if she didn’t have the strength for anything else. Then she tried to find sleep against the perpetual glare of the light bulb and the relentless whine of cellos.

  Chapter 6

  Julia awoke in a panic. The music had stopped.

  Oh, God. What next?

  “You bitch!” It was him. Outside her door. “How dare you!”

  She sprang out of bed and started toward the door. If he was going to start coming in the middle of the night, yelling at her for falling asl
eep, she’d give him plenty to think about.

  “You can’t keep her here.” It was the tipster’s voice!

  Julia stopped her rush to the door and veered toward the wall. She didn’t want the monster to see her.

  “And you think you’re going to stop me?” His evil laughter echoed in the blessed silence. “You’re not strong enough. “

  “Yes, I am. And I’m getting stronger every day.”

  “You’re nothing! You’re a girl! Give me that key!”

  A scuffle broke out. Amidst the grunts and punches that slammed into the wooden door, Julia prayed for the tipster. After a small eternity, she heard someone knocking.

  “Julia?” Thank God. It was her. “I’m coming in.”

  The door swung open, and Julia camouflaged her shock with a carefully held, mask-like expression.

  There he stood, the monster, his face altered in ways Julia could never have imagined. His features were softened and he wore lipstick and an out-of-date print dress that strained against his broad chest.

  “Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you did, he?”

  Julie considered all her options. The monster filled the doorway, blocking her way to freedom. Nothing in her experience had prepared her to deal with a psychopath with a split-personality. Her instincts told her to enter into the tipster’s bizarre world.

  “Not yet, but I was so afraid. Thank you for rescuing me.” Julia risked a small step backward and was relieved to see the Jack o’ Lantern killer inch into the room.

  “You’re not like the others. I kept telling him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Try to win his confidence.

  “Some people are like that. You were brave to confront him.”

  One more step, and the tipster followed.

  “Yes. He’s arrogant. A doctor, you know. But I think it’s wrong to create art from women, no matter how much they deserve to die.”

  Never show fear.

  “You are exactly right.“ Julia led him farther away from the door, talking all the while. “But together, we can stop him. We should get to a phone and call someone.”