First Time Killer Read online

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  “Lotta good that will do. He’s set in his ways, in case you haven’t noticed,” Barb said.

  “I’ll be clear: no guns.” Rick moved his family to make them safer, not endanger them. What other boobytraps laid waiting?

  “Great.” She flashed a fake smile and Rick thought the small crow’s feet around her eyes made her look sexy.

  Barb turned and continued her spin through the Impressionists. Her pace had increased and Rick hustled after her. They exited the gallery room, spilling into a corridor lined with large urns and other sculptures, hundreds of years old. Without talking, they continued toward the rotunda occupying the center of the museum. Stately marble columns ringed the cavernous area. In the middle, water splashed in a two-tiered fountain topped by a bronze winged Mercury. Barb pulled up and turned to Rick. “How’re things at Winn’s?”

  “Well, it’s not quite like staying at the Four Seasons. Since Bette died, things have deteriorated. Let’s just say Winn could use a few lessons from Ray in the housekeeping department,” Rick said, trying to keep things light.

  Barb didn’t smile. “Have you thought over my request?”

  That morning on the phone, Barb had asked Rick if they could go away on vacation, now that the show was on hiatus. Rick had adroitly deferred the question. Or so he thought. Now it was back to bite him. “I’d like to. I really would. But I feel I’ve got to be here. Our window of opportunity to close the SatRad deal is shrinking. I’ve got to get right back on the air, as soon as First Time is apprehended. Besides, we can’t run scared from this guy. If we do—”

  “I know, I know, the terrorists win.” Barb locked eyes with Rick. “That’s a crock of shit. You’re just trying to be macho for all of your radio friends. Some friends, letting you choose them over your wife and daughter.”

  It wasn’t that simple. First Time had crawled out from under a rock on his watch. He wasn’t turning tail. “Not true. But I won’t run. And I honestly believe you’re safe with Ray. If I didn’t think so, I’d have put you and Livvy on a plane to Tahiti days ago.”

  “We might just go without you.” Barb pivoted and leaned against one of the gigantic black marble columns. “Livvy needs her daddy.”

  Rick’s throat felt dry. “Adams will catch him soon. You’ve got to believe that.”

  “Why? What makes you think they’ll ever catch him?”

  Rick reached out and placed his hands gently on Barb’s shoulders, wanting to turn her around, but she didn’t yield. Kept facing away, gaze aimed at the sculpture of Mercury. To the back of her head he said, “They have to. Because if they don’t, the terror will continue. They have to catch him.”

  CHAPTER 40

  RICK WASN’T USED to being on the “wrong” side of the glass partition separating the studio from master control. But there he sat, keeping J.T. company in master control while the young producer ran the board for the day’s Best Of episode.

  Rick had futzed away a couple hours in his office reading trade mags and answering email, but the busywork routine was getting old. He was itching to get back on the air. Connect with his listeners. Give advice to the confused. Amuse drivers stuck in traffic. He was ready for anything that entailed speaking into the microphone on-air to his loyal audience. As usual, Barb was right, radio was in his blood.

  J.T. finished with the spots and started the next segment. He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. Not a care in the world.

  “How are you holding up?” Rick asked. By all outward appearances, J.T. seemed unperturbed by First Time’s terror, but some guys were better at hiding stress than others.

  “I’m okay. I’ve been taking wagers on when they’ll catch this guy. The over-under is eleven days.” J.T. grinned, and Rick wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

  “Uh huh. Well, if you ever want to talk about it, just let me know.” Rick nodded at the phone. “It’s pretty quiet when there’s no live show going on.” During a regular episode of the Circus, there’s always someone calling in, usually more than one at a time.

  “Yeah. Although the regulars still call in. I guess they’re pretty lonely. I wonder if First Time realizes what he’s doing to their social life.”

  “I wouldn’t guess he cares much about anyone’s life, other than his own.” Rick swiveled in his chair, heard it squeak. Not good to have a squeaky chair in a radio studio. He turned back to J.T. “Why do you think he’s targeting the show?”

  Rick saw J.T. sneak a peek at the clock. A producer’s habit. Still a while to go before he needed to break for spots. “Probably does it for the attention. Kinda like the regulars, if you think about it,” J.T. said. “Their lives suck, and the only thing some of them really have is this show, as perverted as that sounds. First Time’s in the same boat, except he takes it too far.”

  “You have a real talent for understatement. But I have a hard time believing he’s doing it just for the attention. And why us? Why not a more popular show?”

  J.T. shook his head. “He’s crazy, all right.” A ring tone sounded in master control, but it wasn’t the station phone. “It’s mine, boss. ’Scuse.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Hello.”

  Rick watched the color drain from J.T.’s face. His eyes got large. After a few seconds, he held the phone out to Rick. “For you. First Time.”

  Rick grabbed the phone from J.T. and said, “You’re sick. You need help. Turn yourself in and I’ll see to it you get what you need.”

  “Easy, Rick. Take it slow. Breathe.”

  Rick thought he detected a small, mirthless chuckle. “What do you want? Why are you killing people from this show?”

  Nothing.

  “Goddamn it, answer me, you freak!” Rick had to make a conscious effort not to yell. Next to him, J.T. was on his feet, staring helplessly.

  “I don’t like it that you’ve gone off the air, Rick.” First Time’s monotone delivery creeped Rick out. “I don’t like it one bit.”

  “That wasn’t my call. Give yourself up. You can get the help you need. You’ll feel better. Just—”

  “I feel great now. Most of the time. You need to go back on the air, though. Then I’ll feel great all of the time.”

  “You’re sick. You need help.”

  “I’m as sane as you are, Rick.”

  “No one who kills people is sane.” Rick’s throat tightened. “You’ve got to stop. What have these people done to you? Nothing. They’re innocent. You’re killing innocent people.”

  “You have to go back on air, Rick. I want people to get to know me. Then they’ll learn to love me.” This time, Rick was sure he heard some a guttural sound on the other end of the line. A rasping no one would confuse for a laugh.

  Rick bit his lip, tasted blood. “Why should we give you airtime? You’re a murderer.”

  “Because if you don’t, more people will die.” A pause. “It’s in your hands, Rick.”

  “If we go back on the air, you’ll stop killing people? Is that what you’re saying?” Rick was grabbing at straws, and he knew it, but he’d grab at anything if he thought it would prevent more deaths.

  “Only one way to find out, Rick.”

  CHAPTER 41

  “ATTENTION EVERYONE. QUIET, please,” Celia said, as she surveyed her troops, all crammed into the break room, half standing, half sitting. Because of the unofficial liberal leave policy adopted by many of the WTLK staff, there was enough room for an all-hands meeting in the break room. Crowded, but there was room.

  Celia clapped twice and cleared her throat. “The Circus is going back on the air!”

  A few people applauded, most waited in silence for the other shoe to drop.

  From the back of the room, Rick watched Celia strut like she was a highly paid motivational speaker. Maybe, in a sense, that’s exactly what she was. From his vantage, he could see everyone in the room. Winn sidled up next to him, raised a single eyebrow.

  “As I’m sur
e you know by now, First Time called Rick yesterday. Demanded that the Circus be put back on the air, threatening to kill more people if it wasn’t. Brewster and I discussed things—Marty, too—and we decided it would be in everyone’s best interests if we put the Circus back on.”

  Damon Oh shouted out. “Does that mean he’s going to stop killing people now?”

  Celia stared at him, like he was speaking German. “How would I know? All I know is what he said: he’d kill more people if we didn’t put the show back on.” She looked around. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

  “Why is he killing us? What have we done to him?” A pretty saleswoman Rick had never met stepped away from the wall she was leaning on to ask her question. Her eyes darted around the room while she waited for Celia’s response.

  Celia held up her hands. “Look, these are all good questions, but I don’t know the answers. This guy is crazy. Unbalanced. Only he knows why he’s doing what he’s doing.”

  This time, Damon stood up to speak. “So we’re going to let him tell us what to do? He says go back on the air, and we do? Isn’t that giving him too much power?”

  Celia tapped her fingernail against her front teeth while she thought. To Rick, it appeared to be a theatrical gesture. He figured Celia knew exactly how to answer every conceivable question before she entered the room. “We wouldn’t go back on the air unless we thought it was the best thing to do, considering all the facts. Look at it this way, if we refuse to go back on and First Time kills someone, the public will say it was our fault. Then we’d get skewered in the press. Now, we’re seen as doing what we can to help prevent more killing.” She paced along the front of the room. Rick noticed everyone’s heads turning to follow her path. Next to him, Winn stared, mouth slightly parted.

  A loud snort caught Celia’s attention. It came from the front corner, where Tin Man sat by himself. The cheese always stood alone.

  Celia marched up to Tin Man and positioned herself in front of him. Put her hands on her hips and cocked her head at a forty-five degree angle. “You have something to say?”

  Tin Man glanced back over his shoulder at the crowd. Then he turned to Celia. “Yeah. As a matter of fact, I do. I think First Time’s a pussy. And I think we should try to humiliate him on the air. Get him so riled up he does something foolish and the cops catch him.”

  Frankie the engineer stood up quickly, sending his plastic chair skittering backward, barely missing an intern. “Hey, man. It’s your fault that girl is dead. You and your stupid chicken contest. That’s what killed her.” The tendons on his neck stood out. Rick smelled the beginning of a schoolyard fight brewing. Winn mumbled something about the engineer kicking Tin Man’s ass back to Trenton. Fear and nerves had pushed people’s tempers past their boiling points.

  Celia inserted herself into the fray. “Now, Frankie, it wasn’t—”

  “Bullshit. It was his fault she got killed, and it’ll probably be his fault someone else’ll get killed too. You should fire his ass.” Frankie took one step toward Tin Man, who had already bounced up from his seat and squared off in a classic boxer’s stance.

  Tin Man’s eyes narrowed. “Bring it on.”

  Frankie took another step forward, then turned abruptly and rushed toward the door, jostling people as he squeezed his way through the crowded room. Mugging for the unseen cameras, Tin Man took his seat. The only thing missing was the beating on the chest.

  “Settle down everyone.” Celia talked louder to regain control of the situation. Rick knew how important it was for Celia to be the top dog. “Let’s not turn on each other. We’re all trying to do the best we can. Do what’s best for the station.”

  Rick heard some grumbling, but he also saw a lot of heads bobbing up and down. A multitude of sayings ran through his mind. “The group is bigger than the individual.” “Safety in numbers.” “All for one and one for all.” Whatever. Rick knew people felt a hell of a lot more secure when others were in the same boat, however leaky.

  Celia went on. “I know you’re scared. Hell, I’m scared too. So we’ve decided to beef up security. In addition to the guard posted in the lobby, we’re going to have one in the studio. Actually, he’ll be in master control. We don’t want the sound of his gun clinking to go out on the air.” She mustered a smile to indicate she was joking. Nobody laughed.

  “What about when we’re not here? At home or shopping? Are we each going to get our very own guard to take home with us?” Lassita asked. “How about some reassurance? And stop shoveling the manure, if you please.”

  Rick felt Winn’s elbow in his ribs. They’d both heard tales of Lassita’s sassiness, although they’d rarely seen it demonstrated. Rick was sure if one of her sales staff spoke to her that way, he’d be out on the pavement, massaging his ass. WTLK was a collection of fiefdoms, all right, each with its own customs and conventions.

  Celia’s smile faltered. “In each unfortunate case, it looks like the killing happened at night while the victim was alone. So use common sense. Don’t go out by yourself—use the buddy system. Ask the security guard to walk you to the car in the parking lot, if it’s dark. Don’t wander the streets at night.”

  Damon interjected. “Yeah, but Garth was in his condo. He wasn’t out prowling.”

  “According to the police, he opened the door and let First Time in.” She glanced around. “Don’t open your doors to strangers.”

  One of the sales reps, taking a page from Lassita’s playbook, spoke up. “Maybe we should all quit. I’m sure we could get jobs at some of the other stations in town.”

  Celia held her hand up. “I don’t think that’ll help. Remember, Danzler wasn’t working here when he was killed, and Ashlee Wicker never worked here. Like it or not, I think it’s too late to try to distance yourself from WTLK.”

  The crowd buzzed, and Rick detected indecision in Celia’s movements. Then, as if a switch was thrown on her circuit breaker panel, she appeared taller, confident. “I’ve got some good news.” She held up one hand and waited patiently for everyone to stop talking and pay attention. “I’ve been authorized to give everyone—everyone who reports to work as scheduled—an extra bonus. Call it hazard pay, if you like.”

  This time, more people applauded. Celia was finding her stride. “The Circus is going back on the air. But Brewster and I agree it doesn’t stop there. We need to be proactive. We need to focus all of our resources on catching this guy. Do whatever we can. Think about it. If we help catch this monster, not only will we get this guy off the streets, but we’ll have earned tremendous respect in the community, in the radio world, and—most importantly—in the minds of our listeners. After all, that’s why we do this, all of this. For our listeners. Hell, if we catch this guy, we’ll be hailed as heroes.”

  Rick didn’t know whether to laugh or vomit. He knew what Celia got off on. Power and money. The listening audience was just an annoyance she had to put up with to reach her goals.

  He checked out the crowd. Celia’s message had played pretty well. He detected a fair number of smiles, and the overall mood of the room seemed a little brighter.

  Winn’s baritone voice cut through the babble. “Celia? How exactly do you plan on helping to catch First Time?”

  For an instant, Celia looked panicked, but she recovered quickly. “I’m glad you asked.” A slight glaze clouded Celia’s eyes. “We’ve got a chance to do something very important here. We’ve got a chance to catch this guy. And to do that, we’re going to exploit the special relationship we seem to have developed with this monster. We’ve got to use it to lure him in.” She straightened and stared at Rick, eyes suddenly clear and sharp. “And it’s up to you, Rick. You’re his favorite talk show host. You’re the one who’s going to trap him.”

  CHAPTER 42

  “GOOD AFTERNOON. THIS is Rick Jennings on the Afternoon Circus. Today we have a very special guest, Detective Tarver Adams from the Fairfax Police Department. He’s the lead investigative officer on the First Time Killer cas
e. Welcome, Detective.” Celia’s brainstorm had been to invite Adams on-air, ostensibly to take calls from listeners. Her real hope was that First Time would call in, anxious to spar on-air with the detective investigating him.

  Adams nodded to Rick. Like most of Rick’s guests, it took a few minutes for them to remember no one in the listening audience could see what was going on in the studio. Rick pointed to Adams’s mic. Adams got the message and leaned forward. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly. “Thank you, Rick. It’s good to be here.”

  “We thought you might welcome the chance to speak with anyone who might have information about the case. Sometimes people don’t want to call or come in to talk with the police. Shy or scared, maybe. Anyway, this forum provides them with an opportunity to talk with you in a very informal way,” Rick said into the mic, fighting a slight tickle. “Dial those phones now, the lines are open.” When Celia had outlined her plan, Rick had laughed aloud, told her she watched too many crazy movies. When Celia told him Adams had agreed, Rick stopped laughing.

  Before the show, the three of them went over a few scenarios. If First Time called in, Adams would attempt to trace the call. The trace could take anywhere from a few seconds to ten minutes or more, depending on a variety of factors Rick didn’t completely understand. And if they were successful tracing him, Adams wanted him to keep First Time on the line until his squad cars arrived. A tall order.

  The phone lines lit up, and Rick scanned the log lines. In master control, Celia and J.T. observed, like they did during every other show. Why was Rick’s heart beating so fast and why was his mouth dry? Was it because he’d never had a detective on his show before, or was it because he was afraid Celia’s plan might work?

  J.T. sent a message. Hottie on line 4. Rick glanced at J.T. through the glass, saw a thumbs-up. He hit line four. “You are live! Speak to me, Diana.”

  “Hi Rick. Hi Detective.” Low and throaty, a sultry whisper. Rick could see why J.T. called her hot. For all they knew, though, she could be as ugly as a troll. Radio was a funny medium sometimes.