by Kathleen Hillcrest
 
 

Chapter 18

                        For a hot summer night in Texas, it was surprisingly refreshing outside.  It felt good.  Good to be walking down the street with only himself for company.  Good to be on the prowl again.  He fancied himself to be like a jet-black panther tirelessly stalking its prey: sleek, quiet, and lethal.  For awhile after that unfortunate incident with the police he was afraid that he might have been watched.  Perhaps that was why he’d waited so long to slip back out into the night.  But now he was sure that he’d just been paranoid.  A mild case of the jitters.  Understandable after something like that.  He had nothing to worry about.
         He wasn’t sure if he’d actually make another conquest tonight, but he was definitely on the hunt for one.  Time would tell.  And he had a few hours to kill anyway.
         As he passed one building he could have sworn that he felt someone watching him.  But he looked into the shadows and saw nothing there.  Then he laughed at himself.  He was still being paranoid.  Now he felt more invincible than ever.

         Whew!  That was a close one, Carlos thought.  For just a minute there, he was sure he’d been made.  It looked as if Cooke had looked straight at him.  But he must have ducked his head just in time to avoid any light reflecting off his face.
         Carlos lifted his eyes and peered out from under his lowered lashes, surreptitiously watching as the suspected rapist strolled past.  Then his eyes darted across the street.  He couldn’t see Trent, but he knew that the blond was over there somewhere.  His headset came to life in his ear.
         “Were you burned?”
         “No,” Carlos said.  His voice was low and even, quiet enough not to be overheard.
         “Good.  I’ll take point now,” Trent said.
         Carlos didn’t answer.  He simply lowered the camcorder and stole behind Mr. Cooke, carefully resuming his surveillance.
         This time it was Trent’s turn to slide over to the next block and circle in front of the suspect.  He knew that Carlos would keep a close eye on Cooke until he got around him.  He sprinted quickly, holding onto the camera with one hand to prevent it from flopping against his chest on the neck strap.
         Even in the excellent physical condition he kept his body, Trent was not immune to the heat and humidity either.  Beads of perspiration formed around his hairline, soaking into his blond hair and plastering it to his forehead.  He felt another driblet of sweat trickle down the middle of his chest.
         Trent wondered if Cooke would indeed make his ill-fated move tonight.  He hoped so.  Personally, he would be glad to get this case over with and behind him.  He would love nothing better than to be able to tell Amy that they’d caught the man.  Well, okay.  Almost nothing better when it came to Amy.  He had to stop thinking along those lines.  This was neither the time nor the place for it, and he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.
         He was breathing hard, but not panting, as he skidded to a stop at the corner of a building.  After a quick, deep breath, Trent had his breathing under control.  As he slipped out into the street, it didn’t escape him that he and Carlos were, in effect, playing leapfrog.  He spotted his quarry about a block and half down the sidewalk from him.  Cooke was turning a corner.  Trent watched as Carlos followed.  The Cuban looked in his direction.
         “I see him,” Trent said into his walkie-talkie.  He ran up to the next block and turned the corner in the same direction Cooke had taken.  Down that street he raced at full speed.  He had to hurry.  When he spotted a small, open side yard between two houses, he dashed through, hoping neither residence had an alarm system or especially a vicious guard dog.
         Luck was with him so far that night and Trent crossed the narrow grassy strip unheeded and unhindered.  When he slipped into the shadows behind some bushes, he had only a few minutes to catch his breath until Cooke was nearly even with him.  Trent watched through the leafy branches of a large boxwood while the suspect crossed the street, heading straight at him.  He held his breath.
     Their quarry passed by him unsuspectingly and turned another corner.  Trent slipped out of his hiding place and followed.  Although he hadn’t seen him, Carlos, he was sure, was circling around even now.  Cooke seemed to be wandering aimlessly.  Perhaps he was, but Trent suspected that in the dark depths of his twisted mind there was some sort of plan brewing.
         He just wished he knew what it was.
         The two private investigators kept up the game of cat and mouse for over an hour.  Switching off the lead every so often, so neither one got too tired from having to run ahead.  Alternating also lessened the chances of Cooke noticing the same man either following him or on the side of the street as he passed.   Their quarry would stop every so often, looking up and turning his head from side to side as if contemplating the arrangement of the stars.  Trent and Carlos knew that wasn’t what he was thinking about.
         They saw it almost the same time he did: an open window on the third floor of a brownstone.  It faced a narrow driveway next to the building and white lace curtains were visible billowing outward every so often.  Their movement must have been caused by a fan, because there wasn’t much of a breeze.
        How convenient for him, Trent thought bitterly.  Lifting the camera to his eye, Trent watched helplessly, frustrated, from behind the lens as Cooke looked first over one shoulder then the next.  The camera clicked.  Then Cooke backed carefully into the driveway, keeping his back to the wall.
         Trent shot more frames.  The suspected rapist was now checking out the fire escape.  Even as he repeatedly pressed the button, Trent was aware of Carlos’ presence beside him.  When he saw Cooke making his move, his partner must have circled back around.  Fast, too.  Without looking at him, keeping his camera focused on the target, Trent could tell that Carlos was edgy, chomping at the bit.  The blond wanted this scumbag just as badly, but they both knew that they couldn’t make their move until he made his.
         And as of yet, he hadn’t done anything illegal.

       Yes.  This was perfect.  He knew who lived here too.  He’d seen her out front once.  Even fished her newspaper out of the shrubbery for her during one of his early Saturday morning jogs.   He wanted to do her.  She’d been polite, but a little aloof as he’d handed her the newspaper in his sweaty running clothes.  He’d show her.  He was already getting excited just thinking about it.

         With surprising finesse and ease, Trent watched the suspect swing himself up on to the fire escape.  For a split second, the blond was impressed with his dexterity, almost jealous, but that was gone as soon as it came.  It didn’t change what the guy was and Trent was disgusted with himself for even having the thought.
         “He’s making his move,” Carlos said quietly.
         “Wait,” Trent replied.  “We have to be sure.”
         As he climbed higher, Trent practically had to restrain himself as well as his partner.  It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, not rush to stop the creep right away.  Not yet, though.  They couldn’t make their move yet.  In of itself, being on the fire escape wasn’t a crime.  Trent grimaced in frustration and snapped more pictures for lack of anything better to do.  They would surely come in useful.
         Then Cooke was directly outside the open window, peeking in through the curtains.
         “Come on, come on,” Carlos muttered under his breath, more to himself than his partner.  Though he still didn’t move, his body was tensed to spring into action.
         “He has to go in,” Trent growled through clenched teeth.  The camera lens clicked again.
         “I know,” Carlos grumbled back.
         Then the Cuban swore something softly that the blond couldn’t make out, but Trent knew exactly how he felt.  As soon as Cooke lifted one leg and slunk through the window, Trent tore the camera from his neck.  “Now!” he cried as he dashed for the fire escape.
         Carlos was right behind him.  Trent could hear the electronic tones from the buttons on his cell phone even as they ran.  When he jumped for the ladder, he heard Carlos reporting a breaking and entering in progress to the 911 operator.  Trent slowed his pace at the first landing.  Crouched, he continued upward, hurrying yet attempting to be as quiet as possible.  He wanted to stop Cooke from committing another rape, but he didn’t want to scare him off and make him run either.  The case would stick much better if they caught him in the act.
         The ladder clanked as Carlos added his weight to the structure and Trent froze.  Quickly, he first glanced down, then up at the window.  For the first time since he’d started up the fire escape, Trent realized that the window was closed.  Cooke must have slid it shut after he’d entered.  He just hoped it wasn’t locked now as well.  That would present another obstacle, but nothing insurmountable for the two private detectives.
         Carlos was perched near the top rung and their eyes met in the darkness.  From the window, there was no movement and no discernible sound.  If Cooke had heard the noise, most likely he would check it out first before making his escape out the front door.
         At least Trent hoped so.
         There was no choice.  The private investigators had to hope that they hadn’t given their presence away.  Slowly, they both started moving up the fire escape toward the window again.