Cherry Street
Chapter Four
Thursday, August 11
Karen bounded up the stairs two steps at a time to Roberts' apartment. She knocked on the door
twice and let herself in.
"Justin," she called out. "You have to see this."
Justin Roberts was sitting at a dilapidated card table in his kitchen with Mark Beason, a short, thin,
red haired man with wisps of hair on his chin. An array of picture cards lay on the table between
them.
"Hey, Karen," said Roberts. "In the kitchen.
Karen rushed into the kitchen holding several newspaper clippings in her hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. I
didn't know you were busy," she said.
"Whoa," said Beason. "Never too busy for you, babe."
"It's okay," said Roberts. "What have you got?"
Karen glanced at Beason who was eyeing her lower body with what he considered an appreciative
smirk. She turned to Roberts and handed him the clippings. There was a sheet of yellow notepaper
on top.
"I have correlated the information about the murders," said Karen. "There are several rather
interesting similarities about the crimes and the victims."
"You mean other than they were all men, killed around here by having their throats slashed?" said
Roberts.
"No way, man," said Beason. "You got some kind of slasher about here?"
"Apparently," said Karen. "All the murders occurred between 11 P.M. and 3 A.M. All the bodies
were found in an alley or within a few feet of an alley; and when they weren't found in the alley,
fresh blood was found there."
"Damn," said Beason. "How many of these murders have there been?"
"Four, so far," said Roberts.
"While I don't have access to the police reports and know what other similarities there might be,"
said Karen, "I have visited each of the murder sites and all the alleys lead to a late night eating
establishment like a deli or a fast food joint."
"Not restaurants?" asked Roberts.
"In one case," said Karen. "But in each case there is at least one place where you can just walk in
and get something to eat or a cup of coffee late at night. A place where you don't need reservations."
"There would be no record you were there," said Roberts.
"Exactly," said Karen.
"This is some heavy shit, man," said Beason. "Sounds like it isn't safe to be out on the streets at
night around here. Maybe I should walk you home, doll." Beason reached out his hand and stroked
Karen's leg. She pushed it away.
"I just live on the floor below," said Karen. "Besides you are more the slasher's type. He only kills
men."
"No shit," said Beason.
"You know," said Roberts, "Mr. Hormone here might have a point. It may not be a good idea for
you to get so wrapped up in all this, going to the crime scenes and all."
"I'm careful," said Karen. "I don't go at night. And the police have already removed their tape.
Besides, people show up all the time, leave flowers, take pictures."
"Just be careful," said Roberts.
"Yeah," said Beason. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
Karen didn't bother looking at Beason. She had a pretty good idea of what he was doing right them,
winking or flicking his eyebrows, probably.
"I also looked at similarities among the victims," said Karen. "All of them were from out of town,
they were with women they met here, not their wives..."
"Hookers," said Roberts.
"Probably," said Karen. "All been drinking heavily, and, if you read between the lines of the news
accounts, they were abusive and arrogant."
"What you say?" said Beason. "This some kind of feminazi serial killer?"
"I wouldn't put it that way," said Karen. "But obviously it is someone who has an issue with abusive
men."
"I don't know if it's obvious," said Roberts. "Maybe he doesn't like drunks, or men who date
hookers, or maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time and attracted the killer
because they were drunk and loud."
"Yeah," said Beason. "Maybe it's the pimp what's doing it. Doesn't like his whores freelancin'."
Karen gave the red-haired man a look of disgust.
"You found some connections." said Roberts. "Where does that get us?"
"I don't know," said Karen. She ran her fingers through her hair. "I didn't find anything in
Edelson's about a dark angel with dominion over abuse to women."
"It could be something more generic," said Robert. "You know, like rage. It's just manifesting as
rage against abusive men."
"Dark angel?" said Beason. "You think some kind of angel's doing this?"
"Karen saw something," said Roberts, "that makes her think the killer might be a man with, ah,
wings."
"Wings!" said Beason who then guffawed. "Man, I thought you guys were serious."
"I am serious," said Karen.
"A serial killer with wings," said Beason, still laughing. "Swoops down on his victims like a
demented Batman, I bet."
"It's not so implausible," said Roberts.
"Waspman!" cried Beason, bringing his left hand down hard on the table, scattering cards and
sending a few fluttering to the floor.
"There have been several recorded instances," said Roberts, "of people seeing winged humans or
demi-humans."
"Yeah, in comic books!" said Beason.
"Look," said Karen. "I didn't see anyone with wings. What I saw was an image on a wall, like the
shadow of something. But when I went back later, it was gone."
"I think it was an ectoplasmic discharge that discolored the wall," said Roberts. "Faded over time
which accounts for it not being there when we went back to check."
"You two are bats, you know that?" said Beason. He stood and put a hand on Karen's shoulder.
"But in your case, sweetheart, I'd be willing to overlook it."
Karen shrugged off his hand and backed away. Roberts stood and moved between them.
"I think maybe you should go, Mark," said Roberts.
"Yeah, well," said Beason, "this game is pretty fuxored as it is." He picked up two cards from the
table and dropped them to the floor. "I'll leave you two detectives to your waspman."
Roberts followed Beason to the door. In a lowered voice Beason said, "You getting any of that?"
"Well, you know," said Roberts.
"Are you sure it's worth it?" said Beason. "You know I'd hit it, but these crazy ones can be trouble.
Know what I mean, man?"
"I hear you," said Roberts.
Roberts closed the door and walked back to the kitchen. Karen was picking cards off the floor and
putting them on the table.
"Maybe I was just seeing things," said Karen.
"I believe you," said Roberts. "Mark is just, you know. He's a great guy for playing games, but
when it comes to the occult, he's strictly a brick."
"I've been beating on this stuff for four days," said Karen, "doing the research in my spare time, and
I am not one step closer to figuring it out."
"Why don't you take a break?" said Roberts. "Get away for a while, take the weekend off. My
brother's got a boat up on Lake Madison. We could go up there, just hang out on the water."
"Thanks," said Karen, "but I've got to work this weekend. There's some big book fair in New York
and everyone's going to be off buying so I'm stuck minding the shop."
"Maybe some other time," said Roberts.
"Sure," said Karen, "that'd be great. Say, thanks for listening to me babble. If it weren't for you, I'd
really be going nuts."
"No problem," said Roberts. "Any time. My door is always open."
Roberts closed the door after Karen. He picked up the rest of the cards and tossed them on the
table. Took a can of soda out of the refrigerator and downed a swig. "Maybe some other time."
"Sure, that'd be great." Roberts smiled as he imagined what Karen would look like in a bikini
sitting on the prow of his brother's boat, her hair streaming behind her, as he took her to that special
secluded cove his brother had shown him last year.
