“Chevy, I remember the red bowtie on the tailgate, maybe twenty or more years old. Maybe even more. Couldn’t see it real well in the dark, but it was not in great shape.”

  The captain jotted the information down, as he pushed forward another question. “Was it a regular or extended cab?”

  “Regular.”

  “Anything else?”

  Leslie shook her head, “Sorry, I really didn’t pay much attention. When I saw it I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

  Rosatelli nodded as he leaned closer to his guest, “What about the guy? Anything else?”

  “Yeah, there was one thing. And I hadn’t thought of it until now, but he smelled of smoke.”

  “Cigarette smoke?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, “it was very strong. In fact, it smelled the same as what I smelled the night the man sneaked into my room at the hospital. I’m sorry I don’t have any more for you.”

  “This is great,” he assured her.

  Leslie got up from her chair, smiled, and walked back toward the door. She was about to exit when his words stopped her.

  “Ms. Rhoads, starting today there will be patrolmen making regular drives by your house. You won’t see them, they’ll be in unmarked cars. If you need us, call 9-1-1 and we will be there in no time.”

  “Thank you,” she replied as she closed his office door.

  Rosatelli walked back over to his desk, sat down, and smiled. It had been right in front of him all along. He had a suspect, and with just a bit of legwork he’d have enough circumstantial evidence to make an arrest soon.

  60

  Jacob Spence was getting out of the truck he’d been borrowing from his uncle when he saw Captain Brian Rosatelli. Noting the policeman’s presence didn’t spook him at all. He’d seen him plenty of times and even talked to him on at least a dozen different occasions. Yet, when he took a second look, he noted something very different. The cop had his gun out. The lanky six-foot two-inch maintenance man didn’t want any of that action and jumped back in the truck. Pushing the key to the right, he started the old rig and slipped it into drive. His foot didn’t reach the accelerator; it was stopped by Rosatelli’s forceful voice.

  “Turn it off, get out of the truck with your hands over your head, or I’ll pull this trigger.”

  That one strong warning was all it took. Jacob switched the key to the left, pulled the door handle, and slid out of the vehicle.

  “Turn around, spread your legs, and put your hands on the hood,” the policeman barked.

  Jake followed the order to the letter. While holding the gun with his right, Rosatelli frisked him with the left hand. He was clean.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” he ordered.

  Jacob complied. A second later, he’d been handcuffed.

  “Don’t move.”

  The captain observed the now restrained man for a moment then peered into the cab. It was littered with soft drink cans, fast food sacks, and empty cigarette packages.

  “Why you picking on me?” Jacob whined.

  Rosatelli didn’t answer while he scanned the rest of the vehicle. Grimly nodding, he noted an empty fifth of Buffalo Scotch on the floor. The pieces fit.

  “Jacob Spence, I’m arresting you for the brutal assault and attempted murder of Leslie Rhoads.”

  Turning to face the captain, Jacob shook his head, “I didn’t have nothing to do with that. I liked her. I liked her a lot. She was real pretty.”

  Ignoring the man’s protest, Rosatelli recited one of the best-known phrases in the American language, “You know that anything you say could be used against you.” He continued through the script until reaching the final word. After once more taking stock of his prisoner, he added, “A patrol car will be here in a few minutes to take you downtown.”

  “I didn’t do nothing wrong,” Jacob protested. “I wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

  “Spence, did you used to drive a white sedan?”

  “Yeah, an LTD! It was my grandmother’s until she died.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “At my house. It’s not running.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “2218 West Elm.”

  Rosatelli pulled out his cell, hit a number, and waited. “Hey, this is Brian. I’ve arrested Spence. Make sure the patrol car is on its way to get him. I need a search warrant for 2218 West Elm, the home, the property, and all the vehicles on that property. Get it ASAP. I need for the CSIs to go over that place with everything they got. We should find something there that ties him to the attack on Leslie Rhoads.”

  Dropping the phone back into his blue sports jacket, the captain looked back at his captive. He’d been hiding in plain sight, close enough to make contact with his victim. He’d even been stalking her and all it took was the girl remembering one little clue. It was just that easy!

  A black and white Impala drove across the parking lot and stopped where Rosatelli was watching Jacob Spence. As the two uniformed policemen got out, the captain grimly said, “He’s yours. Take him downtown and have him booked. They’re ready for him.”

  Rosatelli watched Spence loaded into the car and studied the man as he was driven away. He was scared. It showed. He hadn’t expected to be caught.

  Glancing back into the old truck he saw something peeking from under the driver’s side of the seat. Bending over, he took a closer look. It was an issue of Fashion and Style. Leslie Rhoads was on the cover and someone had taken a red marker and carefully drawn lines all across the face. As best as Rosatelli could remember, those lines were in the very same place as the scars on the model’s face.

  61

  Carlee was studying a contract she had just worked up for one of her newest models. The gig she was so afraid of losing when Leslie was attacked was once again hers. The girl, Gem McCall, had just been approved as the new image of Passion Nights perfume. And this model had absolutely no qualms about the nudity required in the job.

  Her cell interrupted her private celebration. Turning her attention from the contract to the phone, she glanced at the I.D. Finally! Hitting the accept button she leaned back in her chair and announced, “Is the contract finished? I need to get the media blitz started.”

  “Not going to be a contract,” she was bluntly informed. The man continued, “Not going to be a movie either.”

  Standing, Carlee looked incredulous as she barked, “What do you mean? This is can’t miss. The story is the perfect combination of sex and violence. And it’s real!”

  “Haven’t you read the news online or watched any TV this afternoon?”

  She shook her head, “Been working on a big deal. Haven’t had time.”

  “Well, those hokey cops who you thought couldn’t solve anything arrested the guy who cut your model up. He’s a janitor at the hospital. He’s got no record and he’s not very bright. It seems he was a demented fan. At least that’s what they’re guessing. When she refused his advances, he went all crazy and used the bottle to cut her to shreds.”

  “But what about that kills the project?” Carlee asked.

  “Because the guy who did it is a dud. He’s not interesting. Look at his picture online, he’s not even scary. There’s no lasting shock value.”

  Carlee hurriedly pulled up the CNN page. Irvin was right, there was nothing haunting about Jacob Spence. He looked like a guy who’d collect beer cans for a hobby. Still, she paused and tried to figure a way to save the deal. She only had one hope—maybe they had the wrong man!

  Her eyes turned back to the online story. The more she read, the more she realized she’d never make another dime off Leslie Rhoads.

  In Spence’s home, police found hundreds of pictures of the fashion model pinned to a bulletin board in the man’s room. The police also found several bottles of Buffalo Scotch, the same type of bottle used in the attack on the model. Though Spence has denied any involvement, police assured reporters that they had enough circumstantial evidence to provide motive for the attack. Witnesses have also named him as the man who on at least two occasions entered the victim’s hospital room.

  Spence, who grew up in Kentucky and was raised by a single mother, had moved to the Springfield area a few months before. Relatives had secured him a position as a janitor at the hospital.

  Carlee quit reading the story. They had the guy, and she was left holding the bag. It was like watching the air go out of a balloon. A thousand plans plus a few million dollars were now gone. She’d invested so much time and energy into that model and Leslie was never going to pay off.

  Getting up, she crossed the room to a cabinet. Reaching in she pulled out a three-inch thick file. Grimly she leafed through a few photos of Leslie Rhoads. Closing the folder, she strolled back to her desk and tossed the file into the trashcan. As she sat back in her desk chair, one thought kept running through her mind. It was a thought that would no doubt haunt her for years to come. Why did they have to catch him?

  62

  I feel great,” Leslie exclaimed as she walked by the nurse’s station. “And thanks for asking.”

  Marsha Kolinek hadn’t asked, but quickly returned the visitor’s smile, noting that either her facial scars were becoming less visible, or the easy smile and sparkling eyes made it seem that way. Whatever, it was a remarkable transformation. It was as if it had happened overnight.

  “I heard the police got the guy,” Marsha shot back.

  “Yeah,” Leslie answered with a smile, “that’s what they tell me. Captain Rosatelli told me something I said was the key to closing the case. Still not sure what it was.”

  “Just glad they got him,” the nurse agreed. “I can’t believe he worked here. I mean Jacob was strange, but I never figured him as a psycho. By the way, why are you at the hospital?”

  “I was down seeing Angel,” Leslie explained. “I found this adorable doll over at Coxes and I thought that maybe she’d enjoy playing with it.”

  “You’ve been good for her,” Marsha’s compliment was not given lightly. “You’ve been here like five hours a day each day this week. Never seen anything like it. She seems to be coming out of that tight shell that has surrounded her since she came in. It’s really remarkable. You’ve accomplished more in four days than we have in a month.”

  “I’ve been wondering?” Leslie asked. “Why is she still here in the hospital? She seems healthy. Shouldn’t she be released until the time she comes back and they can start working on her face?”

  “Yes,” Marsha explained, “ideally that’s the way it should be. But if we let her go she’ll end up in a children’s facility, and, then, after some evaluation, a foster home. And none of us think that she’s ready for that kind of adjustment. Her social worker doesn’t even think so. Here, she at least feels safe. And she needs to feel safe more than anything else in the world.”

  Leslie nodded, leaned over the nurses’ station counter, and absentmindedly studied a painting on the far wall. She maintained her silence until the nurse interrupted what appeared to be some very deep thoughts.

  “Les, what’s on your mind?”

  “Do you think they’d let me take her home for a night?” Leslie inquired. “Kind of like a sleepover?”

  “You mean Angel?” The nurse asked. “I don’t know. But as nothing about this case is normal, I wouldn’t rule it out. Carolyn Brooks is her social worker and she’s here right now.” The nurse pointed down the hall, “She’s in Mabel’s office going over some records. I know that she’s aware of the great strides you’ve made with her during the last few days. Maybe she would. Wouldn’t hurt to check. Mabel’s office is halfway down the north wing on the first floor. I’ll bet you can catch Carolyn if you run over there right now.”

  As if on a mission, Leslie marched down the hall, so completely lost in her plans she was unaware that two people had stopped to gasp at her face. She didn’t hear the “Bless her heart,” but she wouldn’t have cared if she did. She had much more important things on her agenda than worrying about her appearance, or how long it would be until the doctors were able to complete the work on her face. When she arrived at her destination, she smoothed her sweater, took a deep breath, considered what she would say, and then knocked on the door. She waited impatiently until she heard a woman cry out, “It’s open.”

  “Excuse me,” Leslie sang out as she entered the small ten-by-ten office. “I’m looking for a Ms. Brooks.”

  “That would be me,” a stocky but athletic woman likely in her forties proclaimed as she stood and smiled. “And you must be Ms. Rhoads.”

  “How did you know?” Leslie asked then bringing her hand up to her cheek she nodded. “Never mind, I guess it’s not hard to pick me out.”

  There was an awkward silence for a moment before Ms. Brooks chimed in, “Call me Carolyn, and I probably should apologize. I realize now how my words were taken.”

  “Why apologize?” Leslie laughed.

  “Because my response seemed indelicate in light of what has happened to you,” came the quick reply. “I really do have tact.”

  “Tact is overrated,” Leslie replied. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about Angel. I have an idea that you might be able to help me with.”

  “Sit down and join us,” Ms. Brooks said, pointing to a chair on the left side of the desk. “Mabel and I have been wanting to talk to you about the miracle you are working.” She paused, smiled, and added, “Or should I say that Cinderella is working.”

  “Yeah,” Leslie grinned, “she does call me that about half the time. I’m still not sure the glass slipper fits.”

  “I’m betting it does,” Brooks replied. “By the way, is there a Prince Charming?”

  Leslie twisted her lips into a crooked, uneven smile. At this point, it was the best she could manage. “There just might be one, but I came to ask you something much different.”

  A few minutes later, Leslie returned to the nurses’ station, sporting a lopsided grin that went from the right corner of her mouth to her left cheek. Leaning over the counter she announced as if singing a song, “Guess what?”

  “I take it she said yes,” Marsha acknowledged the obvious.

  “Yes,” Leslie beamed, “she gave it her blessing for tomorrow night. That’ll be perfect because my folks are going out of town and Angel and I will have the whole place to ourselves. Thanks for the heads-up, Marsha. I’m going to run down and tell Angel. I think this might well be the most unforgettable night of my life.”

  63

  A few hours later, Leslie was sitting in her room going through a big box filled with a host of her old toys. For once, she was pleased that her mother had never shared any of her things with other kids and never threw anything away either. Pulling out a teddy bear, two dolls, a doctor’s bag and a coloring book, she set them on the top of her dresser. Shoving the box into the closet, she then bounced across the room and jumped onto her bed. Giggling like a schoolgirl, she grabbed the phone and dialed Hunter’s office.

  “Hunter Jefferson, please,” she asked as the receptionist answered.

  “Who may I say is calling?”

  “Cinderella,” Leslie laughed.

  “Who?”

  “Cinderella.”

  “Are you one of his clients?”

  “No,” Leslie all but giggled. “But if the shoe fits, I might be.”

  “Just a moment, I’ll see if he is in.”

  A few seconds later, a puzzled attorney broke onto the line and said, “Ah, can I help you? I’m sorry the receptionist didn’t actually understand your name.”

  “Cinderella,” Leslie quickly answered.

  “Les,” Hunter’s voice relaxed. “I didn’t expect to hear from you, especially after what you said on Sunday.”

  “Well,” Leslie answered with a special energy in her voice, “I just thought I’d call and ask how your dating life was going? After all, I gave you an order.”

  “Oh, well about that,” Hunter stumbled as he looked for the right words. “Vanna White and I have discovered that we have a vowel and a couple of consonants in common.”

  “She’s too old for you,” Leslie shot back.

  “Well, I also was going to call …”

  “Yeah,” Leslie’s reply was short and terse. “Sure you were. Well, do you suppose that you could break away from turning letters with Vanna long enough to take me to Big Al’s tonight. I thought that putt-putt or bowling would be fun, too!”

  “Tonight?” Hunter answered. “This is kind of short notice, isn’t it?”

  As he spoke, Leslie’s heart sank.

  “I mean,” he continued, “I wouldn’t have time to buy a new outfit, do my nails, or have my hair done. You’d see me at my worst. Are you sure you can handle that?”

  “Hunter Jefferson,” Leslie tried to make her voice sound as assertive as possible, “you be here at seven sharp or you may just have to spend the rest of your life counting your vowels.”

  “Seven sharp it is,” he laughed. “By the way, when you use that tone you sound like Flo.”

  “Wow,” Leslie whispered sarcastically, “that must be even scarier than my scars.”

  “You said it,” he answered, “I didn’t.”

  “Tonight,” she laughed as she set down her phone.

  Leslie began getting ready at five and by 6:40 she was pacing the front porch.

  “Are you sure you want to go out in public?” Her mother asked for the sixth time.

  “Listen, Mother,” Leslie explained, her eyes never leaving the street, “you don’t know this, but while you’ve been at the Garden Club, and whatever other club meetings you go to, I’ve been out and about all week. I even went into Coxes and bought a doll for a little friend of mine. You know, the girl that is staying here tomorrow night.”

  “About that,” Flo began, “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to bring a sick child into this house. After all, you’re not well yourself. Just how do you plan to take care of her, and what if you catch something and pass it on to your father and me?”