(2005) 'Whispers In the Wind' (15 page)
Moyer was silent for a moment, finally saying; “You know…we tend to think that the highest percentage of all serial killers are men and the evidence that we have right now supports that particular idea. Most of the killers out there that commit more than one murder are men, but it is not written anywhere that all serial killers are men’ Moyer replied softly. “This one…well…this one, if it’s a woman…boy, we have problems”. He was silent again for a moment, clearing his throat several times before finally saying; “It could be a woman…except that the axe business doesn’t come into the equation.” He stopped again and Turner could hear his breathing on the line. He waited patiently for Moyer to continue. The man wasn’t finished yet, his mind probably going a thousand miles a minute right now, trying to figure out what they were missing. “Most women serial killers murder when opportunity presents itself, they don’t usually go looking for people to kill and usually the killings are for profit or for the purpose of making the killer feel good, like in a setting where people are dying of some incurable disease and the nurse or doctor would just finish them off. That person is alleviating the suffering of a human being and in their warped minds that is not murder, they are doing someone a favor by killing them. Their weapons are not pistols or knives or…axes, just a plain old needle most of the time and some type of poison.” He stopped then, sighing deeply, resuming his talk. “If I have to guess, the first two murders are related, very well thought out by the killer. Hell, Turner…the killer is going around whacking cops off with a damn axe and there is no doubt in my mind that the first one and probably the second are intimately related because of the way they happened. He follows Dunbar home and kills him within a few steps of the door and he tracks Moore in just about the same way, waiting for him outside his watering hole. The fact that Dunbar and Moore were partners for years, knew each other well and were the first ones to get killed, tells me that their murders are connected. Something happened during their partnership that had to do with this killer. They knew him…or her and something happened between them, something bad enough to make the killer come after them…and if all these suppositions are right…then we have a motive. Good old revenge…pure and simple”.
“Yeah…that’s what I thought”, Turner said softly, hanging up the phone a few moments later. Moyer had confirmed most of his thoughts so far concerning the killer, but he was still far from having anything solid to help him catch the killer. His eyes rested momentarily on the evidence bag containing the axe head and he shook his head slowly, his mind going back to a woman with beautiful blue eyes and a bewitching smile. He glanced at the clock on the wall, wondering where all the damn hours went, his hand going into his pocket, coming out with the small piece of paper, the number on it. It was five thirty in the evening and he wondered if she had made it home yet.
He stared at the number for a long time, wondering what the hell he was about to do, part of his mind telling him he didn’t have time for any type of involvement with a woman like her, that it was stupid of him to think that a woman like that would be interested in him. But finally he shrugged his shoulders, his finger dialing the number almost in a trance. Hell…he could use some female company…maybe a dinner somewhere quiet…some drinks. And for the rest, well…that was something he had to take one step at a time.
Chicago February 8, 1995 Saturday 10: 00 am
He woke up to a world of blinding light his head swimming, the pulsating pain behind his eyes making him wince. He opened his eyes briefly again, closing them rapidly, his hand going to his head, his mind trying it’s best to remember where he was. He opened his eyes again, shaking his head, his mouth dry. He was in his apartment, in his bed, alone.
“Jesus H. Christ”, he mumbled as he threw his feet out of the bed, his head reeling. He walked the few steps to the window, closing it, shutting the curtains to the light coming through it. He staggered back to the bed, sitting on the edge, forcing his mind to think. He stretched his body, realizing his back was sore, burning. He shook his head again, standing up, heading for the small bathroom. He opened the cold water faucet, splashing water on his face and turning his body to see his back in the mirror. Red, angry welts and scratches crisscrossed his back and then he remembered some of last night. ‘Jesus”, he mumbled again, his hand reaching for the bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet. He took a handful of the pills, chewing them, swallowing some of the tepid water from the faucet.
He glanced at his face, the dark smudges under his eyes and he realized he looked like shit. He had called Mariska Mason at home the previous night and after a short conversation, he had managed to ask her out. Much to his surprise, she had accepted and he had made his way to her apartment to pick her up. He had come up, admiring the place, shaking his head at the orderly manner in which the apartment was kept. Everything was in its place, clean, shiny…and with no decent, comfortable chair to seat on. As he waited for her in the living room, his eyes took in the place, his mind telling him he had never laid eyes on a place like hers. It was like a museum, sterile…even cold. He stood in the middle of the living room, shaking his head slowly as the eyes continued scanning the layout. He glanced all around and then again, something playing in his mind, finally realizing that there wasn’t one picture hanging anywhere. The walls were bare, nothing to dissipate the starkness of the room. There weren’t any photographs of people, of family, of friends. Hell…not even a dog or a childhood picture were visible. He shook his head again and then she was there, all full of warm smiles, her perfume filling his nostrils and he forgot about everything except the beautiful creature on his arm. They had gone out to eat and for a few drinks. On the way out she had insisted on taking her car, a shiny, brand new Corvette and even allowed him to drive. He had found out she was everything he thought she was and more and the hours had flown, the drinks coming fast, until he realized he was on his way to getting drunk. For some reason, she didn’t seem to be affected very much by the drinks and finally they had made it to her apartment. Once again he was surprised when she had asked him to come up. Once in the apartment, the reserved, slightly shy woman had turned into a veritable sex demon. She had taken him into her bedroom and the sex had been incredible, the woman never satisfied until he had made love to her several times, her cries of passion driving him wild.
Turner splashed some more water on his face, his head pounding, his mind refusing to think clearly. He staggered back to the bed, his eyes glancing at the clock, his face hitting the pillows and in seconds, he was out again.
He woke several hours later, the headache almost gone, and the shadows of the evening darkening the room this time. He stood up, making his way to the window and peering outside. It was almost dark and he realized he was hungry, his stomach rumbling. He put some old jeans on, wincing at the soreness on his back as he put a shirt on, thinking that Mariska Mason was a wild cat. He was in the process of putting his shoes on when the phone rang, a persistent sound that started his headache again. He let the phone ring until the damn thing finally stopped and he sighed in relief. He was in no mood to talk to anyone right now and he knew it was not the office calling since the beeper had not gone off. He made his way to the bathroom when the phone started ringing again and this time he cursed softly, wondering who the hell it could be. He snatched up the phone, his voice loud and gruff.
“Yeah…what is it?’ he said.
“Well…that’s a nice way to say hello”, a soft, husky voice said an immediately his headache was gone as well as his sour disposition.
“Mariska…huh…I’m sorry” he mumbled, his mind conjuring up the woman that was beginning to fill his every waking moment.
“I thought you might like to come over…do something?”
He heard the words and the double meaning and found himself saying yes, even before he had really thought about it, his blood moving now, his heart beating painfully against his ribs at the mere thought of getting her in bed again. He found himself hard, his erection overpowering in its intensity. ‘Jesus Christ”, he mumbled to himself. He was no virgin and he knew his way around women, but this one, at least by what he could recall from last night…was something else
“Yes…I would”, he said quietly, visions of long, beautiful legs entwined around his body…of red, sensuous lips kissing him…filling his mind.
She hung up the phone and he remained still, his brain sluggish. There was something wanting to come to the surface, something he knew was important, but right now he wasn’t functioning right and whatever was bothering him was going to have to wait. He finished dressing and within minutes was on his way out.
Chicago 3151 W. Harrison St. February 10, 1995
Josh Turner sighed deeply, his had reaching for the cigarette pack, taking one out and lighting it. He took the smoke deep in his lungs, exhaling slowly, watching the smoke drift toward the ceiling fan. He was in his office, a grin flickering on the handsome face as he daydreamed about Dr. Mariska Mason. He stood up, making his way to the coffee pot, filling his mug and coming back to his desk. He had breathed a sigh of relief when he had come to work Monday morning, after dreading another call from the dispatcher all weekend, another murder. Today was Tuesday and no more cops had been killed and he was grateful for that. He took a sip of the hot brew, savoring the taste and he settled himself in his chair, closing his eyes, daydreaming again.
In all his life, not even when he was a horny young man, could he remember a woman like Mariska. He had spent the whole weekend with her and the sex had been a roller coaster that left him spent and weak in the knees. He was fascinated by her body, the proud, erect, small breasts, the greyhound belly, the way the incredibly strong muscles moved under the skin, the ripe sensuous lips that engulfed him in ecstasy as she took his manhood in. But…something was not completely right. The part of him that was hedonistic, his egotistical self was smug in the belief of his incredible sexual prowess and his endurance. He had exulted in the cries of passion that he had elicited from her, the orgasm that she had achieved under him. But the part of him that was a cop, was telling him something different, that the woman was faking it, that underneath all the cries of passion and assertions about his lovemaking, she was just putting on a show for his benefit, making him believe that he was the world’s greatest lover. He really didn’t have anything solid to go on, it was all just a hunch, a feeling, but…there it was and Josh Turner was not a man that would let his feelings go away. He was cop and his mind was analytical, dissecting everything to it’s bare essence.
There had been a fleeting instance, just once, when he had caught her looking at him during their lovemaking and instead of rapture or desire, he could have sworn that he had seen something like hate, even loathing, in her eyes. She had smiled then, closing her eyes, turning wild on him again, her nails raking his already sore back, her cries of passion mounting, until the walls of her apartment reverberated with her love sounds. But maybe he was just imagining all those things, he told himself. She sure was wild and it was hard for him to believe that such a wonderful creature was faking it.
He opened his eyes, sipping his rapidly cooling coffee, his mind still centered on the woman. He had another date with her tonight, she had insisted, telling him she wanted him again, her words on the phone just minutes ago still ringing in his ears. He closed his eyes again, sitting still and letting his mind go slowly over the last few days; the first time he met her at the museum, the sound of her husky voice, the way she looked that day. And then the evening, the apartment, the date that night, coming back to her apartment for a night of wild lovemaking. And then he opened his eyes, a frown on his face, as his mind clicked on something that he had relegated to the back of his consciousness. There had been too many drinks and he was feeling good, too damn good, he thought, and there had been something about her garage, at her apartment that night, something that had set her off, jerking her out of a half sleep inside the car to a moment when she was obviously mad at him. Something that hadn’t lasted more than seconds and his alcohol soaked brain hadn’t registered completely. He had driven her car back to the apartment, while she was resting in her seat, had arrived at the place and his eyes had caught sight of the garage opener on top of the sun visor. He had reached for it, pushing the bottom, thinking about putting her car in for the night. At the sound of the electronic door opening, she had jerked awake, her eyes wild, unfocused. The door was halfway up when her eyes took in what was going on and with a curse, her hand had moved with the speed of a striking snake, jerking the opener from his hand, pushing the button, stopping the door and then pushing gain, the door sliding back down.
“What the…hell?” he remembered mumbling, his eyes getting a glimpse of another vehicle parked inside the garage. Something white or silver, not a car but an SUV and then the door was down completely and he couldn’t see anymore. He had looked at her, puzzled at her behavior, and listening to her words.
“I’m letting a friend use my garage…that’s her car”.
He had looked at her, his alcohol soaked brain shrugging off her explanation, not really caring what it was or what she said.
Footsteps coming in brought him out of his reverie and he look up to see Thompson coming in, a handful of papers in his hand.
“Well…if that is not a shit eating grin on your face”, he said, glancing at his boss. “And you look like…hell”.
“Damn…what ever happened to good morning?’ Turner asked, smiling, tucking his thoughts away for the moment. Something was still bothering him, something he needed to come to terms with.
He was about to say something else when the door opened and Chief Crawley made his way in. Turner raised his eyes to the man and his stomach turned, wondering what the hell was going on now for him to be the recipient of another visit by the chief.