Face Off (18 page)

Suzanne breathed deeply. “Are you certain?”

Jessie nodded. “Yes. There—there is something about water, but I couldn't make it out. And sunflowers. Hundreds of sunflowers, beside a river of blood.”

A voice in Suzanne's head grew loud, and a warning bell started clanging. She felt an enormous pressure in her chest, as all around, fingers of darkness grabbed at her from the light. She felt trapped, frightened, and alone. The warning was clear to her. If she went on, she would die. Unless she turned back now, she was lost. She watched in horror as the dark fingers began clutching at her throat, trying to cut off her air as she collapsed on the floor.

“Suzanne!” Jessie's scream cut through the nightmare, bringing her back to the present.

Suzanne picked herself up slowly, feeling her sore neck. “I have to get some air,” she gasped to Jessie as she staggered toward the window.

Quickly, Jessie was around her, cranking open the window. Wind forced a light mist of rain through the screen and onto Suzanne's face. She welcomed the cool moisture.

“What is it, Suzanne? What's happening?” Jessie put an arm around Suzanne's waist.

“It's all right, Jessie. Whatever it was, it's gone now.”
But it will be back,
Suzanne thought.
And whatever it is, it's going to try to kill me!
She knew with absolute certainty that she had never been so frightened in her entire life. She also knew Jessie was right. Time was running out.

“Let's get you fed, then let's drive by Clark's apartment building. We can get his address from the
Star.
They'll have it on file, I'm sure.”

Jessie looked strangely at Suzanne. “Who is after you? Why are you so afraid?”

“I've been thinking about that,” Suzanne answered slowly. “Ever since I went to see Clark at the jail, something has been going on, but I don't know what. It's like I'm afraid to go forward, but equally frightened of staying back. I can't explain what is happening to me. Sometimes my mind just goes numb with fear.” She gave Jessie a quick hug. “But I don't want you worrying about that. I'll figure it out. Now, do we go by Clark's place or not?”

“I don't want anything to happen to you,” Jessie said, stubbornly refusing to drop the issue. “Promise me you won't let it!”

“Sweetie, if I could promise you that, I would. But even with all my psychic ability, I have rarely been able to tell the future. But I will be very careful, you can bet on that!”

Chapter Eighteen

The
plink, plink, plink
of water drops hitting the bottom of her plastic jug, awakened Amy Matthews. At first she thought she must be dreaming, but then she heard it again.
Plink, plink, plink.
She crawled over to the jug she had placed under the pipe and stared. Water! Maybe not enough to quench her thirst, but at least enough to keep her alive! With one hand she pulled the jug to her lips, tilting it up and letting the few drops roll into her mouth. She held her other hand under the pipe in order not to miss any of the moisture. “Thank you, God!” she whispered as the cool rainwater bathed her swollen throat. Quickly, she brought her hand to her mouth, lapping up the drops of water she had caught, and replacing the jug under the pipe.

Amy could hear the thunder now, and it seemed like music to her ears. Maybe she would make it, after all. Maybe she wasn't doomed to die in this cement prison.

Outside, the rain intensified, softening the ground and forming gullies in the hillside. The creek which meandered across the hillside began to swell, threatening to spill over its banks.

Amy didn't notice the tiny pieces of dirt spilling from the crack in her prison. Her eyes were only on the jug, as she waited for it to gather enough water for her to have another drink.

*   *   *

Justin Nelson glanced over at Sara, his wife of forty-two years. “They are saying for everyone to help check abandoned or little-used buildings in the hopes of finding the bodies of the missing three girls. How long has it been since you've checked our shop?”

“Now, Justin.” Sara shook a finger at her husband. “When you broke your leg, you agreed we would just close up the store until you were better, but you try to invent a reason for me going clear across town every chance you get. Honestly! There are businesses all around our shop. If anything was wrong, we would have heard about it.”

Justin Nelson was not one to give in without an argument, not on any point, not in forty-two years. “You can't know that, Sara. How long has it been? A month? How would you feel if some poor young girl was in there, cut up all over the place like they say that butcher leaves them?”

“Oh, God, Justin! Don't be gross! Who in their right mind would murder and cut up a body in a flower shop—especially one stuck right between a jewelry store and a bakery?”

“Now, you know there aren't any flowers in there right now, except for artificial ones. And what difference does that make anyway? You think some killer would smell the roses and decide not to do his deed that night? Huh? Is that what you think?”

Sara's eyes narrowed as she glared at her husband, who had been driving her out of her mind for the seven weeks since he had been housebound with a broken leg. They had decided to close up their flower shop since they had been discussing retirement, anyway. This was to be a test case, a little dry run, to see how retirement would feel. And having found out, Sara was dead certain retirement was not the answer. Not for a few years yet. Maybe, never. It was one thing to spend the day together at their shop. There they were busy with customers, creating arrangements, and making deliveries. But to be together all day at home, with Justin on her back constantly, wanting this, demanding that, was another story completely. It was a wonder she had not pushed his wheelchair into the swimming pool out back.

“Well, are you going to check or not? Otherwise, I'll need to call someone else to do it.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Justin! Yes! Yes, if it will make you shut up, I'll go out in the rain and drive through noon-hour traffic to check!”

*   *   *

Clark's apartment was located only minutes from the Plaza, the one area in Kansas City with which Suzanne had some acquaintance. She found the address easily, drove by, then circled the block to look for a parking place.

“Are you getting anything, Jessie?” Suzanne asked. “Any vibes at all?”

Jessie shook her head. “Nothing. No one knows me, though. Not even Clark. Why don't you let me go into the building, even up to his door? Maybe I could get a better reading there.”

“No. That's one thing we won't do. But I'll park and maybe we can come up with another idea.”

Suzanne maneuvered her Cutlass into a parking place where they had a clear view of the entrance to the apartment building. She spotted the unmarked police car immediately. She had sat with too many units on too many stakeouts to be mistaken. “Stay here, Jessie. Let's see if I can learn anything from the police there.” She tilted her head toward the Caprice.

Suzanne walked down to the end of the street and crossed at the light, wishing she had brought an umbrella as her blouse quickly became soaked. She trotted up to the passenger side of the car, motioning for the officers to roll down the window.

Quickly, she reached in, touching the arm of the young man closest to her. “Hello. Do you know where Randal Clark is?” she said without preamble.

For one awful minute, Suzanne thought the shocked officer was going to go for his gun. Instead, he turned in the seat enough to get a good look at her and smiled.

“Who wants to know?”

“My name's Suzanne,” she said. “What's yours?”

Suzanne knew the officer's name was Mark before he told her. She also knew Randal Clark was still in his apartment and had not come out since Mark came on duty at seven o'clock that morning. There was nothing else she could learn about Clark from the policeman. She took her hand from his arm. “You know,” she said, “that you would be made in a minute by anyone who really cared.” She nodded to the litter of take-out packages across the dash of the car. “Most people don't eat breakfast and lunch in their cars. And you also are glancing at the top of the building too much. My bet is that Randal Clark is on the third floor, right?” This time she didn't bother going to the end of the block and crossing correctly. She merely dashed across the street to her car.

Once back, Suzanne repeated what she had learned to Jessie.

“So what now?” Jessie asked. “Are we going to just sit here and wait for him to come out?”

Suzanne shook her head. “As I understand it, after the police found Amy's purse in the Dumpster by Clark's apartment, they retraced her steps and found out the last place anyone had seen her was at Wednesday night church services. Isn't that right?”

Jessie nodded. “They found her car at the church, so they were pretty certain.”

“That was on Wednesday night and Clark was arrested the next day?”

“Yes.”

“So somewhere between the church and her car, Clark got to her. He had to have taken her someplace where she couldn't get away, and left her there so she would be available when he was ready to kill her. We know that because you heard Amy call to you yesterday. Right?”

“Right. Was that only yesterday?” Jessie asked in astonishment. “It seems a hundred years ago!”

Suzanne nodded in agreement. “I wonder what would happen if we went back to the church and tried to follow Amy's trail, using our psychic ability. And when I say
we
I really mean
you
because your talents lie more in that direction than mine.”

“That's a good idea. It's the Methodist church on Central.”

“Okay. Let's go.” Suzanne glanced up as lightning lit up the sky, followed almost immediately by a loud crash of thunder. She turned to Jessie. “Why don't you see if you can tune in a local radio station? We had better keep tabs on this weather. It's really starting to come down.”

Neither of them noticed the Ford Taurus which pulled out of the parking garage across the street. The car let one vehicle in between it and the Cutlass, then eased into traffic.

*   *   *

Sara finished turning the key in the lock and pushed open the large, wooden back door of the Nelson Flower and Gift Shop. “No sign of forced entry,” she spoke aloud, still miffed with her husband. Stepping inside she removed her raincoat and cap and laid them over a chair. As long as she had made the trip, she might just as well spruce things up a bit.

To satisfy Justin, she walked from room to room, glancing around to make certain things were in order. They were. Everything seemed exactly as she had left it.

She went into the back where their work area was located. It could stand a little straightening up, she decided. When she had cleared out the shop that day, she had been exhausted by the time she had finished taking flowers around and donating them to the local churches. She hadn't really cleaned up her mess very well.

Sara went over to the broom closet to get the Shop Vac. That was when she heard it. It had been there all along, but just had not penetrated her brain. The cooler was running! Surely she had not forgotten to unplug the large refrigerated storage unit for the fresh flowers. Justin would really carp at her if that were the case! She walked over and pulled back the heavy plastic she had placed over the glass of the cooler to protect it. On one shelf, exactly at eye level, was the severed head of a young girl. As Sara's weak knees gave out and she slumped to the floor, she saw that the rest of the shelves which normally contained arrangements of flowers, were now each holding a body part. Her scream brought people running from both the jewelry store and the bakery.

*   *   *

Ten miles away, Stan Cooper used his key to open the lockbox of a slightly run-down Victorian house on Bluff Drive. The Jeffersons were his best shot in a long time to unload the enormous eyesore. They had said they were looking for an old, large fixer-upper. Hopefully, this property was just what they were looking for. It had been on the market for almost three years and was a running joke among the city's realtors. He wondered if there was still a pool on how long it would take to make the sale. He had entered it once, but the time he had guessed as a selling date had come and gone months ago.

Stan removed the key from the box and opened the front door. He didn't need to enter the house to know something was wrong. The stench nearly knocked him over.

Chapter Nineteen

“… And now for today's late-breaking news.” The radio broadcaster interrupted Patty Loveless in the middle of
Hurt Me Bad.
“The bodies of seventeen-year-old Tiffany Blake and twenty-year-old April Merker have been located. The mutilated bodies of the two girls leave no doubt that they were victims of the infamous Kansas City Butcher. In an interview with KJST's reporter, Wanda Goldbloom, the families of the two slain girls credit Nora Myerson of the
Noontime with Nora
television show, with stirring the public to action and locating their daughters. That leaves only one missing girl, Amy Matthews, unaccounted for.

“And this just in from the weather bureau. Since nine o'clock this morning Kansas City has received two inches of rain, with no hint of relief in the forecast. Some of the lower-lying areas have already begun flooding, and the weather bureau is predicting up to three more inches before the night is over. Severe lightning is accompanying the rain, and folks—if you don't have to go out, please stay inside where it's safe. We will keep you updated on the storm and any breaking news.”

Jessie's eyes went to Suzanne's strained face. “Those poor girls. What a horrible way to die.”

Suzanne reached over and turned her windshield wipers a notch faster to keep pace with the rain. “I know that serial killers are supposed to get some sort of sick thrill by inflicting pain on others because of some enormous pain they themselves suffered through.” She shook her head in anger. “But this guy is the worst I have ever seen.”