Killer Heat (32 page)

“The manager knew this?”

“Butch bragged about the compensation package, which included room and board.”

That apartment off Butch's office was most likely where Julia had lived when they'd taken her in. Francesca had seen it. “And Bianca never went out there to visit him?”

“They'd broken up by then. Apparently, the day they split was memorable, too. The manager said he'd never seen such a terrible fight. He almost called the cops. They were both out of control, screaming and throwing things. It took him and three other tenants to break it up. At that point, Butch got in his car and drove off. A few days later, he landed the job at the salvage yard and moved out.”

“Don't tell me. That fight was over another woman,” Francesca said.

“You got it. The manager heard Bianca yelling about some lingerie Butch had purchased for the young lady next door. She'd found the receipt in one of his pockets.”

Francesca let Jonah hold the phone for them. “But why, after several years, would he kill her?”

“Maybe he tried to rekindle the romance and she rebuffed him. Or they had an affair and she threatened to tell his wife. Who can say? I only know she had a lot of very personal contact with Butch, but I can't prove she even knew Dean.”

“You're amazing, Dad. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“I like doing it. Keeps me fresh.”

Jonah was so close. It would've been easy to melt into him, but Francesca resisted. “And it gives you a good excuse to skip out on antique hunting with Mom.”

He chuckled. “That, too.”

“Any chance you'd like to see what you can find out about a seventeen-year-old runaway from California named Julia? I'm having trouble digging up a last name. She went to work for the Wheelers, lived with them for a bit—”

“—and now she's missing and likely dead.”

“That's right.”

“I'll get on it,” he said, and hung up before she could thank him again.

Jonah hadn't heard the first part of the conversation. “What'd I miss?” he asked.

“I'll explain in the car. We've got to talk to Dean.”

He climbed off the bed without touching her. “You shower and dress. I'll make breakfast.”

 

Finch and Hunsacker refused to let them see Dean. Jonah managed to arrange it only by going over their heads to the sheriff, who ultimately agreed to the interview because of how bad the department would look if they prosecuted the wrong guy. Although Jonah prevailed in the end, Finch had insisted on being present. He made his displeasure obvious as he sat in the corner, glowering, while Jonah and Francesca took chairs across a small table from a bewildered and sleep-deprived Dean.

They'd also asked if Dean would like an attorney to join them. He hadn't been at the yard when his family invoked that right. But his mother was still trying to select one she felt would be good, and he didn't want to wait. According to Finch, all he could talk about was going home. He wouldn't insist on anything he felt might delay that.

“Wh-what's going on?” Dean asked. “What are you guys doing here?”

Jonah deferred to Francesca. Knowing Dean's relationship with his mother was a close one, he felt Dean might be more responsive to a female.

“We'd like to visit with you, Dean,” she said. “You don't mind, do you?”

Dean sat on his hands. “I wasn't going to hurt you, Francesca. I—I was only doing what I was told. I had to get the panties back.”

Jonah wasn't so sure he wouldn't have hurt her, but neither was he convinced that Dean was the Dead Mule Canyon killer.

“Who told you to come to my house?” she asked.

Clamping his mouth shut, he ducked his head and began to rock back and forth like a fidgety little boy, making Jonah fear he might lapse into a psychotic episode.

“Dean?” she pressed. “Will you answer me?”

“I can't.”

She bent to see his face. “Why not?”

“I—I can't tell you that, either,” he mumbled.

“We're trying to help you. You understand that, don't you?” Jonah said.

“No.” His sulky response was also childlike.

“It's true,” Francesca said. “If you don't talk, I'm afraid you'll go to prison. You don't want to go to prison, do you?”

“No.” His voice broke, and tears ran down his face.

“Then you need to explain exactly what happened the day you came to my place. Who sent you there?”

“I can't tell you.”

“Why not?”

He dashed a hand across his cheek. “I don't want my mother dragged into this.”

“Unless your mother's hurt someone, she'll be
fine,” Francesca said. “She hasn't hurt anyone, has she, Dean?”

He finally met her eyes. “No. My mother would never hurt anyone.”

Francesca smiled. “That's what I thought, too.”

Obviously relieved by her friendliness, he sniffed. “So…you believe me?” Dean glanced in Jonah's direction as if to confirm it. “I can go home?”

“I'm afraid not,” Jonah said. “Not yet. Someone's killed at least nine women. Julia is one of them, but there are others.”

“How many others?” he asked.

If he'd done it, he'd already have that information, and Jonah didn't get the impression he was faking. “That's one of the things we're hoping to find out.”

“I don't know about anyone else, except…except that woman Butch had dinner with. The one
she
was looking for when she first came to the yard,” he said with a jerk of his head to indicate Francesca.

“April?” Francesca clarified.

“Yeah, her.”

Jonah had to admit he seemed sincere. “You told Investigator Hunsacker—”

Puzzled, Dean broke in. “Who?”

Jonah pointed to Finch. “You see that man right there? You told his partner, Investigator Hunsacker, that you killed Julia.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “They…they wouldn't leave me alone until I signed their papers. But I told them it wasn't me.”

Finch jumped to his feet as if to argue, but Jonah motioned for him to sit down and, fortunately, he acquiesced. “So you didn't confess?”

“I told them I went to Francesca's house and…and I
picked her locks. I'm good at that. I can get in anywhere.” He seemed reluctant to look at her. “I know it's not nice, but…I'm good at it,” he repeated. “I also told them Julia was the one in the freezer. But I don't know how she got to the cabin. I didn't take her there.”

“Maybe someone else did,” Francesca suggested.

“Yes!” His eyes focused, grew more lucid. “It had to be Butch. He copied the key when we rented the cabin last Christmas so we could go up there whenever we wanted. And he told me to wait there. He must've done it. He killed her, 'cause he knew she couldn't stay in the yard if you still had her panties.”

Francesca scooted forward. “Did you see him kill her?”

“No. You asked me that before.” He acted as if he suspected a trick.

“Then you saw him put her body in the freezer?” Jonah asked.

“I didn't see that, either. I used to keep my books and drawings there, but I found them in the trash pile so I went to see what happened to the freezer. It was running, although it wasn't before. And my key wouldn't unlock the padlock. It was easier to cut it off than try to pick it, so I did. But when I opened the lid, I found a garbage bag with Julia inside it.” He shivered in revulsion. “I barfed the first time I opened that bag. I should've protected her. She was so pretty. And…and nice. Julia was nicer than Paris. Paris never liked me.”

Jonah crossed his ankles. “Who did you feel you needed to protect Julia from?”

“Quit leading him,” Finch interjected from his corner, but Dean didn't allow him to interrupt. He didn't even seem to hear it. He was too eager to answer.

“From Butch! He's a monster.”

“What about Sherrilyn?” Francesca asked. “Can you tell us what happened to her?”

“I don't know. She was fine until she came to the yard to—to wish me happy birthday. We'd been fighting. But…she was sorry. She said she was sorry.”

Francesca picked up her purse from the floor and placed it on the table. “You saw her there? Spoke to her?”

“Yes.”

“Could you be wrong about that?”

His eyebrows knitted. “No. Paris saw her, too. So did Butch and my mother. Sherry said I'm the only man who's ever really loved her and it wasn't fair of Neal to break us up. We were miserable without each other. We were going to get back together.”

“Where did she go after that?”

“Home, I guess. How would I know?”

Jonah changed up the interview with an easy question. “Neal's her son?”

“That's right. He's not very nice. He—he doesn't want his mother to love me. He wants her all to himself.”

Had Sherrilyn really shown up at the salvage yard? She had a restraining order against Dean, and she'd just been through that terrible experience caused by his stalking and death threats. But she wouldn't be the first to go back to someone she knew might hurt her. “Was this after you went to her house and threatened to kill her?” Jonah asked.

“I didn't say I was going to kill her! I said I'd rather we were both dead than apart. I loved her!”

Francesca jumped back in. “What about Bianca Andersen? Did you love her, too?”

The name distracted him. “Who?”

“Bianca Andersen. She was a nurse at Laurel Oaks. You recognize Laurel Oaks, don't you?”

“Of course. I've been there. Three times.”

At least he was capable of remembering correctly. Jonah thought that lent him
some
credibility. “But you don't recall a Bianca?”

“No.” He splayed his hands. “I've never heard of her before.”

Francesca took a pack of gum from her purse and offered Dean a piece. “Why do you draw what you do, Dean?” she asked.

He studied the gum as if it might bite him, but when she held it closer, he accepted. “I don't know. Because they're…interesting, I guess.”

“Have you ever acted out any of those drawings?”

“No!” He responded almost before she could get the words out.

Jonah cleared his throat. “Tell us why you feel you had to protect your mother, Dean.”

Although he'd unwrapped the gum, he was too worked up to put it in his mouth. “She told me I
couldn't
tell. She said I had to forget what was in that freezer or it would get her in trouble. Then Butch said I could fix my mistake if I got the panties back.”

Francesca set her purse back on the floor. “Butch sent you to my house?”

He crammed the chewing gum in his mouth and spoke around it. “Yes. Because you took the panties.” He frowned. “I wish you'd never done that. I wish you were my friend. None of this would've happened.”

“This isn't about our friendship,” she said. “This is about April and Julia and Sherrilyn and Bianca—”

“I don't know Bianca. I've never even met her. You don't believe me?”

She didn't answer that question. “Why did you put those panties in Butch's truck in the first place?”

“Because I wanted him to get caught. He thinks he can sleep with women, and hurt them, and hurt my sister, and have my parents put up with it, and have me put up with it, and…and get away with anything.”

Jonah had to agree with Dean's assessment. Butch was pretty arrogant. “He's the one who told the police you must've killed Julia.”

“What?” Dean's tortured eyes shifted to his. “I didn't kill her. I swear it!” Fresh tears pooled along his lower lashes. “Can I talk to my mother? Please? I can't protect her if I don't know how.”

“You can't talk to her just yet,” Jonah replied. “But we'll speak to her for you, okay?”

He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand. “Tell her Butch is trying to hurt me. She—she'll stop him. She always does.”

“W
hat are you two doing here?” Paris stood in the doorway. Defensive from the moment she'd first seen them, she gripped the door as though she might slam it at any second.

Jonah gave Francesca a slight nod, one she interpreted as permission to take the lead on this as she had with Dean's interview. “I have a message from Dean. For your mother,” she said.

Paris's eyes cut between them. “She doesn't want to talk to you. Either of you. We…we're getting an attorney. We already told the police that.”

Before she could close the door, Jonah stuck his foot in its path. “Why do you need an attorney? I was under the impression that you were now cooperating with the police. I know Butch is.”

She smirked. “Don't think you can fool me. I'm not letting you in. Butch isn't even home.”

Francesca noticed that Champ wasn't in the yard, either. “Champ go with him?”

“That's none of your business,” she snapped. “And don't say my boy's name as if you know him.”

“No matter what you think of me, I'm only searching for the truth,” Francesca said.

“You don't care about the truth. You've been out to get us from the start.”

Francesca shook her head. “No.”

Hatred flashed in her eyes. “You're charging my brother with a crime he didn't commit!”

Jonah spoke up. “We believe you about that.”

“What?”
She gaped at them.

“I said we believe you. So why not tell your mother we're here?”

Confused, she said, “I don't want to, that's why. Now go away. You've caused us nothing but grief. Our dog's dead because of you. Don't think I'll forget that.”

Francesca hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. “What about all the women who've been killed, Paris? You care more about a dog than you do about them?”

“Maybe Dean
did
kill them. I don't know. He's a whack job. I'm not responsible for what he does.”

“I'm touched by your empathy,” Jonah muttered.

She tried to shut the door again. “And I'm calling the cops if you don't get your foot out of the way and leave me alone!”

Francesca scrambled to stop her. “Julia must've been close to your age, Paris. Were you two friends?”

Paris's fingers whitened as she clutched the door, but she lowered her voice. “She was a worker here, that's all. Someone my mom hired. That doesn't mean we had to be close.”

“And April Bonner? Did you know her, too?”

“You think I want to talk about all the women my husband slept with? Get out of here, like I said!”

She kicked at Jonah's foot, giving him no choice but to remove it. Anything less could be construed as forcible entry; Finch and Hunsacker hadn't been pleased to learn they were coming out here in the first place.

Paris slammed the door and they started back to the car, but before they could get in, Francesca heard her name.

“Ms. Moretti?”

Elaine Wheeler had come to the door. Francesca turned back. “Yes?”

“You…you have a message for me? From my boy?” Dressed in a flowery summer shirt and what Francesca's mother would call culottes—longish shorts that looked more like a skirt—she could've been taken for a sweet grandma except for the obvious signs of distress. Gone was the wig she normally wore, revealing a few wisps of gray hair pinned tightly to a pink scalp. And red-rimmed eyes peered through cat-eye glasses with bifocal lenses.

“He's scared, Mrs. Wheeler,” Francesca said. “He wants you. He wants to come home.”

“Are they…are they treating him okay? He needs to be segregated, you know. A man like Dean wouldn't be safe circulating with other inmates. He's…too eager for friends, tries too hard to fit in.”

“I'm sure the police will do all they can to protect him, but…until he's convicted and sent to prison, they have limited housing options.”

“I realize that.” And, apparently, it weighed heavily on her. Her lips quivered, then pursed as Paris's voice rose behind her.

“Come on in, Mom. There's nothing you can do for Dean. Maybe he'll finally get the care he needs.”

With a sniff, Elaine raised her chin. “It's
my
care he needs. I'm the one who's always been there for him. I'm the only one he trusts.”

Jonah beckoned her outside. “Come and take a ride
with us, Mrs. Wheeler. Maybe we can arrange for you to see your son.”

“Don't do it!” Paris cried. “You know Butch told us not to talk to anyone, especially them. He'll handle it.”

“Butch doesn't give a damn about Dean, and sometimes I don't think you do, either,” her mother said. “Tell your father where I went,” she added, and walked to the Jeep Cherokee without bothering to get her purse.

 

Jonah parked in the shade of a cypress tree at Willow Lake Park. RVs in orderly rows extended to their right, but only a few stalwart golfers walked the adjacent course. It was too hot to be outside for long, even with the sun in rapid descent, but this gave them a quiet place to talk.

“Do you believe your son murdered Julia?” he asked Elaine as he turned off the engine and shifted in his seat to face her.

She stared into the distance.

“Elaine?” Francesca prompted from the backseat.

Lifting her glasses, she dabbed at her eyes. “I know he didn't.”

Elaine wanted to talk. She was dying to rescue her son. She'd already spent most of his lifetime doing it. All they had to do was give her the opportunity to speak.

“So…are you willing to let him take the rap for it?” Jonah asked when she didn't say anything.

“That's what Butch thinks we should do.”

When she lifted her glasses again, he delved into the jockey box for the napkins he'd stuck there after grabbing some fast food on his way from the airport. “Here you go.”

She didn't thank him. She was too immersed in her own worries for that, but she accepted the napkins.

He rolled down the windows. “What do
you
think you should do?”

“Some of what Butch says makes sense. But…I'm not sure I can keep silent. It shouldn't have come to this. It was just a—a terrible accident.”

April Bonner's death, and the deaths of those women in Dead Mule Canyon, was no accident, but Jonah held back, hoping she'd feel comfortable enough to reveal what she knew. “If it was an accident we can work it out.”

She seemed to forget that Francesca was even in the car. “Can I depend on that?” she asked as if it was just the two of them. “Will the police believe me if I tell the truth?”

“They'll do what they can. No one's out to get anyone here.”

Seeming to take solace in his response, she blew her nose. “You already know that Butch likes the ladies.”

“That's become apparent, yes.”

“When I took Julia in, I had no idea he would…get involved with her. This was before we found out what a womanizer he is. I'm guessing Paris knew, or suspected, but she never came to us with her concerns. She was probably embarrassed or trying to protect him. She loves him. And he is the father of her child. But…”

“But?” Jonah repeated when her words drifted off.

“If she'd confided in me, maybe I wouldn't have been foolish enough to try to help Julia.”

Jonah could feel Francesca's interest but was careful not to respond to it. He didn't want to destroy the sense of intimacy that made Elaine feel safe enough to talk. “You can't blame yourself for attempting to do a good deed.”

Once again she had to raise her glasses to wipe away
tears. “I felt awful for her,” she said. “Julia wasn't a bad person. She was just a kid. Too eager to have her own way, perhaps, like most teenagers. But she didn't mean any harm.”

“So they became…intimate?”

“I guess so. Although I didn't sense anything wrong, not until the argument.”

Jonah used the electric controls to slide his seat farther back. “What argument?”

“It was late at night. Butch and Paris had been drinking. I could hear it in their voices. Their shouts woke us up, but I tried to ignore the noise. It's not my place to get involved in their marriage. Living in the same house, I have to be very careful to allow them their privacy. But then I heard screaming and knew something was terribly wrong. By the time I could get out of bed and up the stairs, Julia was lying on the cement outside the back door, bleeding from the head.”

“Was it Butch?”

“No.” She laughed bitterly. “I wouldn't risk Dean for Butch's sake. It was Paris. She'd seen Butch pat Julia's bottom and was certain they were having an affair. She confronted Julia and demanded she move out, but Julia had nowhere to go. She tried to reason with Paris, claimed she hadn't been sleeping with Butch, but Paris couldn't or wouldn't believe it. The argument escalated, and Paris shoved her off the stoop. She landed on a piece of wood with a long nail protruding from it. I think it killed her instantly. She was dead when I reached her.”

This “accident” didn't explain what had happened to April Bonner or the other victims, so there had to be more to the story, but Jonah played along. “And you didn't call the police?”

“No. Paris was frantic they'd put her in prison, and I
was afraid of that, too. She'd had a reason to hate Julia, and she'd pushed her.” She sniffed, folded her hands in her lap and looked straight ahead as she spoke. “I know how it sounds, but there was a little boy sleeping in the house, my grandson, who needs his mother. I—I couldn't bring myself to turn her over to the authorities. I didn't see any point in her going to prison for a death she didn't mean to cause. I knew how much it would change her, how much it would change all our lives, especially Champ's. And the accident was because of Butch as much as Paris, although he wouldn't be the one punished for it. He shouldn't have been cheating on her.” She shook her head. “That girl has been through so much.”

“Putting her body in the freezer was better?”

She settled her glasses more firmly on her nose. “We knew that Julia's family weren't likely to come looking for her. Even if they did, we knew they'd believe us if we said she left without telling us where she was going.”

“And your husband went along with this?”

“Of course. He agreed with me, even helped. He's her father. He didn't want to see her go to prison any more than I did.”

“Why didn't you bury her?”

“We wanted to have easy access in case we ever lost the salvage yard to the bank—there've been some pretty lean years—and we had to move. We couldn't leave that behind for someone else to discover.”

“Where was Dean when this occurred?” Francesca asked.

“Out. Like he usually is. Rambling. He didn't know anything about it until he came across the body. And I'm guessing that just happened recently or I would've heard about it before. He thought Butch had killed her, so he
put Julia's panties, which he must've taken from her body at some point, in Butch's truck for Paris to find. I think he was hoping to get rid of Butch. Butch has never been very nice to him.”

Francesca broke in for the first time. “Will Butch and Paris back up this story—about the accident?”

Elaine Wheeler's voice cooled. “I have no idea. They'll be angry that I put Paris at risk for Dean's sake. For all Butch's cheating, he loves Paris. But like I said, my husband was there that night. He'll tell you what he saw.”

“What about Sherrilyn Gators, Mrs. Wheeler?” Jonah asked.

Sweat glistened on her scalp. Jonah was getting hot, too. He needed to start the car, but he didn't want to interrupt the conversation.

“The police already asked about her,” she said. “Years ago. And I'll tell you what I told them. The night Dean went to her house and got so upset? That wasn't the last time they saw each other. A few days later, Sherrilyn showed up at the salvage yard in tears and told Dean she hadn't been happy since they split up. She wanted to get back together, said they could work around his problems.” Her chest rose as she drew a deep breath. “She only wanted to be loved. Her son had no right to deny her that. Dean was absolutely devoted to her.”

Francesca angled her head to see around the seat. “So where did Sherrilyn go?”

Mrs. Wheeler didn't act as though she wanted to talk to Francesca, although she answered. “She had some car trouble, but eventually went home. That's all I know. Dean didn't kill her. He might have his challenges, but he doesn't have a violent bone in his body. That's why I can't sit back and let this happen. It's not right.”

Mrs. Wheeler had confirmed what Dean had told them
about Sherrilyn. “His drawings might suggest he at least fantasizes about violence,” Jonah said.

“Those drawings don't mean anything. They're a way to vent the anger he feels, a safe way to vent it.”

“Is there any chance Sherrilyn knew Butch?” Francesca asked.

“Not well. The day she came to the yard, her car wouldn't start, so he gave her a ride to town and bought her a new battery. But that's it. We were nothing but nice to that woman.”

“And Bianca Andersen?”

“I don't know who that is.”

“What about April Bonner?”

“I don't know her, either. Look, I've told you everything I know. I've endangered one of my children to save the other, but I'm hoping…I'm hoping there'll be some understanding of what happened and why. Paris didn't mean to kill Julia. I was there. I know. Now…can I please see my son?”

If the coroner backed up Elaine's testimony by establishing that a nail puncture to the head was the cause of death, the police wouldn't have enough evidence to hold Dean. Elaine had just explained why there'd been a body in that old freezer and how it'd gotten there. Jonah guessed the forensics would support what she'd said, exonerating Dean. And the police didn't have any hard evidence tying him to the other murders, either.