Murder at Willow Slough (37 page)

41  

Miss Davis’s Nominations

At his office the next day, Major Slaughter said, “The pictures are ready. Can you handle it? It’s okay if you can’t, they’re traumatic.”

Kent steeled himself. “Of course I can handle it. I’m an Indiana state trooper.”

They went to an evidence room. There were stacks of carefully-inventoried photographs, topped by printouts. In the corner was a big screen TV with state-of-the-art clarity. George popped in a videocassette. “The camera on Jamie’s left, Crum’s, has the best angle on the action.”

Kent took a seat. “Pornographic pigs.”

“Great evidence, though. Tape your crime, show us every detail.”

“Let’s put them all on Death Row.”

“The only issue’s going to be sentencing, so the prosecutor’s focusing on that.”

“Sir, have you heard what we’re getting from the home searches? Gary Tompkins has positively identified Mr. Ferguson’s clothes and wedding ring found at Ford’s house. Gary wears an identical ring. Perfect match.”

“It’s everything but the smoking gun. And there’s a new lead just in. Kent, Crum’s got the smoking gun. We just never knew where he hid it. Jamie helped with the psychology of that years ago, and Schmidgall’s lawyer in Chicago. We may be able to close out the entire shebang, not just Ford’s 13, but Schmidgall’s 21 and maybe others.”

“Tell me Jamie and the psychology, chief.”

“He was at Crum’s trial years ago when Schmidgall accused him of participating in Barlow’s murder. Jamie believed every bit of Schmidgall’s testimony, found the Gay part completely credible. The words Schmidgall used on the stand, how they picked up the victim— Jamie said a Gay jury would have convicted Crum in ten minutes.

“Jamie observed him throughout, his body language, clothes, where his eyes went, what he smiled at and got nervous over, everything. He’s a very nervous man.”

“Jamie’s a trained observer.”

“The picture he put together we’ve now confirmed. We’ve got a real compulsive freak here. Crum took constant notes all through that trial. He’s obsessive about keeping records—and now we may get proof. There may be computer documents on some or all of these cases. Financial records, diary entries, pictures.”

“Jamie’s cover story when Schmidgall died and his lawyer had that news conference—does that have anything to do with this?”

“Sure does. There’s a line in there he emphasizes, coming from the lawyer.”

“‘I Know Who You Are.’ He’s looking for those records.”

“She says, ‘Even if it’s after you’re dead, we want those records. We have a right to them.’ Jamie’s account makes that front and center, when every other reporter emphasized the sensational admission.”

“Jamie’s speaking directly into Crum’s ear. Imagine the responsibility of that.”

“Pressuring him. Making the freak nervous.”

“What was our break today, chief?”

“We found a store clerk in Eastwood, an all-night copy shop.”

Kent looked at George. “He rented the computer! As many times as we’ve raided his house and office, he knew not to keep anything there.”

“He goes in at the deadest time of night. Most of the computers are set up in carrels where anybody in the store can see what’s on the monitor. But there’s one little space off to the side where no one else can see. That’s the one he used. If it was busy, he’d come back another time. He’d sit at his carrel, and the clerk said he’d laugh a lot. Except not really laughter, more like heh-heh-heh.”

“Enjoying himself,” Kent spat.

“Here’s the good part. When he was done, he would always buy a diskette mailer. The store does shipping too. He’d address his package, pay his bill in cash, get his receipt and leave. He always got a receipt.”

“What address?”

“Clerk could rattle it off from memory. It’s Crum’s parents in St. Pete.”

A chill went down Kent’s back. “Subpoena.”

“On its way.”

“Yes!” Kent pumped his fist. “That’s fantastic.”

George sang, “Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go.” They laughed together. “As soon as we get the paperwork from the judge, you’re jumping a plane to Florida. Commander, you’ll be the one who finds the smoking gun.”

“Thank you, chief. Gosh, I don’t know what to say.”

George put his hand on Kent’s shoulder. “I know you hate to leave Jamie. But he’s not going anywhere. And this is important, Kent. I want you out of here for a couple of days. It will do your mind good, son. We just go in, load up all the evidence, and come back after you’ve spent two days on the beach on paid time off. The hospital will notify you of any change in Jamie’s condition. We’ll sort the evidence back here, and you supervise that. You can still spend all the time you want with Jamie. But life goes on, and where there’s life, there’s hope.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

They looked at the video. Slaughter used a pointer to describe the action. When Jamie broke free and started fighting, Kent stared. “Look at that! Man, he’s fighting hard. Boom, down goes another one. Look at how strong he is!”

Minutes later Jamie was recaptured, and Kent soberly asked for Rewind. They watched the fighting again, then George moved them on to the stabbing. “We have an audio record of everything they said. See this bulge in his back pocket? Looks like a pack of cigarettes, but it’s his voice recorder. By itself the tape’s enough to convict.”

“Jeez, little man. Always thinking.” Kent recoiled as he watched Ford put his slimy body on Jamie’s pristine one. “God, look at that. It’s like rape!”

“But as soon as it starts, Jamie uses it to his advantage. He tries to turn Ford against Crum, get him to run away with him.”

“Seduction, you mean? Divide and conquer?”

“He’s extremely persuasive. He tries to turn them on so they’re more interested in sex than murder.”

“Man, how did he think of that? My skin would have been crawling.”

“He offers to take Ford to Mexico with him, gives him some very good incentives.”

“Look at that, it makes me want to puke. I guess getting stuck with one killer’s better than facing thirteen, though. God, that’s disgusting!”

“Right here, Crum puts a stop to it by drawing his gun. Otherwise Jamie would have had him.”

“That little sissygun. Jeez, Jamie, you told me you had other weapons. Now I know what you meant.”

“He used up an awful lot of time, Kent.”

“Minutes that enabled us to get there.”

George hit Pause,held his sergeant’s shoulder again.“There’s one other thing, son, we know it from his audio. Jamie knows you’re coming.”

Kent looked up sharply. “Really?”

A shiver crawled down Slaughter’s spine. He hit Play. “He not only predicts the outcome, exactly as it happened; he calls you by name. These are his exact words. ‘Kent’s coming. You’ll be dead.’ Remember that, son.”

“I will. Oh, Jamie.” Kent straightened. “I will, sir. Thank you very much.”

Then Kent got to watch the play-by-play of Jamie being whipped and finally stabbed. Kent rubbed his face, his voice went wooden. “He must never see this. Never.”

“With guilty pleas we’ll be able to seal it for life. Won’t even have to show it in court. He’ll never know.”

“He’d be devastated. It’s devastating to me.” Kent covered his eyes.

George held him, “How are you sleeping?”

“Nightmares. They’ll be worse now.”

“How about eating?”

“Mom takes care of me. Chief, I can always eat. It’s no fun but I do it, and it helps to have her food. We eat together. My Mom’s the greatest.”

“Are you working out?”

“Yes, sir, that’s a help. Guess I’m working out for both of us now, since he can’t do it. But I want you to know, as tough as this thing is, I’m all right. I’m not damaged goods, sir. I’m real emotional about it, but I’ll get through it. Even if he dies, I got to know him for two weeks.” Kent fought back tears. “I got to care about the man.”

“I liked what you said earlier. ‘Of course I can handle it, I’m a state trooper.’ That’s the right attitude, son. It’s exactly what I expected of you. This is a terrible time, but I have nothing but confidence in you. Are you talking to the counselors?”

“Chaplain. It’s in God’s hands, ya know? I’ve seen the shrink once. But who helps the most is Doc Helmreich. He knows first-hand what officers go through. And it don’t bother him about… Gay people. Doc knew Rick. And he really respects Jamie. I’m so glad Jamie got me to pull Doc into this. He’s been important.”

George knew. He’d been lobbied too.

When the shootout footage was over, Kent said, “They’ve all got reservations at the Hotel Death Row.”

“Damn right. Now Kent, listen up: by befriending Jamie, getting in tight with your CI, you carried out my orders when we met here that night. I asked for the killer’s head on a platter. That’s exactly what you gave me. And that is why, sergeant, you face no disciplinary action by this department. I’ve reviewed it, like you asked. Instead of disciplinary action, I’ve nominated you for Trooper of the Year.”

Kent’s brown eyes looked at him, trying to take it in. “But I let him out of my sight.”

“Shit happens,” Slaughter muttered. “Reagan got shot. You think they fired the Secret Service? They didn’t. Faced with a shooter, it was the Secret Service that saved Reagan’s life. It’s an exact parallel, Kent. You saved the man’s life.”

Kent let out a huge sigh. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t be foolish. You solved a serial murder ring that’s eluded us for fifteen years. It’s not like you to think so negatively. The only reason you’re beating yourself up is because you have feelings for your informant. You have to create a new mental file to analyze this correctly. If it were any other CI, sure, we’d all feel terrible, but we’d also recognize that he was a fully responsible team member who knowingly put himself at risk and paid a price. Suppose it was an officer who went down. There’d be five hundred police cars at the man’s funeral, bagpipes, the works. But there hasn’t been a funeral yet.

“Son, I’m not telling you not to feel. I’m telling you to have, in addition to your feelings, some professional detachment.”

Kent had to think, but he knew the major was handing him a big puzzle piece. “You’re right, sir. I’ve been lax, huh? I’m sorry.”

“Your reaction is completely normal, son. Any officer in your situation would need that reminder. You haven’t been lax, you’ve been torn apart. Who wouldn’t be, for Chrissake?” Hell, I fell for him too, years ago.

“You’re a tremendous man, major. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Kent, it’s so good to work with you. One thing more. You’ve said you study every week for your lieutenant’s exam. Saturday nights, isn’t it? Saturday nights, when everyone else is out getting loaded and trying to get laid, there you are, studying to improve in your profession. Man, I want you to take that exam next spring; I want you to pass it. I want you promoted. I want you the youngest lieutenant in State Police history.”

Kent suppressed his emotion; asked if he could see the footage where Jamie fought back one more time.

Slaughter rose,clapped him on the back and said, “Once.Then you’re dismissed.” He left, dimmed the lights, closed the door so his sergeant could be alone.

***

The most important thing on that video to Kent wasn’t the evidence, it was Jamie’s getting aggressive; how well he fought back.

It even almost turned Kent on. He didn’t understand it, just felt it, with instant pangs of guilt; maybe the combination of sex and violence can stir Cro-Magnon feelings in anyone. He wouldn’t watch the whipping; once was too much, he felt every blow. It was Jamie’s fighting back that enthralled him.

Jamie’s mind; Jamie’s body. Kent allowed himself to feel turned on.

Pure, strong, masculine beauty.

The beauty was overwhelming. That was what a man should look like. That was how a man should act.

Nothing is more attractive than physical courage.

Dominating them all, an alpha male. Fighting back, it’s nature’s way. Pow, bad guy! Bet that one hurt!

Against all odds, against thirteen ruthless killers, the gun-hating Gay guy fought back.

42  

St. Pete

At 6 a.m. the next day, before schoolchildren stirred, Kent drew his duty weapon, pounded on the door, aimed. Lights were on; an old lady came. Kent let her see the weapon and said, “Mrs. Crum?”

She saw twenty other officers behind him, weapons drawn. She looked scared, surprised, but not quite.

“Sgt. Kent Kessler, Indiana State Police, with a warrant to search your house.”

“A warrant? Herman? Herman, get in here.”

“A warrant, valid in the state of Florida, which I now present you with. We’ve got your house surrounded. Does Herman have a weapon?”

Herman Crum appeared, yawning in his pajamas with no weapon. Kent said, “Ma’am, please admit us. It’s the law. You must admit us. Please let us in.”

She opened the door wider. “What do you want? Is my son all right?”

Kent stepped in. “Ma’am, you know exactly what we want. It’s all detailed on the warrant. Computer diskettes, videotapes, CD-ROMs, photographs, paper records, checkbooks, anything belonging to or relating to your son. He’s all right, we’ve got him on suicide watch.

Please sign here. By signing you are stating that you have been served

with this warrant and you admit us to the premises.”

“Oh, my poor Randy.”

Kent snorted. His poor victims. “Ma’am, sign here.”

She did. Kent noted the date and exact time, gave her a copy, pocketed the paperwork, motioned his team in. They holstered their weapons, hauled in boxes, garbage bags, equipment, fanned out to every room. St. Petersburg P.D. let George, Harvey and Bulldog in the patio door. Jack, Phil and Barry Hickman came in from the carport. “Now ma’am, you have a choice,” Kent said. “We will search every inch of your home. We’ll dig up your yard if we have to, we’ll rip open your upholstery. It’s your choice.

“If you’ll take me to the diskettes and other records you’ve received from your son, we’ll try not to trash the place, you’re a senior citizen. But if you stay in denial of a lawful order, you can expect to do home repairs for the next year.”

She led him right to the diskettes. Considerately, Dr. Randy had labeled and dated every one of them for Kent’s perusal, even supplied a handsome carrying case. With gloved fingers, Kent popped open the plastic box, beheld scores of neatly stacked disks.

Then she showed him the videotapes, in the spare bedroom with its own TV and VCR: Barlow. Billy Gregory. Chuckie Pont. Crum had been in on several of Schmidgall’s murders, but Schmidgall was right, he had nothing to do with murdering the Pont boy, that was all Crum’s doing. Freakazoid, I Know Who You Are.

***

At Major Slaughter’s suggestion, the other task force members used the St. Petersburg trip as paid time off too, so after the evidence was secured, they got to relax together. Jack brought his wife Marie and everyone got to meet her; she was a brunette beauty. Everyone went to the beach that afternoon; Kent was glad to strip down to swim trunks, soak up sun and think of nothing. Phil was his natural companion age-wise, little conversation, just occasional jokes and guytalk they could both do in their sleep. Bulldog and Hickman looked slightly ridiculous in their sunglasses, Hawaiian trunks and pale Ohio bellies, but they had the time of their lives ogling young, tanned Florida girls. Harvey sat under an umbrella with a sketchpad, while George sunned face-up, smoked stogies and took an occasional nip from his Glenlivet flask. Marie wore a one-piece bathing suit, had a very nice, fit, 40ish body with some serious cleavage. All the guys felt warmed by Jack’s love for her; a little envious. Jack teased Kent, “It ain’t just you young guys who get hot. Sweetest girl you ever met, Miss Jasper County, and she’s been mine for 22 years.”

“Life begins at 40, I’ve got 14 years to prepare. Who set your nose when it got broke, the town blacksmith?”

A couple of bikini’d women came up to Kent and Phil and invited them to play volleyball. Kent looked at Phil and said sure. They followed the ladies, while behind them Bulldog called, “Go for it, guys, ooh-la-la!”

Hickman told Bulldog, “Wouldn’t violate my marriage vows to play a game or two.”

“Why, Barry, what would the preacher say, you lusting in your heart?”

“Ain’t my heart that’s lustin’.”

Later they ate seafood at a place the locals frequented. The major got a little tight. They weren’t driving, so Kent did too.

The hospital didn’t call.

***

The next day at the end of his workout, Kent knew he wanted to be alone, not with a big group; he had things to sort out in his mind. He didn’t want to face them directly, but he knew they were there.

Bulldog and Hickman were eager to get back to bikini beach, while Jack and Marie talked about hitting the antique stores. Everyone suspected that really meant staying in the hotel with the shades drawn, but they grinned and went along. Slaughter said, “I know a beach near Sarasota, forty miles south of here. Very different.”

Phil asked, “How so?”

“Families at one end, clothes-optional at the other.”

“Cool,” Phil said.

Harvey smiled, “Cooler still with no clothes on.”

George said, “Kent, what do you need?”

Kent shrugged, “Alone time. To kinda brood, I guess.” So the four single men drove to Sarasota. George and Harvey paired up, Phil headed straight for the nude beach and Kent sat, looking at the gulf, seeing universal waters, seeing nothing.

He slowly realized he was depressed. He had every right to be, but still.

In front of him little kids squealed, chasing waves out, then running back hollering when the waves rolled in. He looked at their little legs and chests, the delight on their faces. Wanted his own kid someday.

Might not have one, now that he was in love with Jamie Foster. It was the first time he consciously had the thought. Then his mind went blank.
***

Half an hour later he stood and stretched; maybe he didn’t want to be at the family beach anymore. Why confine himself to other people’s kids when there were clothing-optional adults a mile or two away? He told himself he’d just look. Maybe he’d meet a girl there. Maybe he’d meet a guy.

Maybe he’d meet himself. He headed for the nude beach.

It took quite a bit of hiking; he began to doubt the place existed. Idly he watched the families, the couples having fun or yelling at each other. It seemed like a world he no longer quite belonged to.

He needed time off after a critical incident.

Would Jamie ever see this place? Would Kent ever take him there? Probably not.

He so wanted the hospital to call, to say Jamie was all right.

Either Kent’s directions were wrong or there was no nude beach. He was about to turn back when he spotted a tall, topless brunette with a nice set of knockers.

He smiled, suddenly cheered up. He liked knockers, always had.

She wore a bikini bottom and held hands with a little boy naked as a flamingo. Then the boy took off, trying to capture a seagull, which lifted effortlessly away.

Few places in the world emphasize freedom of knockers; it ought to be a constitutional right. Kent grinned, wondered what Phil was up to by now.

Kent headed past teenage couples, naked families who surprised him; a couple of retired ladies didn’t mind that their breasts no longer qualified for Playboy. People on this end of the beach chattered happily, they played, they didn’t argue. They were utterly blasé about the nudity surrounding them. Men didn’t have erections, they played catch with their kids. Eight teenagers played volleyball, guys and gals both, and though they had to be horny, they didn’t say a single thing different from what clothed teenagers would say.

He began to want to take off his swim trunks.

Other people wore bathing suits, spectators, odd people out. Why would anyone wear clothes when the norm was nothing at all?

Clothes weren’t nature’s way. He slipped his trunks off his hips, wadded them up and walked on.

He felt the gulf breeze on his ass, between his legs. Wind on skin, was there a finer sensation? He liked his body, and he could tell from the looks he got that others did too, men and women both, boys and girls.

He passed a young man, longhaired, with a slim, tanned body. Kent openly looked at him. Why go naked if not to be looked at? Did Kent like that body?

Maybe, a little, but compared to the blond picture in his head it wasn’t so great. What did he feel about the guy’s body?

It had a certain beauty, like the brunette with the knockers, like the naked son who tried to capture seagulls. Like the older ladies worshipping the sun. What pleasure and surprise he felt to stumble into freedom, to feel the sensation of his quads and gastrocs and glutes propelling him ahead.

He had seen athletic men’s bodies his entire life. They didn’t all look the same. Pitchers and catchers carried some extra weight because of the pounding their bodies took. First basemen were taller than second basemen and shortstops. The hot corner required muscle and speed, a great throwing arm. Outfielders, himself among them, had the most proportional bodies, the most beautiful ones. For home run hitters like himself, add big, soft hands and an extra 10 or 20 pounds of muscle.

He missed playing and hitting home runs.

He’d always touched guys’ bodies, teammates, coaches, and they touched him back, the game couldn’t be played without it. Touching was so normal he never thought a thing. He enjoyed it, though, missed teammates’ hands on him the last few years. The last time he got a therapeutic massage, he realized his skin hungered for touch, had grown unaccustomed to it. He jumped when the therapist started to work on him.

He liked touching Jamie, but Jamie never touched him back. Like it all meant something sexual, when it didn’t. Or maybe did.

With Jamie, touching was definitely sexual. Pat his butt and he’d haul out an M-16.

That was why Jamie never touched him back, he’d never move on a Straight guy. Kent wanted to tell him it was okay sometimes. Then, screw the sometimes, it was okay.

Kent’s eye was drawn to a blonde woman who sat with her back to him. He paused, studying her. He remembered the first time he’d ever seen yellow hair, on a mistreated little boy in a movie musical. Kent stared at Oliver’s hair, trying to make sense of such a wonder. Why did it stir such feelings in him? Why did he almost envy it?

Natural blond hair is rare; that makes it special. Kent felt rare and special as an athlete, but he didn’t have blond hair.

He frowned, shrugged and moved on. A few nights ago he’d creamed his jeans, blond hair was so special. Couldn’t argue that wasn’t sexual.

Without thinking enough to decide anything, Kent knew he’d love Jamie without becoming Gay. Jamie was an individual. Kent loved his personality; he didn’t wear dresses and Kent wasn’t Gay. Jamie was an aberration maybe, a phase.

If not he’d deal with it later. Kent had loved guys before; Tim Virdon came immediately to mind, sitting in a lounge off the locker room as Tim cried his eyes out for his horribly sick daughter, and Kent held him. He remembered the feeling of holding a man.

It was fine for guys to love each other, nothing wrong with that. Kent didn’t have to throw over his whole self-image; he and Tim loved each other. Tim’s daughter beat the cancer; oh, the joy of that.

Kent liked knockers and he liked Jamie. He could live with the news.

Then something hit him in the pit of his stomach; what Jamie was doing to Dreadlocks that made Kent cream his jeans. Jamie was putting it to the guy, acting like a man. That’s what turned Kent on so much. He pictured the video of Jamie fighting back. Jamie was so manly, maybe he wasn’t Gay at all. Maybe he’d just fallen in with the wrong crowd.

Kent started to feel aroused, which wasn’t appropriate on a nude beach. He tried to think about building a garage for his new pickup.

He walked further, up a little dune where the vegetation changed. Something told him he might have crossed an imaginary line. He traveled on until he stopped in his tracks. Nothing but naked guys here, the air charged with sexheat. Turn around or walk on? Half-panicked, he let his body decide. He felt somewhat aroused again; he loved people looking at his major-league body. His feet walked deeper into the Gay section, until he finally came to a little swale so soft and private and inviting he had to lie down on it.

He soaked up sun.
***

At last Jamie came to him, naked too. Jamie touched his face, ran his fingers through his hair. They hugged and kissed, naked athletes together, making love on the beach.

Kent felt wet warmth on his dick. “Oh, Jamie, this is fantastic.” He opened his eyes and saw the setting sun on bright blond hair, bobbing up and down between his legs, Jamie’s back to him, sucking. “Man, come up here, let me love you.”

He pulled him up and around to kiss him—but it wasn’t Jamie at all, it was some unshaved beach bum with missing teeth. Kent screamed, scrambled up, grabbed his trunks and ran.
***