Murder Comes by Mail (17 page)

Hank yanked his pencil out of his pocket and drew a messy beard on the man’s picture in the paper. “How about now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Hank tapped his pencil on the man’s picture. “Take a better look.”

“I’m looking, Daddy.” Tears floated up into Rebecca Ann’s eyes. “I don’t know whether it was him or not.”

Michael put his hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Easy, Hank. She’s doing her best.”

Hank stared up at him. “But it has to be him.”

“Let me talk to her.” Michael stooped down to eye level with Rebecca Ann. The tears were still there and she was struggling to keep her lips pressed together over the braces on her teeth. “Forget the picture, Rebecca Ann. Just describe him the way you remember him looking.”

She wiped the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand as she thought about it. “I didn’t pay much attention except for the sunglasses. I could see my reflection in them, one of me in each lens.”

“Did you notice his hair? What color it was?” Michael asked.

“He had on some kind of hat. Like a fishing hat or something. I think it was dark green.” Rebecca Ann sighed. “He was just some old guy I didn’t know. When he gave me the envelope, I figured it was wedding pictures or something for Dad to put in the paper.”

“So did he hand you the pictures and drive off?” Michael asked.

“No. He kind of acted strange. He waved the envelope out the window at me, but then when I tried to take it, he held on like he wasn’t going to give it to me after all. Then all of a sudden he let go and leaned out the window to tap me on the forehead and tell me not to forget.” Rebecca Ann frowned. “The weirdest thing, he had on gloves.”

Behind them, Barbara gasped, but Michael kept his eyes on Rebecca Ann. “Gloves?”

“Yeah. I mean it was really hot today and he had on these black gloves. Like Daddy’s leather gloves he wears in the winter. I didn’t notice them till he reached out to touch me. I didn’t like that. I mean, grownups are always patting you on the head and stuff, but this was different.” Rebecca Ann shuddered a little.

Hank hovered behind her as though unsure of whether to comfort his wife or grab Rebecca Ann in a hug. Michael ignored him and kept his eyes on Rebecca Ann. “Why?”

“I don’t know. The gloves maybe. The sunglasses. I don’t know. It just creeped me out. Anyway, when I jerked back away from him, I tripped on the edge of the sidewalk and fell down.”

“Then what happened?” Michael asked.

“That was creepy too. He laughed—you know, like he thought it was funny that I fell down. Then he waved and drove off.”

“Did you notice his license plate?”

“Uh-uh. I dropped my swimming goggles and stuff when I fell, and by the time I got it picked up, he was gone. So I came on home and got something to drink.”

“You weren’t curious about the pictures?”

Rebecca Ann shrugged. “Not really. I turned on the TV and sort of forgot about them. I mean, the guy was weird, but when I go out with Dad, we’re always running into weird people. Mama says you have to be weird to live in Hidden Springs to begin with.” Rebecca Ann glanced behind her at her mother.

Barbara Leland sat up too straight on the couch, twisting a tissue into shreds. She hadn’t said anything since Michael got there, but she looked ready to spring to her child’s defense at the first wrong word.

“But you did look at them.” Michael kept his voice soft.

“Obviously,” Rebecca Ann said, then blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be smart.”

“That’s okay. I guess that was obvious.” Michael gave her a little smile. “Just tell me what you did.”

“Mom saw the envelope and asked what it was. I told her they were probably wedding pictures, but when I pulled them out, they weren’t.” Rebecca Ann peeked back at her mother again and then stared down at her hands. “Mom got real upset.”

“So she called your dad?”

“Actually I called him. I thought he might be able to calm Mom down, but he went totally berserk. Even worse than Mom. You’d have thought it was me in the pictures.”

Behind her, Barbara moaned and covered her face with her hands. Hank lost his indecision and wrapped his arms around Rebecca Ann. “Don’t say things like that, honey.”

She pushed her father away. “Stop it, Dad. You’re squishing me.”

Hank stepped back reluctantly, but kept one hand on her arm.

Rebecca Ann looked past him to Michael. “It was that reporter on TV, wasn’t it? The one who came out here and interviewed you after you kept that man from jumping off the bridge.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I saw something on TV about her. She was really pretty in the pictures they showed of her.”

“She was,” Michael said.

“But why did you think it was the guy on the bridge that gave me the pictures?”

“Because of some other things that came in the mail,” Michael said.

“Other pictures?” Rebecca Ann asked.

“Yes.”

“Of somebody dead?”

“Yes.” There was nothing for it but to tell her the truth.

“You think the guy that took the pictures did that to her?”

“Seems the reasonable thing to think,” Michael answered.

“Was he the guy who gave me the pictures?” Rebecca Ann shivered and wiped the corners of her mouth again.

“I don’t know,” Michael admitted.

18

There was a lot he didn’t know. He left Hank hovering over his daughter and drove around town looking for the blue Oldsmobile. The man was surely long gone, but Michael needed to do something while he waited for Whitt and company to arrive from Eagleton. He wasn’t looking forward to Eagleton’s finest taking over Hidden Springs. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t been more insistent about getting through to Whitt about the teddy bear earring still in his pocket.

Kim Barbour had been wearing gold earrings in the picture he’d seen, but if Jackson tried to plant something of hers in his house, at least he’d have to break a lock or window this time. Somehow Michael didn’t think that was going to happen. The killer didn’t seem to be following a specific pattern, but Michael had no doubt the man had a plan. A plan that included Hidden Springs.

The town was quiet except for the roar of lawn mowers chewing up grass. On Court Street, a few kids kicked around a ball. At the elementary school some high school boys were shooting basketballs in spite of the heat curling up from the blacktop court.

Nothing was out of order. Michael knew every car he passed and every face he saw on the street.

He tried to empty his mind of thoughts of a monster stalking his town and think about the situation logically. Jackson or whoever was driving Jackson’s car had to have gotten to Hidden Springs some way. No buses delivered people to Hidden Springs. A hitchhiker or walker drew a lot of attention out on the interstate, and a stranger on foot in Hidden Springs was rare enough that, often as not, a shopkeeper would call the police just in case the person was up to no good.

So it was probable the man had driven to Hidden Springs or someone had brought him. Psychos were loners. They didn’t work in pairs. So what could explain Rebecca Ann saying the man who gave her the pictures didn’t look like Jackson’s picture?

Who but Jackson would even know his car was here in Hidden Springs or have a key? Of course, a car could be hotwired easily enough. And Jackson could have intentionally disguised himself with the hat, beard, and mirror glasses. The winter gloves might have simply been to be sure none of his fingerprints were on the envelope.

Betty Jean radioed him that Detective Whitt was in town and headed to the Leland house.

“Okay, I’m on my way back over there,” Michael told her.

“You didn’t spot him—?”

Michael cut off her question. “Remember the town has ears.”

“Yeah, okay, but did you?”

“No such luck. But track down Buck and bring him up to date. He could be patrolling out at the interstate.”

“Sure thing, Michael. Then I’m locking up. I’ve got Bunco tonight at my house, and dust is an inch thick on my lamp tables. Plus, the girls will be disappointed if I don’t bake my lemon squares.”

“The sheriff come in?”

“I tried to get hold of him, but they’ve taken Grandma Potter to the hospital in Eagleton. He’s probably over there. I called, but she wasn’t in a room yet. I could page him, but what good would that do except get his blood pressure up. I’ll call him and fill him in later.”

“All right. Just be sure to get Buck before you leave.” Michael clicked off the radio. Buck probably wouldn’t turn up anything, but at least he’d be on the lookout.

At the Leland house, Michael introduced everybody, then leaned back against the doorjamb while the others gathered around the round glass-top kitchen table. Rebecca Ann stared through the glass at her feet as she went through her story again.

Whitt let her tell it all and then asked his questions. Did she know exactly what time it was? Had she ever seen the man before? Was anybody else around who might have seen the man talking to her?

Chekowski took notes, and when Rebecca Ann told Whitt the man didn’t much look like the one in the paper, Chekowski looked up and suggested a police artist. Whitt ignored her. Instead he fastened his eyes on Hank. “I think you can rest easy that your daughter is in no danger, Mr. Leland.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Barbara Leland spoke up, a tremble evident in her voice. “She’s not your daughter. We’re not staying here to take that chance.”

Whitt leveled his eyes on her. “Ma’am, if the man intended to hurt your daughter, he could have done so today. He simply used her as a messenger.”

Barbara didn’t shy away from Whitt’s stare. “We’re going. Tonight. To my parents’ house in Georgia.”

“Whatever you think best, ma’am. All of you going?” Whitt looked at Hank.

“I’ve got a paper to put out,” Hank said.

“Nothing stops the news.” Whitt’s lips turned up into something resembling a smile as he reached into his shirt pocket to pull out a business card. He handed it across the table to Barbara. “If your daughter remembers anything else, give me a call.”

“Don’t you think she should talk to your police artist first? Before they leave.” Michael spoke up for the first time. Chekowski kept her eyes on her notebook.

Whitt narrowed his eyes on Michael. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Deputy, since we already know what the perpetrator looks like. We have photos on hand.”

Michael clamped his lips together and kept quiet, but Hank didn’t let it go. “But, Detective, she’s not positive it was the same guy.”

“Mr. Leland, your daughter’s description clearly indicates the perp had disguised his appearance. A sketch of a disguise is next to useless.” Whitt chopped his hand through the air as though to close the matter. He settled his eyes on Rebecca Ann, who looked close to tears. His voice softened. “Rebecca, you’ve been a big help, but we don’t have any more questions now. If you think of anything else, you tell your mama and she’ll call me, okay?”

She nodded.

Whitt smiled at her, as human as Michael had seen him look. “And don’t you worry. We’re not going to let anybody hurt you.”

Whitt and Chekowski followed Michael back to the courthouse to check out the pictures he’d left there. All the offices had long since closed, and Whitt shifted from one foot to the other impatiently while Michael unlocked the back door to the courthouse and then the sheriff’s office.

Beside him, Chekowski was taking in the silent building with an expression near to wonder. “Doesn’t anybody break the law down here after hours?” she asked.

“We have a dispatcher over in the police chief’s office. Something happens, she knows where to find us.” Michael pushed open the door to the sheriff’s office and flicked on the lights. “We don’t have a lot of crime down here during or after hours.”

“Lucky you,” Chekowski said.

“Sounds boring,” Whitt said.

“Yeah.” Michael pointed out the envelope still on his desk where Hank had thrown it.

Whitt was all business again. “Who opened it?”

“Rebecca Ann. Then she showed her mother and father.”

“Did you look at them?” Whitt pulled a pair of plastic gloves out of his pocket and slid them on before picking up the envelope.

“I slid one out enough to see what it was. I didn’t touch them.” Michael didn’t like Whitt’s attitude, but he couldn’t do a lot about it. No doubt he would like it even less after he showed him the earring in his pocket.

“Is there a letter?” Whitt asked.

“I don’t know. I told you I didn’t take the pictures out of the envelope.”

Whitt dumped the envelope on the desk and spread out the pictures. Different girl, but shots eerily similar to the first set. One showed the young reporter, alive, looking intense but not frightened, and then the one Michael had seen earlier where she looked terrified. In the posed shots of the girl after she was dead, her head and hands were positioned exactly the same as Hope’s. But there was no sign of a bullet hole in Kim Barbour’s head.

“Same weapon?” Michael asked.

Whitt kept his eyes on the pictures without answering. Chekowski, for once not totally tuned in to Whitt, spoke up. “Same type. They’ll have to do the lab work before we know if it was the same gun. Of course, this shot was different. The fatal wound appeared to be under the ribs and up through the heart. At least it was quick.” The woman suddenly became aware of Whitt’s eyes on her. Color pinked her cheeks as she dropped her eyes to her feet. “Sorry, sir.”

Whitt sighed and looked back down at the pictures. “A little different MO but same killer. Widely dissimilar victims. Barbour wasn’t nameless. Far from it. And she wasn’t found in a church.”

“The radio said her body was found in her car in front of the television station,” Michael said.

“Only a fool believes everything on the news.” Whitt didn’t bother to let Michael know what, if any, part of the news could be believed. He scooted around the pictures. “Here’s the letter.”

Michael wanted to move close enough to read the killer’s words, but he stayed where he was on the far side of the desk. Best watch from a distance and do his best to not blow up at Whitt.

He could almost hear Aunt Lindy’s voice in his head giving him reasons to tamp down his anger.
A man who can’t control his temper is at the mercy of his emotions. Angry people lose arguments nine times out of ten. Seeing red keeps a person from thinking clearly.
He believed all that was right, but the red haze kept growing around Whitt’s head anyway.