The Coldest Fear (25 page)

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Authors: Rick Reed

Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller

BOOK: The Coldest Fear
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CHAPTER
SIXTY-FIVE
The killer was listening to the police scanner he had secreted in his SUV. A few modifications allowed him to hear the side channels as well as the main one. The side channels were the ones that had all the really important information. They were where the cops felt comfortable saying things they didn't want the general public or the news media to pick up. One thing he'd heard had made him angry and afraid at the same time. Agent Frank Tunney was in town. That was bad news.
Tunney was a serial-killer hunter. One of the best in the world. Tunney had been after him for several years now. This was the first time they'd been in the same state, much less the same city, at the same time. Being this close to the man made him uneasy, but at the same time it was exhilarating. Maybe this was his chance to stop the man from pursuing him. Maybe “The Cleaver” would pay a visit to Agent Frank Tunney.
If he left town now, Tunney was bound to be suspicious. He wasn't sure how Tunney had found out about the killings in Evansville, but then, his giving the stories to that little simpleton at the newspaper was like sending Tunney an invitation. He wondered if that wasn't what he subconsciously wanted. A showdown. Tunney's brain against Cody's bone axe.
He wiped some spots of blood from the bone axe and dipped it again in the mixture of bleach and peroxide he had prepared in a plastic bucket and thought about the night he'd found his mother.
She had looked at him in horror as he stood face-to-face with her inside her garage.
Horror, not recognition
, he thought. Even when he told her who he was she didn't seem to comprehend. All she did was whimper and stare at the axe in his hand.
He had dreamed of the day he would find her and she would cry and tell him how sorry she was that she had abandoned him. She would try to give him excuses. Try to make him understand why she had left him behind. But in the end it all came down to the same scenario. The axe would kill her just like it had killed his father. The axe had the power of life or death. It always chose death.
Those it killed had deserved it. His mother had deserved it. His father had deserved it. But Cordelia was different. She shouldn't have had to die.
If she had given him time to think none of this would have happened. But, after it was over, after he had killed her, he realized that it was the way it had to be. He had to wipe out the entire bloodline.
Nothing for it now, except to keep going. Move the pace up a bit. Give them less time to investigate, thus giving himself more time to plan how and when and where he would put an end to Frank Tunney and Jack Murphy.
He wiped the axe dry and wrapped it in a lightly oiled cloth before putting it in the canvas bag. It was time to go see the lawyer.
 
 
There was little room inside Samuels's apartment even when it wasn't littered with the butchered remains of two bodies. Chief Johnson rubbed at his neck and looked pallid.
“I think I'll wait outside,” he said and left the room.
“He doesn't look good,” Zimmer said.
Jack nodded toward the body of Jon Samuels. “He looks better than Samuels.”
“Let's get out of here,” Liddell said. “I think we're in the way.” The three lawmen exited the apartment, stood outside the doorway, and watched the crime scene techs work their magic.
“The chief said his office received an anonymous call of a disturbance out here. The call came into their dispatch at three-oh-four this morning. The caller disconnected before the dispatcher could get any further information. I've spoken to the dispatcher, and all she could tell me was that it was a man's voice. They don't have a recorded telephone line because the city council hasn't approved funding,” Trooper Zimmer explained.
They were all aware of how even the bigger departments were being killed by budget crunches. The wonder was that a town this small still had a working police department.
“Anyway,” Zimmer continued, “Chief Johnson tried to call Lieutenant Johnson to make the run but couldn't reach him. So he got dressed and came out here himself.” He looked at Jack and said in a low tone, “Apparently the chief has had some personal issues with one of the deceased men. Is that right?”
“He's homophobic, if that's what you're asking,” Liddell answered for Jack. “But I don't think you are looking at the chief for this, are you?”
Zimmer smiled. “No. I don't think he did this. But it may color some of his information about the deceased.”
Liddell said, “Looks like someone turned the place upside down. We didn't leave it like this when we served the search warrant.”
“The beds have been stripped, mattresses upturned, curtains pulled all the way down, and even the front cover of the a/c unit was kicked in and broken,” Tunney observed.
“Temper tantrum? Or were they looking for something?” Liddell ventured.
Jack thought it looked more like someone was searching and got angry when he didn't find what he wanted. Signs of unleashed anger were everywhere, including the overkill committed on the bodies.
“Signs of control and loss of it,” Jack said. “What do you say, Agent Tunney? Organized or disorganized killer? Or both?”
Tunney shrugged and said, “I'm going to check on the chief.” He walked off the porch and down the stairs to where Chief Johnson was leaning against one of the cars.
“That's it?” Detective Zimmer asked.
Jack shrugged. He couldn't answer for Agent Tunney, but he had no doubt that this killing and the previous ones were connected. Looking at the faceless skull that had once been the smiling face of Jonathan Samuels told him everything he really needed to know. Another thought struck him.
“Where's the dog?” Jack asked.
“Dog?” Zimmer repeated.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Samuels had a dog. Did anyone find it?”
The same crime scene tech who had given them the short tour through the crime scene butted in. “I took the dog outside when we got here.” He held out his arm and showed them a few small tears in his white Tyvek coveralls. “It was crouched on the floor between the guy on the couch and the one on the floor and growling. It looked hurt, and there was blood around its mouth, but I didn't see any bite marks on these two bodies. Damn thing bit me when I took it outside.”
Jack and Detective Zimmer exchanged a look. Jack asked, “Where's the dog now?”
CHAPTER
SIXTY-SIX
As soon as the three detectives stepped outside they heard a commotion brewing near the side of the building. Jack ran down the steps, taking them two and three at a time. When he hit the bottom he saw that Chief Johnson had his pistol out of its holster and was arguing with one of the uniformed state troopers.
Jack approached the altercation and could hear the trooper warning the chief.
“Listen, Chief, I know you have some jurisdiction here, but you have no right to shoot an animal inside this crime scene. Put your gun away, sir.”
Chief Johnson's face was full of fire.
“I'll tell you what, son,” Johnson said. “I was a cop when the best part of you ran down your momma's leg. This is my crime scene. My city. You are here to assist me. Not the other way around. You understand that, or did you screw your hat on too tight, son?”
The trooper's face was getting red as well when Jack stepped between the men.
“The dog is part of the crime scene, Chief Johnson,” Jack said in a calm voice.
“You stay outta this,” the chief yelled, and tried once again to point his pistol at the cowering dog that was partially hidden by the trooper's legs. It was giving a low menacing growl, but Jack could tell the animal was in pain, and there was blood around its snout.
“Look there, Chief,” Jack said. “It's got blood on it. That blood could be from the killer. The dog might have bitten him.”
“Well,” Johnson said, lowering the barrel of the gun slightly, then raising it again. “All the more reason to put the mangy mutt down. Easier to get blood samples that way.”
Jack got close to the chief 's ear and grabbed the hand that held the weapon, pushing the barrel toward the ground. “If you so much as touch that dog I'll take your head off,” Jack hissed.
The men locked eyes long enough for Chief Johnson to realize that Murphy was serious. As he looked up he saw that other big Evansville detective—the one they called the Cajun—striding toward him with a determined look on his face.
“Well, shit!” Chief Johnson said, putting his gun back in his holster and walking away. “Get that dog out of here.”
The trooper gave Jack a grateful smile, then looked embarrassed. “Couldn't let that old redneck shoot the dog, sir,” he explained. “I got a dog at home and my kids think it's one of us.”
“You did the right thing,” Jack assured him.
The dog tried to stand and gave a yelp, sitting back down on the gravel. Then it looked toward the entrance of the drive and howled loudly.
The men looked that direction and saw that a Channel Six news van with an antennae tower partially raised was parked at the mouth of the drive and a cameraman was busy filming them.
The trooper straightened his hat and tie and wiped his shiny shoes on the back legs of his trousers. The guy wasn't old enough to realize that the news media was no one's friend.
Jack recognized Claudine Setera standing off to the side taking notes. The Illinois troopers were standing back as if a goddess had descended from heaven. Jack knew that it was more likely an angel of death straight from hell. But it wasn't his crime scene and he couldn't tell the Illinois cops how to do their jobs. He noticed Lieutenant JJ Johnson lurking on the other side of the news van, checking his teeth out in the back window and running a hand over his shaved head.
Detective Zimmer had been standing on the porch watching the events in the parking lot. When he saw Claudine Setera spot Jack and head in his direction, he hurried down the steps to try and head her off. She was on a collision course with Jack Murphy.
“You really think the dog has DNA from the killer?” the young trooper asked.
Jack said, “Not really. But I wasn't going to stand around and watch that asshole kill it. And speaking of assholes . . .” Jack said, watching Claudine Setera coming his way.
“Be nice, Jack,” Liddell cautioned. Claudine Setera walked up to them.
“No comment,” Jack said, beating her to the punch.
“I haven't asked a question yet, Detective Murphy,” she said in her perfect television-mode diction.
“And you won't be asking Detective Murphy any questions about my crime scene, Miss Setera,” Zimmer said from behind her.
She turned in surprise and looked him up and down before putting a hand out. “Claudine Setera, Channel Six news, Evansville,” she said.
Detective Zimmer took her hand and said, “Illinois State Police, Miss Setera. I'm in charge of this scene, so I'd appreciate it if you would direct any questions to me. Not that I will be able to answer all of them, but I'll tell you what I can.”
Jack was relieved, but before he could extricate himself, Claudine leaned down and patted the dog on the head.
“What a . . . cute . . . doggy,” she said. To everyone's surprise the dog licked her hand and allowed her to rub its ears.
Jack looked across the lot to see Chief Johnson coming their way.
Not going to miss his Kodak moment,
Jack thought. Seeing a way to mend fences, he said for the benefit of the chief, “And Chief Johnson here pointed out to us that the dog should be taken somewhere to be examined to see if there might be evidence present that would be instrumental in identifying the perpetrator here. I was just about to take the dog to get examined.”
Chief Johnson's mouth tightened until Setera looked up at him and smiled, saying “You're a real humanitarian, Chief. A lot of lesser men would have tried to put the dog down.”
Johnson wasn't sure if she was having him on, but he was a politician at heart and knew how to turn the events to his benefit. “I agreed to let Detective Murphy take the animal, and I hope that he will also take it to a veterinarian to be sure it's not injured too badly.” Now he smiled at Jack, teeth gleaming like a shark.
Jack could sense that Claudine had seen the entire incident and knew that the chief was trying to kill the dog. She had to also know there was no way the dog would produce any evidence or the Illinois State Police wouldn't let Evansville detectives take the dog out of their jurisdiction. The fact that she'd kept her yap shut and turned the tables on the chief gave her a couple of points.
“You're a nice guy, Chief. Not the kind who would leave a lady stranded in a parking lot of a morgue in the middle of the night,” she added.
Scratch the points, bitch,
Jack thought.
Zimmer led Setera toward her news van, where they could get their thirty seconds of film for the afternoon news spot, leaving Jack and the others to make their getaway.
Chief Johnson spat on the gravel near the dog and said, “This don't change nothing, Murphy.” As he stomped away Jack could hear him mumbling to himself, and he wondered what would become of JJ once the news media had vacated the scene. Surely Chief Johnson had to know that it was his idiot nephew who had brought the news media to the feast.
The trooper watched Claudine Setera's every move. Without taking his eyes from her, he said to Jack, “You really gonna take that mutt to a vet?”
Jack looked at the dog and she bared her teeth at him. “Anybody got a muzzle?” Jack said.
Liddell laughed. “You gonna put it on Setera or yourself ?”
Jack didn't feel like smiling. He'd put his foot in his mouth and now he was stuck with a dog who kept looking at him like he was a steak.
“You're not as tough as you want people to think, Murphy,” the trooper said.
“He's just a cuddly teddy bear,” Liddell added. “So. What are we going to do with the dog?” Liddell asked. “I heard the Chief tell you to get it out of here or he'd shoot it.”
Jack looked at Liddell and grinned.
“You aren't putting that mangy injured animal in my clean car!” Liddell said.
 
 
Twenty minutes later they were going over the top of the big hill on Big Hill Road and heading back toward Evansville. Liddell was driving, Tunney in front, leaving Jack and the dog in the backseat in an uneasy truce. If Jack even shifted in his seat the dog would emit a menacing growl and bare her teeth.
“Hey, Jack. Don't you always say that no good deed will go unpunished?”
“It's not a good deed, Bigfoot. The dog might hold a clue to the killer's identity,” Jack responded, and looked at the dog, who was glaring at Jack suspiciously.
“What are you going to do with that animal, Jack? We're in the middle of a murder case,” Liddell reminded him.
“I'm going to put it in a suit and make it my new partner if you don't stuff a sock in it.”
“Touchy, touchy,” Liddell said. “Didn't Samuels say the dog hated straight men?”
Jack didn't respond. He was just thinking the same thing. And thinking how stupid he was for getting involved in this. He was just about ready to tell Liddell to pull over where they could turn the dog loose when Tunney, who until now had been silent, seemed to sense his thoughts once again and said, “Probably turning it loose out here by one of these farms would be the kindest thing to do.”
What the hell would the FBI know?
Jack thought. “I'm going to take it to a vet and then I'm keeping it.”
The car swerved across the center line as Liddell twisted in the front seat. “You're going to do what? You can't take care of a dog, pod'na.”
“Why not?” Jack said.
Liddell straightened the car out and slowed down. “Well, 'cause you live by yourself and you're never home and the dog would destroy your cabin, for starters. And you barely remember to feed yourself, much less give the dog that type of care.”
“And it hates you,” Tunney added.
Jack ignored Tunney's remark. “I don't live by myself all the time. Susan's there a lot, and the dog likes women.”
“Yeah, well, have you asked Susan if you can have a pet?” Liddell retorted. “And did I mention that we're in the middle of several homicide investigations and you won't be home much?”
“I think, Jack, that you are attaching yourself to the dog as a way to gain some control over these cases,” Tunney said. “It's not unusual for someone, especially someone such as yourself who is used to being in control, to try and regain a toehold.”
“Please, Agent Tunney. Save your profile for the killer.”
“He's right, Jack. The last thing in the world you need is a pet,” Liddell said.
Jack reached out a hand, palm up, toward the dog, and had to pull back before he lost some fingers. The snap of the dog's jaws was audible and Liddell said from the front of the car, “Told you so.”
“Listen,” Jack said starting to get angry. “This dog was the only friend that Jon Samuels had in his life, and it had enough guts to attack a serial killer. It deserves something for that. I'm going to make sure it gets a good home. I'm not keeping it. Okay? So drop it.”
“Just a reminder, pod'na,” Liddell said. “You had to get Claudine to put the dog in the car. How you planning on getting it out?”

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