The Coldest Fear (31 page)

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Authors: Rick Reed

Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller

BOOK: The Coldest Fear
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CHAPTER
EIGHTY-THREE
Liddell flipped back to the beginning of Arnold's manuscript and read out loud.
“She sat on the edge of the bed, while I stood in front of her. Her eyes pleaded with me to understand why she had to find me. Why she needed to know who I was. What she hadn't understood was that it didn't matter who I was—only who I had become. And the only ones that know who I have become are no longer able to tell anyone.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Liddell said, then flipped forward a few pages, and continued reading aloud.
“I could feel the axe handle sticking through the belt in back of my pants. I'm not sure why I brought it. Maybe it was just the idea of having something familiar with me when I had to confront my long-lost sister.”
“Is this about Cordelia?” Liddell asked.
Jack was concentrating on driving, but he nodded. “That's what it sounds like to me.” They reached St. Phillips Road, the extreme edge of Vanderburgh County, and Jack turned off the unmarked vehicle's siren and dash lights. There was no traffic out here. “Read the last page,” he said to his partner.
Liddell rustled the pages and read the last page to himself. “Holy shit!” he said, and read the page again. “Is this where we're headed?”
In response, Jack stepped down even harder on the accelerator. Liddell picked up the radio microphone and called in to dispatch. “One-David-Seven,” Liddell said.
“One-David-Seven,” the voice on the radio answered.
“Please contact Indiana State Police, Posey County Sheriff Department, and the Illinois State Police. Advise them that One-David-Seven is traveling Code-Three west on State Route Sixty-Two en route to Shawneetown, Illinois. We are requesting Illinois State Police intercept and escort us into town. One-David-Six is with me,” Liddell said, telling dispatch that Jack was also in the car.
The dispatcher's voice remained calm, as if Liddell had just ordered a cup of coffee. “Understood, One-David-Seven. I have a message from One-David-One.”
One-David-One was Captain Franklin's radio call sign. “Go ahead for One-David-Seven,” Liddell said.
The dispatcher relayed the message. “One-David-One advises to call as soon as possible.”
“Understood, One-David-Seven out,” Liddell said and slipped the microphone back into the dash-mounted holder.
“Hey, Bigfoot,” Jack said.
“Yeah, pod'na.”
“Did I ever tell you how hot you make me when you talk on the radio, all police-like?”
Liddell laughed and tightened his seat belt. “Did I ever tell you how bad of a driver you are?”
 
 
Liddell was still reading Arnold Byrum's manuscript as their car neared Mount Vernon, Indiana. They had picked up an Indiana State Police escort two miles back near the Mead Johnson Pharmaceutical factory and hadn't even stopped for the light at Highway 62 and Highway 69.
The driver of the state police unit looked to be seventeen years old and had a death grip on the steering wheel of his cruiser as he blew Jack's doors in. Jack was doing over one hundred miles per hour at the time and wasn't comforted by anyone that drove more recklessly than did he. He just hoped the kid wouldn't get them killed driving through Mount Vernon, but to the trooper's credit he cleared the path ahead without creating too much chaos on the narrow downtown streets.
On the other side of town Jack stomped the accelerator and flew past his escort without a backward glance. In a few miles he would pass the toll booth that separates Indiana and Illinois. Apparently the Evansville radio dispatcher had called ahead because as Jack's car approached the tollbooth, the operator was standing outside it and waving them through. Jack politely slowed to eighty miles per hour as he flew through the narrow opening.
Jack heard Liddell chuckling. “What are you so happy about?” he asked his partner, unable to take his eyes off the road ahead.
“I've always wanted to do that,” Liddell said.
 
 
Back at police headquarters, Angelina Garcia was putting through a telephone call to Judge Abner Hudgins's office at the Circuit Court in Gallatin County. The phone rang only once before a woman's voice came on the line.
“Gallatin County Circuit Court. Judge Hudgins's Office. May I help you?”
“Yes. This is Angelina Garcia with the Evansville Police Department. Who am I speaking with?”
“You're the computer lady with those two detectives?” the voice said, not quite a question.
“Yes, ma'am. Can I have your name, please?” Garcia asked again. She hoped she wouldn't have to drag every piece of information from the woman. She knew what little Captain Franklin had been able to tell her about Jack and Liddell's hasty departure from Arnold Byrum's house, and an idea had occurred to her. She wanted to check it out before she said anything to the captain.
Ten minutes and a very sore ear later, she was off the phone and waiting by the fax machine. Though her voice sounded young, Alice Drummond had been secretary to Judge Abner Hudgins for almost forty years. During that time she had kept all of his records, made his appointments, picked up his dry cleaning, and knew where all the skeletons were hidden. Angelina was excited about the information that would soon be coming over the ancient fax machine. She was pleased with herself that she had found information that Jack and Liddell had missed on their visit to the courthouse. But she didn't blame them too badly. After all, they were men and didn't know that if you want the real scoop, you should always ask the secretary.
CHAPTER
EIGHTY-FOUR
Indiana State Highway 62 crested a hill just before it turned into Illinois 141 at New Haven, Illinois. Liddell had the phone crammed into his ear to try and hear the captain over the noise of the road and the high-powered engine that Jack was torturing to death.
“Yes, sir. We'll keep you informed as soon as we get something,” Liddell said, and put the phone away.
He turned to Jack and said, “We should be meeting Detective Zimmer in a mile or so.”
Liddell had filled the captain in on the pertinent parts of the manuscript they had taken from Arnold's house, and had received permission to proceed with their trip. Not that Jack would have turned back even if the captain said to call it off.
“Captain Franklin has been on the phone with the Illinois State Police and they have promised full cooperation,” Liddell said.
Jack saw a sharp curve coming up and slowed. “Has anyone been able to raise JJ on his radio?”
“Chief Johnson said he has been trying to find him since this morning,” Liddell answered. “Not a peep, and none of the county or state officers have seen or heard from him. The chief said he is seeing a girl over in Kentucky, just across the river. The chief went by there but didn't see JJ's car.”
“Did you get an address for her?” Jack asked.
Liddell looked at the notebook propped on one huge leg. “Her name's Eunice and she lives in a little town called The Rocks, Kentucky. It's about five miles on the other side of the Wabash River. I have the address, but I'll have to get directions if you want to go there.”
Jack slowed for another sharp curve. “Let's see if Detective Zimmer can get us there,” he said.
Liddell shook his head. “How hard can it be to find a police car that looks like an Indy Five Hundred pace car?”
 
 
Lieutenant JJ Johnson was testing the limits of his Firebird and finding that it was built for looks, not stamina. He could feel the steering getting sloppy. The hundred-plusmiles-per-hour speeds were taking a toll on his unsteady nerves.
Just as the SUV closed on his rear bumper, the road straightened out and JJ floored the big engine. He pulled away from the SUV slower than he would have believed was possible.
What the hell has he got in that thing?
JJ wondered. Just then he heard a loud pop, and smoke poured out from under his hood.
 
 
“Jack,” Detective Zimmer said into the phone, “your captain filled me in, but what makes you think the killer's target is Lieutenant Johnson?”
Jack had slowed to a manageable speed now that he was within a few miles of Shawneetown. Detective Zimmer advised that he had driven the stretch of road that Jack was currently on and there was no sign of JJ. Instead of waiting for Jack and Liddell to arrive in town, he had gone to JJ's trailer. He had found nothing and JJ didn't have neighbors, so there was no one for him to ask about JJ's whereabouts. He was now on his way to Jon Samuels's old apartment to eliminate it from the list of places to search.
“I wondered if you could direct us to a place just the other side of the Wabash River called The Rocks?” Jack asked.
“You talking about Eunice Fetcho's place?”
Jack looked at Liddell and motioned for the notebook. Liddell held it up for him to read. “You know JJ's girlfriend ?” Jack asked.
“Ha. That's a good one,” Zimmer said. “She's not anyone's girlfriend, Jack. She's a police groupie. Her nickname is Eunice on the Rocks.”
“Can you give us directions to her place?” Jack asked.
Minutes later they were following the black unmarked vehicle of Detective Zimmer as he wound he way through Old Shawneetown and past the restaurant owned by Chief Johnson.
Liddell nudged Jack as they drove past the restaurant and pointed out the marked unit on the curb. Apparently Chief Johnson wasn't looking too hard for his nephew. “Think we should stop and see what the chief has found out?” Liddell asked.
Jack didn't really give a rat's ass about the chief. “Too bad the killer isn't going after his lard-butt.”
They followed Zimmer down Garfield Street in Old Shawneetown until it turned into Route 56 at the bridge where it crossed into Kentucky. On the bridge Zimmer picked up speed and soon they were cruising southeast down a road that cut through farm fields thick with dry cornstalks.
CHAPTER
EIGHTY-FIVE
Lieutenant JJ Johnson of the Shawneetown Police Department had done everything possible to lose his pursuer, but now his engine was smoking and he was losing power. Soon he knew he would have no choice but to pull over and then he would be dead.
There was another popping sound. A thick black cloud of smoke belched out from under his hood and restricted his view through the windshield. The car lost power and slowed. But that didn't stop the SUV from executing a perfect maneuver that would put JJ out of action.
Cody stood on the gas pedal for most of the pursuit, gambling that the policeman wouldn't call for help. But he had given up hope of catching the faster Firebird when they hit the straightaway on Kentucky 56 going northwest toward Shawneetown. In another five miles he would be unable to stop JJ from drawing attention that Cody wanted to avoid.
And then, as if fate had interceded on his behalf, smoke billowed from underneath the Firebird and then blew like a smudge pot with such a thick black cloud that Cody had to back off.
He eased back a few feet and noticed that the Firebird was slowing. Seeing his chance, Cody pulled into the left lane, close to the center line, and lined his right front bumper up with the left rear quarter-panel of the Firebird. Cody cut the wheel hard to the right and executed a perfect maneuver he had watched police perform countless times on television.
The SUV pushed the car into a sideways spin at nearly seventy miles an hour. When the Firebird was perpendicular to the SUV, Cody stomped the gas and rammed the Firebird broadside, driving it down the road sideways.
JJ barely had time to register that he had been struck when he was struck again and was now sliding sideways down the highway, his tires squealing. A new smell entered the passenger compartment from the burning rubber. The side air bag deployed, but it only served to blind JJ to what was coming. Then he was rolling, a sound like thunder in his ears, as the passenger compartment bent at odd angles toward and then away from his. The Firebird tumbled end over end across the road and off into a field.
Cody slammed on his brakes and watched with fascination as the smoking Firebird lifted onto its side and then began a death roll across the tarmac. He came to a rest on the side of the road and watched as the body inside the vehicle was tossed around like a rag doll. The Firebird rolled at least a dozen times before bouncing into the field and then going end over end until it teetered on its front end and fell with a great thud onto its top, coming to rest a hundred feet off the roadway and tearing a jagged path through the brown cornstalks.
Cody listened for a full minute until he was satisfied that no help was coming. He would have to hurry. The Firebird was still sending up a thick cloud of smoke and Cody didn't want any company while he finished his work.
He pulled on a thin pair of leather gloves, picked the bone axe up from the passenger seat next to him, and popped the back hatch of the SUV. He retrieved a small container of gasoline.

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