The Coldest Fear (35 page)

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Authors: Rick Reed

Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller

BOOK: The Coldest Fear
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CHAPTER
NINETY-FIVE
Susan finished the note for Jack, checked that Cinderella was comfortable, and locked the cabin door behind her.
No Jack. No call,
she thought, and sighed. It was late, and the moon was hidden behind heavy clouds. Tomorrow threatened rain and she needed to weatherproof a basement door where she had found a leak during the last downpour.
She got into her baby-blue Honda del Sol and adjusted the clips that held the hardtop in place. The car was about the size of a postage stamp, but had the speed and maneuver-ability of a race car. She started the engine.
She remembered how Jack had reacted the first time he had seen her tiny car. How he'd made a big show of trying to get into the car, like he was stuffing himself into a sardine can. But on the infrequent occasions that she wore a skirt, the car seat had a way of making it ride a little high on her legs. That was the only thing Jack liked about the car.
She backed out and turned toward Lynn Road, making her way west along the river road that would take her to downtown Evansville. Getting on Riverside Drive, she turned down the street that paralleled the river and then into the driveway of the three-story bed-and-breakfast that she had purchased and was restoring.
She was almost too tired to fight with the heavy door on the carriage house and thought about leaving the car in the driveway, but then remembered the coming storm. The latches on the car's hardtop were a little hinky at times and a high wind might blow the top off.
She pulled herself from the car and wrestled the heavy wooden door up.
As she started back to her car the rain came. It beat down with such ferocity that she stood in the doorway to the carriage house, thinking that she should not have left the keys in the car. She grabbed a heavy hooded jacket from a peg on the wall just inside the doorway and slid into it, then ran for the vehicle and dove inside.
 
 
Cody watched the car stop outside the building. A good-looking blonde got out and opened the overhead door. She was coming back out when the skies opened and a torrent of rain fell. Cody liked the rain. It would make this much easier. He could use the noise to cover his entry into the house. And then he'd gut the bitch like a catfish and leave her head in Murphy's cabin. Minus the face, of course. That was his. When Murphy came home and found her head, he would lose his . . . literally. Cody couldn't wait to collect Jack's face.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The faces of his sister and mother came to him. They were together now—wherever they were—and they were happy. His father's face had ceased to come into his consciousness some years ago.
Too bad it was missing from my collection.
He reached across the seat, putting his right hand on top of the leather case that had been with him since his release from the asylum.
Inside the simple leather satchel that was held closed by a single strap were the faces of his enemies. He had fought with evil, conquered it, and carried its faces to remind him of how far he had come. “Veni, vidi, vici,” he said softly.
“I came, I saw, I conquered.”
The words were written by Julius Caesar in 47 B.C. as a comment on his short war with Pharnaces II of Pontus in the city of Zela, which is in Turkey. Cody had enjoyed reading about great military leaders during his imprisonment in the asylum. He admired their bold campaigns.
He heard a noise and opened his eyes. Looking across the children's park where he had parked the stolen truck, he saw the little blue car backing out of the garage.
Where the hell is she going?
He shifted into drive and rolled forward. When the Honda del Sol reached Riverside Drive he was less than fifty yards behind it. She headed east on Riverside and turned south onto Waterworks Road.
This is the way to Murphy's cabin,
he thought.
Well, that works for me.
He planned on leaving part of her there anyway, so maybe this would be more convenient. He wouldn't have to risk driving to Murphy's with a head on the front seat. He could kill her there and then wait for Murphy to come home. “Honey, I'm home,” he said out loud, and chuckled.
The car picked up speed on Waterworks Road. Cody wasn't expecting her to run from him.
She couldn't have seen me watching her house.
He knew that Murphy was still at the police station, where he would now have to have a meeting with Liddell, Garcia, and the chief of police about the telephone calls he had made.
There's no way Murphy has this figured,
he thought. But just to be sure . . .
Cody took Cordelia's cell phone from his pocket and punched in the number for the office at the police station. The phone rang five times before Jack Murphy picked up.
“Murphy,” the voice said angrily.
Cody closed the phone and broke the connection. He pressed the accelerator down and felt the truck hurtle forward in pursuit of the blue del Sol.
Waterworks Road runs between Riverside Drive, where it intersects with Veterans Parkway, and U.S. Highway 41. Two miles of straight road with no hills or turnoffs. Nothing on either side but dead cornfields. It reminded Cody of the pursuit he'd had earlier in the day with Lieutenant Johnson, but this time he had the advantage of having a bigger engine and no curves to deal with.
She poured on the speed as he came up close behind her and was pulling away, but he knew her flight was futile. In the end he would catch her and take her face.
About a quarter mile west of Highway 41, the little car veered off the roadway and seemed to disappear in the cornfield. Cody locked up the brakes, but the heavy truck slid on the rain-slickened blacktop, flying past where the small car had disappeared.
Cody put the truck in reverse and backed to where he found a small dirt road running between the fields. He had never seen it before, but then, he really didn't travel these roads all that much. Maybe it was a farm road to get into another part of the field?
He drove to the end of a row and came to a T-intersection. He pulled forward enough to see both directions, but it was pitch black. He turned the ignition off and rolled his window down. To his left he could hear the low throaty growl of the Honda. He cranked the starter and headed that direction.
About two hundred yards down that path he came to what looked like some kind of pumping station. The tall metal structure was a twist of green-painted pipes housed on a concrete base with a door set in the side. In his headlights he could see the back end of the Honda sticking out from behind the structure. He noticed there was exhaust coming from the Honda, and the door to the pumping station was ajar.
Cody shut off his engine and picked the bone axe from the passenger seat.
“Susan,” he said in his television anchor reporter voice, “there's no place to hide, hon. Why don't you come out and talk to me? I just want to talk about Jack.”
Something metallic clanked inside the structure.
Is she trying to find a weapon?
Cody wondered.
Well, I think mine is bigger than hers.
He approached the door and shoved it open with his foot. “If you don't come out it's going to get messy.”
There was no further noise from inside. No crying. No sounds of scurrying around trying to find a nonexistent hiding place. She didn't even have the good sense to beg for her life.
Time to end this,
he thought, and moved into the opening.
The cell phone in his pocket rang. He stopped and felt for the phone. Plucking it from his pocket he saw the number displayed on the tiny LCD screen. It was Murphy.
Perfect,
he thought.
He flipped the phone open with one hand, the bone axe poised in the other, and said, “Guess where I am, Jack?”
The voice that came over the phone sounded funny. It was definitely Jack Murphy, but it almost sounded like he was on the phone and . . .
“I know where you are,” Murphy said, and a deafening blast echoed around inside the concrete structure.
Cody's face registered surprise just before a red bloom of liquid trickled down the middle of his forehead. The back of his skull was blown into the cornfields, where it could later become a delicacy for the crows. Cody collapsed in the doorway of the pumping station, the phone still in one hand, the axe in the other.
“Game over,” Jack Murphy said.
EPILOGUE
The FBI grilled Jack for five straight hours inside the Federal Building, which was conveniently located just across the street from the police station. Agent Frank Tunney remained mostly silent while three local special agents asked every question they could think of, but somehow skipped over the question of why Jack had driven Susan's car into the cornfield in the first place.
Captain Franklin followed procedure and had taken Jack's weapon and badge pending a full shooting board and Internal Affairs inquiry. Jack wasn't worried. It was a routine he'd been through before. And, unknown to anyone but Liddell, he still had two backup guns at home.
Liddell and Garcia had fawned over him like mother hens until Jack had threatened to shoot himself—or them—if they didn't stop.
All that remained was to face Susan, whom he had scared half to death when he had grabbed her inside her carriage house and hijacked her car. He'd explained that the man in the truck across the street was the killer they had been looking for and had further given her the bad news that the killer was there for her. She had insisted that he wait for backup and Jack had made some kind of excuse why he couldn't do that. He wished he could remember what lie he'd told her now. She had promised to meet him at his cabin that morning. That was where he was now headed, almost six hours later.
As he pulled up in his rear parking area he noticed two things. His personal vehicle—a 2010 Jeep Cherokee—was there, but Susan's Honda del Sol was not.
Maybe crime scene is still going over it,
he thought, but couldn't imagine what they expected to find. He'd been told that they had recovered a suitcase full of mummified faces from the front seat of the stolen truck. And that they had found the very much deceased owner of the truck—also missing his face—lying on the floor of a room at the Alpine Hotel. Apparently Cody wasn't as concerned about covering his tracks, or making an escape, as he was about getting to Jack Murphy.
He parked his unmarked vehicle next to his Jeep and walked around the side and up onto the front porch. The sun was barely up, and the cabin seemed unnaturally quiet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet case. He flipped it open and looked at the two-carat princess-cut diamond solitaire. It had cost him more than he'd paid for his Jeep.
It was Susan's birthday, and he'd managed to buy the jogging suit for her. He found the front door locked, the cabin quiet and empty. Jack didn't know what he had expected. Maybe a welcome home from Susan, a big kiss, a “thank you for not letting him kill me,” and then some Chinese takeout and sex. But what he found instead was Cinderella.
He remembered then that he had asked Susan to pick the dog up at Branson's Veterinary Clinic and take her to the cabin. The dog looked up from the couch and growled softly at him. He noticed on the living-room floor was what looked like a pillow that had been shredded and the batting was stuck to one of his favorite blankets.
On the small table near his recliner was a handwritten note from Susan that read:
Dear Jack,
I'm sorry I couldn't stay. I hope you'll understand. I fixed a bed up on the floor for Cinderella. There's something about her that makes her the perfect female presence in your life. I know she doesn't seem to like you, but if you treat her like a lady I'm sure she'll come around. (Me too.)
PS: I bought peanut butter and chicken breasts at the store. The chicken is in the fridge. The vet said Cinderella is to get the antibiotic twice a day and the pain pill each morning. She took them fine for me, but if she won't take them Brent said to put the pills in a little peanut butter. She loves the peanut butter. If that doesn't
't
work boil a chicken breast and bury the pills in the chicken.
She's a very sweet girl. Good luck, hon.
Xoxoxo
Susan
Jack went to the kitchen table and found two amber-colored plastic bottles from the vet's office and a large jar of peanut butter.
He took one of each of the pills out of the bottles and then opened the peanut butter. He scooped out a large dab on his forefinger and buried both pills inside the glob.
“We get you well, then get you out of here,” he said to the dog, who cocked her head as if listening.
I'll give the dog the medicine and then call Susan,
he thought.
“You want some of this?” he said to Cinderella and held out the peanut butter.
Cinderella cocked her head to the side, keeping her keen eyes on him. He came a little closer and her ears perked up.
“Okay, you get a peanut-butter/pain-pill cocktail, and I'll have a couple of Guinnesses.”
When his finger with the peanut butter came near her snout, Cinderella began to growl.
“Bite me and I'll shoot you myself,” Jack muttered and continued pushing the peanut butter toward her.
She leaned forward and sniffed, then poked out her tongue and lapped the glob from his finger.
When she had eaten it all, Jack pulled his hand back slowly and then wiped it on his pants leg. “That wasn't so bad now, was it?” he said.
Cinderella's head moved up and down as if she were going to vomit, but instead she spit the pills out on the floor.
“Awwww,” Jack said, and went into the kitchen to boil the chicken.
The box from Hibbett Sports lay on the table. He would buy a card after he got some sleep. It was a start.

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