Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel) (15 page)

Panic finally overruled all else and he started to run.

Kraemer grabbed him from behind before he had finished the second step. Then the taller boy, reaching for the music case, swung Preston around and into one of the pillars. He hit his nose, not hard enough to break it but blood began to gush. When he was pulled back to face the girls, Sunni vomited.

When David saw Sunni tossing up her lunch, he went into a rage. His planned afternoon down by the pond was ruined. He couldn’t kiss her with barf breath. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted a blow job with barf breath.

David turned on him and came forward. “Stupid, fucking wimp!” The animal look burned on his tanned face. He was crouched and his hard blue eyes were mere slits – one hand clenched into a vicious fist and the other hooked into a claw.

Preston desperately looked for an escape. Kraemer’s friends had backed off when they saw the look in their leader’s eyes. They were almost as frightened as Preston was. Preston realized that if he turned and ran, they wouldn’t stop him. He started the motion but ran into the pillar again and slammed against the wall.

David tried to land punches but the wall and the pillar impeded his swing. He started to drag Preston away from the wall.

Preston began to cry. Desperate for any protection, he reached between the pillar and the wall to anchor himself.

Frustrated, David grabbed his arm just below the elbow and pulled.

The sound of the cracking wrist echoed through the enclosure and Preston screamed. He slowly pulled his arm out of the hole in the bricks. His arm was suddenly numb and he felt the world spin as he stared at the bone sticking through the skin. Sunni threw up again.

David backed up, suddenly frightened. His friends were already cowering far in the back of the enclosure.

Tears streaming down his face, Preston cradled his arm against his body and staggered toward home. Behind him, David was recovering. Summoning up his remaining bravado, he started to chant, “Baby tears, baby tears.” Soon, the others had picked up the chant and were laughing at his retreating figure.

*

Tired and a little drunk, Lionel Hart opened his apartment door and was surprised to find darkness. Normally, he left the hall light on. He felt along the wall and flipped the light switch. It was already in the up position. “Not again.”

Since he had bought the loft, the building power had gone out twice. He started into the apartment and stopped. He turned around and looked at the light in the hall. The lighting wasn’t bright, just barely penetrating the apartment, but it was on. He had taken the elevator up as well.

Circuit breaker?

Hart started into the apartment again. Moving slowly, he groped toward the kitchen and the flashlight on the fridge. When the door started to ease shut, he didn’t notice. Then, the light came on.

Hart hardly noticed the small lamp on the floor. Instead, he looked at the rope suspended from the ceiling. The light shone brightly on the hangman’s noose and then faded until it disappeared before the rope met the rafters. He was so enthralled by the sight; he didn’t hear the footstep behind him.

He never saw his attacker. The rubber hose, weighted with lead shot, struck him in the back of the head and he collapsed.

When he came to, he was suspended by his hands. His arms ached and he kicked his legs, trying to find some support but they wouldn’t move. He had tape across his mouth. Through blurred vision, he could see someone moving in front of him.

“Do you remember me, Kraemer?”

Hart blinked at the man, trying to recognize the voice. His vision was still blurred and he couldn’t see clearly. He shook his head and felt something around his neck.

“Don’t remember me? You’ll feel the pain anyway. And you know what, David? I brought my flute.”

Thorman stood in the doorway. Tinker Bell shone brightly, the little nightlight helping him pick his way to the bed. He bent over his sleeping daughter. Her small form looked so innocent and delicate.

She had kicked the sheets down so he pulled them up around her neck. She sighed in her sleep and turned to face him. He waited until she was settled and bent to kiss her. He drank in her little girl scent until his back started to ache.

As he backed up, he stepped on one of her toys. She stirred again when the small creature squeaked. He waited until her breathing returned to normal. Then, paying more attention to where he was going, he walked out of the room.

He continued past his own bedroom and his sleeping wife. He would not be able to sleep so there was no sense in disturbing her. Instead, he returned to the bar in the living room and started to pour another drink.

Looking at the decanter, he thought about how much he was drinking. He tried to remember when he had last filled the decanter. Had Jill filled it since then? Christ, could he hang on long enough? He poured the drink.

Should he just go upstairs and wake Jill? They needed nothing from the house but the one suitcase. In hours, they could be in the air and out of the country forever. He took out his cell phone and speed dialed the airline.

“When your next flight to London, England?”

He listened to the courteous voice on the other end. “Nothing earlier than that?”

That was a stupid question and he could hear the impatience creep into the woman’s voice. “What about Paris?”

Thorman listened for another couple of seconds and then closed the phone and sipped at his drink. London, Paris, either flight would do. Jill would fly there with Alison and he would take the train somewhere to the west. The sixth big city he found, he would jump on a plane to Chicago. From Chicago, he would fly to Los Angeles. From Los Angeles, he would head back East through Mexico to Jamaica. From there a chartered boat would quietly take him from Jamaica to the Caymans.

Meanwhile, Jill would be driving across Europe until they lost themselves. Then, she would continue east until they ended up in the French Polynesian Islands. He would meet them there. If they took enough planes, trains, buses, and cars, they could just get lost. The world was so big.

But, the big score was coming. This was the one that would tell Angelino that he had corrupted the wrong man. He would get even with Angelino for perverting the art of accounting and turning him into an accounting whore. He only had to hang on for a couple more weeks, three at the most. He could almost double the money if he just waited. He’d have enough to buy an entire island. If he could hang on, he would never have to worry about money again. But, did he have the guts?

*

From his hiding spot behind Thorman’s house, Hill watched Thorman sitting in his home office. He had picked this vantage point early in his surveillance because the houses on either side didn’t have dogs. The natural rise of the Bluffs gave him the perfect view of both the house and the road. Dressed in black, wedged into the hedge, he was virtually invisible once night arrived, unlike the two idiots that Angelino had watching Thorman from their car parked on the street.

Thanks to the listening devices and cameras placed strategically throughout the house, Hill had heard the conversation with the airline. Thorman was starting to panic. If Hill played it just right, Thorman would be wound tight. That would make him act even more suspiciously. Even those idiots down there would notice and report to Angelino.

Hill needed Thorman in a state of visible distress if his plan was going to seem plausible. Already, Thorman wasn’t sleeping, drinking too much, and then taking pills to stay awake. He was becoming paranoid and susceptible. The proper threats should push him over the edge.

And then, the two idiots in the green sedan could play their final part. God knows, the world would never miss them.

“Commissioner? How many murders is this man responsible for? How many times has this man killed?”

Mayor Dalton, sitting beside the Commissioner, looked down from the podium at Dale Lewery. Lewery always hit for the fence. God, how he hated that man. Likely James had prepared answers to questions in the order that he thought they would come. Lewery never bothered with logical order. Lewery had proven that the
Daily
had been on top of the story all along. Every word he wrote hinted at a serial killer without actually coming out and saying it. Now that they had been forced to admit the existence of a serial killer, Lewery would run with everything he had. Nothing increased circulation like a maniac stalking the streets.

Mayor Dalton glanced sideways at the Commissioner. He willed the man to hurry up and answer. Each moment reduced the credibility of his reply. Finally, James cleared his throat.

“At this time, we feel that there have been two victims.” He glanced at the sheet of paper in front of him. “Christine Yeck and Jeanne McIntosh.”

Shouted questions sounded through the small room but Lewery would not yield the floor. “Commissioner! What about Luis Gabel?”

The Commissioner’s face clearly registered disbelief for a two count before shifting to anger. He glanced over at Keough and Mann, a clear message that there would be a long discussion about snitches within the department.

Gathering what poise he could muster, James turned back to the pack of reporters. “At this time, we have no conclusive evidence that Luis Gabel was killed by the same killer as the other two victims.”

James quickly pointed toward another reporter. He did not recognize her but anything was better than Lewery.

“Commissioner, wasn’t Luis Gabel a known gang member? Does that mean that these killings could be gang related? Are you investigating a gang connection?”

Mayor Dalton saw James start to shake his head. He almost swore aloud and quickly stood up beside the idiot. Leaning toward the microphone, he interrupted James. “At this time, we do not have enough information to dismiss that avenue of investigation. There is certainly evidence to point in that direction. However, we are not limiting ourselves for this investigation. We have already set up a task force to investigate these chilling murders. Although we see a swift resolution, we are prepared to expand that force as necessary.”

“And how do you answer the charges that the public should have been informed of the danger?”

“We are informing the public,” Mayor Dalton said, looking Lewery square in the eye. “A panicked public, no matter how well informed, is at a disadvantage. We are sparing nothing to bring these killers to justice. I trust that you will do your utmost to inform the public of the facts and not attempt to sell newspapers or increase ratings by sensationalizing these murders. We are going to bring these vicious murderers to justice before they have a chance to kill again!”

The brief silence following the Mayor’s comments was shattered by the sound of a cell phone going off. Mann reached to look at the text message as Keough’s sounded. In the space of three heartbeats, half a dozen cell phones were going off, including the Commissioner’s. Mann jumped to his feet and began to leave the podium before the rest of the group had their cell phones out of their pockets.

The Mayor looked at Mann’s retreating figure and quickly turned to the reporters gathered in front of him. “That is all for today. Thank you for coming.”

Dalton walked through the curtains at the back of the room and James followed. When they were out of earshot, Dalton turned on James. “What the hell was all that about?”

“They found another body,” James said, trying not to make the statement sound too obvious.

“God damn it. Was someone just waiting until I was in front of the cameras? And tell me you weren’t going to deny the gang angle.”

“The evidence doesn’t point toward a gang. There is nothing to the gang theory, no matter how politically convenient it might be.”

Dalton looked around to see who might have overheard the comment. “God protect me from idiots. I don’t care who says what. If you have an option between a single crazed killer or a run of the mill gang, which do you think would be better for the public? Christ on a cracker, they’ve already accepted gangs. Nobody likes them but they don’t really think about them anymore.”

James nodded, although he obviously didn’t agree. What the Mayor was really saying was that nobody was going to run against him on an anti-gang platform since nobody could do anything about them anyway.

“As for Keough, I want him replaced. A captain shouldn’t be in charge of something like this. I want at least a Deputy Inspector. If your detectives can’t show some movement in the investigation, at least I will be seen as taking it seriously.”

James had been expecting this. It would look better for the media. He had been trying to find a replacement for two days. Problem was, nobody wanted the job. Every detective in the department was falling all over themselves to be assigned to the task force. There was no downside and a hell of an upside if they broke anything. But finding a bureaucrat to be responsible for the case? That was an entirely different matter.

“There are not many available at this time due to the recent budgetary cutbacks,” James said. “It might take some time.”

“We will make the announcement this afternoon at four to make the evening news. If you can’t find someone by then, maybe you would like to head this investigation yourself? That would look good in the press.”

“I disagree. If I involve myself directly, I will be showing a lack of faith in my own men. Better that I delegate the duties until it becomes absolutely necessary that I take over.”

Dalton looked at James for a long time. Slowly, a smile spread across the Mayor’s face. He reached out and lightly patted the Commissioners cheek. “I’ll make a politician out of you yet. Now get out of here and get me some information on the latest victim. And for the love of Christ, turn off your blessed cell phones during the next press conference.”

*

Mann stared up at the naked body hanging from the rafters in the loft and shuddered. There was a limpness to the body that looked unnatural. The body didn’t hang right. Mann couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong.