Veiled Passages (19 page)

Peter shook his head. “No you really don’t.”

“Why not?” Ian asked.

“This perp is obsessed with Mary,” he said. “He wouldn’t want to be that far away from her. He’s here in Freeport.  He’s as close as he can be without being caught.”

Ian nodded. “Actually, that makes sense too,” he said, pulling out a street map. “So let’s assume Freeport.”

“But that’s still a lot of area to cover,” Mary said.

Peter shook his head and leaned over the map. “Now we need to narrow down the neighborhoods he’d most likely choose to inhabit,” he said. “We’re looking for a neighborhood that is middle to lower middle class, blue collar and although it can be mixed racially, it would be predominantly white. It also should have a mixture of ages, both the young and the elderly.”

“Okay, wait, you’ve got to explain this,” Mary said.

“Lower to middle-class demographics historically don’t spend extra money on reading newspapers.  They get their news from television or, now, on the Internet,” he said. “They have more urgent uses for their money.  So…”

“So they wouldn’t have read about the case in the papers and wouldn’t be seeing his picture,” Mary said.

“Exactly,” Peter said. “And, although he was on the local news, it was a 60 second sound bite and it’s no longer news.  People aren’t really going to remember his face from the local news.”

“Why blue collar?” Ian asked.

“Because of shift work,” Peter explained. “You have people coming and going at all hours of the day and night and no one notices.”

“And predominantly white because he is white and no one is going to notice an old white guy walking down the street,” Mary surmised.

“Exactly,” Peter said. “And the mixture of ages is the same thing. It needs to be a neighborhood where an older man fits in.  I’d also be looking at houses that have not been cared for as well as they should.”

“Okay, you’ve got me on that one,” Ian said. “Why is that important?”

“Because when you take time to care for your lawn and around the outside of your home, you spend time outside your home.  When the outside is a mess, you tend to stay inside with the shades drawn,” Peter said. “Exactly what he’d want.”

Mary sat back in her chair. “I have to admit, I had my doubts, but this all makes sense.”

Ian turned the map towards Mary. “So, where do you think we ought to be looking?” Ian asked.

Mary picked up a yellow highlighter and marked parts of the east end of town. “There are some areas over here that fit the description pretty well,” she said. “And then there are blocks here and there that would also work.”

“Okay, let’s make a list of all the rentals in these areas and the contact names,” Ian suggested. “Then we can split them up and make calls.”

“This will be so much easier,” Mary said, looking over at Peter. “You’re brilliant.”

Bradley entered the house. “Who’s brilliant?” he asked.

Ian looked up from the list he was already compiling. “Peter just helped us narrow down neighborhoods where Copper might be renting,” he said. “We’re putting a list together now.”

Walking over to Ian, he looked over his shoulder. “A ghost and a mystery writer came up with a theory and you’re just going to follow it?” he asked skeptically. “You can’t come up with a more qualified concept than that?”

“How dare he?” Peter exclaimed. “I’ll have him know that I worked for an alphabet agency.”

“He says he worked for an alphabet agency,” Mary repeated. “And he’s done profiling in the past.”

Bradley folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah, which agency?”

Peter turned to Mary. “I can’t tell you that,” he said. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

Mary bit her lower lip and sighed. “He said he can’t tell you because he is sworn to secrecy,” she said.

Chuckling, Bradley shook his head. “Yeah, and if he tells us, what are they going to do? Kill him?”

He walked over next to her and whispered in her ear. “I personally think the guy’s a fraud.”

“I don’t know, Bradley,” she said. “Actually, some of his ideas made a lot of sense. He seemed to have a good grasp of the demographic profile Copper would be seeking.”

“Well, okay, I don’t believe any of it,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “But I’m willing to try anything. What do you want me to do?”

Ian lifted his list. “I was planning on dividing up the list and making calls,” he said. “But I’ve got a couple addresses on top that don’t have phone numbers, the ads say they just want you to stop by and see them.”

Bradley reached over for the list and studied it. Two lines down was an address with the owner’s name listed as W. Rupp. He wondered if the person might be related to Clarissa’s Mr. Rupp. “I can take care of these,” he said, reading down the list and then tearing the top names from the page.

“Thanks,” Ian said. “Let us know what you find.”

Turning, he gave Mary a quick kiss and started for the door.

“Be safe out there,” she called.

He turned and winked. “I always am.”

Chapter Forty-two

Bradley pulled the cruiser up in front of the dilapidated home and shook his head. 
How in the world could anyone live in that?
He checked the address on the list Ian had given him.
Yes, this was it
, he thought.
Dead or not, Rupp is a slumlord. There is no way Copper is staying in a place like this. He’d be worried it would fall on top of him. What the hell were they thinking listening to that naked ghost?

Exiting the cruiser, he noticed a late model sedan with Iowa license plates. If someone had been renting here for a month, they should have had those plates changed.  He leaned back into the cruiser and placed a call to Dorothy.

“Hey, Dorothy, it’s Bradley,” he said. “I’ve got some tags from Iowa I’d like you to run for me. It’s nothing crucial, just need to find out who they’re registered to.”

He waited for a moment and then gave her the plate numbers.  He settled back in the seat and, while he waited, heard Dorothy swear at her computer. Chuckling softly, he picked up the radio again.  “Hey, listen Dorothy, I’m just going to go on up and check something out, I should be back to the car within fifteen minutes or so. Hopefully the computer will cooperate by then.”

He stepped back out of the car, shaking his head and smiling. Dorothy didn’t have a lot of patience for technology.  He almost felt sorry for the computer.

Placing his hat on his head, he walked up the broken sidewalk to the front of the house.  Plywood covered the door’s window and sidelights, and the doorbell was suspended by a frayed electrical wire several inches in front of the doorframe. Bradley opted to knock. “Hello?” he called. “Is anyone in there?  This is the Freeport Police.”

Receiving no response, he tried the door to see if it was unlocked, but it held tight.  Without a warrant he knew he couldn’t justify kicking the door down, so decided to try the back door.  As he made his way around debris and used appliances to the back of the house, he saw that all of the windows at ground level were covered in plywood. 

Reaching the back of the house, he discovered that the porch had collapsed and was lying four feet below the back door in a pile of splintered wood, nails and garbage. The roof of the porch was hanging precariously above him from a two by four nailed into the house.

He looked up at the roof and over to the door three feet in front of him. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said softly.

Continuing his exploration of the house, he continued past the porch and found a rusted storm cellar door angling up from the ground into the side of the house. “Well, this is as good an entrance as any,” he said, pulling leather gloves out of his coat pocket and slipping them on before he grabbed the rusty handle and pulled.

Dirt, leaves and pieces of chipped paint slid down the front of the door as Bradley opened it and laid it to the side.  Several startled mice dashed across the basement floor and hid themselves in openings in the old limestone walls.  Bradley brushed a massive spider web out of his way before flicking on his flashlight and stepping down the three wobbly steps into the basement.  “Hello, is anyone here?” he called out. “Freeport Police.  I just want to talk to you.”

Stepping inside the basement, he shone his flashlight slowly around the perimeter of the room.  Stacks of boxes, old furniture and an ancient furnace that still seemed to be running, filled the room.  As he neared the furnace, he caught a whiff of an odor that turned his stomach. It was an odor that, once you encountered, you never forgot. Rotting flesh.

He turned in the direction of the smell and spied the old freezer in the corner of the basement, its lid rusty and covered with years of grime. Holding his breath, he slowly reached for the lid. A sharp hissing sound was discharged from the freezer when he lifted the top.  He stepped closer and shone the flashlight inside. “Mr. Rupp, I presume,” he said softly.

“How astute of you Bradley,” Copper said from behind him and Bradley heard the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked. “But then you always were too smart for your own good.”

Chapter Forty-three

“Run Mary!” Bradley shouted.

“What?” Copper exclaimed, turning his focus away from Bradley for a moment.

That was all Bradley needed. He grabbed the top of a wooden chair next to the freezer and swung it around with all his might.  It flew across the room, crashed into Copper and sent him reeling back into a stack of boxes.

Bradley dropped down and reached for his own gun, but his hand slipped on the grip. He shook his head and tried again, but he seemed to be working through a thick fog.  He could hear Copper’s laughter in the distance. Desperately, he fought through and pulled out his gun, aiming it in Copper’s direction.

“Come on Bradley,” he heard Copper call. “You’re going to hurt yourself.  Never mix nitrous oxide with guns. It’s far too dangerous.”

Shaking his head to clear it, Bradley tried to focus on Copper’s voice.  His hands shook as he pointed the gun to the opposite corner of the room.

“Don’t worry Bradley,” Copper called. “I won’t be coming to your side of the basement until the rest of the gas has dissipated. I booby-trapped that freezer with enough gas to knock out a horse; it’s only a matter of time.”

Bradley realized the hiss he heard when he opened the lid was the gas being released.

“I couldn’t let anyone discover Rupp’s body and be able to leave, now could I?” Copper asked, chuckling. “Although I never, in my wildest dreams, thought I would actually snare the one thing that is going to bring Mary running to me.”

His blood running cold, Bradley staggered to his feet, his gun still drawn, and stumbled towards the door. He needed to get out of there.  Needed to breathe fresh air.  Needed to get help.  Needed to protect Mary.

His movements were lethargic and he fell sideways against another stack of boxes. He could hear Copper’s laughter from across the room. “Oh, do stop your heroic antics,” Copper called. “You’re just going to hurt yourself and I’d much rather do it myself.”

Using the last of his strength, Bradley pulled himself to his feet. He knew he was not going to make it to the door.  And he knew Copper was going to use him as bait to capture Mary and he couldn’t allow it.

Bracing himself against a support post, he turned back towards Copper and lifted his gun.

“Don’t be stupid, Bradley,” Copper taunted, as he stood and aimed his gun back at Bradley. “This isn’t the O.K. Corral and you’re not Wyatt Earp. Face it, you lost this time. I’m going to get the girl. And, quite frankly, I’m going to get away with murder.”

“You will not get Mary,” Bradley panted, perspiration dotting his face as he concentrated all of his will on his hands and his weapon.

Copper lifted his gun and aimed it at Bradley’s head. “Oh, I will, and I will enjoy every inch of her.”

A single gunshot echoed throughout the basement.  Bradley fell backwards against the stack of boxes and the room went silent.

Chapter Forty-four

Ian had been watching Mary out of the corner of his eye for the past twenty minutes. She had cleaned out the dishwasher, wiped the tables and counters down, twice, walked over to the windows and peered out of them innumerable times and hadn’t been able to sit in one place for more than thirty seconds.  He knew she was distracted, he just didn’t understand why.  Finally, he sat back in his chair, pushed his laptop away and turned to her. “Do you want to tell me what you’re worrying about?” he asked.

She turned away from the window; her hand flat against her abdomen, and shook her head. “I can’t put my finger on it,” she said. “I just feel uneasy.  Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what it is.”

She walked across the room and sat on a chair next to him. “Pretty stupid, huh?” she said.

“Oh, no, if there is anyone whose intuition I would trust, it would be yours,” he said. “Would talking about it help you?”

“I wish it were something as tangible as that,” she replied. “It’s right there, on the edge of my consciousness, but not quite close enough…”

He nodded. “Aye, I know the feeling well,” he replied. “I find if I lose myself in something else, it comes peeking out into clear view.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” she agreed. “But it’s clear I’m not very good at distracting myself.”

Smiling, he pulled the plate of cookies closer to them. “How about a snack?” he asked. “Food always distracts me.”

Grimacing, she shook her head. “No, my stomach is all tied up in knots. I couldn’t eat if I wanted. So, distract me Ian.  Tell me about Gillian.”

“Now there’s a lass who distracts me even more than food,” he said with a wide smile and then he looked down at his watch. “And she’s landing any moment now in Chicago.”

“Oh, I am so sorry you can’t be there to greet her,” Mary said. “This has been so unfair to you.”

“Aye, Mary,” he replied sarcastically, “The next time you have a serial killer after you could you please arrange it around my social life? Quite inconsiderate of you.”

She actually felt a smile on her face. “Well, when you put it that way…”