Vengeance is Mine - A Benjamin Tucker Mystery (36 page)

Netter stared at me, dumfounded. Finally, he said, “You son of a bitch. I think you might have something.”

“Well, I think it’s more than a coincidence,” I said. “Also none of the Bible victims lived in an apartment where there’s no garage. Anyway, Woodward and the SBI guys were looking for an auto repair shop that was common to the victims. That’s where they screwed up. What we should have been looking for was a particular
mechanic
who worked on all of the victim’s cars … someone who moved around from one repair shop to another.”

I handed the remote to Netter. “This is a low-tech method of getting into someone’s garage without forcible entry. In some respects, it’s almost ingenious. I believe Plum watched his targets for some time to understand their routines. Then, when he was ready, he entered the garage while they were gone. If the connecting door to the house was locked, he’d leave and begin stalking the next victim. But if the connecting door was not locked, he’d be waiting for them in the sanctity of their own bedrooms. The rest we know.”

Netter nodded. “I’m going to get moving on this. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

I walked out the open garage door. “My Jag’s around the corner on the next block. I want to get home before the storm comes in.” I gave him a two-finger salute and began walking down the driveway.

Netter yelled to me. “Hey, Tucker! Why didn’t you just tell me all this over the phone?”

I looked back at him and laughed. “Are you kidding? Then I wouldn’t have had the chance to scare the shit out of ya.”

CHAPTER 52

The guesthouse was conspicuously empty with Lainie gone, and I was happy that the security system was now up and running. There was a profound feeling of loneliness in the pit of my stomach, and I didn’t know quite what to do to shake the melancholy. Oscar followed me as I wandered into Amanda Jane’s bedroom, where the faint scent of Lainie still remained. Although we had met under unimaginable circumstances, I would never forget her and the friendship that had grown between us. I looked around the room at nothing in particular, remembering snippets of experiences we shared together over the past few weeks.

I picked up Oscar and held him in my arms for the longest time. But finally, I decided enough with the moping. I needed to man up and get on with it.

The sky darkened as the storm rolled in an hour later. The wind intensified until it reached a frightening speed, bending the giant Loblolly pine trees framing the estate. Jagged bolts of lightning were followed by deafening crashes of thunder while angry black clouds dumped blinding sheets of rain. Oscar cowered behind the sofa, wild-eyed, shaking violently and whimpering. I dug him out, wrapped him in a blanket, and held him tightly as I stood to the side of the large window and watched the storm. “Don’t worry, buddy, I gotcha.” Just then the power went out, and we were pitched into darkness. I was kicking myself for not paying better attention when Angelo DeMatrollo had briefed me on the security system. How

 long did he say the battery backup was good for?

We sat in the dark, huddled together on the sofa while the storm raged. I turned off my cell phone to save the battery in case we were in this for the long haul. One big heart and one little heart raced as wave after wave of blinding rain pounded the roof. I wondered if it might be time to lie down in the bathtub and take cover.

Then, just as fast as it descended, the wind died down, and the sky gradually became brighter as the storm played itself out. Oscar poked his head out from under the blanket and blinked at me. If he could talk, he would have said, ‘What the hell was that?’

“I think we made it out alive, twinkletoes,” I said to him. “Didn’t even need to fire up the ark.” I could feel his tail wagging under the blanket.

The power came back on at six o’clock. I let Oscar out and watched to make sure he steered clear of the pool, but he was more interested in drinking water from puddles on the patio and sniffing the freshly rainwashed salvias. He brought back in the clean, exotic scent of salvia ‘Purple Queen,’ which fortunately I loved. I had never lived anywhere with such a beautiful landscape, and Hector was slowly teaching me the names of all the plants. It was sure to come in handy when I attended my next garden party or tea.

I fed my fearless little companion and put together a peanut butter and cheddar cheese sandwich on sourdough bread for myself. When Roberta came back, I would never get away with this, so I took advantage of the opportunity to enjoy some of the crazy things I liked to eat. Fried baloney sandwiches were probably on the horizon. I took my sandwich and a glass of milk and sat down at the computer to summarize my theory about the garage door transmitters. It could be a long night waiting for word from Netter, so I decided to invest the time wisely and work on the book about Plum. I gave it a working title,
Vengeance is Mine
.

CHAPTER 53

I ran out to pick up a few groceries and see if the storm did any damage to the neighborhood. My new toy worked like a charm, gates sliding aside to let me out, and sliding back in place after I drove out. The estate was like a fortress, but I still felt exposed. A murderous madman was still out there gunning for me.

There were small branches and leaves strewn all over the streets, but no major damage that I could see. The storm was typical of springtime in the North Carolina Piedmont. We all knew when to take cover, and when it was over, the road maintenance crews got right on the ball, taking care of any damage. Mother Nature slaps us around sometimes, but we get right back up, swinging.

When I got back home, I threw a small beef chuck roast in the crockpot with potatoes, onions and carrots. Oscar and I needed comfort food. I dug out a DVD collection my baby sister Alex had given me last Christmas. It consisted of classic Sherlock Holmes movies, starring Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce. The movies were short; some of them only seventy minutes long, but there were fourteen of them—more than enough to get me through another sleepless night.

I stopped my Holmes-a-thon at nine o’clock, and we had dinner. Oscar had a couple of pieces of beef, three small carrots, and a potato wedge. I had more than that.

My cell phone rang shortly after ten o’clock. It was Netter.

“His name is Jason Prescott,” Netter said. “He’s a mechanic at Albert’s Auto Emporium off of Avent Ferry Road here in Cary. Woodward’s people have confirmed that Prescott worked on the two cars belonging to Clancy and Knudsen. He was also employed for a short time as the service writer at a repair shop used by Krauss.”

According to Netter, Jason Edward Prescott was born in Cookeville, Tennessee on September 17, 1980. He had a twin brother, Michael John.

“That would be me, right?” I asked.

“Right. That’s what our DNA evidence indicates. But it appears to us that the documentation on Michael John Prescott is bogus. He, that would be you, was supposed to have died at birth. Woodward located a certificate of fetal death naming Carolyn Irene Prescott as the mother. It was signed by Dr. Glenn Torrence, who died in 2007 from complications due to congestive heart failure. According to records, Michael John Prescott was supposed to have been cremated, and his ashes scattered. But there’s probably no way to confirm that since the crematory closed down fifteen years ago.”

“What about the father?” I asked.

“The father was listed as
unknown
. Looks like Carolyn Prescott had twin sons out of wedlock, and probably didn’t have the financial resources to support two kids, so we believe Dr. Torrence falsified records and helped her sell one of them on the black market. And that would be you. We believe scumbag Torrence handed you off to baby traffickers working with that other scumbag, attorney Hayworth, and your unsuspecting parents ended up with you. Poor things.”

“But here’s where it gets interesting,” he said. “Jason Prescott was removed from his mother by the state of Tennessee in 1994. His social worker was Gloria Parker. According to Parker, the mother had gone kind of loony and turned into a religious nut. She began to have delusions that her son was evil. Let’s see … how did she put it? Something like, ‘he was the evil seed of a malignant spirit.’ The mother felt the need to cleanse Prescott of the evil that was within him. So she’d take off his clothes, shackle him in the garage by his wrists and ankles, and give him an enema. An enema! Can you believe that shit? She’d do it to him two, sometimes three times a day! When she was done, she’d hose him off with cold water and leave him there wet and freezing. No wonder this guy is so fucked up.”

“Prescott was moved to the foster home of Lester and Hazel Whaley, where he lived until shortly after his high school graduation. The Whaleys said Prescott became distant, moved away, and rarely made contact.

“We also investigated the birth mother. She disappeared in 2005. She was forty-nine years old, and when you look at a picture of her when she was younger, you’d swear that she, Clancy, Knudsen, and Krauss were all sisters. And Parker said that at the time Prescott was put into the foster care system, the mother wore her hair with a long braid in back.”

“There’s one more thing. Prescott had a sister, Marie Louise Prescott, two years older than him—different father. She was also removed from the mother and later wound up adopted. Woodward’s looking into her, too, but those records are sealed. Hopefully, Marie will never need to find out that her brother was the worst serial killer ever seen in this area.”

“What about an address?” I asked.

“He lives in an apartment complex off of Wade Avenue in Raleigh … not far from the Art Museum. Drives a silver-colored Chevy Cobalt, which matches the description of the car seen leaving the museum. We have plainclothes officers staking out his apartment right now.”

“Are they going in after him?”

“No. I’m gonna play this by the book. Right now we’re just watching to get a visual ID. Meanwhile, DA Wallen is on his way over here to Cary PD. He and Frank and I are going to pay a little visit to Judge Axelrod to get a search warrant for Plum’s apartment. We’ll hit it tomorrow after he leaves for work.”

“Judge Axelrod? I thought you said he was a complete asshole.”

“He is,” Netter said. “That’s why I’m going to wait a couple of hours, so I can get him out of bed. But with public scrutiny and this level of probable cause, he can’t turn us down. Anyway, I’ll give you a buzz tomorrow after we’ve served the warrant.

CHAPTER 54

After taking Oscar out to doofus around a whole lot before finally taking care of business, I tried to get some sleep on the sofa. No such luck. I was just too wired, anxious to know what the investigators would find when they searched Prescott’s apartment.

I nuked some popcorn and resumed the Holmes-fest. Nine movies left. I think I finally dozed off sometime during
The House of Fear
.

Netter’s call jolted me awake, and I picked up immediately. I squinted in the morning sunlight and looked at the time banner at the top of the phone. 10:15.

“Tell me you found something,” I croaked.

Netter laughed. “Oh, yeah! How about Krauss’s head in a plastic bag in the freezer, right next to the fuckin’ sausage croissants?”

I pumped my fist. “That’s bloody brilliant!” I shouted in a British accent.

He skipped a beat, “Ah, yeah … well, we also found a box of Bibles that match the ones left at the crime scenes, a pair of high-top work boots with soles that appear to match the bloody footprints found at the scenes, a Glock Model 19 nine millimeter semi-automatic, and a portable reciprocating saw. Dreckmann‘s people also pulled carpet fibers that appear to match those found at the scenes. And … he has a cat … cute little bugger. I guess Prescott rapes, kills, and decapitates his victims, and then goes home and pets his fuckin’ cat. We’ve got this son of a bitch, Tucker! And you’re the one who busted it open.

“Now, get your ass over here,” he said. “Frank and I are going back to Axelrod for an arrest warrant. Then we’re meeting back here at headquarters at one o’clock to plan the arrest. We’re going to nab him at the Auto Emporium where he works. I figure there shouldn’t be many bystanders there in the middle of the afternoon. We also have visual ID. Mallory swears he’s the spittin’ image of you and wants to shoot him.”

“Very funny. I’ll take a quick shower and be right over.”

I got to the Cary PD shortly before noon. Netter kept me waiting for over an hour before he finally came down to escort me in. I knew immediately something was wrong by the look on his face.

“Sorry, Tucker. I have orders not to let you in on the bust—mainly from Richards, but also from Chief Lacy. I don’t give a fuck about Richards, but Lacy’s my boss.”

“You have got to be shitting me.”

“Wish I were. I’ve been told to tell you to go back home—and keep your mouth shut. And I don’t want you to go near my brown sedan, which is parked out back. Because I left the back doors open, and Frank and I never look back there when we get in.”

I said nothing.

Netter returned to the restricted area of the building, and I walked out. I retrieved Pure Reason from the Jag, walked around back and located Netter’s sedan, and crawled into the back seat. The stench of stale cigar smoke was overpowering. Something crackled as I lay on the seat. I reached under my right arm and pulled out an open bag of fried pork rinds.

“For Christ’s sake,” I muttered. “I can’t imagine why your cholesterol is high.”

Half an hour later, I heard voices coming toward the car. Two doors opened; Netter and Cox got in, and we drove off.

 “Too bad they wouldn’t let Tucker come with us,” Cox said.

“It’s just as well,” Netter said. “He’s a selfish, arrogant bastard. Probably’d want us to stop for lunch on the way.”

My head was resting on my right arm, and I was looking at the map pocket on the back of Cox’s seat. “Funny, funny guys,” I said. Netter tried to look at me in the rearview mirror and chuckled. It wasn’t a bad idea, though. I hadn’t eaten since last night.