Creatures of Appetite (18 page)

“Yes. He got away from both of us.”

“He’s like a ghost or something.”

“No, he’s not. He’s got different appetites than we do, but other than that he’s human, he breathes, he bleeds and he can and will die. He has to sit in order to shit, just like everybody else.”

“Thorne,” Kane said after a moment, “do you believe in good and evil?”

“No.”

“What do you believe in?”

“Brains. Balls. Inspiration and imagination. Observable fact. Old school arithmetic. Classic jazz. Capital punishment. Breakfast at any hour of the day. Non-fat yogurt.”

“Anything else?”

“Winning.”

“Why did the Iceman come after us?”

“He thinks he’s the hero of the picture.”

“Hero of what?” Kane asked.

“The picture in his head,” Thorne stood to leave. “In the movie running in his head, he’s the hero, he’s the star.”

“In his mind he’s the hero and we’re the bad guys?”

“That’s what he thinks. Little does he realize, I’m the name above the title, I get top billing, I’m the fucking STAR of this show.”

S
now fell
, though not as heavy as earlier. School let out and children played on the playground while waiting for their parents. A beefy uniformed policeman stood guard at the entrance of the school and another watched the playground with eagle eyes.

Darcy Mullens waited just inside her school door, looking wistfully yet again as the other kids played in the snow. Mrs. Goodwin stood nearby, keeping a close eye on all her charges. A car honked.

“There’s your mother, honey,” Mrs. Goodwin said. “Have a good weekend.”

“Bye, Mrs. Goodwin.”

Barb Mullens, behind the wheel of her blue Ford Escort in her standard red stocking cap, reached over and opened the passenger door for Darcy. She honked again. Darcy waved good-bye to her friends and then ran to her mother’s car, got in and shut the car door quickly. They drove off.

Mrs. Goodwin found herself distracted by a fight between two children on the playground. After breaking it up and scolding the youngsters for their lack of holiday goodwill, she heard a familiar car horn honk.

Barb Mullens’s blue Ford Escort again parked and waiting in the bus zone. Mrs. Goodwin walked over to the car, confused and curious. Barb Mullens, in her red stocking cap, rolled her window down.

“Hello, Mrs. Mullens, did you forget …” Mrs. Goodwin stopped short.

She saw that Barb Mullens was sitting in her car alone.

“Sorry I’m late, Mrs. Goodwin, I had a flat tire,” Barb Mullens said. “Where’s Darcy?”

I
n a blue Ford Escort
very similar to the one owned by Barb Mullens, her daughter Darcy looked up in confusion at the person driving the vehicle.

A red stocking cap and a blonde wig landed on the car seat next to Darcy.

Darcy looked at the wig and then back up at the Iceman, who whistled a Christmas tune as he drove them both towards destination unknown.

“Where’s my Mommy?” Darcy asked, more than a little scared.

A
n hour later
, Thorne wandered the elementary school hallway. Uniformed policeman and CSU technicians were everywhere, inside and out, interviewing teachers, frightened children and custodial staff. News vans clustered just beyond the patrol cars outside. Thorne leaned against a locker as Kane approached him.

“So somebody, dressed like her mother,” Thorne began, “in a car just like her mother’s, drives up, picks the kid up and nobody notices that it’s not the kid’s mother?”

“That’s the situation,” Kane replied. “The teacher swears that whoever it was looked just like the mother. Maybe it’s been a woman we’ve been after this whole time.”

“No. The Iceman is male, not female, don’t even go there,” Thorne said.

“Women snatch children all the time, thinking they belong to them, thinking …”

“You’re making noise, Kane. It’s a man that snatched this kid. It was a man that shot at us, it was a man that we chased through a blizzard and it was a man that knocked you on your ass.”

“Maybe it’s a couple, a man and woman, working together, like that case in Canada,” Kane said.

“No, Kane,” Thorne cut her off, “stop making noise and listen to the music. This is one guy, one smart and ballsy fucking guy with an agenda.”

“He’s getting close; this is what, twenty miles from headquarters?” Kane said. “Norman Hairston called me. They got the lab back on the pubic hair. The hair on both bodies was a match, they came from the same person. DNA does not match Carl Mitchell, which is hardly surprising since he was in jail when we were getting shot at by the Iceman.”

“And also because I said he didn’t do it,” Thorne said.

“But what was surprising is that they did get a DNA match on it, they got a name, somebody already in the system,” Kane said.

“Let me guess. Hair matched that of a man who is already dead.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because if the Iceman had plucked a few pubes from a live man, said live man just might remember him. I would. Get on with it, Kane.”

“Well, you’re right. The hair came from Trent Boyd, African-American, resident of Omaha, Nebraska, killed in a traffic accident five months ago. They’re getting an order from the judge to exhume the body, verify that Boyd is indeed dead as the death certificate says he is.”

“Waste of time, he’s definitely dead and someone plucked his pubes. Check the mortuary where Boyd was interred, it’ll be a dead end but do it anyway, find the cop who processed the accident scene, the paramedics that drove the ambulance, I want it all. Also, backtrack his friends, family and acquaintances and find out if Mr. Boyd served in the military and if there’s anyone in the area that served with him.”

“So the Iceman planted it, then, to fuck with us?”

“Now you’re singing, Kane. This isn’t a case that’s going to be closed by forensics. This guy lives for fuckery. Anything else?”

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Scroggins entered the hallway, furious. “Darcy Mullens. I can’t believe this is happening here of all places!”

“Why not here?” Thorne asked.

“I live here! I grew up in this town.”

“You grew up here?” Kane asked.

“Denton, Nebraska, population eight hundred nine. Three churches, two bars and one school. I went to school here, I played football here, I’ve lived here my whole fucking life, three miles right outside of town. Fuck!” Scroggins punched one of the lockers.

Gilday joined them.

“We’re doing a run on all the blue Ford Escorts in the county, but it’ll take awhile. I can’t believe this. Gerry, you talk to Barb yet?”

“No, I didn’t, and I seriously doubt she wants to talk to me,” Scroggins glared at Gilday.

“Come on, man, don’t be that way.”

“Who’s Barb?” Thorne asked.

“Barb Mullens,” Kane replied. “Darcy’s mother.”

“We know Barb, we all went to school together,” Gilday said.

“You live here too?” Kane asked.

“I grew up here, I moved to Lincoln when my folks passed away, ten years or so ago,” Gilday replied. “This building here used to hold all twelve grades, but the school district expanded and now this building is just the elementary school, the junior high and high school students take the bus to Gowrie.”

“Where’s the mother now?” Thorne asked.

“At the hospital under sedation. The father, Chad Mullens, is there with her now.”

“Here’s a picture of the girl,” Kane handed a school photo to Thorne. “Darcy Mullens, age seven, blonde hair and blue eyes.”

“Blue eyes?” Thorne furrowed his brow.

“Just like her ma,” Gilday said.

“Blue eyes,” Thorne repeated.

“How well do you know the parents?” Kane asked.

“Barb, Gerry and I were all in the same class together. Chad went to school here too, he was two years ahead of us,” Gilday replied. “But it’s no secret that Gerry knows Barb a lot better than I do.”

“You fucking asshole,” Scroggins pushed Gilday hard against the lockers.

“What’s your problem, it’s the truth, isn’t it?” Gilday said, shocked into anger and pushed Scroggins back. Scroggins grabbed Gilday by the jacket, cursing.

Kane got between the two and separated them. “Hey! Hey! Cut the shit!” The two men glared at each other, breathing heavily.

Uniformed personnel poked their heads out of different rooms to see what was going on. Thorne watched the whole drama impassively.

“Look, fellas,” Kane said after a moment, “we’re all under pressure here. Let’s just take it easy.”

“Come on, man, it’s not like it’s not gonna come out,” Gilday said.

“Jeff, why don’t you go puke or something,” Scroggins replied, his neck red with anger. “Isn’t that what you usually do at a crime scene?”

Scroggins stalked off.

“What was that all about?” Kane demanded.

“Barb and Gerry went out together in high school, three years,” Gilday sighed. “She dear-Johned him while we were in the service, ended up marrying Chad Mullens. They don’t even talk to each other even though they live in the same town. He’s touchy about it and I should’ve known better.”

“So he had a personal connection with the victim?”

“Shit of course, but so did I, we’ve known her and Chad our whole lives. There isn’t anyone in town Gerry doesn’t have a personal connection to in some way. There are at least four or five other kids in the same class whose mother is someone Gerry or I dated at least once at some point before they got hitched. It’s a small town. This is hitting too fucking close to home, man.”

Kane looked at Thorne.

“Don’t look at each other like that, don’t fucking … Gerry is a stand-up fucking guy.”

“Why this town?” Thorne asked. “Why here, why now?”

“Is he fucking with members of the task force?” Kane asked him. “Is he deliberately targeting those close to the people that are working on his case?”

“He deliberately targeted us last night, didn’t he?” Thorne replied.

“What’s mine is yours, and yours is mine,” Kane repeated. “I will take away what you most prize.”

“Jesus Christ,” Gilday said. “You think he’s gonna start hitting us where we live? I know a bunch of guys on this case that have kids about this age, if he’s going to start doing that there’s gonna be a lot of fucking suspects shot while trying to escape.”

“You think that’s what going on, Thorne?” Kane asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know yet,” Thorne replied, thinking.

“What about Forsythe, does he have daughters?” Kane asked.

“He does, but they’re too old.”

“Why the eyes?” Thorne asked them both.

“What?” Kane said.

“Why lovely eyes? Who says that? Why say that? Why put that in the note? Gilday! The Frederickson girl,” Thorne said.

“What about her?”

“Did they check her entire body for fingerprints?” Thorne asked.

“Far as I know the man checked everything,” Gilday replied.

“Even the eyeballs themselves?”

“I don’t know,” Gilday admitted.

“Then go find out. Find out now,” Thorne said.