Dead Even (21 page)

There was a rap on the door, and an officer entered with a stack of notebooks. “Here they are, Captain. Simpson's diaries.”

“You didn't disturb anything else at the house, did you?”

“No, sir. Mike said you wanted forensics there before we searched it, so we just got the books and left.”

“Good. Thanks.” He dismissed the officer with a wave of his hand, a habit that had at first irritated his men, but now they were used to it.

“Wheeler,” Mike spoke. “This is your baby. Butch and I will take a quick look at them before we leave for Greensburg, but I want you to dissect every word this guy has written, especially around the dates of the murders.”

“What's at Greensburg?” Kyle asked.

“Simpson used to live there,” Mike answered. “His wife and son were killed in a fire, and the wife still has relatives in the area. We're going to see what we can dig up on his past.”

“Before you leave,” Markham said, “let's get the Delaney woman in here for a line up. She may be able to ID Simpson once she sees him.”

Mike nodded. “Could be. She
has
started to remember some details about her attack.” He turned to the men. “That's it. Let's get cracking.”

They filed out of the room, and Mike thumbed through the stack of notebooks until he came to the one dated 1986. He opened it, scanning quickly down the entries until he located the date of Audra's attack. The ledger was done in ink. Small. Precise.

Had breakfast with Sam Walker from Strophe.

Worked on speech during noon hour.

Enjoyed afternoon speaker—subject was term life.

My speech went well in evening—had a few drinks

in bar afterward.

I wasn't feeling well—It's hard being cooped up

for so long.

“Huh!” Mike said, as he showed Butch and Markham the entry. “What do you suppose he meant by being cooped up?” He checked another murder date and flipped through the notebook until he found Simpson's notes.

Good buffet for breakfast—met regional manager.

Morning speaker was boring.

Charlie Marrs and I went to movie in afternoon—

saw
On Golden Pond.

Broke into small groups in evening—I attended

meeting on umbrella policies

I was nervous—paced all night

Butch turned back a page of the notebook he was scanning and handed it to Mike. “Same thing here. First notes are general, then it skips down a bit and says, ‘I couldn't sleep—went for a walk—didn't get back until almost dawn.' And that was the same evening a girl named Kimberly Asherton failed to return to her dormitory at the University of Nebraska. Her body was found eight days later.”

Mike handed his notebook over to Wheeler. “Go over these carefully. See if you can correlate those types of comments to the dates of the killings. See if they run throughout his notes, or only on certain dates. Make us up a chart if it's appropriate.” He reached over and picked up the telephone. “I'll give Audra a call, then go pick her up. Butch, why don't you check with the airport and make certain the runway has been cleared, then ask Randy if he can be ready to take us by noon.”

“I've already taken care of that,” Markham said. “And Sheriff Underwood will meet you at Greensburg. He was part of the initial investigation of the fire Simpson was involved in, so he should be able to give you some help.”

Mike nodded. “Good. That's it, then. Will you have the line up ready when I get back here with Audra?”

“We'll be ready,” Markham answered. “I hope to hell she can ID him.”

*   *   *

Audra sat behind the one-way glass and watched intently as one by one the five men were asked to step forward, wait, then turn to each side. She studied their faces intently. Nothing. There was no flash of recognition, no recoiling in fear. Just nothing. She turned to Mike. “I'm sorry. I really thought when I saw him, it would all come back to me, but I still can't identify him.” She shook her head back and forth slowly. “I know it sounds crazy that I have blocked his face from my memory, but I have. It simply won't come.”

Mike hid his disappointment. “It doesn't make that much difference, Audra. We have him even without your ID.” He reached over and took her hand. “At least you can relax now. We have him safely behind bars.”

Audra looked up at the men. “Which one is he? Can you tell me that?”

Markham answered in Mike's place. “Not yet. You might go home, and it will all come flooding back to you. Let's give it a little time.”

“Can you have them speak?” she asked. “I know I could identify his voice. Of that I'm certain.”

Markham shook his head. “If we do that, then even if you later remember his face, his attorneys will say you only put the face with the voice you identified. Let's just leave things as they are for now. Before this breaks in the papers, we'll have you try again. Then if you still are unable to make him, we'll go with the voice. By that time, we are going to have him on so many other counts that your voice ID will just be another nail in his coffin.”

“Okay,” Audra said as she stood to leave. “I'm just so thankful he is finally stopped.” She remembered how she had baited him, and shuddered. “All this time I have thought how terribly unlucky I was to have gone through what I did. But I guess I was really the lucky one. All those young girls. Dead. It doesn't seem possible.”

Mike put his arm around her shoulders. “Well, the killing is over now. Thanks to you. Who knows how many other girls you may have saved from a similar fate.”

Audra slipped her arm around Mike's waist, realizing how comfortable she felt with him. She didn't even mind Markham's steady gaze. “All that's left now is for me to remember that night. Then I can put this whole ugly business behind me and get on with my life.”

Chapter NINETEEN

The small Cessna taxied down the runway and lifted smoothly off the ground. Mike and Butch watched from the window as Hays disappeared in a blur of white. Only the snow routes were open, and the population was advised to stay off the streets unless absolutely necessary. When they first started their climb, here and there they could see a snowplow slowly pushing through the snow, but other than that, the activity level was almost zero. That was fortunate. People would be preoccupied with digging out from the storm for a day or two.

Butch leaned back in his seat and removed a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He lit one and looked at Mike. “So. Just what exactly are we looking for in Greensburg? Anything specific?”

“Anything that will begin to paint a picture of a serial killer,” Mike answered. “Markham wanted us to get to these people before the press, and before they know for certain what is going on. His relatives and friends will be interviewed a hundred times once it's out in the open. We need an accurate assessment of the man first.”

Butch took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly, letting the steady drone of the Cessna's engine relax him. He hadn't realized how wired he had been for the last twenty-four hours. With little effort, he knew he could be sleeping in minutes. He forced himself to concentrate. “We already know quite a bit, if he follows the general profile of a serial killer.”

“He's smart. That much we know. Most serial killers funnel their intelligence into killing, and Simpson's no exception. He's gotten by all these years without ever being suspected.”

Butch rubbed at his blood-shot eyes. “Yeah, well he isn't all
that
smart. He refused a polygraph, but didn't bat an eye when they took blood for the DNA profile. And
that's
what will get him.”

Mike nodded. “But he didn't have any say-so there.” He shifted gears to a matter that had been playing on his mind. “I still can't get over those notebooks. It was like he thought all he had to do was show us what he had written, and it would magically clear him.”

“How do you suppose he pulled off that video the night Audra was attacked?”

Mike shook his head. “Be damned if I know. But you're talking ten years ago. Records could have been changed to suit his purposes.”

“How?”

“I don't know. Maybe he knew someone who worked at the video store. Maybe he called back to the motel and told them they were mixed up on their dates, and needed to change their records. However he did it, we're going to find out the truth. We've got time on our side now.”

*   *   *

Audra had the young officer let her off a few blocks from the motel. Despite the heavy accumulation of snow, it was a beautiful day. The sun was out, making the city glisten and sparkle as light bounced off the as yet undisturbed covering of snow. She wanted to run shouting down the quiet streets. She wanted to breathe the fresh, clean air deeply. Most of all, she wanted to know what it felt like to walk down a street without being afraid. Martin Luther King's words popped into her mind.
Free at last—Free at last!

Snow crunched under her boots as she walked down the access road toward the motel. She shouted hello to a man shoveling snow at the Standard station. He stopped scooping and waved at her. “Beautiful snow, wasn't it?” he said.

“Yes,” she called back. “Everything looks like it was touched by a magic wand.”

The man laughed, returning to his task.

Audra walked past the Holiday Inn. The parking lot was filled with cars buried beneath mounds of snow. On to the north she could see Bess's Rock Road Inn, setting insignificantly between the larger chain motels, its blackened limestone exterior giving a look of timeless permanence and solidity. It suited the personality of its owner. Here the parking lot was filled, also, but she knew that underneath the pilings of snow were older model cars and rusted-out pick-ups. She also knew that probably half of the people were not spending a dime for their night's lodging, and the other half were paying only a pittance. And now she understood how Bess could afford such generosity. Her mind was still reeling from
that
little bombshell.

And to think I always planned on Bess someday coming to live with me! When she couldn't take care of herself any longer. I was looking forward to the day I could pay her back for all she has done for me!
She smiled to herself.
And how many times have I nagged her to carry health insurance!

She thought of Gerald and smiled to herself, picturing the scene as Bess had described it to her. “I'm firin' you! Right here. Right now.” God, how she would have loved to see his face. Gerald, with all his pandering to anyone with name, position, or money, had treated the richest woman in the state with total contempt! He would never get over it!

And no wonder that last phone call was such a turnaround. After Bess finished her story, Audra knew perfectly well Gerald had made a last-ditch effort to save the situation with that call to her. He had desperately hoped to convince her he had not as yet seen Bess.

Such a stupid little man. She was glad he was out of her life forever. She thought of Mike and his booming laugh, his inherent good nature. She was rapidly falling in love with him. And unless she had completely lost all of her “feminine intuition” these last ten years, the feeling was mutual.

Audra could see smoke coming from the chimney at the motel's office, and guessed that Bess and Jason were in there, getting ready for anyone who happened to stop by. The boy had still been sleeping when she left, worn out by his night's work. Bess said she would wait until he awakened to go to the motel.

“Miss Delaney!” he yelled when she opened the door. “Did they get him?”

She laughed and scooped him up in her arms. “Yes! We don't have anything to worry about now. He's in jail.”

Bess came out from behind the desk, looking at her questioningly. “And could you identify him?”

“No,” Audra said, as she released Jason. “But from what Mike said, that really doesn't matter. He—” She looked at Jason, wondering if she should speak in front of him, then realizing it would soon be all over town and there was no reason to keep the truth from him. “They say he has killed as many as twenty-three young college girls, and probably more than that. I—I guess I was the lucky one.”

For once, Bess was speechless. She sank down in a chair by the fire, shaking her head. Her voice was unsteady when she finally spoke. “Oh, child. And he almost had you again last night.” She turned to Jason. “If it hadn't been for you! You saved her—you and your screamers!”

Jason looked up at his teacher. “Yeah. They worked swell, didn't they, Miss Delaney?”

Audra laughed. “Yer dern tootin' they worked swell! But you know, you never
did
really explain how you happened to have those things with you?”

Before Jason could reply, the telephone rang. Bess answered it. “Yes, Seth. Are you certain? Did you check both hospitals?” She turned around and stared at Jason. “No, no. Don't worry about it. I'll get it straightened out and call you back.”

Bess replaced the phone in the cradle and raised her eyebrows at Jason. “Well, young man. It's a funny thing. Seems your momma's not in either of the hospitals here in town. Can you explain that?”

*   *   *

Sheriff Underwood was a hulk of a man: six four in his cowboy boots, with a slight paunch, and a handlebar moustache that made him appear grim even when he was smiling. Mike guessed him to be in his late sixties, probably close to retirement. And he was nobody's fool. In only minutes, the two officers had formed a grudging respect for this small town sheriff who thought they were both full of shit.

“I'm telling you, there is no way Howard Simpson could have set that fire. I handled that case personally, and I guarantee I don't miss much. And of
course
we checked for a timing device. That was the first thing we thought of when we heard about the insurance. We covered that house like white on rice. Hell, we even had the state fire marshal here. He agreed with our findings. The kid must have been playing with his chemistry set, started a small fire, and the gas leak caused the place to blow.”