Murder Comes by Mail (28 page)

At his house, Michael helped Justin load the body bag into the hearse. He was glad to see the coroner’s taillights disappear as he headed up the lane toward the highway. Buck followed him out, anxious to find a car wash.

Whitt leaned against his car and looked around. “Pretty isolated out here, Deputy.”

“It’s quiet. Peaceful. Normally.” Michael turned on the garden hose attached to his outside faucet to fill up Jasper’s water dish.

The dog lapped at the water without much enthusiasm. He’d had no qualms about slaking his thirst with lake water. Michael leaned over and let the spout of water from the hose fill his mouth. Hank gave Whitt and Chekowski a sideways glance when Michael held the hose out toward them and reached for it first. He took a long drink, then let the water splash over his face.

“What’s he doing still here?” Whitt glared at Hank as if seeing him for the first time instead of having already threatened him with arrest for obstruction of justice if he stepped one foot in Whitt’s way.

Hank stared back at Whitt. “A good reporter can smell a story a mile away, and that one wasn’t hard to smell. In fact, I can still smell it.”

Chekowski sniffed one of her arms. “Do odors like that cling to you? You know, like smoke.”

“I don’t think that’s what you’re smelling.” Michael took the hose back from Hank and offered it to Whitt and Chekowski. When Whitt gave his head a little shake, Chekowski moistened her lips and lowered her hand back down to her side. “Somebody must have dumped some fish down by the lake. Or could be my dog dragged something up into the yard. Dogs like the smell.”

The thought of the smell again must have been enough to make Chekowski risk Whitt’s displeasure. She grabbed the hose and leaned over to let the water run across her nose and mouth.

Whitt frowned and opened his mouth, but Michael jumped in front of whatever the man was going to say. “Are we through here, Detective, or do you have more questions?”

“I don’t have anything but questions, Deputy. My problem is finding somebody with answers.”

“Wonder where the pictures are?” Hank spoke up.

Whitt stared daggers at him. “Maybe you should try to smell them out in your mailbox, newshound.”

Hank’s face flashed red as he took a step toward Whitt. He rubbed his hands dry on his pants and fingered the camera strap around his neck as if ready to use his most lethal weapon. “Now look here, Mr. Hotshot Detective. I’m just trying to do my job for the people of Hidden Springs by reporting the news, and if you’d do your job a little better, maybe none of us would be here and that poor woman would be on a stage somewhere instead of—” Hank ran out of steam and finished weakly—“instead of where she is.”

Whitt surprised Michael by laughing. Honest “that’s funny” laughter. He didn’t think the man had that kind of laughter in him, an opinion obviously shared by Chekowski from the look on her face as she stared up from the water hose at her boss.

“‘Ace Newshound Meets Hotshot Detective.’” Whitt gave a snort to choke off his laugh. “Some headline. Might even make me think about skimming the story.” His eyes narrowed on Hank. “How often does that rag of yours comes out?”

Hank’s shoulders slumped. “Once a week. Not again till next Wednesday.”

“Could be by then we’ll have Jackson, and I’ll give you an exclusive, Ace.”

Hank came as close to smiling as he had all day. “I’ll hold you to your word on that, Hotshot.”

“Till then, do me a favor and disappear.” Every hint of a smile was gone from Whitt’s face. “I’m sure your deputy here will give you a press briefing in the morning.”

“Sure, Hank. I’ll call you in the morning if anything else turns up.” Michael took the hose from Chekowski and turned off the faucet without offering it to Whitt again.

“No more bodies.” The color drained out of Hank’s face. “Please, no more bodies.” He turned toward his old van, then looked back at Whitt. “Your men will surely find something in the car, won’t you? Some lead to get a line on this Jackson before he has a chance to kill again.”

“Could be, Ace. Like I said, the deputy here will let you know.”

Fat chance that Whitt would ever share any information with Michael to pass along to anybody, but Michael didn’t say so.

“But will the leads lead anywhere?” Whitt muttered as he watched Hank’s van bounce away toward the highway. The man settled his back more comfortably against his car, as though he were a neighbor who had stopped by to shoot the breeze for a while. “What is it they say about the probability of catching a murderer, Chekowski?”

“That if you don’t catch the perpetrator in the first twenty-four or thirty-six hours, the odds go down that you ever will.” Chekowski pulled a tissue out of a hidden pocket and swiped the last drops of water off her face.

“One thing about this guy. He keeps giving us a fresh twenty-four to work with,” Whitt said.

Twilight crept out of the woods to surround them, but Michael didn’t invite them into his house. If Whitt wanted to third-degree him, he’d have to do it at the office and not here. Michael didn’t want them poking around his house, passing judgment on how he lived. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to Whitt’s questions and hear the undercurrent of blame in what the man was asking.

What Michael wanted was a shower. A long, hot shower. And then to talk to Alex. Or even better, see her. Pete Ballard, his partner on the force in the city, used to say that a man needed a woman to get over a bad death scene. He claimed the act of making babies was a man’s only defense against the bald truth of violent death. Of course, it wouldn’t matter if Alex was standing right beside him. She wouldn’t be thinking about making any babies with him.

He remembered what Betty Jean had said about how he couldn’t leave town even if Alex called and said she’d marry him if he could get to her apartment before the day was over. Betty Jean was wrong. He’d be on the road in an instant and let the chips fall where they may. Not that he ever expected that to happen. Right now, he just hoped she’d answer her phone when he called.

Back behind his house, the frogs began their nightly serenade to see if they could outsing the crickets already chirping full strength. Somewhere in the woods, a screech owl joined in.

Chekowski jumped and her hand hovered near the holster under her jacket. “What was that?”

“Relax, Chekowski. Just an owl.” Whitt raised his head a little to listen. “I thought you said it was quiet out here, Deputy.”

“Quiet except for nature’s noise. Nothing man-made.”

Whitt tilted his head a little. “I hear traffic.”

“The interstate,” Michael admitted. “A constant, unfortunate background sound.”

“How far away from here?”

“About three miles as the crow flies, but it would be rough walking.” Michael looked to the east toward the sound of traffic.

“Think our man could have walked it?”

“I don’t know. Jackson didn’t impress me as somebody who’d attempt walking across town, but then he didn’t look like a man who could entice three young women to go anywhere with him either.” Michael shrugged. “So who knows?”

“You find out anything about that Jackie Johnson? The one you think might be Jackson?” Whitt turned his eyes back to Michael.

“The woman in our office is trying to track down his family. I don’t know if she’s had any success since I’ve been out of contact most of the day. She’ll have gone home now.” Michael hoped Betty Jean had sense enough to go back to her parents’ house in spite of the country ham and biscuits. “I can give her a call if you want.”

Whitt looked at his watch. “Morning will do. It doesn’t look as if we’re going to answer your question tonight anyway.”

“My question?”

“Yeah. Where is he? That’s what you said we needed to know, isn’t it? Right up there with what he’s planning next.”

“Maybe he’ll take the night off,” Chekowski offered. She looked dead on her feet and as eager to be home taking a hot shower as Michael was.

“He already took a night off.” Whitt glanced at her and then back at Michael. “You’d agree with that, wouldn’t you, Deputy? This Julie actress whatever-her-name definitely quit breathing before our pretty Ms. Barbour. Maybe even before victim one.”

“Seems a possibility.”

“But if that’s true, why didn’t this woman’s picture surface before the others?” Chekowski asked.

“Who knows?” Whitt said. “Could be the guy didn’t want us to see the pictures until after we found the body.”

“Maybe there aren’t any pictures this time,” Michael said.

“Don’t count on that, Deputy. Our guy likes his pictures. I figure it’s just a question of where they’ll surface.”

After Whitt and Chekowski finally followed the others away up the lane back to Eagleton, Michael unlocked his front door and went inside. Jasper went straight for his food dish.

“Give me a minute, boy.” Michael grabbed the phone and dialed Aunt Lindy’s number. He listened to it ring as he poured the dog food out for Jasper.

Of course, she was all right, Aunt Lindy told him. And yes, she could reach out and put her hand on the gun and she certainly would do just that at the first suspicious sound. He needn’t worry about that. So it was entirely unnecessary for him to babysit her. However, if he wanted to be closer to the office, then he was welcome to come back to town for the night. And wasn’t it awful about poor Julie Lynne? She’d looked so happy when they saw her at the play.

Michael didn’t know why he was surprised that she already knew about Julie Lynne. That kind of news was sure to flash through Hidden Springs at the speed of light. Aunt Lindy had heard it at the grocery store, she said. She didn’t really know much. Just that somebody had discovered the poor girl’s body down at the lake, and it looked like this Jackson was responsible. At least the man everybody was calling Jackson. She reminded Michael that the man’s name was really Jackie Johnson and Michael had surely followed up on that, hadn’t he?

Oh yes, and she had some messages for him. Betty Jean wanted him to call first chance he got. She’d tried to reach him all day, but he must have been out of range. No, Betty Jean hadn’t sounded in a panic and hadn’t said the first word about any suspicious envelopes. Karen had called not ten minutes ago to say it was a good thing she was at her sister’s house since Janet was feeling some twinges. The baby might be planning an imminent arrival.

And by the way, Alexandria had called looking for him, but she wouldn’t leave a message. Said she’d call back if she couldn’t reach him at the log house. She didn’t sound quite like herself, so it might be a good idea for Michael to give her a call before it got too late.

Michael looked at the flashing message light on the phone, told Aunt Lindy he’d see her in about an hour, and hung up.

He hit the play message button and Betty Jean asked him to call as soon as he could, but Aunt Lindy was right. She didn’t sound panicked. She must have found out something about Jackson, but she hadn’t gotten pictures.

Michael frowned at the sound of Dr. Colson’s voice on the next message. “Just wondering if you’d considered my offer of counseling yet.” The man just would not give up. Michael cut him off, moving on to the next message. A hang-up, maybe Aunt Lindy.

Then the sheriff’s voice boomed out from the machine. “Sorry I haven’t been around to help during all this, Mike, but I know I can depend on you to keep things under control up there. If you need me and can’t get me on my cell, Betty Jean has the number down here.”

Michael frowned and wondered where “down here” was. Maybe the sheriff had gone to Florida. Michael and Betty Jean had been too slow getting out of the gate and now they were stuck. At least he was. Who knew about Betty Jean? If she found pictures on her doorstep at home, she’d be off to Hawaii as fast as she could pack her swimsuit.

If only they could find Jackson and end this mess. How many places were there for a man on the run to stay in Eagleton? Maybe he was hiding out in one of the tourist cabins around the lake. Could be he was even the fisherman who had called in about spotting the car. Michael should have already checked that out.

Alex’s voice came on the next message. While she didn’t exactly sound panicked, she definitely sounded strained. “All right, Michael. I don’t like this. An envelope of pictures showed up at the office today. In the regular mail. My secretary fainted. Hit her head on the side of the desk on the way down. Five stitches and a worker’s comp claim, no doubt. I’ve seen worse. Pictures, I mean, but I didn’t like seeing my name and office address on that envelope. Return address just had Mike. Cute, huh?”

She paused as though waiting for him to answer, and Michael leaned closer to the machine to be sure he wasn’t missing anything. She pulled in a breath and went on. “What am I supposed to do with them? Turn them over to the police here? No need you calling me. I’m turning off my cell and not going home. I’m certainly not leaving a message on your machine saying where I am. The security of your phone line is suspect. Very suspect. But I will call you. Never fear. I’m doing enough of the fearing part on this end. It’s a few minutes past four. Betty Jean is texting me a picture of this guy pronto. If he’s out there stalking me, I want to see him first.”

Michael hit the replay button and listened to her message again, hating the miles between them. How could he protect her if she was there and he was here? The hard part of it all was that if it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t need protecting. At least not from Jackson.

29

Michael had to look up Betty Jean’s parents’ number in the phone book.

“About time you called,” Betty Jean said after her father handed her the phone. “I about wore my fingers out trying to call you this afternoon.”

“You talk to Alex?”

“She’s not happy either. Said anybody who couldn’t get a phone call didn’t live where somebody should live. I guess I could’ve told her you left your phone at the office, but I figured she’d freak at that. Not that it would have mattered. I tried the radio and Buck’s phone too. No signal anywhere out there.”

“You knew where we were. You could have sent Lester down to the lake with a message.”