No Ordinary Killer (18 page)

“I hope you’re right.”

“You can’t believe Paul is our leak. Dallas, I’m
telling you right now that Paul isn’t the one trying to destroy me. Now, quid
pro quo.”

“I was hoping you’d forget. Dad wants me to take over
his dynasty. Trouble is I’m not the least bit interested in the cattle
industry. I’ve always wanted to be in law enforcement. Dad disapproved. One
thing I learned early on, daddy is always right. So my career choice cost me my
father and inheritance. I don’t care about the money, but I do miss dad. I’m
not allowed to step foot in his house. I used to follow him around like a lost
puppy. I was daddy’s little girl. You’d never know it now. I always wish I’d
had a sister or a brother. I keep hoping someday dad will forgive me and we can
start building a relationship again. So far that hasn’t happened.”

“Would he be angry enough to hire someone to scare you
into running back home? I mean, face it, he can afford it.”

“I’ve considered that scenario, but it just doesn’t
sound like daddy. His approach is head-on. I think it’s my association with
you—“

“Well, would you look at that?”

“White van three cars back … has been following us for
about an hour now. Could be our guy, or just a coincidence.”

“You were going to mention it when?”

“If he’d made a move, I would have brought it to your
attention.”

“Hmm nice of you.”

“Don’t go getting out of joint. He or she might not
even know us. Okay, so I take that back. I make a driver with no passengers and
he’s picking up speed.”

“I caught a glimpse of metal, he has a gun. I thought
he might wait for McDonald Pass to make his move. We go over the edge and we
don’t have a chance unless we have wings.”

* * *

Megan tried … but sleep wouldn’t come. The violence of
her lover left her anxious and fearful. What did she know about him? Nothing.
Trying to see his face was a mistake. Maybe she should follow him the next time
he left her bed. No, she’d never get away with it without being spotted. He
wanted her to believe he was a journalist, but he was a cop. She’d lived with
one and recognized the signs. She wasn’t without options and she knew just the
man to do it.

Feeling better, Megan rolled over and—the alarm
blared. She jerked and muscles tensed as she reached to shut the damn thing
off. A sharp pain shot between her temples. A headache would only complicate
things. This was not going to be a good day.

Standing in the shower, Megan allowed the hot water to
work its therapy. She lathered up a therapeutic aromatherapy of Lemongrass
Verbena. She slowly moved her head down and around, down and around.

Who had set her alarm for six? She had set it for
eight and her visitor last night … maybe he had reset it before he slid between
the sheets. But why? Fear seeped into her self-control … shaking her to the
core. She quickly shut the water off, towel dried, and slipped into a pair of
lounging sweats with a matching top. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and
didn’t bother with makeup. Who was going to see her anyway? She had a novel to
finish.

Why? Why was she being forced to finish this book so
quickly? It usually took a good two years to get a book on the market after it
was bought. Was Jessica being blackmailed into pushing this book onto the
market? After all, wasn’t she being coerced into writing it?

The smell of coffee led Megan to the parlor of her
room. A Capital slightly toasted bagel with plain cream cheese and a cup of coffee
and hazelnut creamer awaited her. Megan hurried straight to the bedroom door,
only to find it locked. Her benefactor must have placed the order. But, how did
he know what she liked or didn’t like to eat?

She sat on the couch and poured herself a much needed
cup of coffee. The bagel was perfect, how did he know? What did she know about
her lover? That question crowded her mind more than ever. What a fool she’d
been.

Coffee cup in hand, Megan headed for the library. A
large white envelope placed across the keyboard screamed for attention. She
didn’t have to wonder who put it there. What frightened her was when had he put
it there?

Shaking, she set her coffee cup down and pulled the
contents free. Case pictures of a young woman dropped onto the table. At a
glance it was obvious the woman had been repeatedly strangled by a rope
.
Numerous marks on the throat of the
victim revealed they were caused by the fingernails of the assailant as he also
choked her. The presence of petechial hemorrhages in her eyes screamed manual
strangulation. Most shocking was the 3-7-77 carved into the forehead of the
victim. The girl’s thick braid was bound across her mouth and around her head
like a gag.

Megan swallowed hard, then read the typed note
attached to the last photo.
Megan, Love.
It was tricky to find a victim to match the beginning of
Physical Evidence
. You started with perfect excitement and as good as I am, I’ve found
the perfect case for you. You’ll have to change your character Doris Shane to
Ella Burquist, but that’s an easy fix. No, we can’t use her real name, Eunice
Ballyard. This is after all a fiction book. This evidence should get your
fingers flying over the keyboard. Get busy. You have a deadline to meet.

Megan stared at the note and sat hard on the chair. This
was a nightmare. One she wanted to wake from and never think about again. What
family’s nightmare was she about to awaken? Maybe she should take the evidence
and go straight to Cooper. Could his team help her set a trap for this killer?
She’d be a heroine in the public eye.

The startling phone ring snapped her from her
thoughts. The caller ID displayed
unknown
.
It was him. “What?”

“My, my, aren’t we testy this morning. I’d suggest you
be a bit more cordial, lovely Megan. After all, I’m making you a world class
writer.”

“Maybe my aspirations have changed. I no longer want
world-wide status. I am not—“

“Don’t you tell me what you’re not going to do. You’ll
do what I command. You will follow my instructions and you will not go to the
police, especially not Cooper. You cross me, Megan, and your mother’s house
with go up in flames, with her and the twins inside. Don’t even bother
wondering if I can make that happen, because you know the answer. Don’t piss me
off.”

 
“Why are you
doing this? I need motive. I need direction. Why don’t you write the damn book
and put my name on it. Will save us both a lot of grief.”

“It must come from you. Every author has a voice. It’s
the way they write, the phrasing, the pacing, the tone that makes their
individual book theirs alone. You will write
Physical Evidence
and you will have the first murder finished by
the end of this week.”

“Well you have more confidence in me than I do. Did
you kill this Eunice Billyard?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“The 3-7-77 carved in her forehead, what does it
mean?”

“During a four month period in 1863, Henry Plummer and
his road agent gang killed more than 120 hard-working miners, stealing their
gold, and chopping the bodies into buzzard bait. If the gang didn’t have time
to dismember a body, they left the corpse to rot on the trailhead. All the gold
was turned over to Plummer, and he buried it all over the hills. They made a
mistake by killing a popular young man named Nicholas Thiebalt. One of the
local ranchers found the body and brought it into town. The townsfolk organized
the Montana Vigilantes with men from Bannack, Virginia City, and nearby Nevada
City.”

“And what exactly does that have to do with the
numbers 3-7-77?”

“Impatient, aren’t you, Megan? These masked vigilantes
visited suspected outlaws in the middle of the night and issued warnings. They
also tacked up warning posters that usually featured skull-and-crossbones or
the numbers 3-7-77. The exact meaning of the numbers is still being debated,
but the Montana State Highway patrolmen wear the emblem 3-7-77 on their
shoulder patches today.”

“So why would you … uh, this killer, carve that into
this young woman’s forehead?”

“Use your imagination. The murder took place in
Bannack,right?”

“Right.”

“Well, it’s now believed Henry Plummer was innocent.
At the time the vigilantes quickly tracked down the outlaws and gave them a
makeshift trial. They hung about twenty-two men. Several outlaws tried to save
themselves by pointing fingers at others. When a road agent, Erastus ‘Red’
Yeager, was about to be hanged, he identified Henry Plummer as the leader of
the gang and named other gang leaders. It was the first indication that Henry
Plummer was a road agent.”

“And that is significant because?”

“You’re being a bitch, Megan. You can use this information
in your book. Its history and will give you interesting fodder that your
readers will love.”

“You really think so?” Megan took a sip of coffee and
made a face. It had turned bitter and cold, much like the conversation. “And
why would this information be important in my book?”

“Well the vigilantes went to Henry Plummer’s house. It
was a cold Sunday evening in January of 1864, and Plummer had been feeling ill
for several days and was undressing for bed. The posse, armed with revolvers,
rifles, and shotguns, surrounded the ailing sheriff’s cabin.”

“He was a sheriff?”

“Yes, I thought you knew he was Bannack’s sheriff. The
posse didn’t give Plummer a full-scale trial because they had Red Yeager’s
confession and a list of outlaws. The vigilantes marched Plummer from his home
to a scaffold he himself had built in his role of sheriff. Moments before the
posse could hang him, Plummer made an unusual request:
Give me two hours and a horse. I’ll bring back my weight in gold.
Instead the vigilantes strung him up. They provided no drop, but instead, bound
his hands, slipped a noose over his head, and gradually hoisted him. They
waited long enough to be sure none of his friends could save him then returned
to town, leaving his corpse to stiffen in the freezing wind.”

“He admitted he had a lot of gold. I’d say he admitted
he was a road agent. How come they now think he was innocent?”

“There wasn’t one shred of evidence connecting Plummer
with any crime committed in Bannack or Alder Gulch. Was there really a band of
outlaws led by Henry Plummer? I don’t think so. Documents attest only to four
crimes in Plummer’s jurisdiction during 1863, and none of them were related to
each other. The two stages that were robbed were not carrying gold shipments.
Also, the botched robbery attempt of the caravan transporting more than $75,000
in gold dust was carried out by only two men---neither experienced road agents.
So this whole historical lie destroyed a man’s good name."

“So you’re saying the Montana Vigilantes were the
outlaws and not Plummer?”

“You got it.”

“And this whole long historical event affects my story
how?”

“Use your imagination.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t get cute. I want you to use this information
when writing about the murder.”

“I’m totally lost.”

“This murder took place in Bannack. She bares the mark
of the Montana Vigilantes. The victim was repeatedly hung by the neck, then
resuscitated. Who knows, maybe she was hung twenty-one times? Evidence proves
she was raped between each hanging.”

“Don’t you think this is a bit much? I mean—“

“Over-kill!”

His laugh caused her to pause. Did she know that
laugh? It seemed strangely familiar. “You want me to make a correlation between
this young woman’s murder and the history of Plummer? What angle? He was
innocent and having Ella’s hanging take place where Plummer was hanged, proves
the police had the wrong killer? The real killer is one of them—just like the
Montana Vigilantes killed Plummer to cover-up their murders?”

“Very good, Megan. You do have a mind for this.”

“How old is this case?”

“That’s something you don’t need to know.”

“Why?”

“Use the case as the framework for the first murder in
Physical Evidence
. Use the
information to establish the ineptitude of the police. Because—“

“Wait one minute. I am not taking on the Great Falls
Police Department. It will look like I’ve got a vendetta against Cooper and his
team. I’ll look like a fool without proof and only insinuations.”

“Who says you don’t have any proof? When you’re done
with
Physical Evidence
, the entire
country will be rocked. I’m telling you right now, Megan, you will be
acclaimed.”

“That better be the case.”

“By the way, do you know for a fact the twins are
Cooper’s?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“You’ve been fucking your lover for around four years
now. Those twins are three. If I’m counting correctly, there is a good chance
they might not be Cooper’s kids.”

“They are.”

“Would you mind if I had a paternity test run?”