Authors: Rick Reed

Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller

The Coldest Fear (26 page)

BOOK: The Coldest Fear

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CHAPTER
SIXTY-SEVEN

Lenny Bange came awake and shifted his eyes to the red glowing letters of the bedside alarm clock. It was only five-thirty. The alarm was set for six o'clock and he planned on doing some personal errands today. To hell with the office. His secretary could reschedule all of his appointments and he didn't have court. Besides, he needed the day off. The visit from Cubby had unnerved him, and he was still angry over the fleecing he'd taken from the big man. When he'd called Cubby to “take care of his problem” he had agreed on a thousand bucks to just rough the guy up, get any documents, and make sure the blackmailer wouldn't return. But Cubby had taken him for three grand.

He buried his face in his pillow and tried to go back to sleep, but he was angry and a little embarrassed that he'd let Cubby intimidate him. If it had been anyone else, Lenny would have told them to stuff it and taken care of the problem himself. Lenny Bange was a dangerous man in his own right. But he didn't physically rough people up, and in this case he knew that it was physical toughness that was called for. Besides, he didn't have the talent to find the blackmailer. Cubby would easily beat that information out of someone on the list he had provided to the muscle-headed jerk. That was what Cubby was good at.

He rolled over to get up and felt a weight next to him as if someone had just sat on the edge of the bed.

“What the hell?” Lenny said and started to get out of bed when something hard struck him in the face. He fell back against the headboard, striking his head, and a fist came down hard on his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. Another blow landed on his face, and another and another until he was dizzy and feeling nauseous and gagging on his own blood. The beating stopped as quickly as it had started.

The first thought that entered his mind was
Cubby.
But the voice that came out of the dark wasn't Cubby's.

“Lenny Bange. Bange, Bange, Bange,” the man's voice said, and then he chuckled.

“Who are you?” Lenny heard himself saying though split lips. His voice was so weak he barely recognized it as his own.

“Who am I?” the voice asked.

Lenny felt the man's weight lift from the mattress next to him. His head spun and he thought he was going to black out. Then something moved in the shadow in the corner of the room and a man wearing dark clothing materialized. “I'm death, Lenny.”

Lenny felt a gloved hand crush his mouth and nose. He struggled to free his face from the man's grip, but the hand was too strong. A blow landed on his groin, sending lightning bolts of pain throughout his body and taking the remaining air from his lungs.

The worst of the pain subsided, and Lenny sucked in huge gulps of air before another blow landed across the side of his face and another fist hammered into his chest. Lights danced behind the attorney's eyes. He felt sure he would pass out this time, but the man's face leaned close to his ear and a whispering voice warned him, “Don't scream. And . . .” The man paused long enough to grip Lenny's face again, as if in a vice. “Don't lie to me. Nod yes if you understand, Mr. Bange.”

Jack, Liddell, and Frank Tunney decided to go back to the Evansville Police Department and meet with Captain Franklin and Chief Marlin Pope and update them on their trip to Illinois. They had spent the best part of the early morning dealing with Shawneetown's case, and had picked up an injured dog in the process. Now it was nearing seven o'clock. Jack was anxious to get back to headquarters and talk to Garcia to see if she had gleaned any more information. After that he planned to pay another visit to the attorney, Lenny Bange.

As they walked through the back entrance to the detectives' office, Jack saw that his plans might have to be postponed.

“Have you read it yet?” one of the detectives said to Jack and handed him the front page of the newspaper.

Liddell and Agent Tunney leaned close to Jack to see the headlines. SERIAL-
KILLER HUNTER IN EVANSVILLE
:
NATIONWIDE MANHUNT BEGINS
. Jack looked at the byline. “Arnold Byrum again,” he said out loud. “How is he getting this stuff ?”

Liddell, who had been reading further down the page, said, “He even has the information from Shawneetown. We just got back and haven't told anyone yet.”

“I think your chief might be upset to see all this before we've talked to him,” Tunney added.

Jack folded the paper tightly in his fist. “Shit!”

Captain Franklin came up in the hallway and motioned for them to follow him. He headed for the front of the building where the chief of police's complex was located.

“Think we'll get a spanking?” Liddell whispered to Jack.

“You'd like it,” Jack said.

“Nothing wrong with a little foreplay,” Agent Tunney added.

“Quit it,” Liddell said. “You're going to make me like you.”

“I already like him,” Jack said as they followed Captain Franklin through the locked doors that led into the main public corridor of the police department. Jack noticed the usual crowd of discontented citizens mixed in with law clerks and insurance agents who regularly visited the police department records section.

“Excuse me,” a voice came from the hallway that led from the police station to the Civic Center Complex.

Liddell turned and put a hand on Jack's shoulder just as bright lights came on from the direction of the voice. As they turned they were staring into a bright light of the Channel Six cameraman. Next to him was anchorman Blake James.

Liddell turned his back to James and looked at Jack, saying, “We should have brought the dog in with us.” Jack tried to hide a smile.

Captain Franklin stepped forward, blocking the camera view of Agent Tunney, and said, “I'm sorry, Mr. James, but we are late for a meeting.” Franklin motioned for the others to continue to the chief 's office while he stayed behind and dealt with the media.

Jack was more than happy to get out of there, but Agent Tunney seemed hesitant. “We have to go, Agent Tunney,” he said and took the man's arm.

They entered the chief's complex waiting room and were buzzed through a connecting door to the inner sanctum. Chief Marlin Pope was holding a copy of the morning newspaper.

“Looks like you're getting that spanking after all, Bigfoot,” Jack said to Liddell, but no one smiled.

“Why me? Why not you?” Liddell asked.

Jack shrugged. “Bigger butt, bigger target.”

CHAPTER
SIXTY-EIGHT

Cody Morse stood in the front lobby of the Civic Center, watching people come and go through metal detectors, and wondered how America had become so screwed up. What did it say for the people of a small town in the Midwest that they had to be so security conscious that they couldn't even pay their water bills or property taxes without having to be subjected to pat-downs and screening by law enforcement?

I've killed more people than they could ever imagine, and yet I can come and go as I please.
He looked at the archway of the metal detector and watched as sheriff 's deputies made people empty their pockets before allowing them to come inside. A few moments earlier someone had tried to bring a knife inside and it had caused quite a stir. The offender was a construction worker who routinely carried a Buck knife on his belt. It was almost comical seeing the looks on faces as the poor guy was taken aside and searched.
What would they think if I brought my axe?
he wondered.

And now there was something else going on in the police chief 's complex, with reporters roaming the halls, foraging for tidbits and scraps of information to feed to their audiences. They didn't know that the star of all this excitement was within an arm's length of most of them. He was just another face in the crowd.

Lenny Bange had proved to be useless. No matter how much skin Cody sliced away with the axe, the man just kept crying and denying that he knew who it was that was calling him. But, Lenny had clarified a few things. Cordelia was a call girl. She was working for Lenny. And she had apparently kept some kind of diary of all the clients and had been threatening Lenny with this before her death. He had also admitted to hiring the hapless clown from Las Vegas, Cubby Crispino, to do some dirty work for him.

He smiled at the memory of Lenny's moaning when he learned of Cubby's fate. It was obvious that he thought Cubby was a tough guy.
I wonder how I compared?

But eventually he had run out of things to cut off Lenny Bange, and Lenny had gone past his expiration date. Cody still didn't have a clue who the blackmailer was. He didn't know where the diary was. And he had to find that diary. His name was in it. If the police found it first it would raise all kinds of red flags.
That won't do at all.

Then he had another thought. Arnold had proved very helpful so far in keeping the police in a defensive position. Maybe it was time to move Arnold to a new position on the chessboard. He remembered visiting an antique store in New Harmony, about twenty minutes' drive from Evansville. In that store he had found the general junk that people thought of as antiques. But he had also found a section of the store where old tools were displayed. One of these tools was a small hand axe that was smaller than the one he used, but still would suffice for what he had in mind.

If he left now, he could make it to New Harmony and get back before his absence was noticed. Then he would stop by Arnold's house again. This would be the third time he had been inside Arnold's house without anyone being the wiser. He had to keep an eye on the progress of Arnold's book.

Missing persons detective Larry Jansen was thinking the same thing as the chief of police. Where in the hell was Arnold getting all this stuff from? It pissed him off. Mostly because Larry was normally in possession of all the information. And he liked being the one who dispensed that information for a price. He didn't like the idea of someone invading his turf.

He had been hiding most of the morning, but he knew he couldn't dodge the chief for much longer. His stint in the hospital hadn't been long enough and when he'd been released the chief had Internal Affairs waiting at his home. There had been questions. Lots of questions. And now this. He remembered an old saying that goes, “Where there's smoke, there's fire.” He knew they suspected him of all of these leaks, and what really pissed him off was that for once in his life he was innocent.
Well, mostly innocent,
he thought.

CHAPTER
SIXTY-NINE

Chief Marlin Pope sat at the head of the conference table with the newspaper open in front of him. His face was a mask of calm, but Jack knew that inside the man was a volcano of emotion just waiting to bury the person responsible for the leaks in a mountain of choking ash.

“Agent Tunney, I want to apologize for the shortsightedness of some of my men,” Pope said. “We know who our leak to the news media is and will have this problem corrected shortly.”

Tunney waved the apology away. “Chief, I'm used to this. Believe me, you have not seen âleakage' yet. I could tell you stories . . .” he began, but then changed directions. “I still have to file a report, but I think I can promise you the full cooperation of the FBI on these cases.”

Liddell looked at him and had a sudden insight. “Your boss doesn't know you're here, does he?”

Tunney stared at Liddell, his face giving nothing away, before he answered, “No. He doesn't.”

Captain Franklin and the chief turned toward the profiler. He looked sheepish and continued, “Frankly, when I told my boss that I suspected the killings here were the work of The Cleaver, he wasn't very supportive.”

Jack watched Tunney with renewed respect. Frank Tunney was a rebel, like him. But the thought of a bunch of suits mixing it up in his investigation didn't make him feel more confident that they would solve these slayings.

“Some psycho killed one of my officers,” Chief Pope said. “Your assistance would be greatly appreciated. What can you tell me about the Shawneetown case?”

For the next fifteen minutes Jack filled the chief and captain in on the details from Shawneetown, only leaving out the full-blown confrontation with Chief Johnson over the dog. When he was finished he looked at Liddell and Tunney for any additions or corrections to his account.

Liddell said, “I'd like to hear Agent Tunney's take on this one.” And all attention was focused on Agent Tunney, who had been listening intently, arms folded across his chest.

Tunney cleared his throat and said, “Well, let me first say that these killingsâwith the exception of Jon Samuels in Shawneetownâhave been different in several ways from other killings that we have attributed to The Cleaver.”

“Do you think Jon Samuels matches the pattern?” Captain Franklin interrupted.

Tunney nodded. “Samuels is right for this killer.” He stood and paced behind the seated men. “The other man in Samuels's apartment was beheaded and his hands and head were removed from the scene. That's a troubling deviation from the pattern, but it doesn't mean it wasn't done by our killer.”

Tunney turned his attention on Marlin Pope. “I don't know how much you have been told about this killer, Chief, so I'll go back to the beginning. We first noticed the pattern of murders when we received a request from a small West Virginia town for identification of a body found in a wooded area. We had that police department enter the victim information and partial case information into VICAP”âhe was referring to the Violent Offender Criminal Apprehension Programâ“and received a hit with three other entries. One of those cases was in Pennsylvania, the other two were in California.” He waited a beat to let this sink in.

“We now have twenty-four murders in eight states over a ten-year period. This isn't including the murders here yet. The last murders that we know of were in Atlanta, Georgia, and that was over two years ago. Nothing until your stories showed up on my Internet newsfeeds. If he's been other places we haven't received word yet. But the time interval between killings was increasing until Atlanta. There are usually two to three murders in each state. If The Cleaver is responsible for the killings hereâand he isâthen he is on a rampage.

“In each case he has carefully chosen his victim, maybe watched them for some time, and then killed them at home in the kitchen.”

Captain Franklin interrupted again. “But you said the first case you had was a body found in a wooded area?”

“We were concerned about that too, but found that the victim had been attacked in her homeâin the kitchenâbut had managed to get out of the house and flee. Apparently the killer caught up to her in the wooded area and finished the job,” Tunney explained.

“In each of these cases the victims' faces were sheared off with a sharp metal instrument that left traces of iron behind in the wounds. The faces were the only things taken from the scenes. The FBI lab thinks the weapon he uses is a handmade bone axe, the type that was once used to slaughter cattle and cut through bones. It's heavy enough to cleave through skulls, which is the general method of causing death in each case. He kills them with a blow to the head, then cuts their faces off. Sometimes he cuts them other places as well, but only takes the faces.”

The men looked at each other, trying to find a way to fit this in with what they knew of the Evansville and Shawneetown cases. Liddell was the first to put words to his thoughts.

“I'm not a psychologist or whatever, but it seems to me that our murders have involved a lot of overkill. And obviously he didn't want us to identify the headless, handless guy in Jon Samuels's apartment.”

“I would have to agree with Liddell,” Chief Pope said.

Tunney sat back down and clasped his hands on top of the table. “I have to admit that his actions here are confusing. The Brenda Lincoln case is the only tie-in with our set of murders, but if he killed Ms. Lincoln he is our killer, too. And from other evidence you have, I guess you have firmly tied him to your other cases. I would like to examine those cases before I give you a firm decision, okay, Chief?”

Chief Pope nodded at Captain Franklin. Franklin then said, “I'll make sure you have everything you need, Agent Tunney.”

Tunney's face took on a look of great concern. “The killer is evolving, gentlemen,” he said. “I don't know why. But I can guarantee you he is not finished killing. He's just getting started.”

“Jack?” Chief Pope asked. “Do you have a plan?”

Jack wanted to say that his plan was to go home and slog down a half dozen cans of Guinness, and sit in his hot tub until his skin grew scales, but he said, “I have a dog to see to, sir.”

Chief Pope chuckled. “You have a dog?”

“Yeah, you should have seen him go all Rambo when Chief Johnson tried to shoot the dog,” Liddell said, then saw the look Jack was giving him. “I mean, yeah, Jack brought Jon Samuels's dog back with him. They were going to put it down.”

Chief Pope said, “Do I want to know any of this?”

“No, you don't, sir,” Jack replied and stared at Liddell.

“Anything else, gentlemen?” Pope asked.

No one spoke.

“I'll let you get on with it then,” Pope said. “And we will keep you involved as much as you like, Agent Tunney.”

The chief and Agent Tunney shook hands, and Captain Franklin stayed behind when the three, Tunney, Liddell, and Jack, headed back to the war room.

“I wonder what kind of high-level things they're discussing ?” Liddell quipped.

Tunney shook his head. “Maybe their golf plans?” he suggested.

BOOK: The Coldest Fear

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