The Cruelest Cut (12 page)

“Hi, honey.” Marcie said into the phone. She knew that if he was calling her at this hour in the day that he was either going to be late, or may not be home at all that evening. Being a policeman's wife, she was used to it. But it was neither.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” Liddell said.

She could tell there was something bothering him, but she would wait for him to tell it in his own way.

Finally he said, “This isn't going too good, babe.”

“Tell me,” she said gently, and he did. He told her about the whole frustrating mess, and how Jack was in Dubois County checking out another murder that might be, probably was, related to the recent ones. He told her how the killer was sending these messages to Jack, seemingly taunting him. He was worried about his partner and knew that Jack would likely go after this guy alone.

And Marcie, good wife that she was, listened. She didn't offer advice because she knew he wasn't asking for any. He was using her as a sounding board to work this out in his own mind. And it was okay with her. It was okay because Liddell was calling
her
, and not anyone else. That meant a lot. When he was through he told her, “Sorry for bending your ear, hon.”

“Liddell,” she said, “you can bend anything I've got,” and heard him chuckling on the other end.

“Love you, hon,” she said.

“Back at cha,” he said, and slowly hung up.

Marcie held the line open until she heard his end go dead; then she hung up and dialed another number.

The phone was answered on the second ring. “Hello,” Katie Murphy said.

 

Eddie finished writing the notes and laid them on the console. The map of Mother Goose Land lay open on the dash, and a new character had been marked.

“When are we gonna do the cop, Bobby?”

Bobby shook his head. “When you gonna learn, Eddie?”

“I know. I know. First we gotta make him pay. But I'm getting tired of this shit, Bobby, and you ain't done much since we started except give me orders.”

Bobby said nothing, and so Eddie looked at the map again. He had to admit that Bobby had a pretty cool plan. So far, all of the murders, except the nurse, had followed the map. The nurse would have fit perfectly, too, if she hadn't taken it in her head to drive way the hell out to that lake.
What was the bitch doing out there anyway?
Eddie thought.
She had someone coming out there, I just know it.

Eddie had wanted to stay and see who it was. Maybe have a little fun. But Bobby wanted to leave right after they did her.
“Stick to the plan, Eddie. Stick to the plan.” That's all he ever says.

Well, Eddie was getting sick of being bossed around and doing all the work to boot. He'd do this next one, but then he was going to have some fun.

“Bobby, I don't understand all this shit. I just want to get even.”

“We are getting even, Eddie. First, we destroy the man's reputation, and then we destroy everything he cares about. When we're done with him, he'll be begging us to kill him. Trust me, Eddie.”

“I do trust you, Bobby. I trust you with my life, man.” Eddie smiled, but Bobby didn't smile back.

 

Maddy Brooks was putting the finishing touches on the script that would be sent to her TelePrompTer in the newsroom when they televised her “Breaking News Special” this morning. The police department would have a fit, but she couldn't keep this under wraps any longer. The killer had made that very clear.

She shuddered when she remembered his lips pressed against her neck, whispering the most awful things to her, giving her instructions that had dire consequences if she disobeyed, but promising to keep in touch if she did what he said. She didn't shudder because of fear, but from disgust. The man exuded rot and decay, and even taking a scalding hot shower hadn't erased the feeling he left behind.

But, in truth, this was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. She was in the driver's seat, and even the police didn't have the right to stop her from telling—no, warning—the public about this freak.

She smiled. The station's ratings would go through the roof, and with the higher ratings would come a promotion for the woman that made it possible.

The station manager, Bill Goldberg, stuck his head in her office where she was touching up her makeup. “You ready, tiger?”

“You got it covered with the lawyers?” she asked, but didn't really care. She just wanted to sound concerned for the station. Show that she was a team player.

“The attorneys say we have a green light, kiddo. Let's do it,” Goldberg said with enthusiasm.

Maddy stood, looked in the mirror one more time, and followed Goldberg down the hall to the news desk. She was about to become a star.

In the conference room and on Garcia's desk were files that had already been entered into the database that Garcia herself had developed. With it, she could search for any name, date, location, time, weapon, charge, conviction, or any of a dozen other items. The program she had written could also streamline the data into comparisons between cases. It was all beyond Liddell, who was grumpily flipping through pages of old cases and wondering what Jack was doing.

“Detective Blanchard,” Garcia said.

Liddell looked up to see her offering him a cup of coffee. He took the coffee and thanked her, then stared again at the pile of papers in front of him.

“Why don't you call Detective Murphy? Maybe he's found something out by now,” she suggested.

Liddell closed the file and picked up the stack that was in front of him. “He would have called if he had anything,” he said. “But I can't just sit here waiting for something to happen. No offense meant,” he added hastily.

Garcia smiled. “None was taken, Detective Blanchard. I can call you if I get anywhere. I should have all of this entered in the next couple of hours, and then we can start the real research.”

“That'd be great, but you have to do one thing for me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You mean besides bringing you coffee and kicking you out so you don't feel guilty about leaving me with this mess?”

Liddell chuckled. It would never do to underestimate Vice Technician Angelina Garcia.

“Stop calling me Detective Blanchard,” he said. “Makes me feel like an old man. Just call me Liddell, or hey you, or something else, but not Detective Blanchard.”

“Hey you,” she said, “scoot before the captain comes back. Just leave your cell number, and please don't let that nasty little grouch back in here.”

Liddell didn't know who she was talking about for a moment and then remembered that Jansen had excused himself to make a call. He was probably outside smoking and updating Double Dick on their progress.

“I'll find something for him to do so he'll stay out of your way.”

“Thanks,” Garcia said and made a face. “He gives me the creeps.”

“You should be safe,” Liddell said with a serious look on his face. “I hear he likes little boys.”

“Liar,” she said, grinned, and then shoved him toward the door.

 

“So you say this killer is focusing on Detective Murphy?” Mayor Hensley asked the two men. Chief Pope and Deputy Chief Dick had been called to discuss the mayor's possible comments to the media about the string of recent murders. The fact that the mayor had called this meeting, Pope knew, meant he was planning on going public with the murders even if the media, by some miracle, kept cooperating.

It's just too good for him to pass up,
Chief Marlin Pope thought. He looked over at Richard Dick. The man was openly gloating. Dick could smell the blood in the water.
And that blood is mine,
Pope thought. If this case wasn't closed soon, Pope knew he would be out of a job.

“That's not how I would put it, Mayor,” Pope responded.

“But you said the killer is leaving notes for Murphy. Taunting him,” Hensley said, waving his arms to emphasize his point.

“Yes, that's true, Mayor, but…” Pope started to say, but was rudely cut off by Deputy Chief Dick.

“Look, let's not fool each other about this maniac's intentions,” Dick said and leaned back in his chair. “The fact is that he has left a message in each case. He has used Murphy's name on one or two notes sent to, uhm, what's her name…that Channel Six woman, Brooks.”

Pope almost let out a laugh. “You know her name very well, Richard. Now who is trying to fool whom?”

Dick drew himself up, perfectly portraying a wounded innocent, but Pope moved in for the kill. “You've had Maddy Brooks in your office more than the cleaning people, Richard. I'll bet you have her on speed dial.”

Mayor Hensley let himself chuckle at the last remark. It was a known fact, and not just among the police officers, that Richard Dick was a news whore.

“Gentlemen, let's not lose sight of why we are here,” Hensley said, and Dick eased back in his chair, once again calm and in control. “Maddy Brooks already leaked the possibility of a serial killer to the public.” He stood up and walked to the bank of windows that made up the wall of the office. “Hell, she even dubbed him ‘Mother Goose.' And she hinted that he was after Jack Murphy.” As he said this, he turned on Chief Pope. “Need I remind you that I wasn't informed when all this was done? I didn't even know about the Mother Goose angle. The public should have confidence in their mayor. If I'm not informed in a timely manner it makes me look weak and ineffectual.”

Pope thought that description fit him perfectly.

“If I have to respond to the news media,” Hensley continued, “I need to know what to say. The citizens of this city are going to be extremely upset that we kept quiet about this killer. They do have a right to know. To protect themselves. The question before us, gentlemen, is this: Is it appropriate to allude to the connection between Murphy and the killer?”

Pope saw the mayor and Dick exchange a look.
They're going to take me down and take Murphy down with me,
Pope realized. This had nothing to do with protecting the public or the public's right to know there was a killer among them. It was all politics.

Pope could understand the mayor taking advantage of this type of sensationalistic journalism; after all, that's a politician's bread and butter. But Richard Dick was a police officer, sworn to protect the public. Pope knew that Dick hated the very air Murphy breathed, but he didn't think, until now, that the man would allow people to be killed to get his revenge on Murphy. He suddenly wished he had retired before all this had started.

 

The meeting had ended just like Deputy Chief Dick thought it would. Pope had blustered and tried to cover for that damn Murphy, but the mayor was having none of it. Now all that remained was for someone to leak the story to one of the television stations in competition with Channel Six—preferably Channel Eleven as they had always been a supporter of the mayor—and then all he had to do was sit back and watch the media frenzy do the rest.

Maddy would be furious with him that they had not given her the exclusive story. But he was confident that people would be calling for results in the investigation, and of course, Dick would be their man. He would take Pope's position as chief of police and then suspend Murphy for mishandling the case. Even if they never solved it, he could always blame the results on Pope and Murphy. It was the perfect plan. It was a shame that he couldn't just give the story to Maddy Brooks, but then all the other stations would complain, and, well, he had to start thinking like a chief. This plan was better. And, as they say, all is fair in love and politics.

He sat across from the mayor and looked through the notes he'd gotten from Detective Jansen. Jansen was a scumbag and a pitiful excuse for a police detective, but he was very detailed and loyal. Of course, he'd expect some reward when this was over, so he'd have to throw the man a bone. Maybe promote him to sergeant and make Murphy work for him.
If Murphy's still on the job by then.
That thought made him smile.

“What's funny?” Hensley asked.

“Nothing really, Thatcher,” Dick said. “I was just remembering an old joke.”

“Tell me,” Hensley said. “I could use a laugh right now.”

“Okay,” he said, and quickly thought of a joke so as not to let on what he was really thinking. “Why do people get upset when a Chrysler with four attorneys goes over a cliff?”

Hensley just looked at him, dumbfounded.
Doesn't this moron even remember that I'm an attorney?
he thought.

Misunderstanding the mayor's silence, Dick continued, “Because a Chrysler seats six.” He laughed out loud. “Get it?”

The Channel Six newsroom was buzzing with excitement. The cameras were wheeled into place and cued on the news desk where Maddy Brooks sat beside the senior news anchor, Clark Jameson.

“Check her makeup,” the director yelled from behind the cameras, and a cute, young guy rushed to Maddy and dabbed at imaginary blemishes in her immaculate complexion. “On the air in one minute,” the director announced.

The TelePrompTer was rolled into place, but Maddy didn't need it. She'd been writing this story her whole life. She looked over at Clark, and he was looking straight ahead at the camera.
Mr. Professional,
she thought. She could feel his tension, knew he was deliberately ignoring her, could almost hear him thinking,
Just who does this bitch think she is?
But Maddy didn't care about any of that.

“Thirty seconds,” the director said.

I'm going to be a star after this story breaks,
she thought.

“Twenty seconds.”

This will make my career. Maybe give me a chance at Chicago. Or New York.

“Ten seconds,” the director announced, and everything became quiet. The small light on top of camera one lit, indicating that camera one was operative. Camera one's operator took over the cue at this point, holding up both hands, palms pointed toward Clark, while he mouthed the countdown.
Five, four, three, two, one
, and Clark expertly began, “Hello, I'm Clark Jameson, and bringing you a breaking news story is our own investigative reporter, Maddy Brooks, who has been working side by side with Evansville Police to investigate a string of murders that have now spread to Dubois County. Maddy?” he said, and the light atop camera two lit.

Maddy took a breath, looked into camera two, and began. “Thanks, Clark. On September fifteenth, a prominent local psychiatrist and her husband were brutally murdered in their north-side home. Doctor Anne Lewis and her husband of forty years, Don Lewis, lived and worked in this community for most of their lives until those lives were brought to an end by a sadistic killer the police have dubbed Mother Goose.”

 

“Is it important?” Tanner Crowley asked.

Jack leaned over and examined the chewing gum wrapper again. It was from a stick of Black Jack gum. He hadn't seen that brand of gum since he was a child. He stood up and looked southward. The front of the cabin could be seen clearly about forty yards away. One of the deputies had done a perimeter search and found the spot in the woods where someone had recently trampled a young pine sapling, left a dozen or more boot prints, and apparently had chewed a stick of Black Jack gum.

“A television reporter was attacked a couple hours ago in the parking lot,” Jack said.

“Gee, I'm real sorry to hear that,” Mark Crowley said with a satisfied grin.

“If you knew the whole story, you'd have to go home and change into something more comfortable and have a cigarette,” Jack said, and Mark chuckled with delight. “Anyway,” he continued, “she said the guy's breath smelled like Dentyne gum.”

“Coulda been Black Jack gum,” Tanner Crowley mused. “I'll check with all my guys to be sure no one is chewing gum.”

“I'll do it,” Mark said and ambled back toward the parking area.

They had interviewed Janet Parson, who was reluctant to answer questions, and at one point asked if she should have an attorney present. The sheriff had assured her that she wasn't a suspect, but she had finally insisted on talking alone with Jack.

Sheriff Crowley scratched his head and looked down in the parking lot where their star witness leaned against her car, smoking cigarette after cigarette. “So you say she's gay?” he said to Jack.

“Yup,” he answered.

“And she was up here to spend the night with the victim, for whom she had romantic inclinations?” Tanner continued.

“You do have a way with words,” Jack answered. “But, yeah, that's about the size of it.”

“And that's why she wanted an attorney?” he said as if he didn't believe her story.

“I think she's conflicted,” Jack said.

Sheriff Crowley shook his head. “I'm too old for this shit. In my day…” he began, then seemed to think better of it and said, “Well, never mind that. So she told you she got cold feet about coming, and then decided to get here about three o'clock this morning and surprise her friend. When she got here she found the cabin door open and her friend was dead?”

“Sheriff, if she's accurate on the time, I'd say you're lucky you don't have two murders to investigate.”

“I hear you,” the big man said.