The Cruelest Cut (8 page)

When Jack entered the back door of headquarters he became aware of the curious looks he was getting from other detectives and uniformed officers. They were milling about in the hallways, seeming to work, but no one was really doing anything. It reminded Jack of a school of fish swimming aimlessly and only reacting to things that threatened the group.

“Detective Murphy,” a loud voice said from the detective lieutenant's open doorway, “so nice you could join us.”

Jack recognized the voice and immediately realized that there was a shark among them, and Jack was the target. His fear was confirmed as the roomful of detectives and uniformed officers seemed to shimmer and disappear.

“You're working late,” Jack said to Deputy Chief Dick, who was sitting in the lieutenant's chair as stiff and straight as a mannequin, and like a mannequin, had no real spine.

“Come in and have a seat,” Dick commanded, although the only other chair in the tiny office was occupied by a harried-looking detective lieutenant named Lou Gilbert.

Gilbert looked around as if he was wondering if another chair was in his office that he had never noticed before. Then, realizing that he was being dismissed, he cleared his throat and excused himself to go and do something administrative. When he left the room, Jack pushed the door shut and sat down. The wooden seat was still warm. He wondered how much warmer it would be when he left.

Deputy Chief Dick tried to stare him down, lost, and turned his head. “Anything new in the case, Detective?” he asked at last.

Jack noticed that Dick had failed to call him by name. Dick's way of reminding him that he was just an underling. “Which case?” Jack paused and then added, “Deputy Chief.” Department protocol demanded that a deputy chief be called “Chief” unless the actual chief was present, in which case you would call both men by their actual rank. It was all very confusing. But calling Double Dick “Chief” was like passing a kidney stone. It was hard not to disrespect the man.

Dick pretended to ignore the slight and handed Jack a business card. Jack looked at the card. Dick had written two numbers on the back of it.

“Those are my mobile and home numbers,” Dick explained. “I want you to keep me apprised of any developments.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack said and pocketed the card. He had every intention of throwing it away as soon as he left.

“And,” Dick said, pausing for effect, “Maddy Brooks will be in touch with you this evening. You will extend every courtesy to her and her cameraman.”

“Why isn't she here now?” Jack asked.

“She has some business to clear up, and the station has some legal matters to discuss with her,” Dick began to explain, and then realized that Jack was being facetious. “Listen to me carefully, Detective Murphy. You seem to be an intelligent man—” he began.

Jack smiled, tried to look bashful, and said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Dammit, Murphy,” Dick said, and then composed himself. “Listen, Jack. I know we've had our personal disagreements. But this killer…” He seemed to be genuinely concerned even if he couldn't decide how to address Jack. “This is no time for personality clashes. I know you want to catch this killer. And I know you will do your best.”

Jack wondered what the punchline was. It wasn't normal for Double Dick to be complimentary. He had to be up to something.

“So, what do you want, Deputy Chief?” Jack asked point-blank.

“Believe it or not, I want to help you,” he said and smiled. “I'm even going to assign another detective to help you.”

Jack's shoulders slumped. Now he knew what Dick was up to. He was going to put one of his cronies on Jack's team to do his evil master's bidding. The question was, which of the worst detectives in the department would he saddle Jack with? He didn't have to wait long for the answer.

“Detective Jansen has been told to report to you,” Dick said, and before Jack could protest he added, “and I want you to bring him up to speed on everything. After all, he has some knowledge of the Lewis case.”

Jack almost said, “Yeah, Jansen was the one that screwed up the case,” but he caught himself in time.

Seeing the look on Jack's face, the deputy chief stood, straightened his clothing, and said, “This is not a request, Detective. You will do this or find yourself on administrative leave. Do you understand?”

Jack stared at the power-hungry, ladder-climbing asshole of a career politician and nodded. He didn't trust himself to respond verbally.

 

Jack left the meeting with the deputy chief with his head swimming. Jansen was the worst of the worst—a black cloud. He was officially assigned to the Missing Persons Unit, but in reality was a missing person himself. Jack had seen the man only a few times in the past year, and then it was as he was skulking down a hallway like a shadow. This was just getting better and better.

He was so angry when he left the lieutenant's office that he'd forgotten the files he'd gotten from Susan. He went back down the hallway and knocked on the lieutenant's door, which was closed now.

“Come in,” came a timid voice, and Jack opened the door.

Lieutenant Gilbert sat behind his desk in the seat Deputy Chief Dick had so recently occupied. The difference between the two men was more than mere difference in rank. Where Dick was pompously officious, tall, and gangly, Gilbert was short, grossly overweight, and so pleasant that he made you want to sit and visit a spell. Gilbert was flipping through the folders, and Jack felt a twinge of compassion.

“I used to love this work,” Gilbert said.

It didn't sound like a question, and Jack didn't have a satisfactory response, so he collected his files and left. He could hear the lieutenant whistling a happy tune and wondered how the man had managed to keep his sanity all these years.
But then, maybe he isn't sane,
Jack thought glumly.

As he walked down the hall toward the detective squad room, he saw Liddell coming from Records with a stack of files at least as thick as his own.

“Hey, Jack,” Liddell said, puffing from the heavy load. “If a man can be measured by the number of people that want him dead, you're top dog.”

“Very funny, Bigfoot,” Jack said.

“These are the files of people you arrested that might want you dead,” Liddell said, as if to prove his point.

Jack looked at the stack. “I've arrested that many people?”

Liddell laughed. “No. These are just the ones I thought might want to kill you. I couldn't carry the rest.”

“You missed your calling as a stand-up comedian,” Jack said, and added, “He's not going to be in there.”

“How do you know, O Great One?” Liddell asked.

“Because if it was that easy, you'd be able to figure it out by yourself.”

“Bite me,” Liddell said.

“You first,” Jack answered, and they entered the detectives' office with their files.

 

Maddy Brooks was sitting at Jack's desk, looking through the murder case files and sipping from a Starbucks cup, as the detectives entered.

“How are you doing, Maddy?”

Liddell dropped his weight into a chair, and said, “Wassup?” while slouching like a gangbanger. Maddy ignored him and came around Jack's desk.

“What's all this?” She motioned at the stack of records the men had set on the desks.

“That stuff. Oh, Jack's a popular guy,” Liddell said and grinned. Maddy leaned over to read a file label and deliberately gave the men a view of her cleavage.

Her eyes widened, and she asked, “Are these all cases you are involved in, Jack?”

“Past tense,” Jack responded blankly.

“You must have some fascinating stories,” she said.

Jack sat down and stared at her. “I've been ordered to cooperate with you. You don't have to suck up to me. Both Liddell and I know that you couldn't give a shit about us or anything we've done, or are doing, except how it will affect a story for you.”

Maddy looked as if she had been slapped in the face, but Jack had to give her credit—she recovered fast. She sat back, crossing one long leg over another, shamelessly allowing her skirt to ride up her thigh. “Okay. Let's start over, guys,” she said neutrally. “What are we doing with these files?”

Jack handed her a short stack. “We're going to look through them and see if there's anything that would make someone want to kill people and leave messages for me.”

Maddy gave him a smug look, and said, “I thought you said the messages weren't about you?”

“Look for any psychiatric reports, past violent behavior, childhood problems, things like that,” Liddell suggested.

Maddy shot him a contemptuous look. “I am an
investigative
reporter, not your secretary,” she said, stressing the word
investigative
. She hesitated as if she had something else to say.

“Spit it out,” Jack said.

Maddy gathered herself up and looked at Jack. “Well, I was curious about the notes and went to see our corporate shrink. Just to see if he could give me a psychological profile on the type of person that would write those notes.” She looked from Liddell to Jack, seeking approval but finding only closed expressions. “And he said that he didn't have any experience in this sort of thing,” she continued.

“Well, duh,” Jack said.

“You didn't let me finish,” she protested. “He said that all the notes seemed to refer to nursery rhymes or riddles, and he gave me this book from his office.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a thin, hardback book whose cover had the picture of a grandmotherly looking woman, riding on a large, white goose.

Liddell chuckled and said, “Imagine that, Jack. A psychiatrist who just happens to have a Mother Goose book in his office? I wonder which one of his clients that one is for.” They both looked at Maddy, but she didn't seem to notice.

“He said that most people think Mother Goose rhymes are for kids—you know, entertainment—but in reality Mother Goose rhymes are all about violence and death,” she said.

Neither man spoke. “I'm just telling you what he told me,” Maddy said. “Don't stare at me like that.”

Liddell looked at the stack of files and shook his head. “Well, thanks for that, but we've got some files to go through, and I'm getting hungry.”

“But I think he may be on to something,” Maddy protested, and flipped through the pages of the book, stopped at a page, and began reading out loud, “There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, she had so many children she didn't know what to do. She gave them some broth without any bread, she whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.”

Liddell looked up from the folder he had seemed absorbed in.

“That was the last note. The three kids,” Jack said and remembered the writing in blood on the wall of the tiny room, and the little bodies beaten and put to bed. “So many children,” he said. “The killer was quoting part of the rhyme. Let me see that.” Maddy pushed the book across the desk. He flipped to a page and read out loud, “Little Tommy Tittlemouse lived in a little house, he caught fishes in other men's ditches.”

He stressed the last three words, “other men's ditches.”
Just like the note,
he thought, and near the back of the thin book he found what he was looking for:

 

Punch and Judy

Fought for a pie;

Punch gave Judy

A knock in the eye.

Says Punch to Judy,
“Will you have any more?”

Says Judy to Punch,

“My eyes are too sore.”

Well. Didn't expect this,
Eddie thought, and watched the nurse pull the curtains over the windows of the tiny cabin. He'd followed her from the gas station, where she'd bought a bag full of goodies and a case of beer, to somewhere called Patoka Lake Cabins, almost a two-hour drive northeast.

It hadn't been hard following her on Interstate 64. Hell, he was right behind her a couple of times, but he allowed a car or two to get between them from time to time. She'd turned off on Indiana 231 North, taking the back roads through small towns that were sometimes nothing more than a truck stop with a few mobile homes. Eventually, when she'd stopped at an office that looked like a log cabin, he pulled off the road like he was checking a map.

The hard part was the last couple of miles as she wound her way into the woodlands, back through gravel and then hard-packed dirt roads, climbing steeply at first and then dropping down into the valley that made up Patoka Lake.

When Eddie saw her slow, he pulled off in a turnaround and waited. She turned down a short gravel drive and stopped in front of a cabin surrounded by trees.

He and Bobby had given her a few minutes and then walked the last couple hundred yards, circling around the cabin to the west, and then coming back around to a densely grown area where they could watch the front of the cabin without being seen.

Until a few moments ago she had been scurrying around. Then he heard music coming from inside. Romantic type stuff. Apparently she was expecting someone. To Bobby, he said quietly, “If a dude shows up, I'll just do him, too.”

“I wonder if her nose is itchin'?” Eddie asked, and then answered his own question. “'Cause she's about to get company.”

That was when she shut the curtains and the front door. Eddie hoped it wasn't locked. It was such a nice-looking little place, he'd feel bad about huffing and puffing and blowing her house down.

Inside the cabin, a disappointed Tisha Carter was just closing her cell phone. Janet had changed her mind again. After all the planning, not to mention the expense, Janet was not coming.
Well, there's nothing I can do now,
she thought.
I can't get my money back. Might as well enjoy the cabin.

“Dammit!” she said, and just as she got the word out she heard the cabin door. Her heart leapt with anticipation.
It's Janet. She was just teasing me,
she thought. It was the last happy thought she would ever have.

 

Captain Franklin leaned back in his chair and listened to Jack and Liddell's theory. Maddy Brooks remained quiet, letting the detectives take credit for what she considered her own idea.

“So, let me get this straight,” Franklin was saying. “You're telling me this nut is sending these notes to us as messages about whom he's going to kill next?”

“Well, more precisely he's sending the messages to Maddy. We are finding notes at the scenes of the murders, but, the best we can figure it, she has gotten a note in advance every time,” Jack said. “And the note about the Lamar kids had my name on it. We didn't find that at the scene.”

“And you can't tell us anything about how the notes are getting there, Miss Brooks?” Franklin asked.

She blushed slightly before answering. “Our receptionist was the one that found the notes.” She seemed to weigh her words before going on. “Lois is her name. Lois Hensley.” She waited to see if anyone recognized the name. Franklin did.

“Hensley? As in Mayor Thatcher Hensley?”

“That's her,” Maddy said and made an ugly face as if to say,
See what I have to put up with?

Franklin asked, “Has anyone questioned her yet?”

“We wanted to bring you up to date first,” Jack responded.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Franklin said.

Maddy cleared her throat. “There's something else you need to be concerned about, gentlemen.”

Franklin noticed Maddy looking at Jack, as if waiting for him to explain.

Jack looked at the floor while Liddell spoke. “We think the killer might be targeting Jack.”

“What!” Franklin exclaimed, although he privately had believed the same thing.

Maddy jumped in. “The last note to me wasn't a rhyme—it was a riddle.”

“So,” Franklin said, “this guy is nuts.”

“Maybe nuts, but very shrewd,” she said. “I think—we think—that the last note is a riddle for Jack to figure out.”

“Are you saying he's doing this to get Jack's attention?”

“Not only for that reason,” Jack said. He felt a knot forming in his stomach. “It's more like I'm having my nose rubbed in it.”

Maddy said softly, “He may have already killed again.”

“Deputy Chief Dick said I was supposed to report to you, Captain,” a voice said from the doorway.

They all looked up to see the haggard-looking figure of Detective Jansen leaning in the doorway, wheezing like he'd just finished a marathon race.

“What's he doing here?” Liddell asked.

“Detective Jansen is on the case with us now,” Jack said. “I'll fill you in later.”

“So who's gonna fill me in?” Jansen asked and lecherously eyeballed Maddy Brooks.

Franklin spoke up. “Detective Blanchard is going to take you to the squad room and get you started,” he said to Jansen, and then to Jack, “Jack, I need a moment of your time.”

Liddell looked at Jack, then turned and led the missing persons detective out while Maddy watched their retreating figures. “Detective Blanchard doesn't look too happy,” she remarked.

Jack, who was barely holding it together, shot her an angry look.

“Maddy,” Captain Franklin said quickly, “would you give us a moment, please?”

Before she left the office, Franklin called out to her, “Maddy.”

She turned and smiled, expecting to be let back into the meeting, but Franklin said severely, “Not a word about any of this on the air.”

She assumed the look of a deer caught in headlights and wondered if he had been reading her mind. “Not a word, Captain. I promised, didn't I?” And she left the office.

 

When Jack came back into the detective squad room, Liddell was explaining to a half-interested Jansen that they were going through the files to see if they could find a connection between the victims and the killer, or between the killer and Jack.

Liddell looked relieved when Jack came in. “Maddy said she was going back to the station to see if she could narrow down when the notes actually arrived,” he said.

Jansen looked up, saw Jack, and said, “How we gonna find anything in these damn files, Murphy?”

Jack responded calmly, “The captain wants you to go to Channel Six and try to nail down the exact times those notes were delivered. See if they have security cameras. You know the routine.” But he only half believed that Jansen really knew what he was doing. And even if he did, he didn't think Jansen would give half an effort. Jack added, “We'll deal with these files.”

Jansen paused, weighing the possibility of losing track of Murphy against the idea of being at the television station around gorgeous babes like Maddy Brooks. The deputy chief would be pissed if he found out Jansen had left Murphy alone. But he could always say that he was ordered to by the captain. “Captain Franklin, huh?” he said, and put the file down that he hadn't opened yet.

“Yeah, the captain,” Jack lied. “I guess he figured since the mayor's mother is going to have to be interviewed, it should be someone with more seniority and tact than me doing it.”

“The mayor's mother?” Jansen said to Liddell. “You didn't tell me nothing about the mayor's mother being involved in this shit.” His face took on a pained look, as if he'd just swallowed an ice cube and gotten brain freeze.

“Well? You didn't tell me you were blowing Double Dick,” Liddell responded. “So we're even.”

Jansen ignored the insult, grabbed his hat, and waddled out of the squad room. As soon as he was out of earshot, Liddell asked, “What's really going on, pod'na?”

Jack told him about the conversation with Captain Franklin. How Franklin said the mayor was putting pressure on the chief, and that he believed that there was going to be a coup attempt by Deputy Chief Dick to replace Pope.

“Chief Double Dick.” Crossing his arms across his big chest, Liddell said, “Ugh, me Chief Double Dick. Me fuck'em up'em wet dream.”

Jack didn't laugh. The thought of Dick becoming chief wasn't funny.

“Is that really possible?” Liddell said, getting serious. “Is there no God?”

“God's got nothing to do with it,” Jack said. “If he did, Jansen would be a wart on Double Dick's ass.”

Liddell laughed until he almost choked.

“Okay, that's enough. We've got work,” Jack said, looking at the two large stacks of folders.

“Do warts wear hats?” Liddell asked.