The Rented Mule (29 page)

B
rooke was struggling to be creative at work and also having difficulties focusing on her private life. She desperately wanted to talk to Cooper. She decided that this was her time to show him how much she really cared about him and his well-being. This was her chance to be there for him, however and whenever he needed.

When the phone rang, Cooper didn’t immediately recognize the number, so he anxiously answered it on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Cooper, this is Brooke. Are you okay?”

Cooper’s heart jumped. “I’ve been better. I’ve had a rough few days.”

“Is there
anything
I can do?”

“No. I appreciate it though.”

“Promise me, if there is, that you’ll call me. Please,” she asked, wanting to help. “It’s just so weird… I saw her Saturday mornin’ at the spa. We talked.”

“You did? Whatja say?” Cooper asked, shocked.

“Oh, it was harmless. Don’t worry.”

“Did she say anything that might help us understand what’s happenin’?”

“No, not at all. We just basically said hey and talked about the spa.”

“Brooke, I don’t know what to say. I’m really confused. I’ve led you on, and now I’m payin’ the price.”

“No, you didn’t lead me on.” She paused for a moment and then said, “I know what you’re thinkin’. Look, we’re at two different places in our lives. We both felt the sparks. That was my fault.”

Her words were making Cooper ill, and he wanted off the phone as fast as possible, so he said, “Look, I gotta run. I promise I’ll call if I need anything. Bye.”

Immediately after hanging up, he began to dry heave. A short few days ago her voice made him as giddy as a schoolboy. Today, she scared the hell out of him and made him physically sick.
Kelly knows. What have I done?

D
etective Obermeyer sat on his couch halfheartedly watching
The Enforcer
on DVD. Wearing plaid boxers, a tight white T-shirt and his shoulder holster rig, the big man reread his daily notes. A warm, untouched beer was on the table next to his Pepto. It was slightly past eight. He was turning over the details of the case, which he sensed was going to quickly turn high-profile.

The last time CNN was in town for a major crime was during the DC sniper case that gripped the country. Some fine police work by the MPD, following a video store holdup, linked fingerprints and weapons that helped to break open that case. Obermeyer had watched the police chief explain to a national television audience Obermeyer’s unit’s role in gathering crucial evidence. It had been one of his proudest moments and with the current trajectory of the Dixon case, it might make second place.

None of the Tower Agency employees had anything negative to say about Cooper. In fact, they all seemed to genuinely adore him, especially the receptionist. Gates Ballenger
had been the lone exception; although, he didn’t actually say anything bad about Cooper. He just thought too long before each answer. And the answers didn’t come across naturally, which bothered Obermeyer. Gates obviously was hiding something. He had also insisted that Cooper was at the game Saturday night, which the detective knew specifically from Cooper to be a lie. Obermeyer sensed that he should not trust anything Gates said since he also denied having talked to Kelly two days before she disappeared. Obermeyer had her phone records to establish those facts. He made a note to set up Gates.
Gates is culpable of somethin’, or he’s just plain stupid. Maybe a little of both.

When his cell phone rang, he cleared his mind quickly and answered. He was shocked to learn of another local rape. It had occurred several hours earlier, but the victim had just been admitted to the hospital. He listened to the details and now knew that in this case they were dealing with a serial rapist. This was the fifth rape in about a year following a very similar pattern. All the victims had dark hair, olive complexions, athletic builds, and were roughly the same ages. A particularly troubling element of these crimes was that they were spread over several months, suggesting the rapist may have carefully planned the attacks, unless, of course, there were unreported rapes.

Obermeyer typed a note to map where each victim lived and the locations of the attacks, if in the unlikely event it was not in their homes.
Ten dollars to a doughnut says all the attacks happened within a five-mile radius and that the perp lives within that seventy-nine-square-mile area.

The latest victim, a cattleman’s daughter, had just left the local farmers’ co-op with a new bottle of screwworm ointment. She had the presence of mind to squirt her attacker in the face with the purple staining medication. The officer
explained to Obermeyer that the staining effects were instant and almost permanent—typically only vanishing with time. Detective Obermeyer, excited to learn that they finally had a lead to pursue, said that he would come to the precinct as quickly as possible.

Obermeyer was probably the only detective in the state with firsthand experience with these conditions. During spring break his freshman year of college, a group of farm-raised frat boys held him down on the beach and painted him from his toes to his neck with it. He was humiliated. It took weeks to wear off, but it was on the first day of his purple period that he decided on a career in law enforcement. He would help the helpless, fight for the underdogs. Hiding in his motel room, he glimpsed his life’s calling.

Now, I just gotta find the purple perp
. The thought made him chuckle, while the youthful memory made him cringe a little.

I
t had been a tough night for Detective Obermeyer. The rape was almost exactly like the others. The perp took his usual trophy. A fact the police did not release. The chief of police called in the FBI to help profile the attacker. The perp meticulously cleaned up and had yet to leave a solid clue, which frustrated the detective beyond measure. Conferring with several investigators on how to pursue the purple angle, they all agreed to leak that piece of information to the media, hoping that someone would recognize him.

Obermeyer had been “standing by,” carefully studying crime scene photographs when he noticed Cooper on CNN telling his story. “Turn it up!” the detective hollered across the room to no one in particular, and no one raised a finger to assist. Frustrated, he walked across the room and turned up the volume himself. It was a basic interview and, of course, CNN didn’t have all the facts yet, but the detective sensed that this story was cherry-picked to be sensationalized.
Cooper’s got no idea what’s in store for him now.

“I just want my wife back… and I’ll do whatever I need to do… if anyone knows anything, please come forward,” Cooper pleaded sincerely. “Right now the police think she’s been kidnapped, but I haven’t heard from anyone, so I really don’t know what to think. My family’s devastated—absolutely falling apart—and I’d like to add that if somebody watchin’ does have my wife, please don’t hurt her. I’ll pay whatever you want, someway, somehow, to get her back. Please call. Call, please!” Cooper spoke rapidly and was obviously nervous.

The CNN reporter added some generic comments, and then they were off to another story.

“Hey, O, come in here,” Obermeyer’s commander called. Everyone in the War Room turned to watch.

“Yes, ma’am,” Obermeyer said respectfully.

“I guess you saw that?”

“Yes, ma’am, I caught the tail end of it.”

“I’m sure the national media picked this up for the ratings more than the story itself.” The commander slammed down a folder on her desk, punctuating her disdain for the press and said, “We don’t need this shit!”

“No, ma’am. And on top of things, looks like we’ve got a serial rapist huntin’ in our backyard,” he said as he felt for his bottle of Pepto.

“I’ve been on the losin’ end of these national reporters’ investigations into our cases, and I’m not gonna let that happen with the Dixons. Before this goes any further, dig into all of the Dixons’ lives. Make sure we aren’t missing anything. I particularly wanna know about the husband. I think he’s hidin’ something. So dig deep. If you need help, I’ll approve the expenses. Just don’t miss anything. If he got detention in high school for shootin’ spitballs, I wanna know. If you don’t
already have it, make him account for every second of the last five days, look into his financials, have the techs look at his cell phone, computers at home and at work, tablets, e-readers, any and every communication device he might have… you know the drill. If he’s as pure and innocent as he’s sayin’, you won’t need a warrant.”

“I’ve already got it started.”

“Good,” the commander exhaled.

“Has he lawyered up?”

“No, ma’am. Not to my knowledge.”

“Well, keep me posted. I know that old couple thinks they witnessed a kidnappin’, but why hasn’t Dixon heard anything yet? Nothing about this makes sense. I wanna know what’s happenin’ before the networks do! I do
not
wanna learn about our case by watchin’ the news. Am I clear?”

“Crystal. I understand.”

“Be careful what you say if a camera finds its way into your face.”

Obermeyer nodded.

“And remember this when it gets crazy:
nothing
is ever as it seems.” The commander then stood, indicating that the meeting was over.

“I’m on it, Commander.”

The detective saluted and then turned to leave but was stopped by the commander, who said, “And while you’re tearing apart Dixon’s life, see if you can catch that rapist… and… unofficially, if the opportunity arises, shoot him.”

K
elly lay in a deep fog of drugs for far more hours than she was awake. Several times, she had been able to work loose the IV, and on each occasion it had been noticed and reinserted.

Today, her captors were late sedating her and with each passing minute she gathered strength. Straining to hold up her head, the only thing she could see clearly in the pitch black were old stairs, illuminated from the light filtering down from under the door at the top. Occasionally a shadow would move past. She tried desperately to hear the conversations occurring overhead. Heavy footsteps on the floors made her flinch.

Suddenly, all movement and conversation upstairs stopped. It was silent except for the sound of a newscast on a television. Periodic cheers rang out.

She tried not to think too much about what was happening to her, but it was no use. The last time she was conscious, the kidnappers told her that Cooper was responsible. Scared and angry, she believed them because they said that he was
going to use her life insurance proceeds to buy hunting land and go on an African safari. Both of which were Cooper’s lifelong goals.
Why, Cooper? Why do this to me? How can you hate me that much? What about the kids?

Kelly began to cry. She desperately wanted to see her children, to hear them, to smell their unique scents. She knew that her marriage was frazzled, but she couldn’t make sense of Cooper wanting her dead.

This can’t be coming from Cooper. He doesn’t have the skills. If he can’t even successfully plan a dinner party, how in the world did he organize this? Plus, he would never do this to me because no matter how thickheaded or self-centered he is or how much he may hate my guts, he would have to know that it would destroy the kids.

Something Kelly couldn’t name kept her from believing that Cooper was capable of such evil. At that moment she knew, with absolute certainty, at the deepest levels of her being, that he wouldn’t be involved, if for no other reason than the horrendous and devastating effect it would have on the children. Thinking about that began to calm her, and holding fast to the love she knew Cooper had always had for the children was enabling her to stay sane.

Fond memories of Cooper then began to bathe her mind. And then the realization that she had taken Cooper and their marriage for granted started creeping into the corners of her consciousness until she had to acknowledge that she truly had everything she needed in life, except for a strong marriage.

With remarkable clarity, Kelly knew that a solid marriage with Cooper was what she wanted and needed. That is what had been missing from her life—the void she desperately tried filling with societal position and material possessions—and it was her fault.

Tears again welled in her eyes, and then she sobbed uncontrollably for a long while. When she had regained
her composure somewhat, she silently prayed for another chance—an opportunity to get her relationship with Cooper back on track.

“D
on’t you need a warrant to look through his office like this?” Mrs. Riley asked and then said, “They do on television.”

“This isn’t television. This is real life, ma’am.”

“Well, I just thought you needed somethin’, a warrant or permission.”

“Mr. Dixon gave us permission to search his office,” the detective answered as he closed a filing cabinet drawer. On the other side of the room, a female detective was enthusiastically searching through Cooper’s computer.

“Okay. I pray that you find Kelly safe and sound. We’re all so upset that people think he’s involved somehow.”

“The police have not stated that Mr. Dixon is a person of interest.”

“I know, but you know how people talk.”

The detective looked intently around the office.
Lots of places to hide stuff
, he noted as he opened the mini refrigerator. The only things inside were a dozen small bottles of
Coca-Cola. Moving on, he looked behind, under, and inside the couch, eliminating the obvious places first.

“He knows so many people. The phone’s been ringing off the hook with friends checkin’ on him. I can’t believe he was on Nancy Grace’s show. This whole thing is just so hard to believe.”

Looking inside an antique metal minnow bucket, the detective impatiently said, “Stand by.”

“Huh? Look, he’s a good guy. You just wouldn’t think anything like this could happen to him.” Mrs. Riley shook her head. When nervous or upset she tended to chatter continuously.