Twisted Hunger (34 page)

Brandon peeked at his guests. Damn, now they were so into each other, they’d already forgotten about him. “Yes. I can give you directions, but it’s—”

“Actually, it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to go there and risk being seen by anyone. It really is
that
confidential. I was hoping you could meet me here.” He gave Brandon the address of a large, economy-priced motel.

“Uh, yeah, sure. I, uh, have some, uh, guests I’ll need to send off first. I could be there in about two hours.” Brandon figured that was enough time to clear some of the coke out of his head.

“Tell me what sort of car you’ll be driving so I can keep an eye out for you.” A minute later the details were all set for their rendezvous.

Brandon had planned on keeping the two girls for the weekend, to make up for the miserable time he had in Sacramento. Suddenly the trip no longer seemed like a complete waste of time, so he didn’t mind getting rid of them. He thought about calling Nate, but the senator sounded pretty serious about keeping their meeting confidential and he didn’t want to jinx anything.

* * *

He dialed Vivian’s number from his cell. After the usual preliminary sweet-talk, he advised that he could be rather late getting back that night. He promised to make it up to her, but only if she was asleep in her bed when he got there. She was absolutely not to wait up for him.

* * *

Terrell stood in front of his refrigerator and surveyed his choices. There wasn’t much—a few frozen meals and some leftover Chinese food from last night. If he wasn’t tired to the bone he’d go out and buy some groceries, but he wanted to take a nap before Maria came by to watch their favorite television show.

He closed the refrigerator doors and pulled a box of pasta and a jar of spaghetti sauce out of the cupboard. As he filled a big pot with water to boil the spaghetti, Senator Jones crept back into his mind. The sheriff said he’d already spoken to him and that the senator claimed that he was in Sausalito with his wife and brother the night of May 17.

That should have been enough of an answer—and before Luke started putting crazy ideas in his head, it would have been. But his instincts and homicide experience told him not to take the Jones boys off the interrogation list quite yet.

What really had his instincts twitching, however, was the lab report he received just before heading home. It had taken a while, but the forensic pathologist had found a miniscule amount of spermatic fluid mixed in with the blood remaining in the victim’s throat. It had been conjectured, but now they had definitive evidence that Stewart had been servicing his killer moments before or at the time of his death. It was enough to convict the killer…
if
they had a suspect to compare it to.

He considered getting a strand of hair from Teddy Jones and having a test run, just to see if Luke was right, but then what? He would still have to have hard evidence to justify an official test that would stand up in court. If Teddy was a cold-blooded killer, he certainly wouldn’t give a sample willingly. Instead, he would probably eliminate Luke and the detective working the case as soon as possible.

The sheriff’s intense interest in the case, as well as his friendship with the senator, had Harris wondering if he might be too biased or too concerned with his own career security to go very far out on a limb. If Harris showed him the report and the sheriff mentioned it to the senator, how long would it be before Teddy realized his secret was about to be revealed?

Unable to come up with a clear plan of action, Harris decided to wait until tomorrow to bring the report to the sheriff.

When the water level reached the halfway point in the big pot, he changed his mind and shut off the spigot. He was too hungry to wait for it to boil. The leftover chicken lo mein didn’t appeal as much, but it could be reheated in a minute. Being a conservation-minded citizen, he covered the pot to use the water for something else.

A few seconds later, he spooned the Chinese food onto a dish, put it on the rotating plate in the microwave and set the cooking time.

Then he pressed the power button.

* * *

Brandon’s brain was still somewhat fuzzy by the time he got to the address, but he was sure he could hide it from the senator. As instructed, he had driven the silver Porsche instead of the red Ferrari and parked at the far end of the parking lot. He got a kick out of the thought that it felt like he was acting in a spy thriller.

Within seconds, a white Chrysler sedan pulled up and the passenger door was pushed opened. Just like in a movie, he cautiously scanned the area then smoothly slipped from one car to the other.

“What the—” Brandon had no idea who the woman behind the wheel was, but he had obviously gotten into the wrong car.

“Relax, Brandon. It’s me. Surely a celebrity such as yourself can understand the need for disguises.”

Brandon blinked to clear his vision and his mind. Finally he figured out that this
woman
was the senator. “Wow. I never would have guessed… I mean… this is
just
a good disguise, right?”

He laughed. “Absolutely. I’ll take off the wig after we get out of town if that will make you more comfortable, but I’m afraid the makeup is too much trouble to have to redo.”

“Oh, uh, that’s okay. I was just surprised. Did you say ‘out of town’?”

“I just meant away from all this congestion. Can I offer you a drink?”

Brandon saw the two filled champagne flutes in the car’s cup holders. Though he was hardly above drinking and driving, it seemed wrong for the politician to be doing it. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Go ahead, take one. I’ll have mine when we stop.”

That made Brandon feel a little better as he took a drink. It had an odd taste, but he didn’t want to insult his host. He relaxed even more when the senator asked him to tell him about the movie role he was up for. Before long he had finished his glass of champagne and was working on the other one.

* * *

He watched the actor grow drowsier by the mile. The man’s eyes had revealed that he was stoned when he got in the car, so it did not even require the second flute to knock him out completely.

The trip out to the Nevada desert took less time than usual. He considered the brilliant full moon a special blessing to this night’s sacrifice. Though he had no fear of being seen, he still moved quickly through his preparatory steps. Dragging Brandon’s unconscious body a distance from the car, he began chanting the prayer of thanksgiving. The ritual went perfectly as always. In fact, the reflection of the full moon in Brandon’s famous eyes made the taking one of the most powerful he had ever experienced.

His bringing Brandon out to the desert and burying the body was his way of sparing the vain young man from the unflattering police photos that would surely be taken and somehow find their way into the tabloids. Because of that change from the routine, he took a Polaroid of the no-longer photogenic face for himself…
for his eyes only
, so to speak.

He began the return trek to Santa Monica, confident that he had overcome another obstacle on his road to greatness. He was also completely confident that, until he could get them up to his Sacred Chamber in Sausalito, the photo and the jar of formaldehyde protecting the celebrity’s eyes would remain secure in the hidden compartment in the trunk of his car.

Turning on the radio, he received what he considered an instant endorsement of his ritual offering. The newscaster was in mid-report, but he didn’t need to hear the first part.

“The fire marshal reported that it’s too early to be certain, but the Glendale fire appears to have been started by faulty kitchen wiring. After fighting the blaze for over two hours, they got it under control, but the damage to the neighborhood is extensive. The townhouse where the fire started and the adjoining one were both destroyed. It is reported that a dozen people suffered minor injuries, but only one fatality has been reported so far.”

A Strauss waltz came on after the report and he hummed along with the pleasant melody. Although he’d had some concerns last night, it was turning out to be a very good day.

* * *

Ellery had to force herself to sit still while Brevowski looked over all the papers she had brought him.

Because of Senator Jones’ “open book policy” about his financial affairs, all his tax records for the last twenty years, since he first took office as a councilman, were accessible. By researching the travel expenses, Ellery was able to verify exact dates of the business trips made and destinations.

On top of what Luke had found and her knowing that Jones had been in L.A. at the time of the most recent mutilation, she had now confirmed that Jones had been in New Orleans, attending the American Mayoral Symposium, when a woman was killed by The Eye Doctor in that city. He also attended a Republican conference in Atlanta—the same week two men were murdered there.

She had no further doubts that Luke was on the right track. But her conclusion was not as certain as his. Based on her mother’s comments and her own impressions thus far, she thought it was much more likely that The Eye Doctor could be Abraham Jones, rather than his brother Teddy.

Brevowski remained expressionless as he set the last of the papers down. “Let me get this straight. The teacher is actually here to do some investigating of his own because he witnessed a murder twenty-one years ago. He gets here and by sheer coincidence, he ends up at a banquet in Sacramento where he sees Jones and thinks he looks like the killer. He tries to get close to you to get into your files so he can check on where the senator was on certain dates. You catch on to him, but he gives you his file of information anyway. You then looked up some old tax records and came up with matches for three more murders. Now you believe Madigan may be on the right track, except you think the senator is the man he’s looking for.”

Ellery sighed. “I know how crazy it sounds, but at this point, I’m not sure what to think.”

“That’s understandable. But you’ve been around the man almost as much as his wife lately. I’d like to hear your opinion, whatever it is.”

“Based on the man that I’ve been working for, I’d say it’s nonsense, a lot of horrible coincidences, put together by someone who suffers from nightmares so terrible that he chose a familiar face to blame them on.”

“That’s an emotional response. Since you decided to bring all this to my attention, though, you must have a logical one as well.”

Ellery paused to give herself a chance to change her mind, but she had to say what she was thinking. “If everything he has here is factual, there are too many coincidences.”

“What if I could assure you that the FBI reports and profiles are completely legitimate?”

Ellery cocked her head at him. “Are you saying you’re familiar with this so-called Eye Doctor?”

“Once upon a time, I worked for the Bureau. I’m the one who put most of that information together.”

She wasn’t at all surprised that he had once been a federal agent, but that he also had a connection to the killer Luke wanted to find was mind-boggling. “You
knew
that Jones might be psychotic, and you sent me—”

“No, no, no. Don’t jump ahead. I knew no such thing. The closest I ever got was picking up on the fact that some of the murders coincided with large political gatherings. Note, I said
some
, not all. It wasn’t definitive by any means. But tell me this, how did Madigan get hold of this information?”

“He has a friend in the homicide department of Los Angeles County.”

“Do you know the friend’s name?”

“Terrell Harris. In fact, you should probably know that the senator made a point of speaking to him at the fundraiser.”

Brevowski nodded. “And so it comes full circle. I’m beginning to get the whole picture now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The senator and the Los Angeles County Sheriff have had several phone conversations in which a Detective Harris was mentioned. I hadn’t realized it was the same officer with whom I had communicated some years ago. Perhaps I’d better listen to those conversations again from a different perspective.”

“So does that mean you believe that Jones is the man responsible for all these murders?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“But all of this—”

“All of this is exactly what you called it to begin with—horrible coincidences. The only thing that comes close to being admissible evidence is the witness who saw half the face of a cross-dresser. Hardly the kind of proof we’d have to have to confront a political figure as popular as Jones. Remember, he has friends looking out for him too.”

Ellery rubbed her neck. “I understand what you’re saying, but this man is very close to being elected into the White House. If by any chance he, or his brother, really is some sort of homicidal maniac, what would stop him from killing Sam Erikson after they’re in office?”

Brevowski stared deeply into her eyes. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Oh my God. He could end up being president. There has to be something we can do to be sure.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You surprise me, Ellery. Considering the worst-case scenario, I would think you’d be ready to pull out… while you still could.”