by Peggy Dulle
I smiled, “My attitude serves me very well.”
Jake rolled his eyes and we continued on to Jane's house.
On the way, I heard Jake's stomach growl.
“Hungry?”
He glanced at his watch. “It's just twelve, but I can wait until we check out Jane's house.”
Another twenty minutes and we were parked in front of a small white house with green trim, in the middle of a block, surrounded by other houses of a similar style. The house had a neatly manicured front yard and the paint looked new. The neighborhood was quiet; probably all of the occupants were at work and the kids at school.
“Nice neighborhood,” Jake commented, seeming to read my own thoughts.
“Yes. I wonder how she can afford it. She can't be making much money working at the card shop.”
“Maybe it's her family home.”
“Could be.” I shrugged and indicated for him to pull into the driveway of Jane's home.
“I wish we'd had more time to investigate these women before just dropping in on them,” Jake complained.
“The Jackal didn't give us any time. It's part of the game - we run around looking for Jane and he sits back somewhere laughing.”
“He won't be laughing when we catch him and put him in a little nine by nine cell!” Jake bellowed out the window.
“I doubt he's within earshot, Jake.”
“You never know. He might be standing around and watching us. I want him to know what will happen when we find him.”
We exited the car and walked to the front door of Jane's house. Jake knocked several times, but no one answered. I tried the door handle. It was locked.
“You go around back, Jake. See if you can find a door open or a window into the house. She's a possible murder victim, so that's probable cause enough to go into her house, but I'd rather not bust down the door if we can avoid it. I'll look around the front.”
“Okay, Connie.”
Jake took off. I used my hands to shield the sun and tried to make out anything in the house. The window to the left of the door showed a small but neat living room. A flowery couch, two small chairs, and a bookcase in the back filled with books, knickknacks, and pictures. No Jane.
I stepped off the porch and to the window on the right side. It was a bedroom. No photos or personal items in the room, so I assumed it was a guest bedroom, rather than Jane's. I started around the right side of the house. The first window was still part of the guest bedroom.
Before I reached the second window, Jake came around the corner. “I can see her on a bed in the back. She looks like she's napping like Carl suggested.” He frowned. “I tapped on the window but she didn't move.”
“Let's hope she took a sleeping pill and is too drugged to wake up,” I said as we ran to the back.
I looked into the window. He was right; she was on her back with her arms crossed over her chest. No one sleeps like that. But could she still be alive? I looked at Jake.
“What kind of door is in the back of the house?”
“Slider, but it has a metal bar in the track, so I couldn't open it.”
“The crime scene techs won't be happy with me.” I picked up a rock and smashed the bedroom window, then used the rock to bust out the rest of the glass. Jane never moved.
“Give me a boost, Jake. When I get inside, call for backup and the paramedics.”
Jake put his hands together and I stepped into them. He lifted me up and I climbed through the window, avoiding the broken glass. I went over to Jane.
Under her arms, I could see that her chest had been sliced open in the usual Jackal manner. She must have been killed while she slept, as the blood had soaked through her blue t-shirt and stained the light green quilted comforter. Her face looked pale and peaceful, her hair cut short, like mine.
I clenched Jane's wrist, searched to find a pulse and leaned over in hopes of hearing the sounds of shallow breathing. Nothing. On top of her chest sat an envelope addressed to me. I left the bedroom, went to the front door, and let Jake into the house.
“Change it to the coroner and the crime scene unit.”
“Damn it.” Jake shook his head. “We were too late.”
“I think she's been dead since last night. When I checked for a pulse, I could feel that she's in the rigid stage of rigor mortis. That process takes almost twelve hours after death. We were too late before we got started.”
I took Jake back to Jane's bedroom. He pointed to the note. “Another note?”
“Yes,” I said as I walked over to the body.
“Aren't you going to wait for the lab guys to check for prints or trace evidence?”
“The last two letters were clean.” I pulled a pair of latex gloves from my pocket and put them on, and carefully lifted the envelope from Jane's body.
Jake handed me a pocket knife. I cut the top of the envelope, so not to disturb the section that had been moistened to seal the envelope. Maybe we'd get lucky and find some DNA from saliva on this one. I dumped out the contents of the envelope into my hand, a single sheet of paper.
Jackal - 1 dead woman
Connie - 0 lives saved
“Shit!” I handed the note to Jake. “How in hell can I win this game when he doesn't tell us who will die until after he's killed them?”
Jake shook his head and turned toward the front of the house at the sound of sirens.
“As soon as the crime scene unit gets here, let's go back and talk to Carl. Maybe the guy that tried to pick up Jane is the Jackal. We might be able to squeeze a better description out of him than 'Just a guy.'”
“Good idea.”
I returned the note to the envelope, then placed it back on Jane's chest. That would allow the photographers to get the correct pictures of the crime scene. I had seen enough of the note.
Ed and John were the first to arrive. John went directly into the house, while Ed ran up to Jake and me. “Is she still alive?” he shouted.
I shook my head.
“Damn it!” He slowed his pace and stopped in front of us. “I guess my department will take this seriously now.”
“And it will be a pissing contest as to who has jurisdiction,” I added with a frown.
“No. I'll make sure you guys take the lead on this. They made me your liaison on this case and I won't let them rip it away from us,” Ed said.
Fifteen minutes later, Jane's house was surrounded by cop cars, crime scene vehicles, an ambulance, and the coroner's van. Jake and I stood on the porch and let the techs do their job. Sheryl arrived a few minutes later.
When John came out of the house, I told him about Carl.
“Okay,” John said. “You and Jake go back and interview Carl.” He turned to the others. “Sheryl, you work the crime scene. I'll go back to the station and make sure the locals don't try to grab jurisdiction.”
“You might want to take Ed with you,” I replied. “He doesn't want this case pulled from him, either.”
John tilted his head as if contemplating the different scenarios he might encounter back at the station. “That's not a bad idea. With him directly involved, they might go for a joint jurisdiction.”
“The Feds and the locals working together as a unit,” Ed replied as he came up behind John. “I think we might be able to sell it to them.”
John nodded and he and Ed left in a patrol car. Jake and I piled back into our beat-up old patrol car, leaving John’s black sedan for Sheryl.
“We forgot to ask for a new car,” Jake mentioned as the engine coughed, sputtered, and finally turned over.
“Yeah, but just think. No one will ever suspect we're FBI agents in this old heap.”
“Well, let's hope we don't have to chase Carl, because this thing couldn't catch an old lady in a wheelchair.”
A few minutes later we were back at Carl's apartment. His door was ajar again and this time we walked right in. No one was in the front room.
“Last time he was bringing back the trash can. Maybe it's cleani
ng day and he's out doing his laundry,” Jake suggested.
“Could be, but let's check the other rooms just in case.”
We went through the guest bedroom - no Carl. We checked the bathroom - no Carl. Jake turned the handle of Carl's bedroom and slowly opened the door. The coppery smell hit me before he got the door completely opened.
We rushed in. Carl was on the bed with his throat sliced open. Blood still oozed from the wound. I grabbed a handful of the sheets and pressed it against his neck.
“Call for an ambulance!” I shouted.
Jake rushed over, put his fingers against Carl's neck, and shook his head. “He's gone, Connie.”
“No!” I pressed harder against Carl's neck.
Jake peeled my fingers off. “Let him go, Connie.”
“No.” I shook my head, gathered up more of the sheets, and reached for Carl again. “The Jackal doesn't kill men. He only kills women.”
Jake caught my hands before I could reach Carl's neck. He pulled me off the bed and to my feet. “It's a crime scene now, Connie. Let's make the call.”
I let Jake pull me from Carl's room. When we got to the living room, I sat down on the couch while Jake called John. My hands trembled, covered in Carl's blood. My white blouse was stained red. The knot in my stomach that always preceded one of my severe anxiety attacks started to grow, as my pulse rate accelerated. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing.
In a few minutes, this entire apartment would be filled with cops so it wasn't the time and certainly not the place to black out. But there wasn't anything I could do. Once it started, there was no way to stop it. If I stood up, I would accelerate the attack and I would be on the floor in a matter of seconds.
I opened my eyes and saw Jake talk to me and then walk back into the hallway, but I couldn't hear anything except my heart beating hard and fast. It felt like it would explode out of my chest. It was too late even for my crutch. I closed my eyes again and waited for the inevitable darkness.
Chapter 15
I didn’t have time for a full scale panic attack or to visualize a river. A voice broke through my subconscious, low but firm. At first I couldn't hear any words, just the sound resonating through my body. Then it became clearer. “Constance.”
“Look at me, Constance.”
William face floated in front of me. “Do your job, Constance.” A million emotions boiled up inside and pushed my anxiety away.
Then I heard Jake, “Are you all right, Connie?”
I stood up. “Of course.”
“You looked like you were out of it.”
“No, just thinking,” I glanced back toward the bedroom. “Did you see a note for me?”
He shook his head. “I was on my way back into the room to look for one, but I stopped when I saw you weren't behind me. When we were first in the room I was concentrating on Carl's body.”
“Let's go back and see if we can find it.” I felt stronger, the anxiety attack totally dissipated.
We found a white envelope addressed to me on top of Carl's black dresser. I used Jake's knife again to open it and read the note.
Connie,
This one is a penalty for lying.
The Jackal
I shook my head. “What the hell does that mean? Who lied? And about what?”
“I don't know,” Jake replied and took the note from my hand. “He's a crazy man. He doesn't have to make sense.”
He returned the note to the top of the chest.
As we walked out of the bedroom, Sheryl came through the front door with four other officers.
I nodded toward the back bedroom. “Carl's in the back room.”
Jake led the rest of the officers toward the back of the apartment, but Sheryl grabbed my arm and stared at the blood on my hands and shirt. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. When we got here, Carl's neck was still bleeding. I hoped we were in time to save him. I tried to put pressure on the wound, but it was too late.”
She glanced up into my eyes. “I'm surprised this didn't bring on one of your attacks.”
“No, I'm fine,” I told her. What was I going to say? That I had just crossed over from having panic attacks to hallucinating? But it had worked, hadn't it? The anxiety medication had never been really successful; maybe the drugs for hallucinations were better.
An hour later, Carl's apartment was filled with cops and crime scene techs. Every time someone came in, they'd ask if I was hurt. I had been covered in his blood for almost two hours and I needed to wash. The techs had already taken samples of the blood on my hands and given me an evidence bag for my clothes.
I found Jake in the kitchen talking to Sheryl. They looked up and went silent when I came into the room.
“Are you talking about me?”
“No,” they said in unison.
“Sure.” I glanced at Jake. “I need to get out of these bloody clothes and bag them. I'm headed back to the hotel to take a shower and change. Then I want to go to the bar where the guy tried to pick up Jane. Maybe we can get a description from the bartender or the patrons.”
“I'll go with you.” Jake walked toward me.
“I don't need a babysitter, Jake,” I said, my tone stern, my eyes narrowed.
“I'm too old and grouchy to be anyone's babysitter, Connie. Let's go.” He turned me around and pushed me toward the door, then looked back at the group. “We're taking the sedan.”
A few minutes later we were at the hotel. I left Jake downstairs while I ran up to my room, showered, and changed into my other pair of black slacks. This time I opted for a brown blouse and a black blazer to conceal my shoulder holster. I gathered up all the bloody clothes and sealed them in the evidence bag. I found Jake in a high-backed leather chair in the hotel's reception area, his eyes closed and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“Taking a nap?” I asked.
He slowly opened his eyes. “Any time I can.” He stood, took the cigarette out of his mouth and stuck it in the front pocket of his jacket.
“What's with the cigarette?”
“I'm trying to quit.”
“Being successful?”
“Sometimes I don't light them.” He smiled broadly.
“Step in the right direction, I suppose.”
“That's a matter of opinion,” he huffed.
“You don't want to quit?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I like smoking.”
“Then why quit?”
“I'm tired of looking for places to smoke.”
I laughed. “So let me get this straight. You're trying to quit smoking, not because it causes cancer, emphysema, or a number of other deadly diseases, but because it's becoming an inconvenience?”
“Yep.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “That says a lot about you, Jake.”
He smiled and we got into the sedan. It was equipped with a GPS, so Jake entered in Charlie O'Rourke's Bar and Grill. The system immediately gave us directions.
Jake smiled. “Now this is the way to travel.”
Ten minutes later we pulled around a corner to the bar. The entire parking lot was full of cars.
“It's a popular place.” I nodded toward the bar.
Jake checked his watch. “It's almost four, way past my lunch time. Maybe we can get a bite to eat while we ask questions.”
I smiled at him. “I can multi-task.”
Charlie O'Rourke's Bar and Grill was situated in the middle of the block, nestled between an antique shop and an electronics store. Its wooden plank facade, double swinging saloon doors, and red and white checked curtains over the two windows made it look more like a country bar than an Irish pub.
Jake parked in a red zone in front of the bar, put a police sticker in the window, and we walked in. The place was very noisy, filled with conversation and Garth Brooks blaring from a jukebox in the corner. The smell hit me as soon as we opened the door and my stomach howled - greasy burger
s, fried onions and who-cares-about-the-cholesterol fries.
“Charlie O'Rourke's Bar and Grill plays country western music?” Jake asked. “I was expecting an Irish jig.”
“It makes me happy. And it serves good old American food.” I smiled. “Let's eat.”
We sat at the bar and ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate milkshakes from a tall, shapely waitress who wore tight blue jeans, a silver-buttoned red cowboy shirt, and red cowboy boots. Jake’s smile grew even larger, like the Cheshire cat.
“I'll talk to the waitress, Jake. I wouldn't want you to drool while asking her a question.”
“She is a looker.” A gleam sparked in Jake's eyes. “Maybe she could be wife number three?”
When she brought our food, I showed her my badge.
“Feds? What’s up?” she asked.
“Do you know Carl Burton and Jane Geyser?” I asked.
“Sure, they're in here all the time.”
“Did you see them last night?”
“Oh, yeah.” She laughed. “They had a huge fight, yelled at each other. Jerry, he's our night bouncer, had to ask them to take it outside.”
“What was the fight about?” I asked.
“Some guy was eyeing Jane and Carl didn't like it.”
“What about Jane?”
“Oh, she was just flirting with the guy. There wasn't anything to it. She loves Carl.”
There was no reason to tell her that both Jane and Carl were dead. She would find out about it soon enough. “Can you describe the guy?”
“Sure. He was about six-three, stocky build, brown hair, brown eyes, nice smile and a big tipper.”
“How big a tipper?” I asked.
“He left me a fifty dollar tip and only had one glass of Chardonnay.” She smiled. “My husband's out of work and that kind of money don't come around every day.”
"You still have the fifty?" I asked, thinking about fingerprints.
"Hell no! I took it directly to the bank and deposited it," she replied.
“Had he been in here before?” Jake asked, as he wiped his face with a red and white checked napkin.
I ate the last of my burger and let Jake continue the interview. She was married, so was definitely not wife number three material.
