Fatal Game

by Linda Ladd

  “Let’s hear it, by all means.”

  “Please don’t be offended by what I’m about to bring up.”

  Claire knew immediately that she was definitely going to be offended. Talk about a loaded comment. And she was fairly certain about what he was going to say, so she beat him to the punch: “I take it you’re referring to that write-up in the National Enquirer?”

  “Well, I’ve got to say, Detective, those photos of you were highly provocative. To a mentally deficient man like Troy Edward Wood, you might personify something he craves. I think any guy who saw you in that picture would want you carnally. No doubt about it. Maybe that’s why he chose you. Those pictures probably appealed to him, along with the fact that you’re the detective in charge of this murder case.”

  Claire became incensed and in less than half a nanosecond. What the hell was with this guy? “Sorry, Special Agent, I must disagree. I think most decent men who looked at that picture, which was taken without my knowledge or permission, would think that some jerk paparazzi idiot had invaded my privacy while I was trying to enjoy my honeymoon.”

  Brady lifted a shoulder, gave a half-hearted, abbreviated shrug. “I realize it’s a problem for you to have suggestive photographs floating around, but don’t kid yourself: Complete strangers are probably fantasizing about you as we speak. Not that I’m saying you wanted any of this to happen, or that you actually posed for those pictures, nothing like that, I assure you. No insult meant. But the truth’s the truth, and we both need to face it. You now have guys lusting after you, through no fault of your own. And that fits nicely into Troy Edward Wood’s sexual fantasies, I would say.”

  Claire’s jaw clamped. She would just love to send her doubled fist into his serious face. But he could be right. That was exactly what Black had feared. Still, she didn’t like Brady laying his conjecture out there on the table. Now it was even more embarrassing. “Okay. So enough about me, Special Agent Brady.”

  “Please, I don’t want to insult you. I’m just a direct person. I want you to know that you need to be on the lookout for this guy. Watch your back. He’s approached you twice already, luckily in public places. Next time, he might make a move on you.”

  “I’m heavily armed. And we found him when we went to Games Galore—he wasn’t looking for me.”

  “You sure about that? Did you see him inside that store when you first got there? Or was it after you’d been there awhile that you noticed him? If that was the case, he could have been following you and your partner.”

  Claire didn’t answer.

  “C’mon, Claire, let me investigate alongside you, tag along, be there to help if anything goes wrong. What could that hurt? Interoffice cooperation at its finest. This guy is extremely dangerous. We believe he goes for thrill kills—fun and games. Your partner’s out of the picture right now. You need backup with this guy, and I think you’re a good enough cop to know that.”

  Of course she knew that. Didn’t like it much, but she wasn’t an idiot. If Oliver Wood, aka Troy Edward Wood, or whatever the hell his name was, had begun to stalk her as Brady suspected, a trained and armed FBI agent might be useful to have on her six. He certainly looked as if he could hold his own in any altercation, maybe in his trademark suave and debonair manner, but she did need his help. Bud was out, Black and Will Novak were gone, and no more choices were available. “Well, all that goes without saying. I’ve been ordered to work with you, so I guess I will have to.”

  “So how about running your case for me? I’m sure the sheriff didn’t know the whole story.” He leaned back in his chair and clasped some very large hands atop the table, ready to listen and learn.

  Claire hated that she had to tell him she didn’t have much to share. “We’re at the beginning of the investigation. The victim is the daughter of a hard rocker who recently bought property here at Lake of the Ozarks.”

  Brady contemplated her. “What hard rocker is that?”

  “Jonesy Jax.”

  “Really? Jonesy Jax. Hmm, now that is very interesting. Sheriff didn’t mention that. Tell me everything you know so far. But first, which game token did you find on the body?”

  Claire was reluctant to tell him anything, not that she didn’t trust him—well, maybe it was because she didn’t trust him. It took her time to warm up to people. Learned that the hard way. But she really had no choice. “The victim was bludgeoned with a heavy marble trophy, one that the perpetrator left behind, tucked under the Christmas tree with the presents. The game piece was coordinated: the little metal token shaped like a trophy that comes in Detection games. So it does appear as if we’re looking for the same guy. Except this time, the token wasn’t in her mouth—it was wrapped up in a little box as a gift to us.”

  “I thought the sheriff said it was in her stomach.”

  Claire watched his eyes as she told him. “No. The killer took time to whittle a hole through her abdomen wall, then he forced a dog tag down into her stomach. An engraved dog tag that read: Love, Dad.”

  Brady’s eyes didn’t react. “That sounds exactly like something Troy Wood would do. He’s gradually getting more extreme when he plays his murder games. And now he’s added the dog tag, for some perverted reason. We need to catch this guy, Claire.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “What’s next up in your investigation?”

  “I’ve got to go back and interview Jonesy Jax about his daughter. She has a strange background. He pretty much went to pieces when I notified him of her death. Although he hadn’t known her very long, he loved her dearly, I have no doubt in my mind.”

  “What’s strange about her background?”

  “Apparently her mother was one of Jax’s one-night stands, a woman he didn’t remember, one of thousands, evidently. When she died, her daughter found out that her father was Jonesy Jax and showed up at one of his concerts about a year ago and found a way to meet him.”

  “And she turned out to be his biological daughter?”

  “He did the tests. She looked a bit like him, too, I guess.”

  Brady nodded and sat thinking for a moment. “Okay, why don’t we do that interview together? I can’t this afternoon; I’ve got some calls to make concerning the Ruiz cartel. Can’t put them off. How about tomorrow morning for the ID? I’d like to ask Jonesy Jax a few questions.”

  “All right. How about letting me take your file home with me tonight so I can study it?”

  “I’m not supposed to give access to FBI files without SAC approval, but I will bend the rules this time, because I’m butting into your case and I want to show you my confidence in your professionalism. We need to find this man before he takes off again. I’m afraid you’re going to end up as bait. That’s something we’ll have to deal with. So, partners?”

  “Bud’s my partner. But you and I can work together temporarily until he feels up to getting back on his feet.”

  “According to Sheriff Ramsay, Bud’s femur has a compound fracture. That tells me he’s not coming back anytime soon. But I’ll take whatever cooperation I can get. I’ve tracked Troy Wood too long to miss this opportunity to put him down for good.”

  “Put him down?”

  “Put him back into an asylum for the criminally insane. So, I guess that about does it for now.”

  Brady gathered the file and handed it over. Then they both stood up and walked out into the hall. Claire felt her phone vibrate inside her coat pocket. She pulled it out. It was Black.

  “You’ll have to excuse me, Special Agent Brady. I need to take this.”

  “One more time: please, call me Bob.”

  Claire nodded and moved around the corner into the adjacent hallway before she picked up. “Hey, Black. You make it to the big city safe and sound?”

  “Sure did. We’re in our suite at the Ritz-Carlton. Rico’s eating everything in the mini fridge.”

  “Th
at’ll cost you a bundle. So you’re just slummin’ it up at the Ritz again, huh? You rich guys, my, my. You really know how to live the good life.”

  “I share it all with you, sweetheart. Everything I have is now yours, too, in writing and legally. Wish you were here. There’s a hot tub that is calling our names.”

  “Yeah, the three of us could really get some romance going in that tub. But hey, don’t tempt me. I just got stuck with working with a Fed that’s big-time sniffing around my case.”

  “Please tell me it’s not that jerk Oliver Wood.”

  “It’s not him. It’s another guy. A one Special Agent Bob Brady. Not quite as abrasive as our first agent-wannabe, but this one seems on the level. Ever hear of him? Says he works out of the K.C. office.”

  “Name doesn’t ring a bell. He’s working with you now?”

  “Yeah. Charlie put him on with me since Bud got hurt. Brady thinks he’s after the same perpetrator we are. He showed me his guy’s psych files, and it’s not pretty. He also showed me a picture of our friend Oliver. It’s him, all right.”

  “Maybe he can help you catch him.”

  “I don’t know yet. He’s says that Oliver’s real name is Troy Edward Wood, Oliver Wood’s brother, and Brady says he’s been after him for years.”

  “Why did he approach us in the lobby?”

  “Good question. Brady says Troy Wood ran over his mother in a car, and also says he’s pretty much the biggest freak this side of Tokyo. I’ve got his file in my hand as we speak. Want to read through it when you get home and give me your professional opinion on whether any of his shrinks know what they’re talking about?”

  “I’d love to. Thanks for asking.”

  Claire smiled. Black did so like his forensic psychiatry. “So, when are you getting back? Why don’t you finish up your shopping today and get yourselves back home, because I’m already as lonely as hell.”

  “Maybe we will.”

  “Maybe I hope so. But right now, I gotta go. The Fed is waiting. Again, wish you were here to talk this out with me. You know what I’ve discovered, Black? I don’t trust anybody anymore. It’s a little worrisome. I always expect everybody to stab me in the back.”

  “Me too. Must be catching. But that can be a good thing. Keeps you wary and alive.”

  “Bought me my extravagant present yet?”

  “About to. Hope you like it.”

  “Well, let me tell you, I have one super-duper, fantastic present for you. One you’ve never had before and that you couldn’t guess in five million years. And that’s hard to do, since you have everything ever made on planet Earth.”

  “I’ve got you, that’s everything I want.”

  Wow, he was a smooth talker, all right, and a real catch, if she said so herself. And he loved her a lot and showed it all the time. Who could ask for anything more? Marriage had not turned out to be the bear trap she had feared for so many years—lucky for them both.

  “All right. We’re getting ready to hit the stores,” Black was telling her now. “Toy and electronics stores first. Rico’s going crazy with excitement. He loves New York already. Likes the taxi cabs and skyscrapers.”

  “Guess you’ll have to buy yourself a giant penthouse there so he can have his fun whenever he wants.”

  “Maybe that’s what I’m getting you for Christmas. Did Rico spill the beans?”

  Claire blinked. It could happen. “No, but I don’t really need a New York penthouse, Black. I hate New York. I’d rather have a new rifle with one of those super good night scopes like Will Novak’s got. Okay, I’ve got to go, too, so give Rico a hug and hurry back home. I’m lost without you two, and I haven’t even made it back home yet.”

  “We may very well cut this trip short. I don’t like being away anymore, either. It hurts my heart when you’re not in arm’s reach.”

  Claire laughed at that. “Oh, yeah, sure. I imagine you’ll live. Just be careful. Don’t get lost or pick up any loose women in Times Square. New York’s known for that kind of thing, you know. And avoid your ex-wife like the plague, or Jude will probably force the two of you to have dinner with her. Just like always.”

  “You sound jealous, but I like that in you. It’s so rare. Don’t see it nearly enough. But don’t worry: We aren’t going to see her. You be careful. This Brady guy going to be okay to work with, you think?”

  “Don’t know yet. He seems pretty serious. Thinks I looked sexy in those National Enquirer photos. Wants me to call him by his first name.”

  “Claire…”

  “Just teasing. Lighten up and have some fun.”

  “Is he really coming on to you?”

  “Oh yeah. I figure he’s going to jump all over me as soon as we hang up.”

  “After hearing about Oliver Wood, or Troy Wood, or whatever that sociopath’s name is, I’d be careful about who I trusted, especially FBI agents who show up out of the blue. Did he have legitimate credentials?”

  “Charlie said he’s already checked him out. I think this one is for real. He’s got that innate Fed arrogance.”

  “How’s Bud?”

  “The physical therapists were trying to get him up on crutches last time I called. He didn’t like it much. He’s so looking forward to seeing Brianna.”

  “Guess I better let you go. Rico’s raring at the bit. Take care, for God’s sake. Don’t let any more cars run you over. How’s your hip today?”

  “It’s sore, but doable. I’m fine.”

  “Sounds like you were saved from a psychopath driver by a psychopath. That kind of thing can only happen to you, Claire. I think I’m glad you’ve got that special agent working with you. Wish Novak would get back up here and help you out. I trust him.”

  “I’m good. Really.”

  “I love you.”

  “Yeah, right back at you. That’s a given: I signed the papers.”

  They hung up, and Claire walked back around the corner and found Brady down at the coffee station at the far end of the hall. He was getting two cups of coffee. It smelled good. She met him halfway down the corridor. “Thought you might like something to keep you warm on the way home.”

  “Thanks. I take mine black.”

  “I figured that.”

  “How about ten o’clock tomorrow morning for Jonesy’s interview?” Claire asked him, sipping her coffee. It tasted pretty good for a change. Police departments weren’t especially known for the excellence of their coffee. Must have been freshly brewed.

  “Sounds good.”

  “We also have to take Jonesy down to the morgue for the official identification. You want to go with me?”

  “Of course. Thank you for the opportunity.”

  Outside in the parking lot, she watched him get into some kind of dark SUV, a Ford Fusion, maybe. He drove off without looking at her again. Good, she was glad to get rid of him, too.

  Play Time

  Junior and Lucky’s carefully laid plans about visiting Missouri in the dead of winter seemed blessed from day one. Everything fell into place as if ordained by Harry Potter’s magic wand. It was as though their new mission had been charmed from the beginning and all would be well with all their intended spilling of familial blood. They traveled across the country in Junior’s hot red Mercedes with plenty of cold cash in hand, mainly because they enjoyed road trips together, but also because they didn’t want to leave a paper trail with plane tickets and credit cards and nary a way to transport their favored murder weapons created out of their improved but warped version of Detection. They had already become joint owners of a lovely lake property, the house key already mailed to them and tucked safely inside Junior’s jeans pocket.

  The property they had chosen had been purchased over the Internet, with a nondescript St. Louis realtor handling the negotiations. Junior had used a fictitious name, of course, but one with which he’d a
lready built up a good credit rating, so there was no problem whatsoever. After the great state of California’s real estate prices, the old mill, with its attached log cabin, was the damn steal of the century. The previous owner had already set up residence in Fairbanks, Alaska, and had left both the house and the mill fully furnished and ready for immediate occupancy. He’d also left an old brown Chevrolet pickup truck and a beat-to-hell white 2008 Concorde, both thrown into the deal for some extra cash. The deed was done and signed and notarized—they were definitely good to go.

  Junior and Lucky were now proud residents of the Show-Me State and ready to show off their considerable murder skills. They were eager to set up operations at their very own distinctly private killing lair on the shores of Lake of the Ozarks. They’d always wanted a place where they were isolated enough to butcher a person to their heart’s delight. Neither had ever done that before—but it was a definite challenge that was now in the cards.

  It might take a lot of time to set up those kinds of intricate torture chambers, but they would have all the time in the world after they finished killing Junior’s little sis. She would have to die the old-fashioned way, but that was how Junior wanted it to go down—inside her new house that his daddy had bought her. He wanted his daddy to find her dead and bloody and violated in extreme ways.

  They drove into a cold and snowy Camdenton on Highway 5 and found the road out to their new property. The old mill lay at the end of a narrow, weed-choked gravel road. Neither of them had ever lived out in the woods, and they liked the idea of being conveniently cloaked from neighbors by stands of towering trees and underbrush. It felt unsettling at first—way out there in the middle of the nowhere, it was bizarrely quiet and as dark as pitch at night, but pretty nice, too. No traffic or nosy neighbors, no police sirens, no police presence, period. Yes, that was indeed a plus.

  The millhouse had this great big gristwheel that turned slowly on the current of their very own personal stream that rushed through their property before gurgling itself down a hill into an inlet of the lake. It creaked round and round with a horror-movie clunk and groan. They decided they could put it to good use as a water torture device once they got settled and got their games going. That idea particularly appealed to Junior. This could be their secret hidey-hole out in the woods where all sorts of macabre fantasies could rise to fruition. But first things first: they had to find Junior’s dear little soon-to-be-deceased sissy and put the newfound heiress out of her misery.