Jack Daniels Six Pack

by J. A. Konrath

  I was beginning to see why she was with Harry. She was annoying in an eerily similar way.

  “No, Holly. Thanks for the offer, but this is police business.”

  “But that killer, he’s a man, right? I’m good with men. I can get him to talk to you.”

  “Won’t work on this one.” I pictured Kork’s missing male anatomy.

  “Please, Jack. Harry’s doing some kind of bachelor party thing tonight. Something to do with midgets.”

  McGlade? That bastard told me he didn’t have any other friends.

  “His buddies are taking him out?” I kept my tone neutral.

  “No. He’s alone. Well, alone with the little people.” Holly tugged on my arm. “Come on. You have to take me along. I can’t spend my last night as a free woman watching infomercials on TV.”

  I knew how that felt.

  “Sorry, Holly. Can’t do it.”

  She was on my heels all the way up the stairs, like a puppy. An irritating, yipping, undaunted puppy.

  “Please.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll just keep you company for the trip. I won’t even get out of the car, Jack.”

  “No.”

  I walked out of the station and onto the street. The day had cooled down, and the breeze felt nice on my face. I walked around to the back parking lot, Holly still begging me. Perhaps beautiful women didn’t understand the word no.

  “Come on, Jack. I’m a licensed private investigator. I can handle myself, and I’ve worked with law enforcement before.”

  “We’re not working together, Holly. And this is getting silly.”

  It was also making me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to be rude to her when I was standing up at her wedding the next day, but soon she wouldn’t give me much choice.

  Holly was quiet for a minute, and I thought I’d finally gotten through. Then I heard the sniffle.

  When I turned to look, Holly was all pouty and teary-eyed.

  “I don’t have any friends, Jack.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Her shoulders began shaking.

  “My job. I keep crazy hours. I don’t have a single friend. Why do you think I went to that stupid private eye convention? I could give a rat’s ass about the latest surveillance technology. I just wanted to meet people. Harry’s the first man I’ve been with in six years.”

  “I’m sorry.” And I meant it from the bottom of my soul.

  Holly faced me again, her cheeks glistening.

  “Don’t you get lonely, Jack? When was the last time you had a girls’ night out?”

  “Interrogating a multiple murderer isn’t a girls’ night out.”

  “But it’s better than being alone. I’ve been alone my whole crummy life. My dad died when I was a kid, and we moved around a lot. I never had friends.”

  The thought of someone so attractive being without friends was ridiculous, and I almost sneered. Holly read my thoughts.

  “I wasn’t like this back then. I was very fat, and had some skin problems, and big old buck teeth. It wasn’t until my twenties that I lost the weight, went to a dentist, and had some work done. A lot of work done.” Holly put her hands on either side of her breasts. “These won’t be paid for until I’m too old to appreciate them.”

  She wiped her hand across her eyes, and I had a surprising thought. If I could put my jealousy aside, I might like this woman. I knew how hard it was to lose a father at a young age. Plus, the fact that she’d had plastic surgery made her seem more human, less Charlie’s Angel. Though her taste in men was seriously flawed, Holly was strong, competent, funny, a great dresser, and had an energy that you didn’t see very often.

  I wondered if I wasn’t falling victim to her charisma the same way everyone else seemed to. Then I wondered why I always overanalyzed everything. I hadn’t had a female friend since, well, high school. Here was one trying to make an effort. Would it hurt to bend a little? To maybe have someone to talk to?

  It’s been a long time since I had someone to talk to.

  Holly backed up, arms folded across her chest. “I’m sorry, Jack. Overreacting. Pre-wedding jitters, I guess. It’s been a tough week. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  My inner cop told me to shake hands and walk away. But I’ll be damned if I didn’t say, “You can come.”

  “I can?” Again she lit up, and again I was subjected to a firm hug.

  But this one I didn’t mind as much.

  When she finally released me, we hopped into my Nova, and for the second time that day I headed for Indiana.

  Chapter 33

  HARRY TOLD ME about what he did, when you two were partners. He feels bad about it.”

  I replied with a snort. Holly and I had already talked about fashion (consensus: Fashion is good), guns (consensus: Guns are good), and parents (consensus: Parents are good if you still had them, but hers were dead and I only had my comatose mother), and we’d finally worked our way around to men.

  Holly wholeheartedly agreed I’d screwed up my chances with Latham, and I made a heroic effort to convince her to do the same with McGlade.

  “He’s changed, Jack. Loyalty is actually one of his most endearing qualities.”

  “It wasn’t back then.”

  “He was younger, ambitious. Now he recognizes that friendship is more important than a career. He considers you a good friend, Jack.”

  I snorted again. With good friends like McGlade, having serial killers hunting me was almost welcome.

  Holly reached for another french fry. We’d stopped at the McDonald’s oasis on the Skyway. I’d polished off my burger and fries a while ago. Holly had bought a Happy Meal, and divided her time between picking at her food and playing with the included toy, some kind of movie tie-in figurine.

  The fry disappeared in three bites. Holly chewed slowly. “It’s been years. Why do you still hate Harry so much?”

  “I don’t hate him. Let’s just say my life hasn’t been enriched by his involvement.”

  “He helped you with the Gingerbread Man case.”

  “Reluctantly.”

  “And with the case you had last year, that guy who was killing prostitutes.”

  “In both cases he wanted something.”

  “Isn’t that why you agreed to stand up at our wedding?”

  Oops. “He told you that?”

  “He said you wanted to get your character off the TV show, and you wouldn’t be his best man until he agreed.”

  I shifted in my seat. It was getting dark, so I switched on the headlights. The Gary exit was coming up.

  “He’s the one who got me on that damn TV show. It’s jeopardizing my job.”

  “Maybe he would have gotten you off the show if you just asked.”

  I made a noncommittal grunt.

  “He’s really sweet, Jack. I wish you could see that.”

  “Yeah. He should be a plush toy.”

  Holly dug back into the bag, and found one of the pickles she’d taken off her burger. She put it into her mouth, a gesture that struck me as odd.

  “Why’d you take the pickle off if you like them?”

  “I hate them.”

  “Then why’d you eat it?”

  “Waste not, want not. Right?”

  “I guess.”

  Neither of us talked for a moment. I refused to feel guilty about anything to do with McGlade, even if I was starting to like his girlfriend.

  “Tell me about this Bill Kork guy.”

  “Bud. His name’s Bud. He was Charles Kork’s—the Gingerbread Man’s— father. You saw the bodies on the news?”

  Holly crinkled up her nose. “Yeah. What kind of sicko would bury people in his basement?”

  “The same kind who bathes in his own urine, sticks needles in his groin, and whips himself with a scourge.”

  Holly made a face and shoved my shoulder. “That’s not true.”

  “It’s true. He also emasculated himself.”

  She mouthed the word emasculated, and th
en said, “He cut his own dick off?”

  I nodded. “He lost his luggage, and both carry-ons.”

  “That’s gross.”

  “Apparently he was punishing himself for his evil deeds. Some kind of warped Christian thing.”

  “Remind me not to attend that church.”

  I took the Gary exit, trying to remember if the hospital was north or south. I chose north.

  Holly liberated her last french fry, sniffed it, and popped it into her mouth. “I don’t know anyone that gross, but we had some killer in Detroit a few years ago. He was peeling people.”

  I tensed. “Really?”

  “Some serial killer whack-job. He was cutting people up and pulling off their skin. You didn’t see it on the news?”

  “I try not to watch the news. Too depressing. They catch the guy?”

  “No. Killed three people, then disappeared. Cops called it some kind of organized crime thing. Pretty terrible way to die, don’t you think? Getting skinned?”

  I thought about the Mulrooney video. “Yeah. Pretty terrible.”

  I knew I made the correct turn, because there were over a dozen news vans, each with that big antenna/dish thing on its roof, parked along the street. The hospital had cleared the media out of the parking lot. I found a handicapped space and pulled my siren out of the glove compartment, sticking it on the roof so I wouldn’t be towed.

  Holly got out with me.

  “I thought you were waiting in the car.”

  “Let me see the guy. Please, Jack? I’ll stay quiet. I just want to look in his eyes.”

  “This isn’t the zoo, Holly. We’re not visiting the monkey house.”

  “I’m good with men. I really am. If you want him to talk, maybe I can help.”

  As with Harry, arguing with Holly was an exercise in futility. We went back and forth for thirty seconds, and I realized the only way I’d get her to stay in the car would be if I handcuffed her. Which I considered, but physical restraints weren’t a good way to begin a friendship.

  “Don’t say a word. You can observe, but not interfere.”

  Holly mimed zipping her mouth closed.

  There were cops in the lobby, including the uniform I’d met who’d previously stood guard over Kork. He gave me a passing nod, then glued his eyes to Holly. The other cops did the same, without giving me a passing nod. If this were a cartoon, their tongues would have unrolled out of their mouths and onto the floor, red-carpet style.

  The Feebies, Mutt and Jeff, were thankfully nowhere to be found. Perhaps they were grilling Lorna Hunt Ellison. Or perhaps they were engaged in a sweaty ménage à trois with Vicky, the ViCAT computer. Wherever they were, I thanked the universe I didn’t have to deal with them along with everything else.

  Kork’s room was being guarded by two more cops, who’d been expecting me. They weren’t expecting Holly, but when she smiled they all talked at once, introducing themselves and pledging their allegiance.

  I left them to their flirting and went in to visit the monster.

  Bud Kork eyed me when I entered, his eyes saggy and bloodshot, his complexion sallow. If he recognized me, he didn’t show it.

  Then Holly walked in. Penis be damned, Bud caught a breath and stared wide-eyed.

  Perhaps it was the Versace tee. I needed to get one of those.

  “Mr. Kork? Do you remember me? I’m Lieutenant Daniels. I dropped by your house the other day, and you showed me your root cellar.”

  He nodded, his gaze still fixed on Holly. She moved toward the bed, her hand extended, and Kork flinched hard enough to make the frame squeak.

  “Holly Frakes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Kork.”

  Bud reached for her hand as if it were a rattlesnake. He managed a quick, limp handshake, which he retracted immediately.

  “How are they treating you?” I asked.

  “They . . . they won’t give me any lemon for my water. I keep asking, but I don’t get any lemon.”

  He stuck a finger into his mouth and gnawed on a cuticle, his gaze flitting back and forth between me and Holly.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  As I spoke this, Holly went out into the hallway. I imagined the cops tripping over themselves searching for a lemon.

  I pulled up a plastic chair and sat next to the bed.

  “Do you know why you’re here, Bud?”

  “To be punished. Because I’ve been bad.”

  He seemed appropriately sad when he said it. Then his face creased in a wicked grin and he began to giggle.

  “What’s funny, Bud?”

  “ ‘Blessed are you when men hate you, and when they exclude you and revile you, and cast out your name as evil.’ Luke 6:22.”

  His whole body shook, as if he were having a seizure. The Parkinson’s. It subsided before I could call the nurse, and Bud again burst into laughter.

  “Indiana has the death penalty. They’ll kill me by lethal injection.”

  “That amuses you?”

  “I don’t deserve it.”

  “You’ve killed a lot of people, Bud.”

  He bit at his hangnail and pulled. Blood smeared across his lips, bringing color to their liverlike pallor.

  “I should be tortured to death.” He giggled again. “Lethal injection is too good for me.”

  He sucked on his finger, tongue lapping at the blood. I kept my expression neutral.

  “I saw Lorna earlier today.”

  Bud frowned around his finger. “She never visits me.”

  “She’s in prison, Bud.”

  “She helped me, with the sinners. Liked to do the flogging. Sweet, sweet Lorna.”

  He hummed a song, off tune, suckling his bleeding digit.

  I had no doubts Bud Kork was insane. But there was more to it than that. Sitting this close to him, I felt a deep sense of revulsion—the same kind of feeling I had when I watched a nature program on TV that showed a spider catching a fly. Bud Kork radiated a very real feeling of harm, of fear and decay and death.

  Talking to him made me want to take a hot shower and brush my teeth until my gums hurt.

  “Would you like to see Lorna again, Bud?”

  “Yes. My sweet love. So good with the repentant. So eager to make them confess their sins.”

  I lowered my voice, so he had to strain to hear me.

  “I can arrange it, Bud. For you to see her.” I figured it would happen anyway, once Lorna cut her deal. Bud didn’t have to know it didn’t come from me. “But I need you to tell me something first.”

  He stared at me, slurping on his finger, a line of pink drool rolling down his chin.

  “I need you to tell me where Caleb is.”

  Bud began to cackle. “ ‘You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father’s desires.’ John 8:44.”

  “You treated Caleb as your son?”

  “Caleb was the devil, like Charles was the devil. But not the devil of my flesh. A devil conceived in light.”

  I leaned closer, though I had to force myself to do so.

  “Where is Caleb?”

  Bud opened his mouth to speak, then his yellow eyes darted behind me, to Holly.

  “I found a lemon for you, Bud.” She offered him a wedge of the fruit.

  Bud snatched it in a gnarled fist, then squeezed it onto his bloody hangnail and rubbed it in, gasping and shuddering.

  “Freaky,” Holly said, eyes wide.

  I reached for the lemon, then thought better of it; Bud was grinding it into his open cut, and the pulp was turning orange with blood. Instead, I tapped his shoulder.

  “Where’s Caleb, Bud?”

  He ignored me, focusing on Holly.

  “ ‘How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, my angel of the morning.’ Isaiah 14:12.”

  Holly found another chair and pulled it over to Kork’s bed. She straddled it and leaned on the back, resting her chin on her forearms, her eyes bright and alive.

  “I hear you like needles, Bud.”

  He n
odded at her, gasping.

  “Look what I found in the gift shop.”

  She held up an emergency sewing kit: three mini spools of thread, a thimble, and eight sewing needles.

  “Holly.” I gave her a look. “Remember what we talked about in the car.”

  She kept her eyes on Bud. “Lieutenant Daniels asked you a question, Bud. Where’s Caleb?”

  He eyed the needles like a starving man staring at a menu. “I . . . I don’t know where Caleb is.”

  Holly opened the pack, pulled out a needle. Examined it.

  “Where does he live?”

  “Different places.”

  “Which places?”

  “Indiana. Michigan. Illinois.”

  Holly parted her lips and placed the needle between them. Bud was panting in a manner that could only be described as sexual. The lemon was dropped, forgotten.

  I’d lost control of the interrogation. I shook Bud’s shoulder.

  “Where is Caleb now?” I asked.

  Bud remained transfixed on the needle in Holly’s mouth. “Illinois.”

  “Where in Illinois?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When did you last hear from him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Holly pouted, and slowly pulled the needle out of her mouth, letting it linger on her tongue before she put it back in the kit.

  “If you want this, Bud, you have to give us more than that.”

  Bud swallowed, an audible gulp that the stretching silence amplified.

  “Talk to Steve.”

  “Steve who?”

  “Caleb’s friend. Steve Jensen. He’d know.”

  I’d heard that name recently, and couldn’t remember where. Steve Jensen. Steve Jensen. Steve . . .

  And then I had it. I shook Bud again, harder.

  “Do you know where Steve is, Bud?”

  “No.”

  “How does Caleb know Steve?”

  “Friends for years. Very close.” He looked at Holly, then back at me. “Had the devil in him. Like Caleb. And Charles.”

  “Have you spoken to Steve lately?”

  Bud jackknifed into a sitting position, making me and Holly rear back. He pointed his bloody finger at her.

  “ ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me; for you are not on the side of God, but of men!’ ”

  Holly winked at him. “Matthew 16:23.”Then she tossed Bud the sewing kit.