Carnal Vengeance

by Marilyn Campbell

  With a smile in his voice, he answered, "Why, yes, it is. Who's this?"

  "Someone who knows more about your past than what came out in the hearing." Knowing how protective Ziegler had been about his wife's privacy during interviews throughout the hearing, the caller added, "If you hang up, the next call I make is to your wife." The gamble paid off. Ziegler stayed on the line.

  "I can't imagine what you're referring to, but if you're looking to blackmail me about something, you must not be aware of my bank balance."

  "I don't want your money, only a little conversation. Are you alone?"

  Ziegler hesitated long enough for the caller to wonder if his timing was off after all. "Yes, but I'm due downstairs soon. Can't this wait?"

  "No, it can't, and it won't take that long. What's your room number?" Ziegler muttered directions and soon his caller was ascending one of the lobby elevators and walking down the empty hallway toward his suite. A beige canvas tote bag concealed a number of essentials, including latex gloves, which were donned just before the caller knocked.

  As soon as Ziegler opened the door, his visitor pulled a gun out of the bag and motioned him back into the room.

  Ziegler's gaze briefly darted to the closed bedroom door, as though looking for an escape route. Keeping a wary eye on the deadly weapon pointed at his chest, he said, "I thought you wanted to talk."

  "I do. This will insure that you'll be attentive. And obedient. Go to the bar and pour yourself a glass of water, then back away." After he did as he was instructed, his visitor removed from the bag a plastic pill container partially filled with white powder. The contents were then emptied into the water and stirred with a swizzle stick. "Now, drink it."

  "No, thank you. I don't indulge."

  Although the senator tried to sound sarcastic, the perspiration dotting his forehead and upper lip revealed his fear. "It's only a truth inducer," the visitor lied. "It will make you more cooperative while we talk. I assure you it will be completely worn off in time for you to go to your party."

  "I don't need a drug to tell you the truth. Ask me whatever you want."

  The visitor's finger moved on the trigger of the gun. "You can drink it or you can die. Note how steady my hand is. I have no qualms about shooting you and I'm absolutely certain I could get away from here before anyone would come to investigate."

  Ziegler stared at the finger slowly tighten on the trigger, pulling it back a fraction of an inch closer to the grip. His gaze darted to the eyes of his visitor and what he saw there convinced him to obey. "All right. I'll drink it."

  Only when he lifted the glass to his mouth and drained it did the visitor allow the trigger to ease back into a somewhat less threatening position.

  Fear caused Ziegler's voice to crack. "What is it you want me to talk about?"

  "I'll tell you in due time but first I would suggest you choose a comfortable seat. The medication could make you a little dizzy."

  Tim sat down but the other remained standing with the gun pointed at him.

  "We'll give the drug ten minutes. You may want to use the time to contemplate your sins."

  When the allotted time passed, the visitor said, "Let's begin with something simple. Where did you go to college?"

  Tim arched an eyebrow. "After the past week, most of the country knows the answer to that."

  "Cut the sarcasm. Just answer the question. I assure you they'll get harder as we go along."

  "Dominion University."

  "Did you date Cheryl Wallace?"

  Tim frowned, but answered in the affirmative. When asked if he had set her up to be raped, however, he denied it as vehemently as he had during the hearing and insisted she had been a willing participant.

  As the sedative flooded Ziegler's system, he was questioned about details of his relationship with Cheryl, but he stuck to his public story. When he was asked about other women he had dated, he continued to deny that he had ever forced himself on a woman. Even when his inquisitor grew furious and waved the gun in his face, he refused to admit he had ever abused a woman in any manner. He fought the effects of the drug as long as he could but within half an hour, he began losing the battle.

  When he was barely able to hold up his head and his words became so slurred they were unintelligible, he was told who his visitor was and why he was about to be punished.

  Comprehension flickered in Ziegler's eyes, and he again glanced at the closed bedroom door, but he passed out before he could put a voice to any thoughts.

  Ziegler's body was adjusted so that he was slouched down in the armchair with his legs stretched out in front of him. It took a little more effort to tug his slacks and briefs down his legs.

  The visitor donned a vinyl rain poncho and removed another item from the tote before realizing what had been forgotten. Luckily, a suitable tool was stored in the bar.

  Using the ice tongs to raise the male organ from Ziegler's body, the visitor switched on the battery-operated carving knife. With the double serrated blades operating at high speed, justice was swiftly delivered.

  As Ziegler's life blood pumped from his body, the severed penis was stuffed into his mouth and a bloody testicle placed over each eye. In case that message wasn't clear enough, a white cardboard sign was propped on his chest. Black stick-on letters formed the words:

  Just punishment for a rapist

  * * *

  At nine-fifteen p.m., Rachel Greenley received a phone call from her supervisor, informing her of a new assignment. She was to head up the team investigating the murder of Timothy Ziegler.

  "Naturally, this is to remain confidential for the time being. I need you to meet me at the Kessler Hotel as soon as you can get here," Matt said. "And Rachel, I need you clearheaded."

  "No problem, sir. I'm sober as the proverbial judge." Rachel hung up the phone before allowing herself to react. The incredible irony of it was too beautiful not to share. Before she left her apartment, she made two phone calls, but neither of her friends answered. Where the hell were they?

  * * *

  Philip's call woke Holly Saturday morning long before her alarm went off. "Did you hear the news?" he asked instead of greeting her. A hoarse mumble was her answer. "Senator Ziegler was murdered last night."

  "What?" Holly drew herself upright in bed.

  "Someone killed the new HUD secretary, although details haven't been released yet. A secret service agent was first on the scene and apparently they were able to keep it under wraps most of the night. Can you imagine? While guests were celebrating his appointment downstairs, he was getting stiff up in his room."

  "Philip! That's not funny."

  "I know. It just struck me as an extreme case of poetic justice that right after his colleagues saw fit to reward him in spite of everything they'd heard, he's now in the hands of the one judge who knows the truth."

  Holly rubbed her eyes, uncertain why Philip thought she needed to be awakened by such morbid news, or why he sounded so satisfied by it. "I'm still half asleep, Philip, but I'll turn on the news as soon as I get out of the shower."

  "I thought perhaps you'd like me to take you out to breakfast."

  "Thanks, but I'll have to pass. I have an appointment to get my hair done for the benefit dinner tonight."

  "All right. I'll see you later then. Is six-thirty good for me to pick you up?"

  "That'll be fine." As Holly hung up, she thought it was odd of Philip to ask her out to breakfast when they would be going out that evening.

  It wasn't until she was standing under the hot spray that the purpose of Philip's call truly sunk in.

  Timothy Ziegler had been murdered! One of the men featured in the nightmare that had disrupted her sleep last night was now dead and would soon be buried. Questions of how and why popped into her head, but Philip had said details hadn't been released.

  So why had he called so early? Just to let her know that a man who had gotten away with a crime would no longer be freely walking the earth? Or was it more than that? Cou
ld Philip have guessed the connection between her and Ziegler? What if he had looked at the list of names in her briefcase the other day, then talked to her father, and somehow pieced it all together?

  That was incredibly farfetched. If Philip had seen Ziegler's name, he would have mentioned it by now, and she hadn't given her parents any names. She didn't think her mother's guessing the name Jerry would be enough. Besides that, Bernie was a strong supporter of his state senator. He had even spent some time talking to Ziegler at a rally once. No, there was no way Philip could have concluded that she had any personal interest in Ziegler's fate, other than empathizing with Cheryl Wallace.

  As soon as she had the thought, she realized that had to be it. The other night Philip had mentioned the similarities between Cheryl's plight and her own. He must have assumed she'd be pleased that Tim Ziegler had received a sort of retribution.

  Timothy Ziegler had been a loathsome slug, but even in her deepest depression, Holly hadn't wished him dead.

  But someone had. Was it a robber? A person who held a personal or political grudge against him?

  The first face that appeared in her mind was Cheryl Wallace's, followed by Bobbi Renquist's. Though April had also been used by Tim, she didn't seem nearly as hostile as the others, but since she was the one who had formed the group and held it together all these years, perhaps beneath her cool exterior seethed the most hatred of all.

  Erica Donner and Rachel Greenley hadn't been on Tim's dance card, but they both radiated a chilling contempt for men in general. Rachel had actually spoken of violence and Erica seemed fully capable of committing murder—as Bobbi had implied—without so much as an increase in her pulse rate, if she had one at all. On top of that, the murder had occurred in Erica's hotel.

  Then again, they all had sound reasons for their unusual personalities... as sound as the reasons for her own eccentricities. She had at least as strong a motive as any of them for hating Tim Ziegler, but she would never have killed him, so why should she suspect the other women?

  Considering what she knew about Ziegler, it was unlikely that he was as clean-cut as the press made him out to be. Surely he'd made enemies in the past, other than the Little Sister Society, and one of them had simply caught up to him.

  Or it was a robbery gone bad, as she first guessed.

  The news report Holly watched before she left her apartment revealed only that the senator had been killed in his hotel room prior to his celebration party and that there was no sign of forced entry. It seemed very curious that the method of murder had been withheld.

  The media had been unable to reach Mrs. Ziegler for a statement.

  Although Holly may have despised Ziegler, she couldn't help but care about his wife and children. Because of his public position and recent television exposure, they would not be granted the privacy normally afforded to the grieving.

  When she returned to her apartment after her hair appointment and a stop at Evelyn's favorite clothing store, Holly received the second bewildering call of the day.

  "Please come to room four-thirteen at your earliest convenience. Ah suggest y'all take the stairs to avoid bein' noticed."

  Holly heard the phone disconnect before she fully comprehended the politely phrased order. The accent identified the caller as Erica Donner. Thus, it would be logical that the room referred to was in the Kessler Hotel, but that wasn't the number of the penthouse. Why the mystery? Or the urgency? The answer had to have something to do with Tim Ziegler's murder. Holly's curiosity was sufficiently aroused for her to drive into town.

  As soon as she entered the hotel, she understood Erica's suggestion about the stairs. The lobby was packed with people—police, reporters, photographers and onlookers. She couldn't have reached the bank of elevators without elbowing her way through the crowd.

  She climbed the four flights of stairs so quickly, she had to pause to catch her breath upon exiting the stairwell. Because of the secretive way Erica had called her, Holly found herself making sure there were no other guests in the hallway before knocking on the door of Room 413. Erica admitted her immediately.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed was a woman dressed in a tailored red suit and a red hat with a veil that partially hid her eyes and nose. As Holly waited for an introduction, the woman's bright red lips curved sensually and she crossed her legs.

  "I see you're not wearing black either," the woman said in a husky voice.

  Holly looked down at her own purple silk blouse and white skirt, but was thinking about where she'd heard that voice before.

  "Pay Bobbi no mind," Erica said, sitting down in one chair and motioning for Holly to take the other.

  "Bobbi?" Holly's surprise was evident. "I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you."

  "It's Roberta actually, and that's quite all right. Nothing could bring me down today. In fact, this just might be the most up day I've had in twenty years. Don't you think my wearing red is symbolic Holly?"

  Holly had no idea what to think but Erica spared her from saying as much.

  "It was good of you to join us on such short notice. Y'all undoubtedly heard the news about Timothy Ziegler. Well, as fate would have it, Rachel has been assigned to head up the team of agents investigating the murder. Apparently the method suggested a ritualistic killing. She paid me a visit a while ago and asked me to pass some advice on to the two of you."

  "Advice?" Holly grew more tense by the second.

  Erica nodded. "Yes. She strongly recommended that each of us make sure we have an airtight alibi for last evenin' between the hours of six and eight, documented if at all possible."

  Holly glanced at Bobbi/Roberta, but she wasn't giving away any hints.

  "April and Cheryl both left town before the murder took place, but Rachel said she'd be speakin' to each of them about this anyway. She insisted it was only a precaution. But take it from me, bein' at the center of a homicide investigation can be terribly disruptin' to one's schedule." For Holly's sake, she elaborated further. "If anyone was clever or nosy enough to discover our little secret, we would be prime suspects. You see, although it could have been a ruse, the manner in which he was... executed suggests the killer's motive.

  "Our late friend Timothy Ziegler wasn't simply murdered, he was... well, there just isn't a delicate way to put this. He bled to death after he was castrated. No, that's not technically accurate, since castration is the removal of the testicles. Those were removed, mind you, but his dick was also sliced off and—stuck in his mouth, like a little cigar." One corner of Erica's mouth lifted in the beginning of a smile but she quickly grew serious again.

  "Of course, that information hasn't been released to the public as yet and Rachel's going to do her best to keep it that way as long as possible."

  Erica closed her eyes and gave a small shudder as a testimony to her delicate sensibilities, but Holly thought she looked like she was fighting the urge to snicker over the gruesome picture she described.

  Roberta had no such ladylike restraints. She burst out laughing.

  Remembering Philip's bad joke, Holly wondered if a case of black humor was spreading around her. "I don't mean to question Rachel's professional advice, but surely it would take a very strong man to do that to someone Ziegler's size. No one our size could feasibly overpower him." It crossed her mind that Rachel might accomplish it, however.

  "Not normally," Erica explained. "But Rachel said the preliminary lab report showed his system contained enough sleeping pills to knock out a horse. The only question was how it got into his body. He didn't have a prescription for it but, thanks to the good doctor, several of us do."

  "Not me," Holly denied, recalling April's generous offer to write her a prescription.

  "Oh, that's right," Roberta said with a sneer. "You don't like being out of control. But I'll bet someone you know has a prescription that you could tap if you really wanted to."

  Holly wanted to deny that as well, but the truth was she knew both Philip and her mother took something to help the
m sleep. "It doesn't matter. Not only am I incapable of butchering a man—no matter how much I hated him—I wasn't anywhere near the hotel last night."

  Erica leaned forward. "Can y'all prove that?"

  Holly opened her mouth to back up her claim of innocence and was stunned to realize she couldn't prove a thing. She had left work at five and stayed home all evening. She couldn't remember seeing any other tenants when she arrived at the apartment building. There had been no phone calls or visitors, not even Philip. She had fallen asleep around eleven o'clock reading a magazine, been awakened by the nightmare, finally fell back to sleep about four, and Philip had called at six.

  All things considered, if someone chose to accuse her of committing a crime, she would have one hell of a time defending herself. A week ago, she had never even heard of the Little Sister Society. Now, a group of virtual strangers could connect her to a violent murder.

  Chapter 7

  By the time she returned to her apartment, Holly realized how ridiculous it was to worry over something so remote. No one had discovered the Little Sister Society in all the years they had been performing their secret operations and there was no reason someone would learn about them now. There was as much chance of her being accused of robbing a convenience store Friday night as of killing Timothy Ziegler. The burden of proof was not on her, but the courts, and since she had been at home that night, no one could place her at the hotel. Case closed.

  The more she pondered it, the more she was convinced that Rachel's drinking was the real problem. It was probably making her paranoid and she wanted to get everyone else as frightened as she was. If anything, she was the one who'd better have an alibi. Holly specifically recalled her saying she wanted to castrate Ziegler. Maybe that was what her advice to them was really about. Rachel wanted to scare everyone enough to make certain no one repeated what she had said.

  Holly even began to wonder if the information Erica had passed on was accurate. There hadn't been a single hint of it in any news coverage she'd heard. More than likely, the whole description of the castration had only been a wishful delusion of Rachel's. And Erica and Bobbi/Roberta seemed to be taking too great a delight in the details for Holly's peace of mind.