Vengeance Is Mine

by Joanne Fluke

  There was no sense in sitting here trying to outguess Michele. It would be better to come right out and ask her. Steve picked up the phone to dial her number at the clinic, but he hung up before it could ring. This was the sort of thing he should ask her in person. Maybe he’d talk to her tonight, after the hockey game was over. They had to get things settled soon.

  “Steve?” Carol tapped on his open door and came into the office. “There’s a Father Joseph here to see you.”

  “Good morning, Joe.” Steve went out to greet the young priest. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Oh, no, thank you. I just came to drop off this list. The locations in the immediate area are marked with an asterisk.”

  “This must have taken you all night.” Steve scanned the list. There were more than a hundred addresses.

  Joe laughed. “Actually it took only a few minutes. I ran a computer printout from our mailing list. We converted to data storage at the beginning of the year.”

  After Joe had left, Steve sent Doug out to work on the list. Doug was turning into a fine detective. He’d come up with two college students who’d seen the bishop and the nun on the night of Brian’s death. One of them, a Catholic coed from Sherburne Hall, had even noticed the crucifix. She had assumed that the Newman Center was having some sort of dedication, and she’d wanted to attend, but her boyfriend had talked her out of it.

  Carol tapped on the door and came in with a foil-wrapped package. She grinned as she handed it to Steve.

  “Father Joseph left this on my desk. A dozen blueberry muffins. I had mine already, and I sure wish they’d open a restaurant.”

  It was almost noon in Los Angeles when Rollie Jackson glanced at his watch. The morning paper had promised another cloudless day in the high eighties, and Rollie knew from experience that it would be a good fifteen degrees hotter than that out here at LAX. He reached in his orange coverall pocket for the clean handkerchief his mother tucked there every morning, and mopped his face. Heat waves rose from the tarmac as he put the piggyback baggage truck into gear again and drove up to Gate 37.

  Rollie grinned as the huge plane taxied down the runway. The red insignia on the side shimmered in the heat. Western Flight 407 was right on time. He’d be through with this pickup in half an hour, and then he could go to lunch. He just hoped they’d loaded the baggage right in Minneapolis. His job was easy when the jokers at the other end didn’t screw him up.

  A little boy in a window seat waved, and Rollie waved back. The passengers watching out the windows were all smiles. Rollie could understand why. He’d heard the temperature had dropped below zero last night in Minnesota. His mother’s freezer was warmer than that.

  Five minutes later more than half the baggage was on the truck. Since the baggage procedure was fully automated, all Rollie had to do was watch to make sure everything worked right. He was just deciding where to take his lunch date when he saw disaster appear at the top of the belt.

  Rollie hit the shutoff, but it was too late. A big metal trunk twenty feet above his head slipped off the belt, taking a smaller bag with it. The trunk struck the tarmac with a resounding crunch. The lid popped open, and the contents scattered everywhere.

  Rollie groaned and began to pick up the clothes. A broken bottle of Aqua Velva had soaked the passenger’s topcoat. The airline would have to pay this claim. Rollie chased down a bathing suit and three pairs of rolled-up socks. He stooped to pick up a hideous Hawaiian sport shirt and stuffed everything back in the trunk. Then he hurried to take care of the other bag.

  The smaller suitcase was relatively undamaged. Luckily it was the soft-sided kind. The zipper had come open, and that was about it. Rollie was about to zip it back up when he noticed that it was filled with a crumpled newspaper. Since it wasn’t locked, Rollie figured he’d better inspect the contents to make sure nothing was broken.

  It was a weird way to pack a suitcase. Rollie lifted out the balls of paper and felt something hard inside. He gasped as he uncovered a handgun.

  “Damn!” Rollie swore loudly and went back to the cart for his radio. The rules were explicit about firearms, and he was willing to bet that this gun hadn’t been declared. Now everything had to be halted until airport security arrived on the scene. The passengers would be late getting their luggage, and he’d spend his lunch hour answering questions.

  The easy solution to his problem flashed through Rollie’s mind. If he just zipped up the suitcase, no one would ever be the wiser. He’d be on time for his lunch date, and the passengers would be happy.

  Rollie sighed as he picked up his radio and punched out the code for security assistance. He had to report it. You never knew when something like this might be important. So it shot the hell out of his lunch hour. So what? That sweet little fox at the Hertz booth would still be there tomorrow.

  Sister Kate opened the door to the chapel for Archbishop Ciminski and switched on the lights. The archbishop had never visited on a Wednesday before, and he’d barely greeted the patients before he asked to see the chapel.

  “The crucifix is still here, I see.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  Sister Kate kept her face carefully impassive. Where else would their crucifix be?

  “Has this crucifix been moved at any time during the past week?”

  “No, Your Excellency.”

  This question was even stranger. There was no reason to move their crucifix. What in God’s name was going on?

  “Sister Kate, is there any possible way that a patient could leave Holy Rest at night and get back in again without being noticed?”

  “No, Your Excellency. All the doors are secured at eight P.M. There are only three keys. I have one, the guard has one, and you have the third.”

  “Yes, of course. I need your opinion, Sister Kate. Do you think Bishop Donahue is happy here at Holy Rest?”

  Sister Kate couldn’t help raising her eyebrows slightly. It was wrong of her to think it, and she’d have to confess her sin at the first opportunity, but Archbishop Ciminski was acting more peculiar than some of her patients.

  “I believe he is, Your Excellency. His therapy is progressing nicely. I’ve sent the reports.”

  “Hmmm. Well, thank you for your help, Sister Kate.”

  That did it. Archbishop Ciminski was going to leave without telling her what all this was about. Sister Kate threw thousands of years of precedence out the window as she grabbed the archbishop’s sleeve.

  “Wait! You can’t leave without telling me what’s going on.”

  Archbishop Ciminski looked down at Sister Kate in surprise. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

  “Ah, Sister Kate, I apologize. Perhaps the dissident sisters do have a point. I certainly didn’t intend to keep you in the dark.”

  Sister Kate was so relieved she sat right down in one of the small pews. It was a miracle that Archbishop Ciminski wasn’t angry with her impertinence.

  “You’ve heard about the murders, of course?”

  Sister Kate nodded.

  “Steve Radke came to see me last night. He’s managed to identify the murder weapon. It’s a crucifix, the size of the one here at Holy Rest.”

  “Mercy!” Sister Kate looked up at the crucifix and crossed herself.

  “He also claims that a bishop and a nun were seen in the vicinity when Brian Nordstrom was murdered. He suspects that they’re the killers.”

  Sister Kate was speechless for a moment. She could barely believe she’d heard His Excellency correctly. She swallowed hard and stared up at the archbishop.

  “And—and you thought that Bishop Donahue—”

  Archbishop Ciminski nodded. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I did have my doubts. Perhaps I’d better stop watching that Father Brown series on the Public Broadcasting System. It doesn’t always work out when a man of the cloth tries to play detective.”

  “Oh, Your Excellency.” Sister Kate laughed. “Would you like to see Bishop Donahue to put your mind to rest? I
think he’s up in the computer room, playing a game with the major.”

  “First I’d like a cup of your delicious tea, Sister Kate. Then I’ll find Bishop Donahue, poor man. I feel terribly guilty for suspecting him.”

  Sister Kate left the chapel door open as they walked out into the hallway. If she had closed it, she would have seen Bishop Donahue standing there. His face was set in grim lines, and there was determination in his step as he went up the stairs. God had been guiding his actions when he’d failed to capture the Black Queen last night. Now it was still his move, and he was in a perfect position to put the Black King in check. No one but the Black King had the power to twist the archbishop’s mind, and at last Bishop Donahue knew who he was. Tonight he would win the game and defeat Satan by destroying Steven Radke.

  Michele was sitting at her desk when Carol called. Her third appointment of the day had canceled, and it looked as if this one was a no-show. People might attend WinterGame on Margaret’s buses, but they were still afraid to go out in their cars alone.

  “It’s over, Michele! They got ’em.”

  “What?”

  “Two men, dressed up like Catholic priests. They took a flight from Minneapolis to Los Angeles, and the airport police picked them up when they got off the plane. We just found out they’re wanted for five other murders, not counting the four here in St. Cloud.”

  “What a relief!” Michele sighed deeply. “That’s wonderful news, Carol. How’s Steve? Ecstatic, I’ll bet.”

  “Well . . . just a second. I want to shut this door.” There was a pause, and then Carol came back on the line. “Of course, Steve’s glad that the killers are behind bars, but—this is just between you and me, Michele—I think Steve’s a little disappointed he didn’t wrap it up himself. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I know exactly what you mean. Thanks for telling me, Carol. Is Steve there now?”

  “No, he’s at the studio, taping a news release for Margaret. Do you want him to call you when he gets back?”

  “No. I’ll be leaving here in just a few minutes. Just tell him . . . I don’t know. What do you think I should tell him?”

  “How about ‘I love you’? That ought to cheer him up.”

  Michele laughed. “You’re right. Leave a note on his desk. Oh, and Carol? Where’s the best place on the mall to buy a sexy negligee?”

  It was Carol’s turn to laugh. “You could try Herberger’s or Vogue, I guess. I’m just an old married lady, Michele. I sleep in one of Jim’s sweatshirts.”

  Michele hung up the phone and got her coat. She had things to do. It was a good thing Steve had given her his keys. She’d pick up a bottle of champagne and put it in his refrigerator to chill, along with some kind of hors d’oeuvre. Then she’d buy the sexiest nightgown in downtown St. Cloud. She’d leave the hockey game early tonight and be there, dressed and waiting when Steve came home. If that didn’t make him forget his disappointment, nothing could.

  Steve had been cautious and factual in his interview with Margaret, but Carol said the whole town was buzzing anyway. The people were sure that the two men apprehended in Los Angeles were the St. Cloud killers. They wanted to believe it so badly no one was waiting for Steve’s final confirmation.

  Prior to the interview, Steve had spent an hour going over the facts. Margaret had told him that a nun had knocked on her door late last night. Thank God Margaret had been too stubborn to answer the door before Doug Phillips got there. There was no doubt in Steve’s mind that Margaret’s late-night caller had been the nun who had been seen outside the Newman Center with the bishop. And Steve was sure that the bishop had been hiding in the darkness, just waiting for Margaret to open the door.

  The L.A. cops were sure the two men they’d arrested at the airport were responsible for the St. Cloud murders. The two fugitives were wanted for murder in three states, and they had used various disguises. They’d gone on a killing spree in Detroit, stabbing three college roommates. The fourth girl had hidden in a closet. She said they were dressed as telephone workers. In Chicago, three days later, they had strangled a seventeen-year-old prostitute in a hotel room. The next evening the pair had broken into a gun store in Milwaukee and armed themselves with handguns. Several witnesses remembered seeing them hitchhiking in clerical garb. They had shot the owner of a new Cadillac Seville when he picked them up outside Eau Claire. Then they had disappeared for a week until they resurfaced at the L.A. airport this morning, dressed as Catholic clergy.

  The times matched up, but the unanswered questions were driving Steve crazy. Why had they used the crucifix? It was awkward to carry, and they were already armed with guns.

  Then there was WinterGame. What was the connection? The other murders had been isolated incidents, separated from each other by more than 300 miles. Why had the killers stayed in St. Cloud for a week to eliminate systematically the guests on Margaret’s interview show? It could be simple coincidence, but Steve found that hard to believe. Coincidence was the excuse poor cops used when they couldn’t find the right answer.

  Steve sighed and got up. There was a dull throbbing at his temples, and he reached for the aspirin bottle on the top of the file cabinet. There was no use fooling himself. He had wanted to catch those killers himself and be a hero in St. Cloud. Nothing about those two men in Los Angeles fitted into Steve’s theory of the murders. Were the St. Cloud killers still on the loose, or was his ego getting in the way of his good judgment?

  Carol knocked on the door and stuck her head in the office. “Doug for you on line two, boss. He wants to know if he should keep checking those addresses.”

  Steve gulped down two aspirins and frowned. If the two men in Los Angeles were his killers, he’d be wasting valuable police time by keeping Doug on the job.

  He was about to tell Doug to call off the search when he saw the note on his desk: “Michele called. She said to tell you she loved you.”

  How about that? Steve grinned. Michele loved him, and she believed he was a good cop. If she were here right now, she’d tell him to trust his own judgment. It was a gamble that might cost him his job when Chief Schultz came back, but Steve was convinced he was right.

  Steve was still smiling as he picked up the phone.

  “Doug? Keep at it. I think they’re still out there, and we’re gonna get ’em.”

  CHAPTER 21

  It was past four in the afternoon when Steve pulled into the Embers parking lot. His stomach was rumbling again, and he needed a break. A doughnut and coffee might help.

  A small red Toyota was parked in the handicapped spot by the door, and Steve noticed that it had no sticker on the front windshield. Suddenly he was irrationally angry at the inconsiderate jokers who used handicapped spaces illegally, just to avoid walking a few extra feet. Maybe the department ought to take a harder policy. If the owner of this car wasn’t already handicapped, the situation could be rectified in a hurry.

  Steve was jotting down the license number when a woman and a boy came out of the restaurant. The child was on crutches and his right leg was in a cast. He was having difficulty navigating even the short distance to the Toyota.

  Suddenly Steve was ashamed. Maybe this car didn’t have a sticker but that little boy was entitled to one.

  “Let me help, ma’am.” Steve walked over to open the car door. He lifted the boy in and put the crutches on the backseat.

  “Oh, thank you.” The woman smiled at him. “I’m Gladys Halvorsen, and this is my son, Ronnie. You’re not going to give me a ticket, are you? We were a little afraid to go out, so we haven’t picked up our sticker yet.”

  “That’s perfectly all right, Mrs. Halvorsen.”

  The woman sighed with relief. Then she gave Steve a closer look. “You’re Steve Radke, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m so glad they caught the killers. Ronnie’s been begging to go out for a hamburger, but we didn’t think it was safe until now.”

  “They haven’t signed a confession yet, M
rs. Halvorsen. I’d still be very cautious, just in case.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that, Mr. Radke. I’m naturally paranoid. It comes from growing up in Detroit.”

  “Mrs. Halvorsen?” Steve stopped her as she was about to get into the car. “If you give me your address, I’ll have my secretary send you a temporary handicapped sticker. Put it on your windshield and you’re entitled to free parking at any metered space.”

  “Thank you. Ronnie doesn’t get his cast off until the end of March. He was playing King of the Snowbank at recess. He’s not going to play that again, are you, Ronnie?”

  Ronnie’s expression was solemn as he shook his head. Steve remembered playing King of the Snowbank when he was a boy. It had been his favorite winter game. It was kind of nice to know that some things never changed.

  Steve saw Ronnie was watching him, and he winked. At first Ronnie looked surprised, and then he winked back. Both of them knew that Ronnie would be right back on top of the snowbank the minute his cast came off.

  The Embers was crowded, and there was a half hour wait for a booth. It looked as if people were out in full force this afternoon. Ginny Eilers, one of the waitresses Steve knew, waved him over to her section. Another perk of the policeman’s life.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Ginny handed him a menu and lowered her voice. “It’s been like a morgue in here the last couple of days. Now they’re lined up three deep. I’m making a fortune in tips today.”

  “Just a doughnut and a cup of coffee, Ginny. That’s enough.”

  “For you?” Ginny laughed. “That’s what I’ll write on the ticket, but that’s not what you’ll get. Let me surprise you, okay?”

  Steve knew about Ginny’s surprises, and he settled back for a good meal. Since Doug was working Joe’s list from the top, Steve had started at the bottom. He’d checked six addresses this afternoon.

  Ginny came back with an order of garlic bread and a big dinner salad, swimming in extra blue cheese dressing. Steve had no sooner tasted it than she was back to deliver a Reuben and a large order of fries. Next came a pecan tart with a side bowl of whipped cream.