by J. C. Fields
“It is if this Bishop character is using it as bait. What if he killed this woman just to bring you back into the game? You just said he’s a psychopath.”
“He’s also a sociopath.” Kruger was silent for a few moments. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“See, that’s my point. You’ve closed your eyes and jumped into the lake without knowing how deep the water is.”
“We don’t have any positive proof that Bishop even killed her. It’s all speculation.”
“Now it’s ‘we.’ Have you decided to accept the President’s offer?”
“Figure of speech.”
She smiled and put her arms around his waist. “You miss it don’t you?”
He was silent for a long time and then hugged her back. “Yes, I do. I didn’t realize how much until I went to Washington, D.C.”
“Then go save the world. Kristin and I will be fine.”
“I’ll talk to Joseph before I go.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Chapter 9
Rockford, IL
Standing outside the yellow crime scene tape, Sean Kruger stared at the house. Little had changed in the six years since he stood in this exact same spot. The quiet neighborhood in southeast Rockford, Illinois, seemed stuck in time. Built in the sixties and seventies, the houses still looked comfortable and well-maintained. Brenda’s fifteen-year-old Oldsmobile was parked in front of the detached garage, just like six years ago. The paint seemed a bit more faded, but the car looked well-kept and serviceable.
He ducked under the yellow tape and approached the front door of the bungalow. An old friend stepped out of the front door to greet him. Charlie Craft, with a broad smile and excited eyes, stuck out his hand. “Sean, damn, it’s good to see you.”
Kruger smiled while shaking it enthusiastically. “Good to see you too, Charlie. How’ve you been?”
Charlie raised his left hand and showed the slender gold band on his finger. “Married and happy.”
“That’s wonderful. How is Michelle?”
His face reddened, and he smiled mischievously. “Pregnant.”
“Congratulations.” Kruger paused for a few seconds and continued, “Charlie Craft finally domesticated—I love it. I understand you’re over the Cyber Division now.”
Charlie nodded slightly. “Yeah, thanks to you.”
“Your talent and knowledge got you there, Charlie. Never forget that.”
Blushing, Charlie remained quiet.
Kruger’s smile disappeared and he took a deep breath. “What’s it like inside?”
Charlie shook his head. “Bad. One of the worst crime scenes I’ve ever seen, Sean. I’m here because you and I interviewed Brenda six years ago. We’re hoping you can put fresh eyes on it.”
Kruger nodded and put the cloth booties over his shoes Charlie handed him. He followed his old friend into the house. As he stood in the doorway, Kruger surveyed the living room. He remembered the organized clutter of the home. Piles of magazines neatly stacked in the corners of the room, clothes and towels folded on the sofa, storage boxes stacked against the walls. It was all still here, but now a chaotic mess, not the organized clutter he saw six years earlier. Stacks of magazines were scattered, books pulled off shelves, sofa cushions cut and ripped apart, and finally, the writing on the walls.
Charlie saw Kruger staring at the walls. “Yeah, it’s written in her blood.”
Kruger shook his head. “Let’s see the bedroom.”
“It’s worse in there.”
Kruger stood at the open door of Brenda Parker’s bedroom. The body was no longer present, having been removed a week earlier. But the sheer violence of her death was still apparent. Photographs of the crime scene were pinned to the wall. They depicted the horror of Brenda’s last hours of life. Writings on the wall remained, and Kruger scrutinized them. Systematically, he studied a photograph, then stared at the same location in the room. He repeated this process for each photograph, sometimes reviewing the physical room twice.
Finally after thirty minutes, Kruger spoke, “He’s matured.”
Charlie glanced at him. “Beg your pardon?”
Kruger stared at the empty room. “His needs have grown. His methods have evolved while he was overseas. My guess would be from experience.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s not content to just strangle his victims anymore. The women in St. Louis were killed by strangulation. While he was overseas, victims may have been more plentiful and easy to find. He’s become more violent.” Kruger was silent, staring at the room. He closed his eyes. “He’s studied anatomy somewhere. His temper is harder to control and what I am seeing in these photographs is pure blind fury. Also, what few inhibitions he may have had six years ago have completely disappeared.”
Charlie stared at Kruger. “How can you tell, Sean?”
Kruger pointed to a particularly gruesome photograph. “He’s made an incision similar to a coroner, although she was probably still alive when he started.” Staring at the photograph, Kruger continued, “He’s barely able to control himself when he kills.”
Silence followed for a few minutes as Kruger studied the photographs again. Charlie finally broke it. “We were puzzled by the word Jezebel written on the walls. Any thoughts?”
His attention turned to the writings. Kruger gazed at each wall and sighed.
“In the Old Testament, Jezebel convinced her husband, King Ahab, to worship deities besides God. She was thrown out of a window and killed as punishment.”
“We knew that, Sean. What we haven’t been able to determine is how it relates to Brenda Parker?”
Nodding, Kruger turned to Charlie. “I saw the word in the living room as well. I’m guessing here, but it makes sense. This…” he swept his hand in the air toward the pictures, “was Brenda’s punishment for trying to keep Paul from worshipping his brother.”
Charlie’s eyes grew wide, and he became more animated as he paced the floor. “Of course, now the word makes sense. But Brenda left Paul and moved here. I still don’t see it.”
Kruger smiled grimly. “Remember when she told us that Randolph came to their home one time and saw the clutter?”
Charlie nodded.
“Randolph threw a fit and screamed at his brother. He disowned Paul and shut him out of his life because of the way he lived. After that incident, Paul started pulling away from Brenda. Finally they separated. Randolph was avenging her attempt to corrupt his brother.”
“So Randolph is back?”
“It would appear so,” Kruger nodded. “Did you see the chess set in the living room?”
Charlie nodded again.
“Notice anything unusual about the set, other than all the pieces knocked over?”
“Not really, why?”
“All of the bishops are missing.”
Charlie closed his eyes and shook his head.
***
The cemetery was huge. His first stop was at a small building just inside the entrance. An elderly lady in her mid-to-late seventies sat at a small desk with a computer screen. She looked up when Kruger entered and smiled.
“May I help you?”
“I’m looking for the grave of Paul Bishop.”
She smiled and nodded. “How’s it spelled?”
Kruger spelled the name and watched as her fingers typed on the computer’s keyboard.
“It’s in section H, third row.” She pointed toward a large map of the cemetery hanging on the wall. “If you count twenty graves left of the driveway, that’s his location.” She smiled.
Kruger studied the map, thanked her, and walked back to his rental car. Five minutes later, he was staring at a headstone. The grass on the left looked undisturbed, normal for a six-year-old grave. The ground on the right side of the stone was bare dirt. Remnants of flowers, now withered and dry, lay scattered on top of the freshly closed grave. Brenda’s date of death did not appear on the headstone.
He stared at the grave f
or a long time. “I’m sorry, Brenda. If I hadn’t screwed up and let Randolph get away, you’d still be alive.”
After several more minutes, he walked back to his rental car and drove to the airport.
Kruger sat in a chair outside the gate for his flight back to Springfield. O’Hare was busy as usual, and the flight was delayed. He sat fiddling with his smartphone, not really reading the emails, his mind racing.
Bishop disappeared over a week ago. Finding him would be, at best, difficult. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his left hand, the start of a headache making its presence known. As he sat there, his cell phone vibrated. He looked at the ID and quickly accepted the call.
“Hi, I was just thinking about you.”
“I was thinking about you, too. When will you be home?”
Kruger looked at the display above the gate and sighed. “Looks like about an hour delay, probably somewhere between 8 and 9.”
“How did it go?” Stephanie’s voice was cautious.
“Pretty much like I anticipated. Gruesome and depressing.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone for several moments. “What are you going to do, Sean?”
Kruger paused briefly. “I don’t know, Steph. Guess I’m getting old, the lust for the hunt isn’t there anymore. But I do owe something to Brenda Parker.”
There was a momentary silence on the phone. “What do you owe her, Sean?”
“I let the man get away six years ago. If I hadn’t screwed up, she’d still be alive. I need to correct that somehow.”
“You can’t do anything about her death, Sean. You don’t ever know if it was Randolph.”
“Yeah, I do. It was him.”
He heard a sigh on the phone. “Okay, sweetie, I’ll have something for you to eat when you get home. We can talk then.”
“I love you.”
Stephanie replied in a cheery voice, “I love you, too.” The phone went silent and Kruger stared at the blank screen. He smiled, his headache suddenly dissipating.
***
The plane landed at two minutes after 8. Exactly one hour late. Kruger grabbed his carry-on and headed toward the terminal exit. His car was in short-term parking, and he was out of the airport heading home before most of the other passengers received their checked bags. Halfway there, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and accepted the call.
“Good evening, Alan.”
“How’d it go?”
“I would agree with the Bureau’s assessment. Bishop is back.”
“Where is he, Sean?”
“How the hell should I know, Alan?” Kruger’s voice conveyed his contempt for the ridiculous question.
“Sorry, wrong choice of words. Will you help us?”
Kruger kept silent for a few moments. “I don’t know yet. Stephanie’s not happy I went to Rockford. Right now the most important aspect of my life is her and Kristin. I’m really not sure I want to delve into the dark side of the human spirit again.”
“Right, Sean. I know you. It’s the hunt. Pure and simple, it’s the hunt. You don’t care about the dark side; you care about catching the fugitive. I spoke to Charlie Craft this afternoon after you left for the airport. He said you were in the zone, focused, you felt Randolph Bishop in the room. You need this, Sean. It’s who you are. We, us, the FBI, need you to help with this one.”
Kruger chuckled. “If I do this for you, you’ll pull the same shit in a few months. Then it will be another monster you’ve found somewhere. No, Alan, I’ve sacrificed enough over the years for the Bureau. It’s time to put my family and myself first for a change. Besides, I have other obligations I need to focus on.”
“But you’ll think about it, right?”
“I will think about thinking about it.”
“Okay, Sean. I’ll respect your decision, regardless if you decide to help on this one or not.”
“Good night, Alan.” Kruger ended the call before Seltzer could say another word.
As he turned into his neighborhood, he was overwhelmed by a sensation not felt in a long time. Pulling into the driveway, Kruger knew he would be involved in the hunt for Randolph Bishop.
Chapter 10
West of Atlanta, GA
Stephen Blair revealed the passwords for his computer and bank accounts just after midnight on the second day. Bishop felt generous; it only required cutting off two fingers from Blair’s left hand to get the information. Armed with the correct letters and numbers, Bishop signed onto the morning Skype conference call with Blair’s company. Doing the same as Blair, Bishop covered the computer camera, keeping his image unseen in the conference room.
Thomas Zimmerman started the meeting. “How are you feeling this morning, Stephen?”
Bishop responded in a low, hoarse voice, “Not well, I’ve a bit of a cold. I’ll just listen this morning.”
“Uh…” Zimmerman paused. Another unusual comment from Stephen. He shook it off. “Very well, we will proceed with the meeting.”
Thirty minutes later, with all current issues discussed, Zimmerman said, “That’s all for this morning, everyone. Do you have anything to add, Stephen?”
“No.”
“Very good, thank you everyone. Uh… Stephen, could you stay on line for a few more moments?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Zimmerman waited until the room was empty and turned to the camera. “At our last meeting, Stephen, you responded to my question about the new therapist with a comment about expanding to the West Coast. Did I miss a memo from you?”
“No, I misspoke. Sorry.”
“Ah, well, what do you think? She’s had tremendous success treating individuals with challenges such as yours.”
Bishop was intrigued. This could possibly change his short-term plans. “Tell me more, Tom.”
“Excellent. She has agreed to meet you at your home at your convenience. If she’s successful, maybe you’d be able to leave the house once in a while.”
“When could she start?”
“Tomorrow, if you want.”
“Good, set it up and email me the time.” Bishop ended the Skype connection and sat back in his chair. His mind raced at the possibilities this presented. He stood and headed toward the stairs leading to the basement.
Bishop stood in the doorway staring at Stephen Blair. Blair was chained to a bed in one of the spare bedrooms located in the basement of the large estate. He was holding his heavily bandaged left hand in his right.
“I had my first solo conference call today. No one suspected it wasn’t you.”
Blair stared at him, his fear of being seen overshadowed by his situation. “Why should I care?”
“You’d better.” Bishop smiled ominously. “Or the lovely Señorita Camila will be hurt.”
“Goddamn you, she has done nothing to you.”
Bishop’s half smile evolved into a sneer, then with a snarl, he said in a low voice, “Yes, she has.”
“What, for gawd sakes?”
“She’s seen me.”
Stephen stared at Bishop, speechless, the realization of the finality of his situation dawning on him. He lay back down and stared at the ceiling. A small tear formed in the corner of his eye.
Bishop smiled again. “A therapist will be here tomorrow. She’s going to start my road to recovery. Don’t you just love happy endings, Stephen? I do, I just love them.”
He chuckled, turned, closed the door to the room, and walked back upstairs.
***
Wendy Morgan walked back into the conference room and found Zimmerman staring at the blank conference room computer screen. “What’s wrong, Tom?”
“I know Stephen has issues. We all do.” He paused and turned his attention to the woman. “When his father was alive, we used to stop after work and have a few beers. Bill would tell me of the challenges presented by being the parent of someone like Stephen. The mood swings, the sometimes irrationality of his thought process, the moments of clarity when St
ephen’s brilliances shined through. But something has changed in the last few days. Did you notice it this morning?”
Wendy shook her head. “No, but you talk to him more than I do.”
“I heard a very different Stephen today. His answers were short and cryptic. He’s never spoken in short statements before. He either doesn’t talk at all, or he doesn’t stop talking.”
“Maybe his meds aren’t working again.”
Zimmerman shook his head. “No…” Returning his gaze to the blank screen, “I’m sure everything is fine, I’m probably overanalyzing the situation.”
She nodded and laid a quarter-inch thick file folder in front of him. “This is the proposal you requested. Go over it and let me know when you have time to discuss.”
Zimmerman watched her leave the conference room. As soon as the door closed, he stood and walked over to the door leading to his office. After sitting down at his desk, he dialed a number on his cell phone. It was answered on the third ring.
“Thomas, how nice of you to call. Have you heard from Stephen?”
“Yes, he’s decided to see you.”
Judith Day chuckled. “Excellent.”
“How many visits will it take for you to declare him incompetent?”
“Several, I’m sure, but what’s the rush?”
“He’s changing again. Something isn’t right. His meds may be losing their effectiveness again. I want to get this done before he’s too far gone.”
She laughed. “Well, I guess I’ll have to rush my analysis. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner tonight?”
Zimmerman smiled. “Yes, let’s discuss it over dinner. My place or yours?”
***
Judith Day swirled the deep red merlot in her glass and watched the wine legs slide down the inside of the goblet. Her long black hair hung to the middle of her back, highlighting her oval face and crystal blue eyes. Well into her forties, she still possessed the body of a twenty-year-old, and she made sure men noticed.
