by J. C. Fields
Silence was his answer.
“You know the guy, JR. Was he the partying type?”
“No.”
“If you take meds for a psychological problem, it’s because there’s a chemical imbalance within the brain. Most of those issues don’t go away. As a rule, they’re permanent.”
“Maybe he’s been in therapy and taking meds?”
“Judith Day was a therapist.”
JR was quiet for a few moments. “So you’ve said. But was she Stephen’s therapist?”
“How do we find out?”
“Not sure I want to hack into the records of a psychologist.”
“Why?”
“I do have some scruples left. Not much, but some.”
Kruger chuckled. “You have more ethics than you realize, my friend. I’ll handle the Judith Day inquiry.”
“Thanks.”
The conversation lagged for several seconds. “Bishop’s DNA at the murder scene and Blair’s sudden change in behavior is an inconsistency I don’t like. Something is askew.”
JR took a deep breath. “Sean, you’re talking about two different men. We may never know how Bishop and Judith Day crossed paths. Zimmerman being there was purely by chance. Stephen may have been under therapy for years and decided to re-join the world. Who knows? Are you seeing relationships that don’t exist?”
Lapsing into silence again, Kruger stared out across his back yard with the cell phone still pressed against his ear. “Maybe.”
“You’re not going to let it go are you?”
“Probably not. But I have to for now. Too many other projects need attention.”
The call ended two minutes later. Kruger took a deep breath and looked up at the night sky as he returned his cell phone to his jeans pocket. He stood like that for several minutes until he heard the door to the deck open. He turned and saw Stephanie step out of the house.
“Saw you were off the phone. Kristin’s asleep. Thought you might like some company.”
He reached for her as she approached. He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She smelled of jasmine. “You haven’t worn that fragrance in a long time.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “Nope.” She wore one of his OU sweat shirts and no jeans. As he hugged her, he didn’t feel the outline of a bra underneath the shirt.
“You’re not wearing anything under there are you?”
“Nope.” She reached up and pulled his head toward her. They kissed and went inside.
***
Kruger’s arm was wrapped around Stephanie’s shoulder as her head lay on his chest. He could feel her slow rhythmic breathing, a sign she was asleep. As he started to move his arm he heard. “Don’t, I’m awake.”
“Thought you were asleep.”
“Just dozing.” She snuggled closer as he hugged her tighter. They both were silent, enjoying the moment. “Are you going to Atlanta to follow up on Judith Day?”
“I’m thinking about it. Why?”
“I want to go with you.”
Kruger was silent for several moments. “Any particular reason?”
He felt her head nod.
“Want to tell me?”
“You’ll think it’s silly.”
“Probably not.”
“I love being a mother. Having Kristin around has lifted my spirits more than I ever imagined…”
“Uh-oh. There’s a ‘however’ in there somewhere.”
She poked him in the rib with her index finger. “Hush, I was getting to the point. I miss being around adults.”
“If you want to go back to work, I’m not stopping you.”
“No, I don’t miss my old job. Glad those days are behind me.”
He stayed silent.
“I miss being around individuals with a shared purpose.”
“Stephanie, I’m not sure how going to Atlanta to investigate a brutal murder is going to help you be around individuals with a shared purpose.”
“I’m not either. But I want to go.”
“No shopping.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
Kruger chuckled and kissed her. “I’ll book our flight tomorrow.”
“Mia wants Kristin to stay with them while we’re gone. She hasn’t told JR yet, but she’s pregnant.”
“What?”
She nodded.
“Oh boy. Watching JR become a father is going to be interesting.”
***
Randolph Bishop sat in a leather wing chair facing the unlit fireplace that graced one wall of Stephen Blair’s library. He sipped on the single malt scotch in the lowball glass in his hand. The presence of the FBI at the gate on his return to Atlanta from Miami had been expected. Satisfied with how he answered their questions, he once again went over the sequence of events after leaving Zimmerman’s condo.
The drive to Miami in the rented Camry took ten hours. Everett Stewart rented the car, and since no one knew about Everett Stewart, he doubted it would be traced. After checking into a luxury motel room in South Beach as Stephen Blair, he spent the rest of his stay sampling the local cuisine and trendy nightclubs of the area.
Using his new found status as a multimillionaire, he visited several exclusive investment companies. The purpose was not to invest with them, but to learn how to approach rich investors and take their money.
After three days, he returned the Camry to the Hertz counter at Miami International Airport and used the return ticket to fly back to Atlanta. He had no idea where the man who used his boarding pass on the first leg of his Miami trip was, nor did he care.
The questioning by the fools from the FBI lasted longer than he anticipated, but he kept his cool and answered everything they asked.
When Randolph Bishop returned to Blair’s home and walked into the house from the garage, he knew immediately his problem in the basement was resolved. He grabbed a towel from the kitchen, held it under the faucet until it was wet, and hurried toward the stair case leading down to the basement.
He took the steps two at a time to where the bedroom holding Stephen Blair was located. The stench of death grew stronger as he reached the room’s door. Placing the wet towel over his nose and mouth, he unlocked the door and peered inside. The putrid odor washed over him. It was a smell he grew accustomed to in Thailand. Blair’s body remained in the same position as the last time he saw him, but the eyes were dull and lifeless.
His last problem was solved. All the individuals who could possibly suspect he wasn’t Stephen were dead. Dead men tell no tales.
Now three days later, the body was disposed of, the stench gone, and Randolph Bishop was the only person on the face of the earth who knew he wasn’t Stephen Blair. Things were working out better than planned.
After another sip of the scotch, he smiled. Time to initiate the real purpose of his return to the United States.
Chapter 19
Atlanta, GA
Kruger showed his FBI credentials to Dr. Harold Northrup, the managing partner of The Northrup Clinic.
“Judith was a valued member of our staff, Agent Kruger. I’ll help as much as I can.”
“I appreciate it, Dr. Northrup.” Kruger unbuttoned the jacket of his gray pinstripe suit and sat down in one of the chairs facing Northrup’s desk. Stephanie sat next to him, dressed in a dark navy pantsuit with a white open-collar silk shirt.
“Agent Stark told me you hold a Ph.D. in psychology.”
“Yes, sir. University of Oklahoma, Norman.”
“Good school.” Northrup was quiet for several moments. “Not sure I can offer more information than what I already have. But, I’ll try. What did you want to ask me?”
“We know who killed Judith.”
Northrup nodded. “I was told.”
“What we’re trying to determine is how she crossed paths with him. I understand the confidentiality of your profession, Dr. Northrup, but if she was treating Randolph Bishop, any notes from her therapy sessions might help us locate him. He’s
a dangerous individual and has murdered seven individuals that we know of. Probably more.”
“I appreciate your understanding, but I can assure you, we have found nothing in Judith’s files showing she was treating anyone by the name of Randolph Bishop.”
Kruger nodded. “What about a person named Everett Stewart?”
Northrup stared at Kruger for a few moments, then turned to a keyboard sitting in front of a flat-screen monitor. “Just a second.”
After typing and moving a mouse around, he stared at the screen and shook his head. “No, no one by that name, either. Who is Everett Stewart?”
“The name Bishop used to gain entry to the states. He became a fugitive after we found DNA evidence he was a serial killer in St. Louis. We believe he spent the last six years hiding in Thailand. Since he’s on our Most Wanted list, entering under his real name would have raised red flags.”
“I see.”
“What about Stephen Blair? What was her relationship to him?”
“Judith specialized in phobia therapy. We were contacted a month ago by Tom Zimmerman in his attempt to help Stephen with his extreme case of scopophobia. Judith had the experience, so she was chosen to do the therapy.”
“So it was Zimmerman who made the initial request? Not Blair.”
“That is correct.”
“And the initial contact was made just a month ago?”
Northrup nodded.
Kruger frowned. “This is the first time we’ve heard Zimmerman made the request. So, Stephen Blair had no contact with your clinic or Judith Day prior to her being assigned to treat him.”
“Correct.”
Stephanie asked the next question. “What was the relationship between Judith and Tom?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Judith was killed in Tom Zimmerman’s condo. Why was she there?”
Kruger smiled slightly; Stephanie’s question was well timed. He looked at Northrup to see what his reaction would be.
Northrup cleared his throat. “Uh… This is uncomfortable, but you probably need to know. Judith was in a relationship with Tom. I was unaware of it until after the murder. Her assistant told me. It broke a number of our rules. We adhere to strict ethical guidelines concerning our therapists and their relationships with clients.”
“I can appreciate your concern, Dr. Northrup. We’re trying to establish a connection between Judith and Bishop, not raise ethical questions about your clinic.”
With a single nod of his head, Northrup asked, “Could it have been random?”
Kruger shook his head. “Bishop’s killings have never been random. He murders for a reason. In St. Louis, he killed four women who were in competition with him for a job. He butchered his brother’s ex-wife as revenge for trying keep her husband from worshipping him. So, no, he does not kill randomly. There’s a connection somewhere.”
Northrup nodded thoughtfully. “Classical psychopathic behavior. I take it he hides his rage well?”
Kruger nodded, thinking back to the incident in the parking lot in St. Louis. “Yes, but I’ve seen it up-close and personal, Doctor. He’s very intelligent and manipulative.”
“Yes, it can be unnerving.”
The conversation lagged for a few moments. Kruger used the pause to start another line of questioning. “Let me ask your opinion. In your experience, would someone who has isolated themselves from the public for fifteen years, without seeking therapy, suddenly get a driver’s license and take a trip to Miami?”
Northrup stared at Kruger for a several moments, blinked several times, and slowly shook his head.
“I suppose it’s possible, but I would highly doubt it.”
“I concur. Thank you for your time, Dr. Northrup.”
***
As they drove away from The Northrup Clinic, Stephanie looked at her husband and smiled slightly. “You suspect something, don’t you?”
Kruger didn’t respond right away, he stared ahead as he drove. Finally, he spoke, “I can’t get past Blair having a miraculous recovery from his scopophobia, selling his company, and flying to Miami.”
“It could happen.”
“Yes, I agree, it could happen. I was under the impression Blair requested the therapy himself. Now we learn Zimmerman arranged for the therapy just recently. If Stephen was already being treated, why did Zimmerman contact the clinic for help?”
“Because Stephen wasn’t being treated. Was he?”
Kruger shook his head. “No. Stark told me they interviewed most of the management team at Blair’s company. Tom Zimmerman was as close to Stephen as his father used to be; he would have known about any previous or current therapy. In fact, Zimmerman’s assistant told Stark the discussion had been going on for the last month about getting Stephen some help.”
“What are you thinking, Sean?”
Kruger glanced at the clock on the rental’s dashboard. “I’m thinking we need to find a nice place for lunch and then pay Stephen Blair a surprise visit.”
***
Randolph Bishop raised the binoculars to his eyes as he watched from the library window. A white Ford Fusion was parked outside the security gate of the mansion. A woman he didn’t recognize stepped out of the passenger door and looked around. When the driver stepped out, he recognized him immediately. It was the FBI agent whose name he used to gain access to Tom Zimmerman and Judith Day. The last time he saw the man was in the parking lot of Harmon, Harmon, and Kinslow on the day he fled the United States for a six-year exile. His stomach tightened, and he felt the rage boil up inside. Closing his eyes, he used the techniques learned in Thailand to calm the tidal wave of emotions. The FBI agent was pushing the call button on the security pad.
Remaining quiet, he did not move to respond. The buzzer sounded several more times, but he made no effort to answer it. He just watched the car. After several minutes, the man and woman returned to the Ford, got in and drove off. He stared out the window watching as the car receded into the surrounding neighborhood. When it was gone, he walked over to the telephone sitting on the desk in the library and dialed a number used the previous day.
The call was answered on the second ring. “Coldwell Banker Real Estate, this is Beverly. How may I help you?”
“Good afternoon, Beverly, this is Stephen Blair. We spoke yesterday about selling my house.”
“Yes, Stephen. How are you?”
“I’m great. I’ve decided to list it. Could you bring over the paperwork so we can get started?”
“Wonderful, would five o’clock be convenient?”
“Excellent, I’ll see you then.”
***
“Now what?” Stephanie’s question was met with silence.
After a long twenty seconds, Kruger shook his head. “I can’t tell if I’m being paranoid about Blair, or if there’s a legitimate reason to keep him as a person of interest in this case.”
“Sean, you’ve always told me to follow logic with a touch of instinct when making decisions. What does logic tell you about Stephen Blair?”
“Hmmm… Logic tells me he’s probably making a recovery. My instinct is telling me something is wrong.”
“What’s it telling you?”
“It’s so crazy, I can’t believe I’m actually thinking it.”
She chuckled, “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Somehow, Stephen Blair and Randolph Bishop are the same person.”
She frowned and looked out the front window of the car. “It would explain a lot.”
“Yeah, but it’s not possible.”
“No, it’s not.”
“We could try again tomorrow morning to see him, but our flight home is at 9. Let’s get to the hotel and relax tonight. I’ll call Tom Stark and have him keep an eye on Blair. It’ll be interesting to see what he does next.”
As they drove toward the hotel, Kruger could not stop thinking about what a little voice in the back of his mind was telling him. Everything about Stephen Blair made zero sense. Something
was wrong, but until he received more evidence to go on, he would have to drop it.
Part Three
Two Months Later
Chapter 20
Springfield, MO
Mia Ling-Diminski stood behind her husband as they both stared at the computer screen.
“When did you meet him, JR?”
“College. He was a few years younger. The man was brilliant. Odd, but brilliant. The code he wrote was pure elegance. I’d never seen anything like it before. I considered myself pretty good, but he was light years ahead of me in college. This is the first time I’ve ever heard of him attending a conference. He sold his company, New Age Software, several months ago to a private equity company. Big mistake.” JR sighed. “At one time, they produced top of the line networking software. I’ve used some of their protocols on several projects. But since the sale, I stopped. I’ve seen first-hand what private equity does to a company.”
Mia put her hands on his shoulders. “If he doesn’t own his company anymore, does it mention why he’s attending?”
JR nodded. “He’s in the process of developing a new artificial intelligence startup company, and he’s looking for investors.”
“Why don’t we go to the conference and meet with him?”
JR turned around and stared at Mia. She was barely five foot tall, slender, and after three months of being pregnant, a small baby bump was starting to show. Today her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail that almost reached her waist. Her father was from China and her mother from Texas. The combination produced a round face, petite nose and brown almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with intelligence and mischief.
“I don’t go to conferences, Mia. You know that.”
She nodded. JR Diminski was not his given name. But it was now his legal name. His past was a mystery to everyone except her and a few close friends. She kissed him on the forehead.
