“Do you think Robby Hood is connected somehow?”
West handed the papers back to me. He wouldn’t need them. Sorting evidence was what he was trained to do. I had no doubts that he had memorized everything on the papers. “I won’t rule out anything, but I doubt he’s personally involved. He has the perfect alibi; he’s on the air when the murders take place.”
“Couldn’t his program be recorded?”
He nodded. “Very possible. That will be easy to check. Your chart shows that he had open calls each night. A little research and phone records will tell us what we need to know.”
“Then what?”
“Then I pay a little visit to Mr. Hood.”
The thought that had pushed me out of my chair and into my car kept orbiting in my mind like an airplane waiting permission to land. “I did one other thing.”
“You looked ahead to tonight’s program.” He was good.
“Yes.”
“And?”
I took a breath and pulled another sheet of paper from my purse and unfolded it. “This is a printout of the Web page. It has the information that I used to create the charts. It also has tonight’s program listed.” I handed it to him. “The first hour is open calls. That seems to be the pattern of the program, on most nights anyway. The second hour has a guest who has his own Web site. I went to it. He’s one of the conspiracy people. He’s just self-published a book called America’s Secret Police, Past and Present.”
“America doesn’t have secret police,” West said. “Who would there be to murder?”
I shook my head. “You’re being too literal. Remember Lopez was found in his car on the night they discussed mythical creatures like chupacabra, trolls, and gremlins. Lopez wasn’t a mythical creature but he drove a car named after one. Jim Fritz died on the night the topic was chemtrails sprayed in the sky by airplanes. At best, Jim was a weekend pilot, he certainly wasn’t flying military aircraft at his age, but he did work around airplanes. Carl DiMonti—”
“DiMaio,” he corrected me.
“Carl DiMaio wasn’t the guest who saw the ghost, just a security guard like him.”
“So since the word ‘police’ appears in the topic line you think the next target will be a cop?”
“I hope I’m wrong. I hope DiMaio is the last of it, but my gut tells me otherwise.”
West studied the paper. “Did you read the topic for hour three?”
I thought. Nothing came to mind. “No, I was a little fixated with the word ‘police.’” He handed the paper back. My eyes tracked to the spot. There it was. Hour three: Mayor Judy Morrison discusses strange aircraft seen over her city.
chapter 28
I was edgy as I steered my Aviator through the early-afternoon traffic. I had been so preoccupied with the idea that the next murder victim was going to be a cop that I hadn’t noticed the next line. I comforted myself with the idea that all the murders had been related to the topic of the second hour, not the third. One of my problems is that my logical mind doesn’t pay attention to my emotional side. When I lie to myself I expect the rest of my brain to play along. It never does.
It was the logical side of my personality that wanted attention. There had been three violent murders, each somehow associated with a topic that appeared in the second hour of Robby Hood’s program. In terms of serial killings that was a lot, especially in three days’ time, but three was an awful, small statistical number. I doubted there was a coincidence explaining the connection between the radio program and the murders, but I lacked the same conviction that the murder was somehow locked into the second hour. And who was to say the killer wouldn’t find the idea of murdering a police officer too difficult and move on to something easier—like me.
As I pulled from the freeway and onto surface streets, it occurred to me that anyone on the council might be a target. I pushed the accelerator a little more. I had a meeting that had just become even more important.
I parked and headed for the office. I caught myself looking around more than I normally do, wondering if killers were behind cars or bushes. I walk fast but at that moment I was close to breaking into a jog. Very un-mayor-like. Just because my brain was buzzing didn’t mean my body had to be.
“I was getting worried,” Floyd said as I walked into the office. “You told me to be back well before the meeting, and you weren’t here. It starts in five minutes.”
“I only need three,” I said and plowed into my inner sanctum, dropped my purse in the drawer after I removed my research. Opening my center desk drawer, I pulled a leather-bound notebook that I use to jot down thoughts during a meeting. I slipped the charts I made and the printout of the Web page into the folder.
“Also, while you were gone, someone from Mr. Elliot’s office called. He won’t be at the meeting. He went home with the flu.”
Russell Elliot was the city manager. He was a quiet but efficient man; things just got done without even knowing he was around. “Okay. Take good notes. After the meeting type up an FYI memo and deliver it to his office. Put it in a sealed envelope.”
“Ready?” Floyd said from my doorway.
“Go ahead to the conference room. I’ll be right behind you.”
“I can wait.”
“That’s very gentlemanly of you, Floyd, but I’m going to the little mayor’s room. You probably don’t want to be standing by the door.”
“The little mayor’s room? Oh. Oh, I get it. I’ll wait in the conference room.”
“Thanks, Floyd. I won’t be long.” He left and I exited close on his heels. I have a private bathroom but not off my office. In our remodel a few years ago, we considered adding an adjoining restroom but the cost persuaded us otherwise. As it was, my private restroom was out the office door and several steps to the left. I went in and locked the door behind me. Facing the mirror I tamed a few rebellious strands of dark hair and made certain that the emotions I felt didn’t reflect in my face. A touch-up of lipstick and a straightening of the clothes and I was ready to go. I took several deep breaths to fill my lungs and aerate my brain. Right now, my brain needed all the oxygen it could get.
Notebook in hand, I stood before the mirror until my mayor mask was just the way I wanted it. Then I left.
I wasn’t sure how I’d handle the meeting, and I reminded myself that there were several issues that needed attention. With long strides, I marched down the corridor and turned into the conference room at 1:59. I was the last one in.
The room had nothing about it to make it noteworthy. Situated immediately behind the council chambers, the conference room was where we held our closed-door sessions. The walls were a simple white and the carpet was the color of sand. A few pastoral pictures hung on the wall, the kind one finds in a doctor’s office. Just twenty by twenty, it was too small to comfortably seat five council members, the city clerk, city attorney, and staff members for each council person.
The room was already full. I took my place at the head of the table and looked the group over. Only council members and the city attorney sat at the table. Aides sat in chairs that lined the wall. Jon Adler sat at the other end of the table, a Diet Coke in front of him. He looked bored. Tess sat to his right, my far left, wearing the same unhappy expression I left her with that morning. To my immediate left was Larry Wu who looked content and filled with ancient Eastern wisdom and ready to serve it up with his Texas barbecue accent. Titus was to my right and looked distracted. Between Titus and Jon was our city attorney Fred Markham.
“Thank you for being here on such short notice,” I began. I sat. “I’ve received word that Russ is home ill and won’t be with us today.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not due in court,” Jon snipped. I wanted to ask if he meant it was a good thing for his client but stuffed the comment.
“There are four things we need to address, two of which we may be able to dispense with quickly. The first has to do with Councilman Overstreet.” I looked at Titus for an indication that he wanted to make t
he announcement. I meant to ask before the meeting but I spent too much time at the marina. He returned my look and nodded. I took that to mean he preferred me to reveal the news. “Titus is having surgery and will be out of the office for a number of weeks. Perhaps two months or more.”
Every eye shifted to him. Titus didn’t like to be the center of attention, at least not after such an announcement. “It’s a serious surgery, but the doctors feel everything will be fine.” More silence.
“Colon cancer,” he blurted. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back to make all your lives miserable. You’ll just have to do without my keen insights for a while.”
“Is there anything we or the city can do?” Fred Markham gazed directly at Titus. I noticed Jon and Tess were studying the table.
“Not a thing. I’d rather see us do something for Fritzy. I’ve arranged for a large arrangement of flowers to be sent to the funeral, but someone else will have to inform the florist when and where that will be. I’m going to be a little tied up.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Larry offered.
I told them that Jim Fritz’s body had been released from the coroner’s office and that we should have details about the funeral soon.
“My offer to help with the funeral expenses still stands,” Titus said.
“Count me in on that, too,” Larry added.
I glanced around the room. Fred said he wanted to help, Tess gave me an approving nod, and several of the aides added their pledges. “I’ll pass that information on to Fritzy. I imagine she and Jim had already made pre-need arrangements, but I’ll double-check. I know she’ll appreciate your concern.”
“The next item?” Jon pressed.
“I was coming to that, Jon. In our last council meeting we left upon the matter of deputy mayor. Titus will not be with us this coming Tuesday—”
“Could you rephrase that?” Titus interjected.
It took me a second to get his reference. A few people tittered. “Right. Titus will be recuperating in the hospital and dancing with the nurses after an extremely successful surgery and so will not be in attendance at our Tuesday night meeting.”
Titus gave a gracious nod. “I like the dancing part. Good addition. Of course, if my wife hears about it, I’ll be spending an additional week in the hospital.”
I gave a smile that I hoped didn’t give the image of pity. “The matter of deputy mayor was left up in the air at our last meeting—”
“Whose fault was that?” Jon asked. “We were ready to deal with it right then and there.”
“Shut up, Jon,” Tess said. Her words were soft but hard as steel. Jon looked like she had slapped him.
“I hung things up. I admit that. Not only that, earlier today I jumped to a conclusion that was . . . erroneous. I confronted Tess with something I should have checked out before I opened my mouth.” I faced her. “My words were spoken in private, but I want my apology to be public.”
I waited for Tess’s response. It was slow in coming. She had glued her eyes to the conference table, her arms crossing her chest as if she felt the cold she normally inflicted on others. Eternity lasted five or ten silent seconds, then she lifted her head. Her eyes had softened. She made eye contact and gave the slightest of nods. Apology accepted. It was as gracious an act as I had ever seen from her.
“Sweet as this is—” Jon began.
“Tess was nominated for deputy mayor. Larry and Titus have informed me that they support the nomination. Even if I voted against the suggestion it would pass by four votes. I plan to make it unanimous.” I looked back at Tess. Earlier she had all but told me what I could do with the nomination. The ball was now in her court.
This time she didn’t shift her gaze. She stared at me, and I could tell the gears were grinding in her brain. I was certain she was calculating the ramifications of her decision. No doubt she knew that there was more to the issue than we had discussed. She looked at Larry, then Titus, as if she could read their minds. Tess was nothing if not politically astute. It didn’t take a prodigy to know that she would be unable to hold the position two years from now and would lose the advantage of having the title deputy Mayor on the ballot—assuming she wanted to run for my office or some state office.
My nerves threatened to get the best of me. It took all my willpower to sit silently, allowing Tess as much as time as she needed. Frankly, it didn’t seem all that important to me at the moment. I had thoughts of a serial murderer on my mind.
“Yes,” Tess finally said. “Thank you.”
There. It was done. My life had just become more complicated. Being mayor and running for congress was enough work for three people. Now Tess would stand in my place should I be absent from council meetings or unable to attend certain public functions. If I knew Tess, and I did know Tess, she would be in my face every week with some unsolicited advice or trumped-up emergency business. If I hadn’t had more pressing issues I would have dismissed the meeting and drowned my sorrows in a double-chocolate sundae.
“Thank you, Tess.”
“Is that all there is?” Jon asked. He made no attempt to hide his smugness. In his eyes, he had just won.
Fred Markham cut him a look but said nothing. Jon was an elected official, Fred as city attorney was an employee.
“The mayor said she had four items,” Titus said. “I’ve only counted two. Larry’s the accountant, but I’m pretty sure that leaves two more.”
“That’s how I figure it,” Larry said.
Jon sneered. “Very funny. Our own Laurel and Hardy.”
“Let’s focus, folks,” I said, standing. I wanted everyone’s attention. “We have a problem that affects all of us and our city. As you know, the body of a man was found in a car parked in our front lot. You also know that Fritzy’s husband was murdered. Both men were killed in the same fashion. Detective West tells me that . . .” Here I paused, not for effect but to steady my voice. “That each had his neck broken. This morning a third victim was found at the marina. He had been killed in like manner.”
A word erupted from Larry that I hadn’t heard him use before.
Tess leaned forward, her head tilted to one side as if she were trying to determine the punch line to a joke. Her eyes darted back and forth for a moment. “Each murder occurred on city property.”
“That’s right.” I filled them in on the rest. I passed around the charts and let them study them for a few moments.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Jon said, holding up his hands. “You’re saying these killings are related to this Robby Hood character?”
“It appears that the killings are somehow related to the topics of his program.” I explained those connections. Then I got to the fourth point, the point I didn’t know existed until less than two hours ago. “I did a little research on Mr. Hood’s topics for tonight. In his second hour he’s interviewing the author of a book titled America’s Secret Police, Past and Present.”
“That’s stupid,” Jon said.
“That doesn’t matter if it’s stupid, Jon. It doesn’t matter if we don’t take the subjects seriously, the killer is, and that’s where our concerns should be. My fear is that the murderer will target a police officer.”
“Does Chief Webb know this?” Larry wondered.
“I don’t know. Since Detective West is the lead detective I shared this information with him. I’m sure he’s passed it along to the chief.”
Titus cleared his throat. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Yes. So far, each murder has been tied to the topic in the second hour of Hood’s four-hour show. Still, the third-hour topic is . . . troublesome.” I recited the topic from memory. I hadn’t needed to memorize it; it was branded on my brain. “‘Mayor Judy Morrison discusses strange aircraft seen over her city.’”
“There haven’t been any strange . . .” Jon began, then trailed off. The point had found its mark.
“Mayor Judy Morrison.” Fred said. “Or should we be more concerned about the word city. I mean, the
elements that tie the murders to the show’s topics are tenuous at best: planes and chemtrails, mythical creatures and a model of car called a Gremlin, a security guard who thinks he sees a ghost and a security guard at the marina.”
“It could be either, Fred. I think it’s best that we all be on our guard. Please, folks, take no chances. Lock your doors; be careful whom you meet with.”
“I hope you’re taking your own advice,” Titus said.
I dismissed the meeting, and aides and council members filed out like mourners passing a casket. I gathered my papers and put them in my notebook. Floyd excused himself. I fixed my eyes on the notebook, and then I slumped back into the chair. My clothing felt lined with lead, and my knees threatened to quit their job. I was a washrag wrung out and tossed to the side. Lack of meaningful sleep, stress from campaigning, tension caused by Dean Wentworth, the murder of Fritzy’s husband, and everything else that had happened since I pulled in the parking lot last Monday began to press me down like a gigantic hand.
I lowered my face into my hands and wished for a few moments of blissful oblivion. I should have mentioned Wentworth’s assertion about having support on the council for an eminent-domain action, but I didn’t. I was done accusing people. If he had someone in his pocket, it would be known soon enough. I should have allowed time for Fred to share his findings about Rutger Howard and lawsuits brought against cities, but that too seemed inappropriate for the moment.
The chair next to me moved and someone sat down.
“I’ll be there in a few moments, Floyd.”
“No need to be insulting.” The words were soft.
I lowered my hands and opened my eyes. Tess sat next to me. Her eyes were moist. She laid one of her hands on mine. To my surprise it was warm and soft. “You take care.” She paused and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “There are things more important than politics. Don’t tell anyone I said that. If you do, I’ll deny it.” She smiled, and I wondered when I last saw a genuine smile on her face and not the one that came whenever a camera was present.
Before Another Dies Page 17
