The Chilling Spree

by LS Sygnet

  This tightrope has dragged my brain away from my duties to Downey Division. The single factor in my favor, in terms of an excuse for being so detached when that hasn’t been this city’s experience with me at all, is that Johnny needs to believe in his abilities as a cop again. He can’t do that if I charge through the muck in this case and close it before they figure out what the motive really is.

  I could tell them right now. It seems pretty cut and dried to me. Then again, cops always get a little bit of tunnel vision. Our world is seldom shades of gray once the solid theory formulates. If you think you know who the perp is, and have sufficient evidence pointing in one direction, nine times out of ten, that’s what you’ll discover in the end.

  What I didn’t realize was that my bias and my distraction made me miss a major clue. Well, perhaps miss is a little harsh. I overlooked something crucial in the early stages of the investigation. Perhaps that was the niggling unease at the base of my spine that whispered to me that I shouldn’t put my plan B ahead of a murder investigation.

  Johnny was right about one thing. There are consequences for everything, whether we see them coming or not. Mine were about to strike a very hard blow.

  I came out of the office with the laptop tucked under one arm in time to fix an early dinner. Devlin was snoozing on the sofa in the family room. His snores had been a regular reminder that I was not alone all afternoon.

  What Johnny and Chris decided to do about the Sentinel debacle hadn’t been a blip on my radar. Funny how one homicidal urge died so quickly. I grabbed the remote for the television and flicked the power button. The end of some talk show blasted through the expanse between family room and kitchen. I adjusted the volume and padded toward the bedroom. The MacBook found its place under a box of spring clothes that I hadn’t unpacked after moving into the house last fall. They would never be weather appropriate for Darkwater Bay, given the incessant damp chilly atmosphere shrouding this pocket of reality.

  Back in the kitchen, I found Devlin scratching his belly, sleepy-eyed and standing in front of the open refrigerator door.

  “Hungry?” I asked.

  “Mmm, little bit. Mostly, I’m tired. God, I think I’m taking too many of those pain pills. It seems like that’s all I do. Dope, sleep, dope again.”

  I grinned. “It’s easy to get lost in that haze, my friend. Allow me to impart a little advice. Feeling some pain isn’t a bad thing. Maybe you should hold off on the next dose until it’s almost bedtime.”

  He grunted softly and punctuated it with an elbow to my side. “You’re the one dumping them down my throat every time I turn around. If I didn’t know better, I might think you’re trying to keep me out of the way.”

  “What would you like for dinner? I lost my appetite for lunch, and since you were out here snoring like a lumberjack, I let you sleep through one meal. Hence the early dinner tonight.”

  “What sounds good to you?”

  I shrugged. “We could order in.”

  “Nah, you’ve got tons of food in here that’ll spoil if we don’t use it.”

  The tomatoes in the vegetable crisper looked like they were hours away from unviability. “We could crush some garlic, mash the tomatoes, chop some ‘shrooms and peppers and make marinara for pasta,” I suggested.

  “Lasagna sounds good. You got any noodles and cheese?”

  “I think so. Spaghetti would be easier. I don’t think I’ve got meat for the marinara, Dev. Maybe we should order something.”

  “No way, Eriksson. I don’t mind veggie lasagna if you don’t.” He pulled out four tomatoes and started juggling.

  “Clown,” I chuckled and reached in to grab one of them. “I’d prefer we make the sauce on the stove instead of the kitchen tile if you don’t mind.”

  Devlin sobered for a moment. “Are you all right? Orion seemed pretty worried about your reaction to that news story. Chris said it was probably a good thing that you weren’t dwelling on it.”

  “I sense that there’s another opinion lurking in there somewhere.” I glanced at him while preparing to crush cloves of garlic. “May as well spit it out, Dev.”

  “For the entire week that we worked the Ireland case, I watched you get moody and distant –” he amended at my disapproving stare. “Fine, distant at least. It never meant you were worried or hurt or any other such thing. I learned pretty fast that it was a sure sign that the super brain was racing far ahead of the rest of us. What gives? What brilliant burst of insight did you get while everybody else got concerned that you weren’t acting like Helen all of a sudden?”

  “It’s Johnny’s case now,” I shook my head and smashed the fragrant roots under my knife. I chopped with vigor. “Could you go into the butler’s pantry and find a red onion?”

  “That’s all I get? It’s Johnny’s case? You can’t bullshit me, Helen. You’re way ahead of him. Why not bring him up to speed sooner rather than later? We’ve got two dead boys and a growing suspect list from what he said earlier today.”

  “Maybe I’m backing out because he needs to figure this one out for himself, Dev.”

  “So what, you’re just gonna risk more victims because his ego needs a pump in the arm? That’s wrong, Helen.”

  I sighed and went for the onion myself. Dev’s footfalls echoed behind me.

  “I think that the murders are done. These were specific and related. Johnny’s on the right page even if he hasn’t reached the same conclusion I have.”

  “I disagree. Why would he put this night club owner into protective custody if he agrees that the murders are done?”

  “Because of that act, one that he initiated on his own, I might add, the murders are done. The perp can’t get to the last target now.”

  Devlin pulled the red onion out of my hand. “Stop avoiding me and talk.”

  A heavy sigh parted my lips. “Fine. I think Tippet’s parents did this thing. The crimes were hate motivated – at least in a sense. It became clear to me after Johnny told me the substance of his interview with them that they believe their son’s death was God’s will. That’s not a normal parental reaction in the first place, but the real key for me was that they were bitter that whoever killed Bobbi missed his opportunity to get Alex Waters at the same time. Goddard was included because they saw him, like Alex, as instrumental in leading their son further down the path of depravity.”

  Devlin followed me back to the kitchen and got another knife from the butcher block on the counter. Onion-inspired sniffling commenced a moment later. “Orion says that it’s not a slam dunk unless they can figure out how the Tippets would’ve gotten access to the staff-only area at the Pan Demon concert. Major snag in the theory, Helen.”

  “He’ll figure it out.”

  “You already know how that happened?”

  “Not the first clue in the world,” I said.

  “Would your opinion change if you knew what Tippet does for a living?”

  “From your tone and the fact that you’re teasing me with information I don’t have, I assume you find his profession significant.”

  “He’s got a car dealership in Bay View. Some custom import place.”

  “So he’s got money. What does money grant the wealthy that ordinary citizens lack without some kind of direct link, Devlin?”

  “You tell me, Yoda.”

  I waved my knife at him playfully. “Money can buy your way into a hell of a lot more than backstage access at some silly rock concert, Dev, not to disparage your favorite band. Who knows what Tippet could’ve done to get his hands on a pass. He’s certainly smart enough to make sure his name never would turn up on some guest list, and technically, Kyle Goddard died long before Pan Demon’s party festivities started. We know Goddard wasn’t technically killed backstage anyway. It seems pretty clear to me that someone from the band, probably your old buddy Underwood, found the body bled out into Madden’s amplifier stack and figured that somebody in the band was involved in the murder, so he decided to get a little payback, either by
embarrassing the band or framing someone he dislikes very much.”

  “You make it sound so simple. Why did Maya find evidence that Goddard had engaged in some sort of sexual activity close to the time of death if Tippet of all people did the murder?”

  “Who knows?” I said.

  “And if Bobbi and Kyle were best friends, wouldn’t Kyle have recognized the guy’s parents? And why would they strip their own son naked after killing him?”

  “Look, I get it. You’re not sold on what I believe really happened to those boys. The investigation is far from over. I’m not saying that Tippet killed Goddard himself, but I do believe that he’s ultimately responsible for setting what happened into motion. Like I said. People with money can afford not to dirty their hands. I doubt Tippet would’ve stooped to soil his hands on those he found guilty of corrupting his son. At the same time, he could’ve easily been the perp in Bobbi’s murder. There was no sign of struggle in that dressing room.”

  “So Bobbi knew his attacker.”

  “Uh-huh, or at least wasn’t disturbed by his presence in that dressing room.” I started chopping tomatoes. “And he trusted that person enough to leave himself in a very vulnerable position.”

  “At face value, I find no flaws in your theory, Helen.”

  I snorted softly. “But?”

  “The way Johnny tells the story, Randy Tippet was the last person in the world that Bobbi would’ve trusted to walk into that dressing room.”

  “Believe me when I tell you this. When parents are estranged from their children, and suddenly show up bearing an olive branch, even if it isn’t sincere, we lack the detachment to be suspicious. We want a relationship with our parents. Say Tippet shows up hat in hand, telling Bobbi that he and Joanne have had a change of heart. They embrace, and wham. He’s got his son right where he wants him. I forgive you son, but now you have to atone for the abomination that you are.”

  “Huh,” Devlin muttered. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  “Don’t doubt what I know, Dev. This profiling thing has been my gig for a very long time.”

  But by the time the clock chimed midnight, I was convinced that pride really was a deadly sin.

  Chapter 29

  Johnny came home around nine, wiped out from sleep deprivation and too many interviews in one day. That didn’t take into account the emotion spent on Belle’s story, or the loss of his old friend and colleague Ned Williams.

  I offered left over Italian.

  Johnny waved it aside. “I need a shower and a warm bed.”

  It was doubtful that he meant a bed warmed by me. I gestured toward the master bedroom. “You know the way.”

  Concern bled into the fine lines around his eyes. “You look alarmingly calm. Do I need to add something else to my list of worries tonight?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, followed by a genuine smile that eased the tension building around his wide shoulders. “I am concerned about you burning the candle at both ends and in the middle. Do you want to talk about the case?”

  His jaw cracked around a gaping yawn. “Goddard’s parents still haven’t shown up yet. Other than that, you know what I know.” Johnny glanced in the general direction of the bedroom before returning the gaze to me. “Don’t suppose it’s late enough for my night owl to turn in, is it?”

  “It’s not too early,” I said. “Then again, I doubt my presence will help you fall asleep as soon as your mind and body need the rest.”

  One strong hand dragged me off the sofa. “What if my heart needs you more than the rest of me needs sleep?”

  This is where the battle inside me becomes moot. Heart wins, hands down. “Well, when you put it that way, how can I say no?”

  His head jerked toward somewhere other than where we were. “Where’s Mackenzie? All tucked in for the night?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Good,” he nibbled at my lips. “I want you all to myself tonight.”

  “Done. I’ll give you a few to shower –”

  “Now,” he murmured. “No more waiting.”

  Anxiety stabbed my heart. Lust is one thing. Could I settle for that after what once offered me such surety? Maybe Karma is real, and the universe is repaying what I put Johnny through for months when I refused to see how I really felt about him.

  That book known as Helen Eriksson, the one I was deluded into believing inscrutable, flipped wide open under probing eyes. “Baby, you gotta know that even though I don’t remember every single detail about us, my feelings for you haven’t changed one little bit,” Johnny said softly. “Come with me now. Please?”

  Close to the real thing. So close. My heart latched onto it like it was the genuine declaration of love I was certain he intended. Five minutes later, our soapy bodies were sliding together with a frantic need that burned hot enough to melt the tiles in the enormous walk-in shower. The rest of the world blurred into oblivion. There were no murders, no reporters making nasty insinuations, no lies, no hidden past. All of it was gone.

  Johnny panted heavily against my neck. I was pressed in a bruising crush against the wall of the shower while he struggled to regain himself. “Did I hurt you? God you’re so thin.”

  “I’ve gained almost ten pounds. I’m fine.” My fingers sifted through clumps of wet hair. “I love you, Johnny. I needed this more than you could ever know. Please don’t think I’m too fragile. I won’t break if you ...”

  His grin stretched across my throat. “Get carried away like this again? God, we didn’t even use protection.”

  “No worries,” I whispered. Yeah, I’m thirty-eight years old, and ostensibly fertile. If it hadn’t happened by now, I doubted it ever would.

  “I wouldn’t mind you know,” nibbling ensued and reignited something in both of us. “Or was this something we never discussed before?”

  We hadn’t, honestly. I think Johnny knew then that I was on the verge of absolute emotional retreat. Things were very different now than they had been in the beginning. “I believe at that point, I bought the legend of Johnny Orion, and you knew it.”

  “Ah, so I was protecting you from my sordid past,” he chuckled. “Is that still a concern?”

  My arms tightened around his neck. “God no.”

  “Would you be repulsed if I inadvertently… well, I’m Catholic, Doc.” He pulled away far enough for a stare I couldn’t escape.

  “Maybe we should be careful in the future. Just in case.”

  “Oh…”

  “Not because I’m not sure how I feel about you, or that I’d do something that would violate what you believe, Johnny. It seems a little soon to think about something like that.” My lips rolled inward on the lie. Hell yes, I’d do something that defied his antiquated belief system. I’d done it before in a very different context and would do it again if the circumstances warranted it. After all, I doubt that Moses had the fetus in mind when he said thou shalt not kill.

  “Rationally, I know you’re right. At the same time,” he left the idea hanging out there like some kind of wishful jinx on my freedom.

  I shivered.

  “Let’s get you dried off and tucked in for the night,” Johnny kissed the tip of my nose. “One request.”

  “Name it.”

  “No sweats tonight.”

  By the time he finished drying me off, clothing, pajamas, sweats, lingerie or otherwise seemed a foolish idea. We drifted off into satiated sleep by ten thirty, limbs tangled as much as our hearts meshed again.

  So when the phone started ringing less than two hours later, I wanted to swat the damned thing off the nightstand. Johnny stilled my fumbling hand and reached over me. He pressed the receiver to his ear, smothering me nicely beneath his body and rasped, “Yeah,” lowly into the phone.

  “Uh-huh.”

  An instant later, he shot off the bed, yanking the phone off my nightstand in the process. Thank God the cord on the wall was long enough to accommodate the appliance’s abrupt flight over me and onto the opposite side of
the bed. Phone cord sliced across my face and startled me into full wakefulness.

  “When?” Johnny was pacing.

  I untangled from the cord and sat up. “Johnny?”

  He held up one hand. “Seriously? Tony, this can’t be happening.”

  “What can’t be happening?” I crawled to the opposite side of the bed and stilled his pace with one hand to his bare hip.

  “Where’s Crevan? Does he know?” His pause stretched interminably. “Good. Good. Don’t wake him. Get Shelly to division so if he wakes up and you’re gone, he won’t freak out and figure out what happened. She can notify him… uh-huh. Yeah, she’s here, wide awake now. We’ll meet you at the scene.”

  Johnny dropped the phone onto the bed, not bothering with actually disconnecting the call. He dragged one hand over his face and cursed expansively while I did what he neglected.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Another victim,” he rasped.

  “And we’re sure it’s related to Tippet and Goddard?” My mind blended half the conversation I heard and struggled to make sense of who on earth might’ve been murdered now, linked to the other cases, that would necessitate keeping Crevan in the dark.

  “Shit,” he muttered from behind that hand covering his goatee.

  “Johnny, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s Belle,” he rasped.

  Was that suspicion I saw in the eyes peering down at me? I had threatened to kill her a little over twelve hours ago, but this wasn’t one that would be added to my Karmic tally someday.

  “How could it be unrelated in light of that scathing lie she printed today? Did you see the other story? They had it on page two.”

  I shook my head. “Why? What else did she have to say?”

  Johnny yanked on a pair of boxer briefs and stalked out of the bedroom. I was half way out the door behind him when it occurred to me that I should detour into the closet. A moment later, he held up the folded pulp in front of my face when it popped through the hole of a warm sweater.