Eleven Days

by Donald Harstad

  When she’d finished, Traer said, “That’s all very basic, of course, but you have done your task efficiently. My compliments.”

  “Now,” I interjected, before Hester could take his head off, “Hester ran the descriptors through the VICAP system, to check to see if there was any other crime that fit this description.”

  “Oh?”

  “And it turned out that there was.”

  His eyes widened again. I decided that that was about all the emotion he would ever permit to show through. He didn’t say anything, but he leaned forward a bit.

  “A few years ago, in Ohio. Nearly the exact MO.” Okay, so I lied a little. He was a Satanist. All’s fair … “We have information,” I said, “That indicates that this unknown killer wants your whole group. Especially you.”

  I let that sink in.

  “That’s why we have two reserve officers here tonight, Link. To make sure he doesn’t get you while you’re our guest.”

  He had to have noticed, and the other two prisoners were bound to have told him that it was unusual to have the reserves wandering back into the cell area. He’d probably thought it was to keep him in.

  “I see.”

  “We have a twofold interest here,” I told him. “One, we don’t want another murder or two in the county. Makes us look bad.”

  “I can understand that,” he said.

  “And, number two, we want to get the killer. Not getting him makes us look bad, too.”

  “We wouldn’t want that.”

  “That’s where you come in.”

  He sat back. “You want me to be the bait? If so, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  Hadn’t even occurred to me. But not a bad idea.

  “No, not at all. You see, the only person we know who may be able to ID the killer is Rachel.”

  “Ah.”

  “We have a lead that we’re going to follow up today,” said Hester. “A connection from Ohio to here. But the information won’t give us enough to hold the killer, although we think that it will identify him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Only Rachel can do that,” she said.

  “I have one question,” said Traer.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Who is this Rachel?”

  30

  Monday, April 29

  05:11 hours

  “Cut the shit, Oswald!” said Saperstein.

  “Pardon?” said Traer with an innocent look.

  “You heard me. Rachel is your breeder and the mother of the sacrifice. Don’t try to stonewall me, asshole. You know who she is and where she is. And trying to stall us, you’re going to get somebody else killed.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Traer, “but I’m afraid you’re wrong.”

  “The hell I am,” said Saperstein. “Your whole plan is shot now, anyway. The ultimate goal—the suicide of the whole coven, except for you. The enhancement of your reputation … You’re gonna look pretty silly in the eyes of that other coven you have going. The important one, the one that’s going to make you famous. The whole thing’s been blown, with the killer stalking your group. You have no power to protect them, no power to stop him. Your reputation is going downhill. Been contacted by your other following yet? They laugh?”

  I hadn’t the foggiest idea what the hell he was talking about. But Traer did. He didn’t say anything, but Saperstein was hitting home.

  “You can only win by talking with us. And that’s the only way you can. Your reputation can be enhanced by doing a little time for the killing of Cynthia Larsen. A few years you’ll walk out, if not sooner. You know that. Walk right into an influential, rich coven and make the big bucks. You’ll be famous. But your original coven gets knocked off, or worse, turns on you because you can’t protect them—you’re done.”

  Traer was thinking.

  “Your ego strong enough to stand that? A second-rate Satanist, no high-priest status except with some teenagers? A little sixteen-year-old pussy once in a while? Shit, you can’t even talk to her after you screw her—just a dumb kid. Impress her, impress nobody. And some young stud takes her away from you. You get no money, no high standard of living, preaching to a bunch of little kids in a three-room apartment. What you gonna do, drive a cab? Write a book on how you failed as a Satanist? Come on, Traer. We’re the only chance you got for fame and fortune. You cooperate with us, give up Rachel, you got it made. Your rep is enhanced in the joint. Your important coven waits for you, like the second coming. You can write your own ticket. Make Anton La Vey look like a piker. You know it. We know it. Piss on Rachel and the rest of that group. But do it our way. Otherwise, you lose all around.”

  Saperstein stopped. He stared at Traer, long and hard.

  “You know I’m right. The murder of Cynthia was a calculated risk, and you know it. That’s why you made the tape. To show the other coven. You aren’t a real Satanist, are you? You’re just out to go up the scale, and this was the right way at the right time, wasn’t it? You’re an act, and you took the ultimate risk to get the bucks and the influence. You got caught. But you can still make your rep—unless you fuck up now, unless the other coven finds out that they can get killed, tracked down, and you’re the magnet for the killer. They’ll drop you like a hot rock.”

  He paused for breath. “You’re done unless you cooperate with us, and you know it.”

  I was amazed. So, apparently, was Hester. Saperstein had kept such a low profile the last few days … he must have been grinding this out all the time. And listening to him, I would have cooperated, myself. Impressive.

  “I’m not quite certain I understand you,” said Traer, but the conviction was lacking.

  “Shit,” said Saperstein. “You understand. You just hate to think that you can be outthought. Don’t you?”

  Silence.

  “Your ego can’t handle having a dumb cop get ahead of you, can it?” Saperstein’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “You with your little law degree from Iowa—an educated man.”

  Traer still didn’t speak.

  “If it’s any help, I got my LL.D. from Harvard.”

  Surprised me. But it was apparently all the salve that Traer’s ego needed to enable him to capitulate.

  “I’d like some time to think.”

  “We haven’t got much time, if we’re gonna get the killer,” said Saperstein. “We have to find Rachel right away. Otherwise, he gets away from us, and he’s real good at hiding.”

  “Some time, just some. I have some things to consider.”

  “We’ll give you ten minutes,” said Saperstein. He looked at me. “You got someplace where he can be alone for a few minutes?”

  I escorted Traer to a small cell we used for the occasional second woman prisoner or juveniles. Locked him in, told Sally where he was, so she could activate the surveillance camera in that area. She gave me a surprised look but didn’t ask any questions. “Talk to me really quick, soonest, will you?”

  “Now all right?”

  “Yes.” She lowered her voice. “Thought you should know. Hal called the boss.”

  “His boss?”

  “No, ours. About as soon as you went to the kitchen.”

  “No shit …” Calling Lamar at this hour? Even if he wasn’t happy with me, that seemed to be taking it too far.

  “And Lamar looks like he’s coming in. He came up on the radio about two minutes ago.”

  “Thanks, kid.” I grinned at her. “I owe you.”

  I went back to Hester and Saperstein in the kitchen.

  “Jesus, Bill,” I said, “I didn’t know you knew so much about him.”

  Hester shook her head slowly from side to side and chuckled. “You want to tell him?”

  Saperstein grinned. “Sure.” He handed me my coffee. “Sit down, Carl.”

  I sat.

  “Pure bullshit.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Pure bullshit, I was guessing. Well, at least, for a lot of it.”

  “You’re kidding.�
��

  “Nope. At least, the part about the other coven was a guess. The part about him walking in a few years was an outright lie.”

  “You’re obviously pretty close.”

  “Yeah. Well, I have to admit, I’ve got him figured out. He’s just not like the dyed-in-the-wool Satanist I’ve dealt with before. But I’ve met his type, too. Lucifer’s flimflam man. There are lots of them out there.” He sipped his coffee. “His con is no different than any other con. He just uses Satan as a vehicle instead of séances, or a cure for cancer or AIDS.”

  “How did you know?” asked Hester.

  “The tape. Too many flourishes. What we saw was a practice session. I’m sure the tape where they killed Cynthia is around someplace. Not with this group, but with the other one. A practice session for good old Oswald. The rest of the coven was playing it for real.”

  “You think he’ll tell us where Rachel is?”

  “Sure. No doubt in my mind.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I used to work bunco for a while, before I got transferred to homicide. I’m right.”

  I shook my head. “But, to kill a baby just for that …”

  Saperstein shrugged. “I’ll tell you the truth. It was a chance he took, for sure. But he made it, didn’t he? The only thing that exposed him was our killer. Nobody else knew about it. He figured that in a rural area like this, he could hide the fact forever. The cops aren’t sophisticated, the courts wouldn’t believe them if they were.” He smiled. “Nothing personal.”

  I shrugged.

  “The only people who knew were dedicated. To Satan, or to themselves. They all participated, so they all shared the guilt. Look at Elizabeth Mills—you think she’d crack? You think she’d let her husband slip up?”

  “That gives him a motive to kill our four victims, you know.”

  “A motive, maybe, but that’s not his style. Killing them like that wouldn’t occur to him. Coercion is his strongest suit. If he thought there was a leak, Phyllis or Elizabeth would take care of it for him. The weakest parts of his group up here were Kenneth Mills and McGuire. Kenny was being handled well by Elizabeth, and McGuire was being taken care of by his own conscience and Phyllis and Peggy. He had it sacked.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said. “He looked pretty Satanic to me.”

  “You want to meet a real Satanic individual,” said Saperstein, “wait till you find our killer. There’s a Satanic psychopath. In the flesh.”

  “Think so?” asked Hester.

  “Know so,” said Saperstein. “You profiled him—you know he’s psychotic. I profiled him, too.” He tapped his head. “Up here. This boy’s a real Satanist. No mumbo jumbo, none of the trappings the showman uses. In fact, the supposedly Satanic ‘clues’ at the scene may not have been made to throw us off the track. They may have been a ‘statement’ by a Satanic ascetic. I think our killer really believes he works for Satan.”

  I thought about that. Could be.

  I looked at my watch. “The ten minutes are up.” I stood.

  “Let him wait for a few minutes,” said Saperstein. “He’s had his mind made up for nine minutes already. Let him sweat. He’s gonna get anxious now. He’s gonna want to impress us with his decision. Let us know how smart he is. He’s gonna be driven to tell us, by his own ego, about a lot of things. Give him another ten.”

  “You’re sure of yourself, aren’t you?” said Hester.

  Saperstein leaned back in his chair and contemplated his coffee cup. He looked up at her. “Yeah, I am. About Oswald. I feel like I’ve known him for years.” He folded his hands behind his head. “I’m savoring Oswald Traer, because I’m on firm ground with him, and I have him where I want him. Because when we’re done with Oswald, we go for the killer. And he scares me to death.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because our Oswald here is human. I don’t think that our killer is. Not in the way we define it. He’s a vicious, methodical robot. When he’s in this mode, his mind is clear, and so is his conscience. He’s not going to be easy to stop. Or to catch.”

  He brought his hands down to the table and pushed his chair back. “Let’s get him.”

  I brought him back into the kitchen.

  “You want your attorney present?” asked Saperstein.

  “That’s hardly necessary. What I’m considering telling you has no inculpatory properties whatsoever.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m going to advise you of your rights again, anyway,” said Hester. “It’ll make me feel better.”

  “Whatever pleases you, my dear.”

  Having placated the goddess Miranda, we got down to business.

  “Well …”

  “Rachel is staying at the Willmont Hotel in Cedar Rapids, under the assumed name of Allison Crowley.”

  “How original,” said Saperstein.

  “She thought so.”

  “Can she identify the killer?”

  “She says she can.”

  “Did she tell you what happened that night?” asked Hester.

  “Yes.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  He considered for a moment. “You should really ask her.”

  “We will,” said Hester. “Why don’t you tell us, anyway.”

  “Just a second,” I said. “Let’s get Hal.”

  “Who is he?” asked Traer.

  “DCI agent, working the homicides.”

  “That’s acceptable to me,” he said.

  I went to the back office, very pleased.

  Hal looked up as I came in. So did Lamar.

  “What did he have to say?” asked Hal.

  “Hi, boss.” I grinned at Lamar. “Glad to see you working.”

  “Uh-huh,” grunted Lamar. Distracted.

  You bet, I thought. Just the way he was when somebody of consequence pitched a bitch about one of us.

  “Rachel is in the Willmont Hotel in CR, under the name of Allison Crowley. She can ID the killer, and she’s told Traer what happened that night, and he’s about to tell us, so I thought you might like to hear. And I think we ought to get ahold of CRPD and get her picked up right away.” I grinned so hard it hurt.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  He picked up the phone and was telling CRPD where Rachel was when I headed back to the kitchen. Lamar caught up to me in the hall.

  “Carl …”

  “Yeah?” I stopped. The hall was about the only place at the office where you could have a private conversation these days.

  “Good work … I’m taking Theo off the case.”

  I must have looked shocked.

  He nodded. “Has to be done. But keep it quiet.”

  “He screwed up something important, didn’t he?”

  “Oh, not really.”

  “Then who has he been talking to?”

  “He’s just got to get off the case. Personal reasons. That’s all there is. I may be able to tell you later. Not now.” He shook his head, like he was clearing it. “I’ll tell him when he comes in on his next shift, day after tomorrow. So don’t let on, okay?”

  I nodded. “Okay with me.” It felt good to share a secret with Lamar. He doesn’t say word one to most people, and admitting a mistake is not easy for him. It kinda got awkward for a second, though.

  “You guys gonna do some more interviews in the kitchen?”

  I took the hint. Hal caught up and followed me back.

  “They should have her in about twenty minutes,” he said.

  Traer looked him over when he walked in. Said nothing.

  We settled ourselves around the table, making Traer the center of attention. He appeared pleased.

  “Okay, Link,” said Hester. “Tell us what Rachel told you.”

  Traer settled back and began.

  “Rachel came to me Sunday morning, about ten. She was very frightened, and had this story about Peg being killed by Satan. I didn’t believe her, of course. So I called Phyllis and couldn’t get
an answer. I thought that strange, but wasn’t too concerned.” He looked around. “She did have a tendency to indulge on weekends, you know.

  “Anyway, Rachel had this wild story about Satan being in the house when she came home. She and Peg. She said that the two of them had been in a bar in Maitland, that they’d left Phyllis and Bill and Frank at the house.”

  He paused.

  “The three of them were, oh, otherwise engaged, or about to be, when the women left.”

  He paused again. Just like an attorney, I thought. Pausing for effect.

  “They got home sometime after midnight, I believe she said. They didn’t see anyone else at first. They didn’t expect to, you know. The house was apparently rather dark, but there was a light in Phyllis’s bedroom.” He smiled wanly. “That was expected, too, you know? Anyway, apparently Peg went into the other bedroom, to go to bed, and Rachel went into the kitchen to get something. That’s when she noticed the bloody mess on the counter and in the Osterizer.”

  He looked at the coffeepot. “May I have some coffee, please?”

  I got it for him.

  “She said that she didn’t know what it was at first, but when she did, she got real terrified. She went to Phyllis’s bedroom and quietly opened the door and saw Bill.”

  Another pause.

  “It must have been horrible for her,” he said. “She is a very sensitive girl.”

  So sensitive, she got pregnant and had a kid for you to kill, I thought.

  “She said that she froze for a moment or two. That she ran to the other bedroom and screamed for Peg. She apparently had some difficulty communicating what had happened, because she said that Peg slapped her.”

  He paused again.

  “She took Peg to the bedroom, where Bill was. Peg saw what had happened and ran back to her room to get her clothes. Rachel went to the front door and waited for her. That’s when she said that she saw him—the one she thought was Satan.”

  Pause for effect. It was effective.

  “He came up from the basement, she said. Very quiet, seemingly very slow, although I suppose that she was so excited it just seemed that way, don’t you? Anyway, she said that he didn’t see her but that Peg yelled to her to get the car, and he heard her. He went to the bedroom and went inside, and Peg was apparently still in there.” He paused. “She never saw Peg again.”