“Actually, Marcus, I’ve always wanted one of those little wiener dogs.” Marcus put his elbows on the edge of his desk, and put his face in his hands.
Three days later, the Jaguar was delivered—with a fancy set of golf clubs in the trunk. The week after, Maggie, Julie, and I went to the animal shelter and adopted Oscar. It was the first thing we’d done together as a family.
CHAPTER 13
I spent the afternoon reviewing the crime scene photos I’d taken at the Clancy house. I magnified them and studied each one, room by room, but saw nothing that provided any clue as to how Jack Plum gained access to the residence if he’d not been let in.
After examining them several times, I walked outside around the pool to give my eyes a rest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something—some little detail that looked insignificant but held the key to the puzzle. The shimmering clear turquoise water in the pool hypnotized me as I racked my brain trying to figure out how Plum got in. I went back inside and reviewed the photos one more time. Still nothing.
It was almost five thirty when I turned off my computer. Tonight was my turn to man the tip hotline, and I needed to get ready. I changed my clothes, making certain they were all from Marshak’s. I didn’t want to hear about that again.
After stopping at McDonalds for a quick bite to eat, I arrived at the Cary Police Department at six fifteen, well ahead of my shift, which started at seven o’clock.
The police dispatch supervisor gave me a tip hotline 101 tutorial as she instructed me on the specifics of the system. All tips were entered into a database on a computer dedicated to the tip hotline. The username was 0497362, which was the case number assigned by Cary Police. The password was justice4u, all lower case.
The database automatically filled in the date and time of the call, and then the system prompted the operator for the caller’s name and call back number. Often a caller would request to remain anonymous, so there was a box that could be checked to bypass the prompt for the caller’s information. The operator would enter a detailed description of the tip and finish by ranking the tip’s importance. The importance rankings were numeric—one through five. They were purely subjective, with one being the highest level of importance, and five being the lowest. A guide sheet with examples was provided to assist the operator in assigning rankings.
I put on the headset and a few seconds later, I was on line. The supervisor sat next to me during the first few calls to make sure I didn’t screw things up. She told me I could also flag the 911 dispatcher if I got into trouble. The majority of the activity on the tip hotline occurred between the hours of six and eight, so I started receiving calls almost immediately. I pressed the answer button.
“Crime tip hotline,” I said.
“Hi, is this the tip line?” It was an older female voice.
“Yes ma’am, it is. I need to tell you that this call is being recorded. How can I help you?”
“I believe my neighbor across the street may be the Headless Corpse Killer—the guy the police now refer to as Jack Plum.”
“And why do you think that, ma’am?” I asked. I typed as she talked.
“It’s the way he looks at you,” she said. “Sometimes, you can just tell he wants to cut your head off.” I wiped my hand across my face.
“Have you seen him do anything or say anything that pertains specifically to the recent killings?”
“No. It’s just a feeling I have, and I felt it was my duty to report it before he killed anyone else. Anyway, his name is Leonard Ackerman.” She spelled it for me. “And he lives at 317 Mill Pond Drive here in Cary.”
“Would you like to leave your name and a contact number so we can get back to you?” She hung up.
I gave the tip a rating of five—highly improbable lead.
The next caller was another woman. She told me the Headless Corpse Killer was not a man. He was the angel of death sent to earth by Christ to signal the end of days. Another five.
I turned to the supervisor. “The nuts are out tonight.” She smiled and left.
The next caller reported seeing a car driving through the neighborhood of the Clancy crime scene. She thought she remembered that same car driving around on the afternoon of the murder. She gave me a description of the car, the license plate number, and her name and contact information. I rated this tip a three—possible lead.
Another ten minutes passed before I answered the call that would change the entire investigation—for me.
“Crime tip hotline,” I said.
“Is this Benjamin Tucker?” It was a male voice.
“Yes, it is. I need to tell you that this call is being recorded.”
“I was expecting it would be. May I call you Ben?”
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“I’m the man you’re looking for. I’m Jack Plum.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sorry if I sound skeptical, but you’re the third person today to make that claim. Can you give me information or some detail that will confirm you are, in fact, the man you claim to be?”
His next words made my blood run cold. “Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”
I jumped out of my chair, snapped my fingers twice, and pointed to the phone. The dispatcher understood, nodded, and immediately dialed someone to begin a trace of the call.
I took a deep breath. “You have my attention,” I said.
“Is this call being traced?”
“No. All calls are anonymous unless requested otherwise.”
“You’re lying to me, Ben. But it doesn’t matter. I saw you on TV the other night, and I knew when I saw you that the two of us have a destiny.”
The dispatcher had patched into the call and was now listening. She gestured for me to keep Plum talking.
“How do you figure that?” I asked.
“You’re the one to write my story. I read your book and it was … inspirational. I knew you were the one. I researched you, and now I know everything about you … and that rich wife of yours. She’s very beautiful … so is Sally Briggum.” The statement scared the hell out of me.
“Let’s leave them out of this,” I said. “Why is it you’ve taken the lives of two women?”
“In due time, Ben. In due time.”
“Will you surrender to authorities? I can make arrangements so you’ll be safe.”
The caller laughed softly. “Please. Don’t insult my intelligence. Besides, I’m not through yet. I’ve only just begun. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been invigorated since finding you.”
“Please don’t hurt anyone else. Maybe we can meet—just the two of us. We can talk—figure things out.”
The dispatcher was violently shaking her head, as if saying, “No! Are you fucking crazy?”
“We will meet, Ben … someday.” He paused. “I have a gift for you … a very special gift. I’m looking at it right now.”
I became nauseous. “What is it?” I asked. There was no reply. The dispatcher motioned for me to keep him talking.
“Jack?” I asked. “Talk to me. Hello? Jack? Are you there?” I put the system on mute, and turned to the dispatcher.
“I don’t think he’s there anymore,” I said.
She looked at her control console. “The line’s still connected, so try and get him to talk.”
“Jack? Let me know what you want. I can get you some help. Jack? Are you there? Hello?”
The dispatcher jumped up, and I muted the system again. “We have it!” she said. “237 West Bradford—about three miles from here!”
Ice ran through my veins, and I tore the headset off as I instantly recognized my former address. I collapsed in my seat with my face in my hands.
“Oh good Christ!” I cried. “Amanda Jane!”
CHAPTER 14
I raced out of police headquarters as fast as I could. The dispatcher yelled for me to stop, but I ignored her
. Seconds later, I dove into my car, hit the push button, and started the engine.
I didn’t bother to back out—I put it in drive, drove over a curb, through a stop sign, and out onto Academy Street in front of a Nissan Altima. The driver slammed on his brakes and laid on the horn. A police cruiser that had been about to pull into the municipal parking lot did a quick U-turn, and flipped on his lights and siren.
Heading south on Academy, I ran a red light, and turned left onto Kildaire Farm Road. But I was traveling too fast, and at the first ninety-degree turn, the Jag lost traction and began to slide, screeching across the oncoming lane and bouncing lightly off of the opposite curb. Fortunately, no one was coming. The police cruiser made the turn and the officer got on the loudspeaker and ordered me to stop.
Instead, I gunned it and the five hundred and ten horses of supercharged engine came to life. The Jag left him in the dust as I swerved back onto the right side of the road, activated the car’s voice recognition system, and had it call Amanda Jane’s number. It rolled to voicemail.
“Amanda Jane! It’s Daddy. Please call me! It’s an emergency. Please, call me as soon as you can! Please, sweetheart.” Then I had it dial Jennifer. That call also rolled to voicemail.
“Jenn, this is Ben! Call me as soon as you get this! It’s an emergency. Please call me!”
I hung up and dialed Amanda Jane again. Voicemail. Flying over a rise at a hundred and five miles an hour, a pickup truck was creeping slowly across the intersection at High Meadow Drive. I slammed on my brakes and skidded slightly sideways through the intersection behind the truck. The driver yelled something out his window, but I had straightened the car and left the intersection with my rear tires smoking.
Tears were streaming down my face and I was praying out loud. “Please, God, not my baby girl! Please!”
I drove like a maniac through the quiet town of Cary, darting in and out of traffic and running any traffic light or stop sign that was in my path. The lights of the police cruiser flashed in the rear view mirror far behind me in the distance. I hit the brakes and barely made the sharp right turn at Queensferry Road.
After squealing around the final corner, I gunned it one last time and then slammed on the brakes. The car jumped over the curb and skidded to a stop about ten feet into the front yard of 237 West Bradford Street. I was astonished to see Lieutenant Netter already there getting out of his sedan. Two police cruisers had arrived before him.
The front door of the house was open, and I fell out of my car and ran toward it. Netter intercepted me and tackled me to the ground, where he held me down. As I fought him off and struggled to get up, he shouted at me.
“No, Ben! You can’t go in there!”
Two uniformed officers ran over and restrained me. I was wild, totally out of control, and I think I would have bitten them if I could have reached them. When I finally stopped fighting, Netter helped me up and gave orders to the officers.
“Put him in the back of my car and don’t leave him under any circumstances. And I’m tellin’ you, if he gets in that house, both of you will be lookin’ for new jobs!”
He looked at me. “Now, Ben, listen to me. You go with these two officers. Do whatever they tell you to do, and I mean it! I can’t let you go in there. Let me go in and assess the situation, and I’ll come right back out and tell you what’s going on. You know me—I won’t bullshit you in any way. Do you understand?”
I said nothing. I just stood there with a dreadful vacancy in my chest, staring at the front door. Netter grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me. “Ben? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I slowly dragged my eyes away from the front door and looked at him. Finally, I nodded. The two officers helped me into the back of Netter’s sedan, but they stayed close outside the doors guarding me.
The agonizing wait seemed like an eternity. A total of fourteen police cruisers, a paramedic team, and two fire trucks showed up minutes apart. When a second paramedic team arrived, my heart sank. The first team of medics went in the house but quickly returned, their expressions etched in disbelief. They walked over to meet the second team, and they all just stood there, waiting for orders.
One of the police cruisers was the one that had ordered me to stop at the beginning of my frantic race over here, and the officer wanted a piece of me. Officer Mallory came over to handcuff me and read me my rights, but my bodyguards stopped him and said he needed to wait for Netter.
A Channel Fourteen News team that had picked up the police dispatch transmissions pulled their news van up and raised its microwave mast. Moments later, television production lights flooded over an investigative reporter who stood in front of the van holding a microphone, while a cameraman focused on her. She began talking and pointing to my former home.
Agent MacKenzie parked her rental car just beyond the news van and got out. She walked briskly to the house, flashing her identification to the police officers securing the area with barricades, rope, and crime scene tape.
Dr. Huffman and Detective Cox both arrived about the same time and entered the house together. By now there were at least thirty bystanders watching events unfold. I recognized three of them as my former neighbors.
Lainie finally emerged and came over to where I sat in Netter’s car. She flashed ID again. “Lieutenant Netter asked me to come out and check on Mr. Tucker.” She gestured toward the car door. “May I?” One of the officers opened the back door on the driver’s side, and she got in and sat next to me. Numb and afraid, I looked at her, and then turned back to the front door of the house.
She hugged me and sat back. “Are you all right, Ben?”
I said nothing.
“The lieutenant will be out shortly. There’s no sign of Plum, but we’ve got several cars patrolling the area.” She looked at me closely, concerned. “Does anyone know you’re here?”
“No … I don’t think so.” I was slurring my words. “I need to call … Maggie.” Lainie watched me with increasing alarm as I slowly fumbled with stiff trembling fingers to pull my phone out of my pocket. I stared at it like I’d never seen it before. “I don’t remember how to use it.”
Lainie grabbed me, turned my face toward her and looked into my eyes. I looked back, but I couldn’t see her. She jerked open the car door and shouted to the officer.
“Get the paramedics right now! This man is in shock.”She gently took the phone out of my hand.
The officer quickly looked from Lainie to me. “Yes, ma’am, right away.”
Moments later, two paramedics had me out of the car, sitting on a gurney. A third member of the team was back in the ambulance, talking on the radio. The senior medic took my vital signs while his partner wrapped me in warm blankets. The names on their uniforms said Gregory and Barry.
“His blood pressure’s pretty low,” Gregory said. “Start an IV of saline with an injection of Dopamine Hydrochloride. Sir, are you allergic to any medications?” I slowly shook my head no, barely able to see him.
Barry inserted and connected the IV while Gregory put me on oxygen. He turned to Lainie. “What’s his name?”
“Ben Tucker,” she said.
“Ben, we’ve given you an injection. You should begin to feel better shortly. Lay back and we’re going to transport you to WakeMed.”
I clutched his arm and tried to get up. “I’m not leaving!”
Lainie explained. “His daughter may be in there. We haven’t been told anything yet.”
Gregory, also a father, nodded sympathetically and touched my shoulder. “Okay, Ben, we’ll stay right here with you.” For the next twenty minutes, they watched as my vital signs improved. I was in pretty good shape by the time Netter walked out and came over to my side.
“Ben, there’s no sign of Amanda in the house. Either Plum took her or she’s somewhere else. Do you know where she might be?”
I shook my head, terrified out of my mind for my daughter. “What about Jennifer?” I asked.
Netter looked first at La
inie and then at me, with his jaw set. “We believe Jennifer is in the house. There’s a victim in there—female, maybe mid-thirties, Jennifer’s build. But we can’t tell who it is.”
“Her head?” I asked faintly.
“Gone. Can you think of some identifying mark she may have to help us here?”
I thought for a minute. “She has a small tattoo of a red rose on her left ankle … no, her right ankle.”
As Netter turned to go back to the house, Officer Mallory was waiting for him with his notebook in his hand.
“Lieutenant, this individual has committed a number of serious traffic offenses.”
Netter indulged Mallory as he listed them. “Reckless driving, failure to yield, improper lane usage, improper turn, driving on the wrong side of the road, speeds in excess of one hundred miles per hour, six stop lights, one stop sign, damage to personal property, and failure to stop when ordered to do so by an officer of the law.”
“Drop it,” Netter said bluntly and started walking back to the house.
“Excuse me?” Mallory asked, dumbfounded.
“Drop it,” Netter repeated as he continued walking.
“With all due respect, Lieutenant, this is serious. Someone could have been injured or killed here.”
Netter stopped, turned around, and came back to Mallory. “Was anyone killed?” he asked.
“No.
“Was anyone injured?”
Mallory sighed. “No, sir.”
“What was the property damage?” Netter asked.
Mallory pointed at my Jaguar. “He tore up that section of the yard over there when he lost control and jumped the curb.”
Netter got in Mallory’s face and jabbed a finger back at the house. “Well, when that headless woman in there wants to file a complaint, we’ll do something about it. Now drop it!” He spun on his heel and returned to the house.
The medics checked my vital signs again while Lainie straightened my blankets. “Let me call your wife for you,” she said, squeezing my hand. I nodded gratefully and she stepped away to speak in private.
Vengeance is Mine - A Benjamin Tucker Mystery Page 7
