by Rick Reed
“Christ almighty,” Liddell muttered, and covering his mouth, he fled from the room.
Jack surveyed the room. It was a bloody mess. Curtains, carpeting, mattress, pillows, ceiling, and walls all stained with sprays of blood. It was as if these children had been put through a shredder. He didn’t have the stomach to look closely at all of their wounds, but the on-scene deputy coroner said they all were killed by repeated cuts and stab wounds from something sharp and heavy and long, like a sword or a machete. Jack could see the little girl—Jenny was her name—had cuts on the soles of her feet. Her brothers had been luckier or had died first, leaving the killer to vent his rage on the remaining victim.
He imagined how they had been rounded up in the living room by the intruder and carried or dragged to the bedroom. They tried to run, he thought, looking at the different locations of blood spatters in the room. Their young ages would have precluded them from putting up much of a defense. They were killed in this room. There was almost no sign of a struggle in the other rooms. Apart from an overturned end table and a general disarray of couch pillows and rugs, there was almost no sign of a struggle in the rest of the house. And the absence of blood in the other rooms meant they were most likely killed in this room.
Jack looked one more time at the words on the wall. So many children. There will be more. There was no mistaking that the killer intended to kill again, and maybe the words meant he would kill more children. But why? Why kids? What did these children have to do with Timmy Ryan? And what did any of this have to do with Anne and Don Lewis? Did Anne Lewis or her husband have anything to do with the killer? Maybe he, or she, lost their children because of the Lewises? He didn’t know. All he had were questions, no answers. And even the questions didn’t make sense yet. He had never felt this helpless in his life. Children were dying, and he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.
The mother was such a wreck at the scene that the responding emergency medical crew had sedated her and had taken her to the hospital before the detectives had arrived. The first officers on the scene said she had been “ranting” and didn’t seem to understand anything. Jack and Liddell would stop at the hospital later, and Jack hoped she would be able to answer a couple of questions.
He left the bedroom and found Liddell in the kitchen. No surprise there.
“Crime scene’s done in here.” Liddell was sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of water. He offered one to Jack, and then took out his notebook and rattled off the report given to him by the officers that had canvassed the neighborhood.
“Mother—Elaine Lamar—age twenty-nine. Divorced from Carl Lamar. Works for Need-a-Home Realty and puts in a long week according to the neighbors.” Liddell gave Jack a glance, and said, “Carl’s an asshole, but I don’t figure him for this.” He continued. “The neighbors say she leaves the kids by themselves at times, but never for a long period of time, and it doesn’t happen often. The kids are Ricky, Jeremy, and Jenny, ages three, four, and ten. The neighbors also say she is a great mother and that the children are so well behaved that it never occurred to anyone to report them being left alone.”
“The little bungalow over there”—Liddell pointed over Jack’s shoulder—“is occupied by Missus Geraldine Truitt, age eighty-three and a widow. She heard the children screaming a few hours earlier, but she thought they were playing. In fact, she said the kids are so quiet normally, that she had been pleased at hearing them being loud for once. She couldn’t be sure of the time, but she takes her heart meds around noon, and it was somewhere around then.”
Jack had sat quietly through Liddell’s report, but he now got up and checked the refrigerator.
“Already looked,” Liddell said. “There’s plenty of food. One beer. Part of a bottle of wine, nothing stronger. She’s clean, Jack.”
Jack knew his partner was right. When he checked with the Department of Public Welfare, they would tell him they had no record of Elaine Lamar or the children, meaning there had never been complaints of child neglect or abuse.
“Any boyfriends? Visitors?” Jack asked.
“Mother Teresa, I’m telling you, pod’na.” But Jack wasn’t listening. “Jack, you okay?”
Jack started, and realized that he had been fingering the scar along his neck. The burning pain that had finally disappeared weeks ago was back with a vengeance. But the discomfort was nothing compared to the rage that gripped him. The pure hatred for the killer felt so natural, so welcoming, that it freed him for a moment from the worry of the investigation. He let the rage wash over him, giving him the confidence that he’d catch the person responsible for this. And when he did, he’d wallow in their bloody carcass like a dog rolling in a pile of manure.
“I’m going to find him,” Jack said. “Then I’m going to shit in his skull.”
Liddell’s features hardened. “I’m with you, pod’na.”
Chief Marlin Pope’s secretary was a mousy young woman with sharp, bookish features and oversized clothes that hung on her thin frame, making her look anorexic. Her face seldom showed any expression other than boredom, but as she entered the chief’s inner sanctum she was almost out of breath with excitement.
“Chief!” she said.
“What is it, Jennifer?” Pope said without looking up.
“Maddy Brooks and an attorney for Channel Six are in the waiting room.”
“I’m busy, Jennifer,” Chief Pope said, motioning to the pile of paperwork on top of his desk. “If they want information, they have to go through our public information officer like everyone else.” He was surprised at her barging in like she had. She never cared much for the media before.
“I think you had better talk to them, Chief,” Jennifer Mangold said in a conspiratorial whisper. “She says they’ve been in touch with the killer.”
“Get Murphy and Blanchard in here,” Pope said. “And call Captain Franklin.”
“Do you want me to call the deputy chief, too?” she asked.
“Let’s not bother the deputy chief yet,” Pope answered. “Tell Maddy Brooks to wait a few minutes.” She nodded and left the office.
Pope looked at the stack of paperwork that had to be sorted. “The city attorney will just have to wait,” he said to himself and cleared the top of his desk.
Tisha Carter crossed the parking lot, glad to be through with her morning shift as a physical therapist for St. Mary’s Hospital. It was a late September afternoon, and the heat index was in the triple digits, but inside the hospital it was as cold as the inside of an igloo. She shrugged out of the sweater she had been wearing and wondered why the hospital was always so cold. But she wasn’t going to let anything spoil her mood today. She was off work, it was Friday, and she had a date tonight with that nurse she’d been admiring.
Thinking about Janet made her smile. Tisha had discovered in high school that she preferred women and was very comfortable with her life choice. But Janet was an emotional wreck about her sexuality, and so their first date was comically laid out. Tisha had to drive to a neighboring city, get a place to stay under an assumed name, and then call Janet at a telephone booth to tell her that it was okay to come over. She had opted for renting a cabin near Patoka Lake. It was over an hour drive from Evansville, secluded, and they would be totally alone.
In a way, Janet’s suggestion was very romantic. But women were much better at romance than men. To men, sex and romance were the same. She could feel her heart beating faster as she got behind the wheel of her car and drove out of the parking garage. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the older, white van pull out of a parking space and follow her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“So what are you after?” the police chief asked the man he knew to be legal counsel for Channel Six, David Wires. He was afraid he knew the answer to his question, but so far they had only hinted at what their information was. He wanted them to put it in their own words so there would be no misunderstanding. He’d found over the years that the best way to deal w
ith the media was to be honest, even if it meant telling them nothing more than “Sorry, we’re not releasing information yet.” He knew that if you tried to cut them out of the loop, they would report whatever they had no matter how wrong or harmful it was.
Maddy looked pleased. She was sure the police chief wouldn’t have interrupted his day if she wasn’t on to something big.
“We want in,” Maddy answered for Wires, and smiled. David Wires, the attorney, was smiling, too. He had said little, but he was the hammer poised to drive the point home if they didn’t get what they wanted. Maddy knew it, the attorney knew it, and she was sure that Chief Pope knew it as well.
Before the chief could answer, his secretary peeked in to announce that Captain Franklin and the detectives were there. Pope let out an audible sigh and motioned for them to be shown in.
Eddie sat in the van watching the silly bitch flitting from one aisle to another in the roadside store. She had deviated from her normal route home, and it was pissing him off. They had driven all the way out of Evansville on Highway 57, where she then stopped in the little town of Daylight. He’d taken advantage of the stop to fill his gas tank, but now he cursed under his breath as he waited for her to head home.
It didn’t help that Bobby was in one of his silent moods and hadn’t said a word since they’d left the parking garage at the hospital.
Finally Eddie could stand the silence no longer. “Okay. So what’s the fuckin’ deal, Bobby?”
Bobby looked at him without answering, which only added to Eddie’s anger. “We followed this nurse twice last week, and both times she went straight home. What the hell is she doin’?” Eddie demanded.
Bobby shook his head and smiled. “Eddie, you gotta relax, man. It don’t matter where you do her. You just do her and leave the note,” he said with a smirk.
“Well, what if she’s driving to fuckin’ New York or somethin’? We gonna follow her to New York, Bobby?”
“Hell, if we whack her out of town, so much the better,” Bobby said calmly and leaned back and closed his eyes.
Eddie was starting to smile now. Bobby was right. If they whacked her somewhere out of town, it would show Murphy how far they would go to get at him.
“Like a long-distance wake-up call,” Eddie said happily, and Bobby winked at him.
“Now you’re getting the picture, bro,” Bobby said.
Introductions were made and then Wires stood and shook hands with Captain Franklin, but didn’t offer to shake hands with Jack or Liddell.
“Guess they don’t teach etiquette in law school,” Liddell whispered loud enough for the attorney to hear.
Chief Pope gave him a cautioning look and continued, “And of course, you all know Maddy Brooks.”
Liddell grabbed Maddy’s diminutive hand in his huge ones, shaking it so hard it rattled her. “Big fan! Very big fan, Miss Brooks,” he said. Jack could tell she wasn’t sure of his sincerity, but had no doubt that she could take care of herself.
“Well, you are big,” she said, looking Liddell up and down, to which everyone laughed. “Can I have my arm back now?” she asked, and they all laughed some more.
We’re having such a wonderful time, Jack thought. He wondered when he and Liddell would have to bend over and take one up the rear for the team. He already had an idea what was going on here because the chief’s secretary had filled them in on what she had “accidentally” overheard. Apparently Channel Six had some source inside their murder investigation and was strong-arming the chief to go public. But out of respect for the chief and captain, Jack kept his thoughts to himself.
Chief Pope offered beverages, which were declined by everyone except Liddell. After Jennifer had brought his coffee, they all looked at each other.
Jack broke the silence. “Well, this was nice, but I have a murder or two to investigate, so if you’ll excuse me.” He stood to leave, and Chief Pope said, “Sit down, Murphy!”
Liddell rolled his eyes at Jack like he was an incorrigible child, but Jack was out of patience. He said, “Oh, come on, Chief. We all know what this is about. These two are blackmailing you.”
Captain Franklin put a hand on Jack’s arm and said, “Shut up, Jack, and sit down.” Jack took a deep breath and sat back down. A line from a sci-fi movie ran through his mind: Resistance is futile, earthling.
Chief Pope addressed Maddy, saying, “Okay, Miss Brooks. If you have what you say, and you continue closely cooperating with my men, I will give you limited access to our investigation.”
Dave Wires spoke for the first time. “We will have full and continual access, or we will air the notes on the five o’clock news.” Wires didn’t have to say that Maddy would also report on air that the police would not comment on the notes, which was as good as saying, “and the police, in an attempt to cover up, et cetera, et cetera.”
Captain Franklin looked at the chief, trying to read his expression. “I don’t know what’s going on here, Chief,” Franklin said. “But maybe we should see what Maddy actually has before we compromise our position.”
Maddy looked at David Wires, Esq., and he nodded. She opened her purse and pulled out several clear, plastic document protectors, each containing an envelope. Franklin took them from her and handed them to the chief. Pope’s face took on an ashen tinge. He passed the papers to Franklin. Jack and Liddell looked over his shoulder.
All the papers and envelopes appeared to be handwritten in red crayon. The envelopes were all made out to Maddy Brooks at Channel Six. Jack recognized the first note as similar, if not identical, to the one he had recently seen in the Lewis murder file. The note read:
Will you have any more
My eyes are too sore.
they pay for your sins
The second note was identical to the one that Dr. Carmodi had found stuffed in Timmy Ryan’s throat. It read:
he caught fishes
in other mens ditches
they pay for your sins
But what caught Jack’s attention was the last note:
so many children
there will be more
Jack
No note had been left at the murder scene of the Lamar children. But, except for the addition of his name, the killer had written these same words in blood on the wall of that room.
Franklin looked at Jack but addressed his question to Maddy, saying, “When did you get these, Miss Brooks?” Jack could feel his pulse rising, and then Maddy asked the question he had feared.
“We’re talking about a serial killer who has something against Detective Murphy, aren’t we?”
Liddell picked up the notes and was looking at them when he murmured, “Guy’s leaving messages, but they don’t mean anything.”
Chief Pope cast an angry look at Liddell and put his hands up. “Okay. Let’s not get carried away here, folks. We don’t know if these notes are involved. We’ve never said anything about notes being left at murder scenes. These notes are written in crayon. Anyone could be sending these notes to you, Maddy. Maybe someone at your job is playing a practical joke?” he suggested. “So, what makes you so sure of this?”
Jack thought the chief had a point. Nothing had been released to the public about notes being left behind at any of the murder scenes.
Maddy looked like the Cheshire Cat as she leaned forward in her chair. “I knew you would ask that, Chief. And the truth is that I didn’t know the notes were definitely involved until I got this one.”
She reached in her handbag, and brought out another plastic bag with a note inside. But before she would show it to the men she said, “When I got the third note, the one about the children, I started thinking these must be about the murders. So I confirmed with a source that you found notes at two of the three murder scenes.” She held up three fingers and counted off, “Dr. Lewis and her husband were murder number one. Timmy Ryan, murder number two. And last, the Lamar kids, where, as you can see, he clearly refers to Detective Murphy. But you didn’t get a note at that scene, Jack.
The killer left another kind of message there, didn’t he?”
Jack ignored her probing question and said, “Let’s see the new note.”
Maddy tried to stare him down, but she could see he wasn’t going to answer her question before he saw the latest note. “I received this at the station about an hour ago.” She handed the bag to Jack, who glanced at it and handed it to the chief.
As Chief Pope read it, his normally dark complexion turned to the waxy color of yellow coal. He handed the note to Franklin, who read it out loud:
Jack be nimble
Jack be quick
Jack jump over
the candlestick
Franklin traded a look with the chief, and then to Maddy he said, “Okay. Who’s your source?”
“Oh, no you don’t. You know I don’t have to name my sources,” she said smugly. “Let’s just say it’s a reliable source that’s close to the investigation.”
Chief Pope looked around the room. He knew that none of the men in this room would ever talk to the news media about an active murder investigation. But he also knew that policemen loved to brag about their importance, so it could have been any one of the dozens of officers that were at any of the three crime scenes. Or a crime scene tech. Or another detective. Then he remembered that the investigation of the death of Dr. Lewis and her husband had been the responsibility of Deputy Chief Dick. Any investigation Dick was involved in was sure to spring leaks big enough to sink the Titanic.
