by Rick Reed
Jack
the right answer is
Little Nancy Etticoat
Mother Goose
“Have you looked at this?” Jack asked, thinking that the killer was now calling himself “Mother Goose,” thinking that the killer must be following the news, but more particularly, following Maddy Brooks.
“Yes. It must have something to do with the other rhymes, or maybe with the last one, the riddle. Maybe it’s the answer to the riddle,” she suggested.
“Maybe,” Jack said, but it didn’t seem to fit. For if he remembered his nursery rhymes correctly, “Jack Be Nimble” referred to a candlestick, but more particularly was about time. He’d never heard the Little Nancy Etticoat thing.
“It looks like the other notes,” Liddell said. “I’ll call Crime Scene.”
After he got off his phone he said, “Franklin is on his way out here. He said he would notify the chief and Double Dick.”
Maddy gave him a curious look, and he corrected himself, “I meant Deputy Chief Dick.”
“Don’t worry, Detective,” Maddy said with a sardonic smile. “I know you all call him Double Dick.”
Liddell looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Brooks.”
Maddy looked at Jack, and he held his hands up. “Leave me out of this.”
Eddie had spotted the big detective arriving and decided it was time to hit the road. He had a knife with him, but it wouldn’t do to take the one called Blanchard out this early in the game. Besides, he looked like he would be a handful in a fight. He’d have to take him from behind. That was something he’d learned in prison. Maybe later, he thought.
He drove slowly away from the area, turning into the parking lot of the Evansville Museum. A bicycle path and several footpaths ran down the levee behind the museum. It was barely light out, but the parking lot was already full of cars and SUVs that sported bicycle carriers. His old van blended in well here. He climbed in the back of the van to think, leaving Bobby asleep in the passenger seat.
How can he sleep through all this? Eddie wondered. Man, I got a woody that won’t quit, he thought, and lay on the floor with his hands shoved down the front of his jeans, touching it. When he finished, he drifted off to sleep with the smell of Maddy Brooks’s hair still in his mind.
Franklin was talking to the station manager, Bill Goldberg, when the two detectives brought Maddy Brooks back to the ambulance. She had finally agreed to let the paramedics check her over.
Franklin and Bill Goldberg were talking and laughing comfortably like old friends.
“If we were caught on camera at a serious crime scene laughing, the news media would castrate us,” Liddell observed.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “But how would that affect you, Bigfoot?”
“Hey!” Liddell exclaimed. “There’s no need to get nasty. Besides, I bet I get laid more than you do.”
Jack ignored the challenge, because he knew Liddell was probably right.
Maddy was finally released by the medical crew and came over to them with the station manager in tow.
“This is Bill Goldberg,” she said, seeming to forget that they had already been introduced. They all shook hands.
Jack whistled at one of the crime scene techs. “Can you bring a Tyvek blanket over here?” he asked the tech, then to Maddy and her boss said, “Maddy, we’ll need to take your clothes for evidence.”
She looked at the station manager, and Jack realized how much her life was controlled by station policy, just as his own was controlled by department policy.
“It’s okay, Maddy,” Goldberg said. “What’s important is to catch the guy that did this to you.”
She leaned in and whispered something to Goldberg, who nodded, and then he whispered something back to her. Just then the crime scene tech arrived with a white Tyvek blanket, wrapped it around Maddy’s shoulders, and shuffled her toward her door.
“Try to remember what you can and we’ll talk in a little while,” Jack said, and she turned slightly and smiled. He knew that victims of trauma sometimes had a temporary loss of memory just after the incident, and that it wasn’t unusual for them to remember things hours or even days later. He believed it must have something to do with the mind protecting itself. But it was just as likely that she would try to hold out some information from them because that was what newspeople did.
Maddy came out of her house wearing a faded pair of blue jeans, a baggy purple sweatshirt with the Channel Six logo, and fluorescent yellow flip-flops. Liddell looked her over and gave her a thumbs-up. She gave him her middle finger, but was smiling while she did so.
“She wants me,” Liddell said to Jack.
“Do you really need my clothes?” Maddy said to no one in particular. “And my shoes? Or are you merely trying to humiliate me?”
“Oh, we’re trying to humiliate you. Big-time!” Liddell said with a grin.
“Well, it’s working,” she said to Jack. “Where’d you get this guy anyway?” she asked and hooked a thumb at Liddell.
“Believe it or not, when he was little someone stuffed him in my mail slot and I didn’t have the heart to get rid of him,” Jack said.
Maddy giggled and sat down on her back steps.
“I don’t believe he’s ever been little,” she said.
“Thank you,” Liddell said, and Maddy turned red.
“Are you feeling like answering some more questions?” Jack asked.
“If you don’t mind talking to someone in a purple top with yellow flip-flops.”
Jack gave her a serious look. “I want you to close your eyes.”
Maddy stared at him.
“Just humor me,” he said.
She let out a breath and closed her eyes. “Okay, now what?”
“This might be unpleasant, Maddy, but in your mind I want you to picture leaving your house. Like a movie, but seen through your eyes.”
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked, opening her eyes again.
“I told you she wouldn’t do it,” Liddell remarked.
Maddy shot him an angry look and closed her eyes again. “I’m leaving the kitchen,” she said.
Liddell and Jack exchanged a smile.
“What is the first thing you remember seeing?” Jack asked.
“What kind of question—” Maddy started.
Jack interrupted her, and said, “For God’s sake, just answer the question, Maddy.”
She took a few breaths, slowly letting them out, eyes closed. “Okay. I’m facing toward the backyard.” She opened her eyes and said, “It might be easier if I just go back and walk through this again.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Liddell asked.
“No,” she admitted. “But I need to do this. Will you guys go with me?”
“I could never turn down a woman in yellow flip-flops,” Liddell said.
True to her word, Maddy reenacted leaving her house and hesitated at the part where she was grabbed from behind, but then continued like a real trouper. Jack knew this must be draining her emotionally, but she did remember a surprising amount of details this way.
Although she hadn’t really seen her assailant’s face, she could tell the men that he was a white male, maybe twenty-five to thirty years old, taller than Jack but not as tall as Liddell, thin but not skinny, and his breath smelled peppery, like Dentyne gum or licorice or something. Being alone with the two men, she confided that he had rubbed his hands over her breasts and other places she didn’t want to talk about.
Jack could sense that she was holding something back, but he knew that asking her now was a waste of time. She had told them everything she was going to.
“What about hair length?” Liddell asked.
“Have you not been listening? I was attacked from behind. I didn’t see his hair.”
Jack said, “What did his face feel like? Facial hair? Anything else you can remember, Maddy.”
She closed her eyes again for a minute or so, and then opened them
. “His hair was long!” she said excitedly. “And he needed a shave and a bath, but he didn’t have a beard or mustache. At least I don’t think so. But I do remember his hair falling across the side of my face when he was whispering in my ear.”
She looked at Jack with admiration, and said, “How do you do that?”
Liddell snickered, and said, “Because his heart is pure and chaste.”
Maddy looked curiously at Jack. “Don’t ask,” he said.
“What did he whisper?” Jack asked, and a look came into Maddy’s expression like someone pulling down blinds.
Just then, a Jeep Liberty with Channel Six News markings pulled up, and Bill Goldberg spoke to the driver. In moments, the Jeep sped off, and Jack noticed that Maddy carefully looked the other way.
What was that about? he wondered.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Maddy absolutely refused to have a police officer stay with her. Bill Goldberg had halfheartedly attempted to get her to change her mind, but in the end she was like any other reporter Jack had ever met—hardheaded and secretive. She had finally said that, as she wasn’t under arrest, she was going back inside to change, and then go to work, and would they all please leave her alone.
Jack and Liddell met Captain Franklin on the street and stood around their cars discussing their next move.
“What do you think?” Franklin said, and looked around to be sure no one else was listening.
“I think they would sacrifice their own mothers for a personal interview with the killer,” Liddell said.
“You talked to the station manager, Goldberg. Do you think they will keep their word and cooperate with us?” Jack asked the captain.
“He was lying through his teeth,” Franklin said conspiratorially, “but there’s not much we can do about it.”
“I wonder what Maddy was whispering to him about?” Liddell said.
Jack thought again about the Channel Six vehicle speeding off after meeting with Goldberg. Could have been on a hot call. Maybe the mayor had gotten caught skinny-dipping in the Civic Center fountain. Probably not.
Franklin’s phone rang. “Excuse me a minute,” he said and walked a few feet away. He came back and handed the phone to Jack. “You need to take this,” he said.
“Detective Murphy,” Jack said, and then, “Wait a minute. Let me get something to write on.” He fished through his jacket and found a coffee shop receipt and a pen. “Okay, go ahead, Sheriff.” He wrote a couple of things on the paper and then flipped the phone shut and handed it to Franklin.
“That was Sheriff Tanner Crowley. Dubois County,” Jack said. “They’re working a murder scene at a cabin near Patoka Lake.”
“So?” Liddell asked.
“The killer left a message in blood for me.”
“How do they know it was for you?” Liddell asked.
Jack looked at Franklin. “He wouldn’t say. Captain?”
Franklin looked at his watch. “It’ll take you about an hour to get there the way you drive.” It was about an eighty-mile trip to Patoka Lake from Evansville. “Keep the wheels on the road, Jack,” he said. “And call when you know something. Liddell can take over here.”
Franklin walked away, and Liddell turned to Jack, saying, “Give me the keys to your Cherokee, and you can take my unmarked car. I’ll leave your Jeep at the station and drive your unmarked until you get back.”
“Good idea,” Jack said and traded keys.
“You always get to go on the trips. How come I never get to go?” Liddell complained.
“Keep an eye on Maddy, will you, partner?” Jack asked.
“If you don’t hurry, she may beat you there,” Liddell answered.
Interstate 64 runs east–west at the northern edge of the county. Jack went up U.S. Highway 57 and then turned east toward Louisville. He opened his phone and dialed the number for Sheriff Crowley. When he came on the line, Jack asked some questions he hadn’t previously thought of. Crowley said he’d get back to him.
Jack was just passing the Interstate 164 bypass near the Vanderburgh County limits when his phone rang.
“Murphy,” he said, listened, and then said, “Damn!”
He told the sheriff where he was, hung up, and stepped it up. Eighty. Ninety. At one hundred-ten miles an hour he set the cruise, turned on the wig-wag lights, and gripped the wheel. Traffic was light but would be getting thick with morning work traffic soon.
Crowley had told him that they found a note, stuffed in the victim’s throat, just like Jack had told them. But they were hesitant to remove it until their coroner arrived.
Crowley hadn’t told him much except to get his ass over there and answer some questions, and Jack could understand where the sheriff was coming from. It was an election year. Dubois County had a small sheriff’s department, and Crowley was hoping to have a handle on this before the state police got involved. Once the state police got there they’d start ordering the sheriff and his men around, and Crowley would probably like to get the credit himself.
About twenty minutes out he began looking for Exit 57 that would take him north on 231 through the little town of Huntingburg. That route would take him off the interstate, but if traffic was light he would pass through Birdseye, English, and St. Anthony, and come out at the spot the sheriff had chosen for the meet.
He spotted Exit 57 too late and had to stomp on the brakes. He took the right ramp to the top, then turned north onto State Road 231. Less than a mile down the road he spotted a cow standing in the road; then a couple of deer darted across his path. Up ahead was a black buggy being pulled by a pair of horses. Should have stayed on the damn interstate. He reluctantly reduced his speed to sixty-five, then to forty-five, and then he was in Huntingburg. Rush-hour traffic was an oxymoron.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Liddell and Franklin had set up a loose surveillance team on Maddy Brooks, but it wouldn’t be easy. She was within her rights to refuse protection from the police, as crazy as that sounded, and could even file a complaint or federal charges for violating her civil rights. And that posed a problem. Franklin needed experienced detectives because of the nature of the assignment, but Deputy Chief Dick had interceded and selected the two newest detectives for the job. Franklin hoped he had made it crystal clear to the two men that they were to observe and report and not talk to her.
Then Liddell got down to the tedious work of going through the records once more. He had not even made a dent in them, and wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to find. He’d been at it about ten minutes and was hoping that Jack would call soon to let them know what was going on in Dubois County, when Captain Franklin came in with an embarrassed-looking Detective Jansen following close on his heels.
“You won’t need to finish that, Liddell,” Franklin said.
Liddell looked from Franklin to Jansen. “I think I should do this myself, Captain,” he said, casting a furtive glance at Jansen. Not that he wanted to do Jansen any favors by keeping him from a grunt job—he just didn’t trust him.
Franklin said, “I want you to meet your new help,” and a smallish young woman stepped from behind him. Liddell hadn’t noticed her come into the room.
She smiled and extended a hand. It was very soft, but her grip was strong. Her skin was the color of yellow coal, with dark hair and even darker eyes that bordered on black. Without waiting for Franklin to introduce her, she confidently said, “My name is Angelina Garcia. I’m a civilian intel analyst for the Vice squad.”
Franklin added, “And the best damn computer operator you will ever meet.” He then turned to Garcia and Jansen. “I want you two to take all of those files”—he indicated the folders covering Jack and Liddell’s desktops—“and come with us.”
Jansen let Garcia pick up the majority of the files, and he reluctantly picked up the rest and followed the trio down the hallway.
“Where we going, Captain?”
“Chief’s conference room,” Franklin answered. “He’s given us his rooms until th
is is over.”
Liddell grabbed the stack of files from Garcia and, piling them on top of Jansen’s, said, “You heard the captain. Let’s go.”
A desk had been brought inside the chief’s conference room, and several computer and telephone lines had been set up in preparation. Power cords snaked along the walls and under the thirty-foot-long conference table.
“I’m moving into the chief’s office temporarily,” Franklin said.
“Where’s the chief going?” Liddell asked.
Franklin allowed himself a tiny smirk. “He’s going to take the deputy chief’s office temporarily, and the deputy chief is going to be working out of the Vice unit for a while.” Liddell raised his eyebrows, and Franklin continued, “To gather intelligence for us.”
“I see,” Liddell said. The chief had effectively neutered Double Dick while making it look like he had given him an important job. That’s why he’s the chief, Liddell thought.
“Show me what you’ve got. And call me Garcia,” Angelina said to Liddell.
Liddell explained what the stacks of files were and briefed her about the notes that were found at the scenes of the murders. He also told her about the corresponding notes sent to Maddy Brooks at Channel Six and about the ties to Mother Goose nursery rhymes.
“Mother Goose, huh?” Garcia said. “Where’s the book?”
Liddell promised to bring her the stack of books that Jack had gotten from Katie. “Are the books important?” he asked.
“Don’t know that yet,” Garcia said and looked thoughtful. Then she asked, “And your partner is going to yet another murder scene?”
“Yeah,” Liddell answered. “Patoka Lake area.”
“Be sure you tell me what he finds there as soon as possible,” she said and picked up the nearest stack of files and set them on top of a desk. To Jansen, she said, “I’ll work here, if that’s okay, and you can have that end of the table.”
