by Dan Ames
Even that, however, hadn’t survived intact.
The cop saw a piece of jaw in the grass, a chunk of skull on a soot-blackened railroad tie.
There was a little bit of hair and scalp still attached.
Based on that, he guessed it was a white person. Male. Not old.
He was willing to bet on it, and that’s exactly what he would do.
If the medical examiner proved him right, he would treat himself to a piece of Key Lime pie after dinner. If he was wrong, he would force himself to work out.
The final bet, the big one, would be on cause of death.
Was it suicide, drug-related or an accident?
The medical examiner would determine that.
The cop had no way of knowing at that point, the ME would rule it was none of the above.
Chapter Ten
With Adelia having the night off, Mack always rested a little uneasily. He had been through many bad nights with Janice, so he was no novice. However, if things got really bad, it was always nice to have a second set of hands nearby.
The problem with Korsakoff Syndrome was that because parts of the brain were entirely gone from alcohol damage, the disease tended to fill in the gaps left with creative embellishments.
Mostly, these were hallucinations.
If Janice hit the trifecta in terms of a bad hallucination, at the wrong time, with the wrong state of mind, she could get wild and uncontrollable, violent even.
After years of trial and error, however, Janice was now on a combination of medications that made those events few and far between. And even when they did happen, the intensity level was nowhere near what it had been in the early years, before Mack really knew what he was doing.
Now, he swung out of bed, went to the bathroom, then threw on shorts and a t-shirt and went into the kitchen. The coffeemaker used a timer, so a fresh pot was ready and waiting for him.
He poured himself a fresh cup, listened carefully for signs that Janice was awake. When he heard nothing, he carried his coffee up to his office and sat in front of his laptop.
Wallace Mack had been one of the FBI’s first and finest profilers, according to the books that had been written about him, and his cases. His unique insight into the psychology of serial killers had been key in solving some very high profile cases during his years with the Bureau.
Like any job, however, burnout had occurred. As well as the ever-shifting political landscape in an office like his.
So he had retired.
Still relatively young, though, he hadn’t fully retired. He still worked, as a freelancer, for various law firms, private investigative agencies and even law enforcement.
Currently, he was between jobs but he still read the digital editions of many law enforcement magazines and journals. It was good to keep sharp, no matter how old you got.
He read everything he could find when it came to fresh news about serial killers, mass murderers, and new insights into the drive to kill. There was always new research, new methodologies and a growing body of case studies.
The human mind was always a source of amazement and was a mystery that Mack knew would never truly be solved.
Suddenly, a sound erupted from downstairs and Mack bolted from his office chair.
He knew what that noise meant.
Janice was screaming.
Chapter Eleven
The Palm Beach party season was in full swing. On a nightly basis swarms of wealthy people dripping with diamonds would move from one enormous house to another, either driving themselves in Ferraris and Porsches, or being chauffeured in their Platinum Rolls-Royces.
One such party, in a house built in the 1920s and renovated recently at a cost of well over twenty million dollars, was the flavor of the day. Everyone had come, and the party was in full swing.
Flutes of exquisite champagne were offered, along with the finest caviar by white-gloved men in uniform. Classical music was being played live by a small ensemble strategically placed in a ballroom from which the music could be heard in most of the rooms currently opened for guests.
Sheila Conroe was one of those guests, but she had managed to gain access to one of the rooms not currently open. She had achieved this by offering to orally service her date for the evening, the son of the couple who owned the mansion.
He had given her a key, which she had used to unlock the private library on the second floor.
His instruction had been clear, however. She was not to turn on any lights, and she was supposed to put on a blindfold he had given her, along with the key. Additionally, he had told her to avoid being seen by any of the staff, for they would report her immediately to security. The security detail chosen for tonight’s party had a reputation for being no-nonsense, to the extreme.
Sheila was excited. Sex had become a bit boring, and she was aroused by her date’s sudden inspiration.
With stealth, she waited until she was sure no one would see her ascending the back stairs, and then Sheila sped up to the second floor and found the second door on the right. The key fit perfectly and she was inside the room.
It was pitch black, but she knew it was the library.
She could smell the books.
A bit of a bibliophile herself, she knew the smell of a well-stocked library and this one had all the hallmarks. She could practically imagine the leather bound covers, the gigantic fireplace she was sure would be centrally located, and probably a big wooden desk, solid mahogany, with a tall-backed leather chair.
Her memory was phenomenal and she could even imagine the text on the pages of the books. She could get lost in books, using only the pages stored in her mind.
Inside, she waited, her breath a little quick.
From her small pearl-covered clutch, she withdrew the blindfold and slipped it on.
Sheila reached out and felt nothing. She’d hoped there would be a table nearby, or something she could use to get her bearings, but there was just empty, black space.
The only thing she would do was follow directions. That was part of the game.
So she stepped back from the door and got on her knees.
And waited.
From downstairs, she could occasionally hear an especially shrill laugh from a female guest. And somewhere, a door slammed.
Still, she waited.
The blindfold was silk, and it was comfortable, no issues there.
But how long could she kneel here? What if someone from the staff were to come in–
The door opened.
She could feel its breeze and then heard it close softly.
The soft whisper of shoes on carpet.
And then she felt someone in front of her.
Heard a zipper.
She opened her mouth and reached up. Found what she was looking for and took it the way he liked it.
He seemed very excited because it was different. He seemed bigger.
Suddenly, through the blindfold, a blinding light shot into her eyes and then the blindfold was ripped from her face.
She squinted, trying to adjust from utter darkness.
As her vision focused, the face wasn’t that of her date.
Sheila tried to scream, but all she could muster was a garbled sound that immediately preceded the hands around her throat, which cut off the feeble noise.
The man was on top of her and she fought, but he was using his knees to pin down her arms.
One of his hands left her throat and for a moment, wild hope filled her mind, that he was going to let her go. That it was just a game. Maybe rough sex.
But when the blade entered the middle of her chest, all hopeful thoughts instantly evaporated.
She desperately tried to buck her assailant from his position, but then she had no strength to even move.
And then she was dead.
Chapter Twelve
“They’re coming for me,” Janice shrieked as Mack quietly entered her room. He turned on the bathroom light so as not to blind her.
Ja
nice, all 5’ 10” inches of her, was curled up into a tight ball at the back corner of her bed. She had her sheets pulled around her and was covering her face with a pillow.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Mack said gently. He sat on the edge of the bed.
“How can you say that? How do you know?” Her voice had gone down in volume, so Mack took that as a good sign, and step one.
“I know because this is our house and no one is here to take any of us away,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “Everything is okay.”
Mack had always been a patient man, but since taking over care for Janice, he’d become even better.
Now, he waited.
Gradually, his sister’s grip on her pillow relaxed, and she pushed away the sheets that had formed a protective barrier around her.
Finally, she let out a deep sigh.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
Janice nodded.
“Are you hungry?”
She nodded again.
Mack stood up. “I’m going to make pancakes with blueberries. Want to help?”
Janice got up from the bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Mack walked out to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast. Before long, Adelia arrived and looked surprised.
“You trying to steal my job?” she asked him.
“Once you taste these pancakes you’ll realize your job is even safer than before,” he joked. His pancakes actually were pretty good, especially with fresh blueberries.
“How’d the night go?” Adelia asked him.
“Fine up until about twenty minutes ago,” he said. Mack filled Adelia in on Janice’s outburst.
“Huh,” she said. Mack could see her mentally going through everything she had done with Janice the day previous. “It was probably just one of those things,” she said. “Yesterday was a normal day.”
Sometimes, if an upsetting event happened during the day, the stress it caused wouldn’t really appear until the middle of the night, when Janice might have a nightmare about it.
“Let me get in there before you mess this place up,” Adelia said. She nudged Mack away from the kitchen counter and he snatched his coffee cup from its spot, moved around to the island, and sat on one of the kitchen stools.
He loved watching Adelia cook. One of life’s simple pleasures.
She was a big woman, raw boned with wide shoulders and she had a broad face with fine features that could display a sly humor at the drop of a hat.
“Hi everybody!” Janice said as she walked out from the bedrooms into the great room.
“There’s our girl!” Adelia said and Janice’s face lit up. For the umpteenth time, Mack wondered what he would ever do if he lost Adelia. She had a connection with Janice that was beyond explanation.
Janice crossed the kitchen and embraced Adelia. Mack didn’t go and hug his sister – she was uncomfortable with physical intimacy with a man, for some reason. Psychologists had never satisfactorily explained it to him. But for some reason, Janice was skittish with him if he got too close. Not all of the time. Occasionally, she would hug him. Or put a hand on his shoulders. And once in a while he could give her a hug or squeeze her hand.
It was one day at a time.
And no two days were ever the same.
“I had a bad dream last night,” Janice said to Adelia.
Adelia glanced at Mack.
“Is that right?” Adelia said. “Well, everything looks fine now.”
“Oh yes, everything is fine now, but last night it wasn’t. Someone got murdered!”
Janice whispered it with a fierceness that caught Mack off guard.
“In a library,” Janice added.
COGNITION
Chapter Thirteen
With Adelia back in control, Mack put on a pair of trail running shoes and left the house. He lived on a street that dead-ended at a nature preserve. It was a huge chunk of land that had been given to the county, home to Florida turtles, snakes, eagles and even wild pigs.
Once, Mack had seen the pigs. A dark mass of small, fat bodies dashing across the trail ahead of him and thundering into the surrounding foliage.
Snakes were more common. Usually thin, black ones that slithered across the trail well ahead of any walkers or runners. Someone had told him they were harmless. Mack chose to believe them, for peace of mind.
Mack walked the length of his driveway until he got to the street and then he turned left. The preserve was only a quarter mile away and he walked there, the morning sun warm but not hot.
At the entrance, he glanced at the chalkboard that people used to list the types of birds they’d seen. Someone usually chose the space to explore their graffiti tendencies. There was also a bulletin board posted with information about the park and how to donate money for its upkeep.
Mack found the trailhead and considered his options. There were four trails, each varying in length from a little over a mile to nearly nine miles. He chose a middle distance trail and started walking.
He really loved it back here. It was almost always empty and the complete absence of people, cars, and signs of civilization soothed him. It was mostly scrub brush, grass, and pine trees. The path was a combination of dirt and sand.
Sometimes he walked, and sometimes he ran.
Today, he just wanted to walk.
Mack stepped up his pace as he wanted the walk to be at least a mild workout. Even though it was early, the temperature was already nearly eighty degrees and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
He had covered nearly the first mile when he felt his cell phone buzz against his leg. Mack fished it out and looked at the screen.
It was an unknown number, but with a Florida area code.
He debated about letting it go to voicemail. He hated being interrupted on his walks but something made him decide to answer.
Later, he would wonder why he did.
He slid his thumb along the screen to connect to the call, and then placed the phone against his ear.
“Hello?” he said.
There was a long pause and Mack wondered if it was a wrong number. He half-expected to hear a dial tone.
Instead, a soft voice that he recognized immediately spoke to him.
“Mack,” the voice said. “It’s me. Nora.”
He stopped, backtracked twenty yards to where a low green bench had been installed just off the trail for weary hikers.
He sat down.
“Nora,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Mack,” she said, but he could hear the uncertainty in her voice. Even after all these years, he understood her.
“Where are you?” he asked. “I mean, where do you live.”
That sounded really awkward, Mack thought to himself. He had occasionally been tongue-tied by Nora back in the day, just before they were briefly an item.
She laughed softly, recognizing his slight discomfort.
“We live in Miami. North of the city, actually. Boca Raton,” she said. “How about you?”
“I’m on the other side of Florida, near Fort Myers. A little town called Estero.”
Mack had wondered who “we” exactly was, but he was pretty sure it was Doug. He’d known they were married shortly after college. But that was a long time ago. Things change, as he well knew.
“I think I read that somewhere,” Nora said. “When one of your cases was in the news.”
“Funny we both ended up in Florida,” he said, and then after a pause, “How is Doug?”
“That’s just it,” she said. “He’s missing.”
Mack’s first thought was a boating incident.
“Missing as in–”
“It’s a really strange story, Mack.”
Ten feet across from Mack, a black snack darted across the sandy trail and a woodpecker started attacking a tree trunk in the distance. It sounded like distant gunfire.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” he said.
N
ora told Mack exactly what happened, leaving nothing out. Mack listened, going through the details, thinking to himself about what she would miss. It was a cop move, but all cops knew when a loved one goes missing, sometimes a logical thought process is out of the question. On the other hand, Mack knew Nora pretty well, and figured she wasn’t leaving much out, or letting emotion interfere with the facts.
She’d always had a powerful intellect, underscored by a very determined personality.
She finished the story with where she was at the moment, alone, at home, on the phone with him.
“Had he behaved any differently before all of this happened?” Mack asked. “Anything out of his ordinary routine?”
“No. His routine was sacrosanct, anyway. He hardly deviated. Ever.”
Mack thought she said it with a little bit of humor, but also, an added ingredient of something else.
He thought about what to say next. It was a tough one.
“You can’t call the police yet,” he pointed out.
“No, he’s not missing. He left a note saying he was taking care of something. The cops wouldn’t consider it a case. Plus, it hasn’t been twenty-four hours. Not that it matters.”
Mack couldn’t disagree.
He knew Doug, at least, had known him fairly well back in the day.
The issue was the stabbing. The sudden need to leave and take care of something happened all the time. But not usually with victims of violent crime. It was the drug addicts who tended to disappear.
“Explain to me again what the nurse at the hospital said.”
Nora went through that part of the story again. There was a lot missing, a lot that Nora hadn’t thought to ask. Type of stab wound. A puncture? Clean? Ragged cut like from a junkie? Had there been any defensive injuries?
He couldn’t very well tell Nora to go back and interview the nurse. Or hire a private investigator.
Mack took a deep breath.
“Look, I’m only two hours from you,” he said. “How about tomorrow morning I drive over, have a quick conversation with the nurse at the hospital to find out more about Doug’s visit? And then we can talk. If you get in touch with him before then, just let me know. Otherwise, I’ll plan on being on the road first thing tomorrow.”
