Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (22 page)

Jo took a deep breath and stood up. For a moment, her hands hovered near her waist. Finally, she let out a puff of air, grabbed her shirt and yanked it over her head, tossing it on the bed. Carefully, she shed the rest of her clothes. Once she was completely nude, she spread her arms wide and turned in slow circles next to her bed.
Take a good look, you bastard. Come and get me. I dare you!

Her face burned with shame, but she forced herself to keep from covering her nakedness. She needed to egg him on, force him to show his hand. She tilted her head toward the ceiling and sent a defiant look toward the ceiling fan where she assumed he had hidden the camera. Her hair tumbled down her back and she could feel the curls glide across her shoulders as she made one more turn.

Finally, she walked into the master bathroom and turned on the shower as hot as she could stand. After steam filled the room, she climbed in and stood in the scalding spray, trying to wash away her humiliation.

* * *

Crack!
Somewhere in Dr. John Goodman’s subconscious he felt the slap to his cheek, but he slept on, because the dream was more seductive. In it, Jo’s arms wrapped around him, and he felt her warm, moist breath in his ear when she told him they would be together always.

Another hit. This time, John felt his head snap back at the vicious backhanded blow and it thumped against the surface behind him. Jo vanished like a vapor and his cheek burned where he had been struck. Bright points of light flashed behind his eyelids. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what was happening to him.

A gruff voice next to his ear growled, “Wake up, Goodman. I’ve got something to show you.”

He forced his bleary eyes open and he turned his head to see who was speaking. The man standing next to him wavered in and out of his vision, but John saw he had pale gray eyes and black hair. He wore a green plaid shirt. A part of John’s brain registered the man was about his own age, maybe a few years younger.

John tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. Swallowing, he felt saliva loosen his tongue. He managed to croak out, “Who . . you?” He tried to pull his thoughts together, but they were fuzzy and he couldn’t seem to form his words properly.
Have I been drugged?
“Where … where am I?”

A sly smile crossed the man’s features. “That’s not really important for your purposes. What you should be asking me is, why are you here?”

His mind wandered away from the man and the aches in his body began to register. His neck was sore, probably from being at an uncomfortable angle when he was unconscious. He felt a dull pain throbbing throughout his body. He looked down and saw he was sitting upright in a solid, old-fashioned office chair, with casters on the bottom of the legs. His wrists and ankles were strapped down with zip ties. Experimenting, John tugged at his restraints and realized he was only making them tighter, so he stopped struggling.

The man clapped his hands in front of John’s face and the sharp sound set off the over-worked nerves in his head. “Pay attention. The drugs should be wearing off by now, so listen up.”

The man grabbed John’s chair from behind and pushed it along the floor. John realized the man was right, he was starting to feel a little less woozy. He took the opportunity to look around and saw he was in the middle of a cavernous room, with exposed brick walls. The cement floor beneath his feet had rust spots and holes, where it appeared manufacturing equipment had once been mounted. The windows high above were dingy, letting in sickly daylight. The last thing he remembered was sitting on Jo’s couch in her den, waiting for her to come home.
How did I get here?

The man pushed him in the chair until he was seated in front of a laptop on a scarred oak desk. “Here’s what I want you to see.” He clicked the mouse and the screen lit up. A grainy image appeared and John leaned forward slightly to get a better glimpse.

On the screen, he saw a nude woman, standing next to a bed. She spun in slow, lazy circles and John wondered why the man was showing him this video.

And then it hit him like another physical blow.
Jo!

His befuddled mind cleared with the shock. John recognized Jo’s bedroom. The red curls he loved to wrap around his hands cascaded down her strong back.

Seeing her in this vulnerable state made him realize she would go to just about any length to save him. Jo kept her eyes averted from the camera until the very end, when she looked directly at the lens. John knew her well enough to see the humiliation in her eyes, but he also saw defiance. She had purposely provoked the kidnapper. Not in a sexual way, but in a “C’mon and get me” sort of way. Jo was poking the man with a very sharp stick and the acid in John’s stomach churned.

He tugged at the restraints, until he felt a trickle of warm blood at his wrist where the tough plastic of the zip ties cut into his flesh. John’s head flew up, searching for the man who made him watch Jo on the screen. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

The man’s sly grin was back, wider than before. He froze the screen with Jo’s face staring upward at them both. “Special Agent Schwann has become very important to me. Let’s just say I have a vested interest in keeping an eye on her.”

“You sick bastard! You put cameras in her house.”

“I’ve been watching for several weeks now. Until Agent Schwann looked up at the camera, I was convinced they had remained hidden. The FBI was snooping around, looking for signs of you, by the way. When they didn’t find my surveillance cameras in the search, I thought my secret was safe.” He pointed to the frozen image of Jo. “However, now there can be no doubt that she knows I am watching.”

He tilted his head to one side and added, “I think she looks pleased by my attention, don’t you? Enraptured, even.”

John shivered. This man was clearly out of his mind. And Jo was in terrible danger. As he watched Jo he knew she had performed for the camera, knowing that it would taunt the bastard into revealing himself.

* * *

Jo stayed in her shower until the water turned cool. When she stepped out onto the tile floor of the bathroom, she heard her cell ringing in the bedroom. She wrapped a towel around her wet body and dashed for the phone. She saw it was Frisco and she asked, “Find any more background on our DNA match?”

He spoke in a rush, “Just for kicks and grins, I called the Baltimore PD about the death of Bishop’s mother, Karen. She died in 1987, of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. You’re not going to believe this … it was another shotgun blast to the mouth.”

Jo sat down on the edge of the bed and tucked the towel tighter around her body. “Really? That can’t be a coincidence. Is the BPD certain it was a suicide?” Jo questioned.

“Well, that’s where things get even more interesting. The detective who pulled the file said there was an interview with one of the children, who was present at the time of the shooting. And guess which kid that was?”

Jo could feel Frisco’s excitement. “Robert.”

“Uh-huh. Seven year-old Bobby swore his father was responsible. He was hysterical and couldn’t give them any specifics, so the cops assumed he meant Karen was so depressed over a bad breakup that she took her own life. In light of our recent shootings with the same gunshot to the mouth, I wonder if there is some other explanation for Karen’s quote-unquote suicide.”

Jo’s heart pounded and she stood up, remembering to grab her towel just before it fell away from her body. “Are you thinking maybe Freemont was the father?”

“The thought crossed my mind. His wife did say he wasn’t the best husband in the early stages of their marriage.”

“So maybe someone is going after Freemont for revenge. But why now? And who? We know it couldn’t have been Robert Bishop, because he was already deceased at the time of Freemont’s murder.”

“I would say we’re back to looking at Bishop’s siblings.”

Jo sighed. “I already researched Thomas and Sarah. They were clean as a whistle. The only loose end is Michelle, the sister who disappeared in college.”

“So, it would appear we need to solve an old missing-persons case to solve our current cases. I wouldn’t mind taking a peek at the visitor logs while Robert Bishop was incarcerated in Baltimore. Never know who might pop up on his visitors list,” Frisco said.

“You mean, like a missing sister.”

“Exactly.”

Jo sat up and said, “You know, something else just occurred to me. I think it’s about time I look into Robert Bishop’s death. Everything about this family is screwed-up. Maybe his mother’s death wasn’t the only one made to look like something else.”

Frisco whistled. “You think Robert may have been killed on purpose, to cover something up?”

“What if Robert Bishop moved to Minneapolis to finally confront his father about his mother’s death? Maybe even blackmailed him. Don’t you think it’s awfully convenient Robert died in a shoot-out with the cops, not too long after he relocated to the Twin Cities?” Jo said.

“That’s a big ‘what if.’” Frisco paused and then continued, “But, you know, stranger things have happened. Let me know what you find out and I’ll do the same.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Turners Bend

March

The countdown to the premiere of
The Cranium Killer
was on. Chip had assembled all the key players: Myrtle Bauer, who was in charge of ticket sales, Mayor Johnson, Lance, Chief Fredrickson and a few other committee members.

They met in the theater and sat bundled in their outerwear because the heat was being kept low in the building. At 7:00 p.m. the temperature outside had risen to twenty-three degrees with a wind chill of minus two degrees. Chip had thought January and February were brutal, but March was proving to be the icing on this winter’s cake.

“Thank you everyone for coming. This is our final volunteer committee meeting. You have put in a lot of hours and have done a great job. The Bijou looks spectacular. Now on to the celebrating,” Chip said to the group gathered in the newly finished seats of the theater. “First on our agenda is Myrtle Bauer to outline the timetable of events for next Friday.”

There was hardly a person in the assembled group who had not been in Ms. Bauer’s History or Government class at Turners Bend High. She was just over five feet tall and almost five feet wide. She waddled to the front of the stage, lifted her glasses from the chain around her neck and gave the group a stern look, as she waited for complete silence.

“The day will start with the ribbon cutting at 9:00 a.m. Mayor Roger Johnson and Mr. Collingsworth will cut the ribbon, and the Mayor will give a brief speech.” She scowled at the Mayor. “Keep it short Roger, no droning on as you are prone to do.”

She checked her note cards and cleared her throat. “Then the showings will begin and continue all day and into the evening. I am happy to report the pre-sale of tickets will insure a full house for each showing. We have a waiting list for those who still have not learned procrastination leads to poor results. The red carpet will be rolled out for the 6:00 p.m. show. Dignitaries will be interviewed by reporters from Ames and Des Moines TV and radio stations. Once all are seated, Mr. Howard Glasser, the film’s producer, will give a short address. The gala will follow the performance. This event is bigger than the day Pope John’s motorcade drove through Turners Bend on the way to the basilica in Dyersville. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

“Can I get a ticket for my cousin from Perry?” asked the man in charge of ushers.

“I cannot grant special favors. Put his name on the waiting list,” answered Myrtle.

“Thank you, Myrtle,” said Chip. “Next on the agenda is Chief Fredrickson to detail security measures. Chief.”

The chief helped Ms. Bauer to her chair and began his briefing. “The State Patrol will be on hand to control traffic. Extra-duty officers from Perry, Grimes and Webster City will be here to monitor the crowds and provide back-up for Deputy Anderson and myself. If our good citizens just obey Ms. Bauer’s request for good behavior, we will have a safe and trouble-free event.”

“What about the killer that’s on the loose, Chief? Will our young women be safe? I think every girl should be escorted by a patrolman.”

“Rest assured, Myrtle, the safety of everyone is of utmost importance to us.” The chief hopped down from the stage.

“Last on our agenda is Lance Williams with his report on the gala.” Chip nodded toward Lance.

Lance, dressed in Ralph Lauren from head to foot, took over. “In keeping with our ‘Return to the Glamour of 1930s Hollywood’ theme, we will decorate the school gym starting Thursday as soon as classes are dismissed. Our wonderful committee, led by Dr. Jane, has booked a dance band from Chicago. The Starlights will be playing music from that era. The Bun and the Bend will be providing food and libations for the evening. In addition to dancing, we will have a casino set up in the lunchroom and at midnight there will be a drawing for an all-expenses-paid trip for two to Hollywood. Thanks to an anonymous donor, it should be a night to remember.”

“Who’s the donor, Lance?” asked the mayor.

“Mr. Anonymous, Mayor.”

There was laughter and a smattering of applause as Lance returned to his seat. Chip checked his notes. “That’s it for this evening. Thanks again for your work on this project. It’s time to polish those dancing shoes and tiaras.”

The group exited the theater literally buzzing with excitement. Chief Fredrickson hung back, waiting to lock up. When only Chip remained, he took a seat and sighed deeply.

“We’ve got a problem. I got a phone call today. The voice sounded mechanical, but the message was clear. Our killer is going to be here next Friday to scout for recruits. Those were the exact words, ‘scouting for recruits.’ I called Masterson immediately, and the FBI is trying to trace the call. She also informed me another body has been found.”

“Where this time?”

“In an abandoned silo in Iowa City. She’s 99% sure that it is Tracy Trent. Seems Trent had two pins in her right arm from a break she had as a child, so identification is pretty simple. Masterson warned me, when it’s confirmed, there will probably be a public announcement about the serial killer. Because of the phone message she will stall until after the premiere, but then all hell is going to break loose. She’s setting up FBI surveillance and calling in a squad of agents. We’ll be swarming with dudes in black suits and sunglasses and plugs in their ears.”