The Coldest Fear (13 page)

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Authors: Rick Reed

Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller

BOOK: The Coldest Fear
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CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
It was early afternoon and a drizzling rain was misting down as Jack and Liddell arrived at Samuels's apartment with Sergeant Walker following in the crime scene van. The chief had followed in his own vehicle. Samuels was waiting at the front door of the apartment holding the leash of the ugliest dog Jack had ever seen. Samuels was wearing white pants that were skintight and came down well below his knees. He wore a multicolored pastel top that reminded Jack of one of Susan's blouses. His hair was green tinged now instead of multicolored.
Liddell leaned over to Jack and said, “Must be the mutt he told us about. I've never seen anything like it. What do you think it is?”
Jack looked at the dog and shrugged. She was tall and built like a poodle, but with a pug snout and ears that sat high on her head and rotated like radar dishes. Ugly had a new meaning, but the dog wasn't his problem. Keeping the redneck chief of police from messing with Samuels to the point of losing the focus of this investigation
was
his problem. He looked over at Chief Johnson. The look on the chief 's face said he was spoiling for a fight.
The layout of the apartment was typical of any two-bedroom place. The living room was first, separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. Behind the kitchen was a small hallway that led to the two bedrooms, which shared a bath.
“The big bedroom is Cordelia's,” Samuels said. “It's on the left. And I haven't been in there, in case you want to know.” He had directed this last remark to Chief Johnson, who was standing in the doorway with his thumbs hooked into his gun belt.
“Listen up, Nancy,” Johnson said to Samuels, “I'm gonna stay out on the porch and have a cigar.” He looked at Samuels and ran the cigar in and out of his mouth, and then grinned. “You stay outta these men's way, you hear?” He cast a glance at the dog, which responded with a low growl.
Samuels ignored the insults, and spoke to Jack. “Well, if Boss Hogg's not going to be in here I guess we can wait on the porch. I trust these other men.”
“This won't take long,” Walker said, and they watched Chief Johnson make his way down the stairs and head toward his police vehicle.
“We can talk on the porch,” Jack said, hoping to avoid more hostility. Besides, the apartment was too small for all of them. Liddell and Walker would easily be able to handle it.
Samuels walked to the end of the upper porch and sat in one of his neighbor's white wicker chairs and looked out across the fields. Chief Johnson waddled down the stairway toward his vehicle. As irritating as the man was, Jack wished he would at least stay on the porch so that they could say that he maintained the scene of the search, but you don't tell a chief of police what to do. Jack turned his attention to Samuels.
“Sorry about the chief,” Jack said.
“It's okay. I'm used to it,” he said, and scrubbed the head of the dog, who was looking Jack over very carefully.
Jack chuckled, and said, “Boss Hogg. That's good.”
Samuels looked up at him and grinned. “Don't forget Baldilocks.”
Jack reached out a hand toward the dog, palm up. “Seems like a nice dog,” Jack said.
Before Samuels could warn him, the dog strained at its leash and snapped at Jack's outstretched hand. Jack was able to pull his hand back just in time.
“Sorry, Detective Murphy,” Jon said. “I've only had her a few days and apparently she doesn't like men.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Jack said. “I heard her growling at the chief, but I figured that was just because the chief is a dick.”
Samuels laughed out loud.
 
 
The search of Cordelia's apartment was anticlimactic considering the amount of preparation it had taken to set it up. Liddell came out of the apartment first, and shook his head at Jack's questioning look.
“Not a thing, pod'na,” he said, and peeled latex gloves from his hands. He motioned for Jack to follow him back inside, where he led Jack to Cordelia's bedroom. He kept his voice at a low whisper and said, “Take a look in the closet.”
Jack opened the folding doors. There were dozens of hangers but only two pairs of jeans and a few cotton tops. On the floor of the closet were two pairs of dirty tennis shoes.
“She only had a few clothes with her at the Marriott, didn't she?” Jack asked.
“What young woman that you know has less than a semi-truckload of clothes and shoes?” Liddell shook his head. “Someone has cleaned out her closet, pod'na. And I didn't find any underclothing in her dresser, either. It's like all of her panties and bras have been taken along with her clothes.”
Jack walked to the dresser and opened the drawers. “Let's talk to Samuels,” he said.
Jack and Liddell found Jon Samuels still at the end of the porch with the dog. Chief Johnson was standing at the back of the crime scene SUV talking to Sergeant Walker.
“Jon, would you mind coming in here a minute?” Jack said from the doorway of the apartment.
Jon looked up and a shadow crossed his features. Jack had seen this look on hundreds of witnesses and suspects. The “moment of truth” look. When they realize that you know.
“Does
he
have to know?” Jon asked and nodded toward the chief of police.
“It depends, Jon,” Jack answered truthfully.
Samuels tied the dog's leash to the railing and hugged her, commanding her to stay, and trudged down the porch. He entered the apartment and motioned for the two detectives to follow him into the bedroom. He opened the closet and Jack and Liddell saw a wide assortment of Victoria's Secret–type bras, panties, and other lingerie on hangers. There were at least a hundred pieces in all, and on the floor of the closet was an assortment of high-heel shoes and sandals and boots.
“I guess your Sergeant Walker thought all this was mine,” Samuels said. A sardonic grin played at the corners of his mouth. “Not really my style. Or my size.”
Jack sat on the edge of the bed and said, “What are you not telling us, Jon?”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
The killer stayed in the shadows, leaning against one of the huge metal struts of the abandoned Ohio Street Rail Bridge, and looked down at least thirty feet into the water that flowed below him. He should have come here earlier, but even
he
had to work sometimes.
The Ohio Street Bridge had been abandoned in the late seventies when the new Ohio Street was built less than a hundred yards from the old one. At one time there were two bridges, side by side, one for the trains and one for vehicular traffic, and both spanned the mouth of Pigeon Creek where it emptied into the Ohio River. The railway bridge had been upgraded and painted, but the traffic bridge had fallen into disrepair and was an eyesore in the area.
Just downriver from that spot the Blue Star Casino, the floating riverboat, was anchored. Upriver was the abandoned SIGECO (Southern Indiana Gas & Electric Company) building, which had supplied electricity to the tri-state area before coal stopped being such a big part of the fuel source.
He knew all of this because his grandparents had owned a houseboat that they kept tied up on the water not far from where he now stood. Everything was gone now. His grandparents died while he was still young, and although they had always been good to him, his memories of the houseboat were clearer than those of his grandparents. His life had started inside the cold concrete walls of a mental asylum. He had accepted the fact that he would never see his sister or mother again, and that he had killed his father. He had become The Cleaver.
And now, because of Cordelia, he had found his mother. The woman who had abandoned him. He was grateful to her, because she had caused him to become the man he was today. But he hated her for leaving him with an abusive degenerate who was a father in name only. He had settled up with his old man years ago.
Sometimes, in that dark period between sleep and dreams, reality and “what might be” clashed in his heart. There were nights when he would wake screaming, but there was no sound, and his heart would trip-hammer against his ribs. The medicine the doctors had given him only made it worse. They only numbed the outward expression of disgust and flight he so desperately sought in his dreams. If there was a God, then there was surely a Hell and he had spent most of his life there.
He wished he could make everyone else see what he saw. Feel what he felt. But what he had learned from life is that people tend to ignore others, simply dismiss them, unless there is something life-changing, some catastrophic event, to stamp a memory onto their minds. The thought that people were more forgettable than events both amused and comforted him. Soon there would be another unforgettable event here. In fact, it would be front-page news.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
“Look, Detective Murphy, I don't want to say anything more,” Jonathan Samuels said. He sat on the edge of the couch, head propped between his hands.
“Jon, I don't want you to say anything bad about your friend. I just need to know the truth. That's the best way to help her now. To find out who did this to her,” Jack said. Liddell had opted to wait outside with Chief Johnson. Jon was gradually opening up, but Jack knew the man was holding something back.
Jon let out a deep sigh, and said, “Cordelia was a call girl.” He got up and paced around the room. “Those clothes you found in my room are hers. I hid them from your men because I didn't want anyone to know. But that's all there is. I don't know any more.”
“What about her appointment with Lenny Bange? Could Lenny know more than he is telling us?”
Jon sat motionless. If he heard the question he wasn't going to answer. Jack knew this was all he would get from him for now.
“Okay. That's something, I guess.” Jack stood and handed Jon a business card. “If you think of something else, please call me.” When Jon didn't look up, Jack leaned over him and made eye contact. “No matter how trivial it might seem. Understand?”
Jon gave a half smile. “You're a good man, Detective Murphy.”
“I don't know about that, but if I promise you something you can count on it.”
He left Jonathan Samuels in his living room. The dog barked at him as he walked to the stairway, and continued to do so as he made his way to the car where Liddell waited for him.
 
 
Chief Johnson joined Jack and Liddell in the parking lot.
“Give you anything new?” Liddell asked.
Jack looked at the chief. He was uneasy talking about the case in front of the man. But he
was
the chief of police here and had a right to know what was going on.
“The Victoria's Secret stuff we found in Jon's room belonged to Cordelia,” Jack said, and he noticed that Liddell was surprised but Chief Johnson didn't react. He remembered what Jon had said about the chief 's unwarranted attention to Cordelia.
This little town is just full of secrets,
Jack thought.
“It makes me think we need to dig harder into Louise Brigham's past. Maybe there's something we didn't find there,” Jack said.
“You think she might have been a call girl, too?” Liddell asked.
“So Cordelia's death probably has nothing to do with her living here,” Chief Johnson said, a little too quickly for Jack's taste. “I guess you boys have been barking up the wrong tree.”
The chief hitched his gun belt up and made for Jon's apartment. “I'll tell the judge what you found,” he said over his shoulder, “but first I got some words with Mr. Jonathan Samuels.”
“Did we say that her death had anything to do with living here?” Liddell asked.
“Let me tell you what Jon told me about the chief,” Jack said, and from upstairs they could hear the booming voice of the chief yelling over the strained voice of the younger man.
 
 
On the drive back to Evansville the two detectives drove in silence for a few miles before Liddell broke the silence, saying, “Chief Johnson didn't seem surprised that Cordelia was in the flesh business.”
“You noticed that, too, huh?” Jack had an unpleasant image come to mind of a red-faced, sweating Chief Johnson lying on top of the petite young woman, and he shuddered.
“She worked a part-time job at the Dollar General in town,” Liddell said. “Think we should talk to them?”
“The chief said she only worked there during the holiday seasons. And Samuels said she hadn't worked there for months. I doubt it will be anything.”
“I don't think Louise Brigham was a hooker, Jack,” Liddell said.
“Me either,” Jack admitted. “I think she was just what she appeared to be, a single mom trying to get by.” He was quiet, thinking, and then said, “I think Cordelia was the real target. Brigham was a cover-up.”
“Yeah,” Liddell agreed. “Look at what the killer did to Cordelia. You don't do that kind of violence unless you have a personal grudge. Cordelia was definitely a person of interest to the killer.”
“Samuels knows more than he's telling,” Jack added. “He had time to hide things in the apartment before we came back with a search warrant.”
“How much do you think the chief is involved?” Liddell asked.
“The judge said the chief came here about ten years ago. Cordelia's problems started way before that. Her mother left just after her birth and was never seen again. Her father was murdered by her brother when she was two years old. And according to Samuels and Lieutenant Johnson and others, she has never stopped looking for her mother and brother,” Jack said.
“Which brings us back to her appointment with Lenny Bange,” Liddell added. “But what could Lenny do for her?”
Neither man knew the answer to that question.
“Well, at least we now know how she was going to be able to support herself,” Jack said. “That is something we need to know more about.” He looked out the window and saw golden cornfields glowing in the afternoon sun. “Needle in a haystack,” he said.

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