by Jacob Stone
Duncan knew it was as worthless a promise as all the others Wainwright had made over the last six years. He didn’t bother answering since Wainwright had fallen asleep, the half-empty rye bottle cradled in his arms.
Chapter 47
Maple Bluff, Wisconsin. October 2006. Three days later.
They found the latch for the basement window broken as promised, and Duncan was able to shimmy himself through it. He held onto the upper frame of the window and lowered himself so he would only drop three feet to the floor, but his injured ankle was still tender, and to keep from crying out when he landed he bit his bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed. Once the pain in his ankle subsided enough for him to put weight on it, he hobbled upstairs. Fortunately, he didn’t encounter any dogs on his way to the front door. He let Wainwright in and after they put on cheap plastic Halloween masks, they headed upstairs to the bedrooms. One of the bedrooms had been converted into a home office, and the coin collection was kept locked away in a closet inside that room.
Wainwright was good with a lockpick, but Duncan was even better, and they probably would’ve been able to unlock the closet door and take the coin collection without waking anyone, but Wainwright didn’t like the way Skerrit had looked when he said there were no guns in the house. As far as he was concerned, Skerrit was just telling them what they wanted to hear, which meant they needed to tie up the married couple and their two children before they went for the coin collection.
Skerrit had provided a crude map of the upstairs, and so they had no trouble finding the master bedroom. The husband was sleeping on his belly, and Wainwright covered the man’s mouth with his hand while he pushed the blade of his knife hard enough against the side of the man’s neck to draw blood. He whispered into the startled man’s ear that his family members would all die if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. The man didn’t make a peep, and Duncan tied his hands and ankles together without the wife waking up. They next did the same to the wife, although Wainwright didn’t bother holding a knife against her. After that, Wainwright searched the bedroom and found a fully loaded .38 caliber revolver in a night-table drawer on the husband’s side of the bed.
“Damn that turd,” he muttered, referring to Skerrit. “We could’ve gotten our asses shot off tonight.”
Wainwright wedged the barrel of the gun in his pants behind his back. They next tied up the fifteen-year-old daughter without any fuss, followed by her ten-year-old brother.
The lock on the closet door for the converted study turned out to be trickier than they expected. After ten minutes of fiddling with the lockpick, an exceedingly exasperated Wainwright declared he’d find an ax to use on the door, but Duncan asked to see if he’d have better luck. Three minutes later he had the door picked and unlocked. Inside was a stack of loose-leaf notebooks filled with plastic sleeves, each sleeve holding twenty coins in carefully arranged pockets. Wainwright whistled as he flipped through the pages.
“This page is filled with gold coins,” he said. He squinted as he read the date on one of them. “Says here it’s from 1804. Never seen anything like it.”
While Wainwright was looking at the coins, Duncan searched through a file cabinet in the same closet and found an appraisal report that was dated three months earlier. So that’s how Skerrit knew about the collection. Whoever appraised the collection must’ve sold the information to him. Duncan flipped through the report and on the last page saw that the coins were worth over 300,000 dollars. He told Wainwright that.
Wainwright acted as if he hadn’t heard him, but from the way his eyes dulled, Duncan knew he had heard him just fine.
“What’s that’s, boy?” he asked.
“This report says that’s how much this collection’s worth.”
“That chiseler was going to pay us eight grand?” Wainwright’s thick lips twisted into a hard smile. “Hell with that. We’re taking these coins straight to Florida and find a buyer there, and maybe for good measure I put a bullet in that turd’s ear for thinking he can cheat us.” A hot intensity burned in Wainwright’s eyes as he mulled over their good fortune. “But goddamn, boy, we should clear a hundred grand easy. You and me are soon gonna be living high off the hog. You take all this to the car and I’ll meet you in a little while.”
Duncan didn’t like the look in Wainwright’s eyes, nor the brutal way he was smiling. He asked, “Where are you going to be?”
Wainwright winked at him. “I got some business with that hot little honey we tied up.”
The old man mistook the disgust on Duncan’s face for jealously. “I don’t blame you, boy. That yellow-haired girlie is one hot piece in her short little nightie and long, skinny legs. I bet her tight ass is as juicy as any fresh-picked peach. We got time. No reason you can’t have a crack at her. But you just got to wait your turn.”
Duncan didn’t see the girl tied-up and helpless in her bedroom as a hot little honey, but instead as a scared fifteen year old, and he hated the idea of what Wainwright planned to do to her. He could see the orneriness burning in Wainwright’s eyes, and he knew if he spoke up all he’d get for his trouble would be a backhand across the mouth. He’d been hit in the mouth hard enough to loosen teeth a few times already for talking back and not showing proper respect, and he didn’t much care to have that happen again. So he kept quiet and watched as Wainwright hurried into the girl’s bedroom and closed the door behind him, but not without giving Duncan a particularly ugly wink. After several minutes a resolve hardened within him. He’d be damned if he would let Wainwright victimize that poor girl in there any further.
Duncan, being as quiet as a mouse, opened the door and snuck inside the room. Wainwright had the girl on her knees with her nightgown hiked up, his wrinkled bare ass on full display, his pants and shit-stained drawers pulled down to his ankles. The booze he had drunk earlier that night had its effect, and he was working to get himself hard so he could penetrate the girl, whose sobs were muffled by a gag. Duncan spotted the revolver lying on the carpeted floor by the foot of the bed. In his haste to take advantage of the girl, Wainwright hadn’t bothered keeping the gun within reach, and instead let it fall where it may when he lowered his pants.
Duncan held his breath as he retrieved the gun and made sure the safety was off. Wainwright was so caught up in what he was trying to accomplish that he had no idea about this until the gun barrel was jammed into his left ear.
“What the hell!” he bellowed.
“You’re going to get off her right now or I’m pulling the trigger,” Duncan said, his voice surprisingly calm.
It took Wainwright a few seconds to catch on to what was happening. “You that impatient you can’t wait your turn?” he snarled, his upper lip curled to reveal his canines.
“Neither of us are having turns with her. I ain’t joking. I count to three and you ain’t off her and putting on your pants, your brains will be leaking out your other ear.”
Duncan started to count to three. Wainwright nearly fell off the bed in his haste to get his pants pulled back up.
“We’re blood, boy,” he said with genuine hurt. “What in the world has gone wrong with you to do this to your own blood?”
“Shut up.”
For the first time since Wainwright had taken guardianship of him, Duncan had the upper hand, and the old man knew he meant business. He finished buckling up his belt and zipping up his pants.
“Looks like you calling the shots for now,” he said, his face crinkling with a forced good humor that didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes. “What next?”
“You’re gonna carry that coin collection to the car, then we’re driving away from here.”
Duncan kept the gun trained on Wainwright, and if the old man did anything other than what he was supposed to, Duncan would’ve shot him dead. But Wainwright collected the binders and carried them out of the house while Duncan trailed behind him.
They had left
their car in a driveway four blocks away. Skerrit had told them the owners were away on a trip, and that the driveway went far enough back that nobody would notice the car parked there. After a block, Wainwright was huffing badly.
“These coins got to weigh over fifty pounds,” he grunted. “I’m gonna have a heart attack, you make me carry these all the way back.”
“You can put them down. I’ll get the car, but if you ain’t here when I get back, I’ll be leaving without you.”
Duncan thought there was a chance that Wainwright would head back to the house and have his fun with the girl just to spite him, but when he returned with the car, Wainwright was sitting where he left him. Duncan turned off the engine, took the keys, and waited until Wainwright finished loading the trunk with the loose-leaf notebooks before he got out of the driver’s seat and moved over to the passenger side.
“You’re going to drive,” he said.
Wainwright made a sour face. “You know I got bad night vision.”
“It will be good enough for now. You know I gotta keep a gun on you.”
The old man didn’t argue the matter, and did as Duncan ordered. Once he was in the driver’s seat, Duncan tossed him the keys.
“How long you gonna point that gun on me?”
“Don’t know.”
Wainwright showed a bare-fanged smile. “All right boss, so where we going?”
“Florida. Like you said.”
For the next hour they drove without either of them saying a word. If Wainwright was waiting for Duncan to tire out and fall asleep so he could grab the gun, he soon realized there wasn’t much chance of that happening. Duncan was as wired as if he had drunk a gallon of high-octane coffee, his right leg nervously bouncing up and down.
Wainwright broke the silence, saying, “You know what disappointed me even more than you not letting me have a good ol’ time with that sweet little girlie? That you ain’t learned the lesson I’ve been trying so hard to teach you.”
Duncan was sincerely confused by the idea that Wainwright had ever tried teaching him anything, and he asked him what possible lesson that could be.
“You take what you want in this life. You see a girlie you want, you take her. You see a sucker with money, you take his money. You don’t feel sorry for them. You just laugh in their faces while you take what they got. Boy, why do you think I came for you and took you out of that house?”
Duncan’s first thought was because Wainwright was a mean prick who wanted to ruin his life, but he said the second thought that came to his head.
“Because you’d gotten too clumsy to pick pockets yourself and too old to climb through windows. You needed me to do the heavy lifting.”
Wainwright’s face crinkled like a bloodhound’s who’d just bit into something nasty-tasting.
“That’s just foolishness,” he said. “I was doing just fine on my own robbing banks. The reason I got you out of that home was because you’re family, and I couldn’t let you grow up soft like your daddy. Look what that life got him. A slave to a paycheck and a mortgage and ending up no better than roadkill. Thanks to me you don’t got to live that sucker’s life. You got freedom to live like a man’s supposed to.”
Duncan felt exhausted all of a sudden. “How’d you know where to find me back then?” he asked.
“I was passing through St. Louis when I saw a story on the news about a tragic car accident that claimed the life of a young couple from Jasper.” Wainwright had said this with a sneer, but his sneer soon faded, and a flicker of regret showed in his bloodshot eyes. “Tommy might’ve changed his name, but I recognized him from the pictures they showed of him and your ma. The news story mentioned an orphaned boy, and so I contacted the authorities. They made me give them some of my blood to prove Tommy was my kin, and that was a dangerous thing for me to do, but I couldn’t abandon my only living grandson.”
“Because otherwise I’d grow up soft.”
“Damn straight.”
Duncan mulled all that over. “It will probably be hours before that family is discovered,” he said.
“Could be a day or longer,” Wainwright agreed.
“And that yellow-haired girl is just lying there going to waste.”
“A damn shame.”
“How about you pull over?” Duncan suggested. “I’ll take over behind the wheel before you kill us, and I’ll turn us around and drive back there. We’ll both have our fun.”
Wainwright rubbed away a tear that had leaked from his eye. “Boy, I’ve never been more proud of you.”
The old man pulled the car over to the side of the highway. His back had gotten somewhat creaky over the last six years, and he had just worked his way out of the car when Duncan approached. He showed Duncan a wide grin. “It took a while, but I finally got you seeing things straight,” he said.
Duncan shot him in his right knee and Wainwright fell to the ground.
“You shot me,” he said as if he didn’t quite believe it.
“If you don’t get on your knees I’m shooting you again.”
“Goddamn you, boy! I’m your flesh and blood. Your grandpa!”
Duncan aimed the gun so it was pointed square in the middle of Wainwright’s forehead. He started to pull back the trigger and only stopped after Wainwright struggled to get on his knees.
“I’m in pain,” he cried.
“That’s a shame. My dog, Buster—did he really run off or did you drive him miles away and abandon him?”
“You shoot me in the knee and that’s what you ask me?”
“You better answer me, old man, or I’ll shoot you in the balls next.”
A meanness edged into Wainwright’s eyes. “It would’ve been cruel for me to do that,” he said. “It would’ve also been a damn waste of gas. I put that flea-bitten mutt in a sack and I drowned him in the creak that ran behind your house.”
Duncan reversed his grip on the gun and hit Wainwright in the jaw with it, putting every ounce of strength he had in the blow. Wainwright’s dentures flew out, as did several of his remaining molars. The old man collapsed on the ground. Whether he was unconscious or dead, Duncan didn’t care.
He got back in the car and drove away.
Chapter 48
Los Angeles, the present
Matt Kammer was scheduled to fly out of Omaha and land at LAX at 9:15 p.m., but he got himself on an earlier flight after seeing a story about the Cupid Killer. He had called Hannah that morning to tell her he would be arriving earlier.
“Of course, there are no nonstops from Omaha,” he complained. “The flight has a stop in Minneapolis-Saint Paul, but at least I’ll be back in Los Angeles at three.”
Hannah, without missing a beat, said, “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“Don’t. I have an errand I need to do downtown, but I’ll be home by six.”
“You’re being ridiculous. I’ll join you.”
“It’s better that you don’t.”
That got Hannah curious. “How come you’re acting all mysterious?” she asked.
“I’ll explain when I see you.”
She was even more curious now. “You can’t give me a hint?”
“No. Sorry.”
Hannah’s cheeks blew up like a chipmunk’s. She could usually get Matt to spill the beans, but every once in a while he got stubborn like this, and when he did, she’d have better luck prying open a clam with her fingers than getting him to talk.
“Okay. I guess. How come the change in plans?”
“Yours truly swooped in like Superman and saved the account. If I stick around today, it would only be for additional wining and dining, and they don’t need me for that. The sales folks here can handle that part just fine.” His voice lowered as he added, “I got onto the Times website and saw a story about that psycho killing women. I’ve been worried sick s
ince then. I just want to be home with you.”
“You know I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“You’re not that big. Barely a smidgen.”
She laughed at that. “You have to admit, a feisty smidgen. And one who knows how to use her elbows and knees.”
“That might be true. But it won’t stop me from worrying. And if I don’t get home soon, I’ll probably give myself a stroke.”
“Now you’re getting me worried. Take deep breaths and try to relax.”
“I’ll try. Promise.”
Hannah asked, “You won’t tell me about this errand?”
“It has to be a secret for now.”
She didn’t like the way that sounded, but didn’t push him to divulge his secret. He came home at six o’clock as promised, and after meeting him at the door with a kiss, she raised her eyebrows and asked about his secret mission.
“I’ll tell you,” he said. “You just have to promise me to keep an open mind.”
She didn’t like the way he said that. Like he was guilty of something. But she didn’t say anything as she followed him to the kitchen. He swung his travel bag onto the counter, then rooted inside of it and pulled out a gun. She knew nothing about guns and had no idea what type this one was other than it was big and deadly-looking.
“You got to be kidding me,” she said.
Matt tried smiling, but it came out sickly. “Hannah, I know how you feel about guns—”
“If you did, you wouldn’t have brought one into my home!”
“Our home.” He pushed a hand through his hair, which was something he did whenever he got flustered. “I saw photos of the two women that maniac killed. They both resembled you. We need this gun until they catch him.”
Hannah was going to argue that he was acting insane. They didn’t even live in Los Angeles, but in Pasadena, and there were millions of women in the greater Los Angeles area for the Cupid Killer to choose from. But she had also noticed how much those two poor women had looked like her, and it freaked her out a bit. Instead, she asked how he got the gun.