Murder Book

by Weber, Frank F. ;

  “No, you don’t.” I wanted to tell her she never really had a choice, ever since Al first selected her. Like Mandy and Brittany, he would continue to use her until he left her for dead. “I’ll call your grandparents and let them know you’re coming for Hannah, then I’ll let the shelter know you’re on your way there. The support will do you some good while you struggle through the rest of your withdrawal symptoms, too.” She was leaning heavily against me, growing so weary she could barely nod in agreement. She looked up at me, her eyes reflecting the gratitude she was unable to voice.

  Vicki was asleep before I’d even turned the car around.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Five

  SERENA BELL

  SATURDAY, APRIL 19

  SANDERSON, FLORIDA

  MY GREATEST DISCOVERY occurred after I returned to the Travelodge Suites in MacClenney, Florida, last night. It was all the luxury sixty dollars a night would buy. I managed to get a room on the second floor, which I had convinced myself was safer, since it was a floor above the dimly lit parking lot. Spending the night alone in a hotel ten miles away from the Baker prison was disconcerting. It didn’t help that the hotel was located thirty-eight miles straight east of Jacksonville, along Interstate Highway 10. I considered whether I was more likely to be murdered by an escaped prisoner or a freeway-traveling serial killer. I attempted to distract myself by surfing the Internet.

  After looking up a variety of trivial information, I found myself wondering again about the name “Alban,” so I typed it in the search engine to see what came up. When the definition popped up, my jaw dropped. Whoever named Alban Brennan either didn’t anticipate he’d have dark hair, or they didn’t consider the meaning of the name. Alban was an old German name. Morrison County was full of old German communities, albeit more old-German ten years ago than today. What would old Germans nickname a guy whose name means “white”? My heart rate ratcheted up a notch and I immediately called Jon.

  Jon was excited with my discovery, and told me he had additional news regarding the investigation to share with me when I returned. I didn’t know why he couldn’t just tell me. My sense was he was handling me with kid gloves. It would have irritated me if I wasn’t 1,500 miles away from anyone I knew. With this in mind, I decided to trust his judgment. Jon told me my rescue of Vicki worked perfectly, and didn’t interfere with the pending investigation. Vicki was now headed to the women’s shelter with her daughter. That felt good.

  To put me at ease, Jon kindly accepted my calls throughout the night. I never did fall into a sound sleep; I simply decided to stop calling Jon, so he could get some sleep. I did have that horrible nightmare again, where I was just lying there on the couch in my parents’ old home, looking at “skull face,” with his puppet chin and shaggy hair. Who was he? This time the dream morphed into his pinning down and assaulting me. It was awful, and the nightmare ended with me engulfed in flames in that house.

  I was afraid Jon was going to ask me to stay longer, since I hadn’t learned anything significant from Ray Benson. Mercifully, he didn’t. Jon knew how afraid I was right now. No matter how late he worked, I was going to wait for him at his parents’ house tonight. Camille and I would share a toast to our successful rescue mission.

  I had to come up with something during my last interview with Say Hey Ray today. Jon had a lot of faith in me, and I didn’t like letting people down.

  SAY HEY RAY WAS BACK, looming across the glass from me. His nostrils flared angrily as he looked me over, and with his thick, shaved head and pasty skin, he reminded me of an albino bull. Ray started the conversation by expressing his disappointment that my shirt was buttoned all the way up to my neck, and lewdly suggested there were ways to get him to give up information. This solidified my belief that he should stay exactly where he was, for as long as possible. Ray didn’t care if I felt degraded, as long as he got what he wanted. He would likely find my humiliation arousing. Begging him for information was just going to result in his wanting to see me beg more, so I decided to try another tactic. As casually as I could, I told the caged bull, “We’ve got some new information, so I’m not sure we can use what you have to offer.”

  His eyes narrowed skeptically. “Hey, you still need something, or you wouldn’t be back.” He crossed meaty arms over his chest and sat back with a greasy smirk.

  Buoyed by the thought of going home after this visit, I confidently told him in my best sing-song voice, “I told you, that’s not how this works. My flight leaves tonight, so I thought I’d give you one more chance to help yourself. If you choose not to, so be it. The case will go forward, with or without you.”

  “You must have had a bad night,” he said, sliding lazy eyes over me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I didn’t answer, just kept my gaze leveled on him. Responding either “no” or “yes” would lead to an extended conversation I didn’t want to have.

  He stroked his Fu Manchu between his thumb and his forefinger, thinking. “So, what do I get if I give him up?”

  “I’m still not convinced you know anything,” I said confidently, waving the figurative red cape in front of him. I had never received so much satisfaction out of changing the power dynamic in a conversation. I hoped to provoke him enough to charge.

  Ray sat stock still, contemplating his next move. He finally nodded, and said, “Okay, what I tell you isn’t any good, unless I agree to testify anyway. She called Whitey. Mandy called Whitey anytime she needed a ride. He was married, and even had a couple kids, but he was chasing Mandy. That’s the son of a bitch who should be sitting where I am.”

  I needed to know with certainty that he was talking about Alban Brennan. “Was this the Whitey who was killed in the car accident?”

  “No,” he snorted. “That’s Off-Whitey. That Whitey offed himself driving wasted. So he went from ‘Whitey’ to ‘Off-Whitey.’ I had a guy working for cash for me, trimming trees, that the old folks called Whitey. Obvious replacement, right? We didn’t even have to learn a new name. Strong farm boy, with big, bushy dark hair, like he thought he was one of the Black Crows. Carrie never liked him, because he was always mackin’ on Mandy, but the man could work.” Ray continued. “After Carrie started finding Victoria’s Secret underwear in the laundry, she confronted Mandy, and whatever had been going on stopped. But hey, I think Mandy got stuck somewhere that night, and since we weren’t around, she called Whitey.”

  Ray was so out of touch with what I was feeling, he had the gall to ask, “Hey, what do I get for it? Besides a break on my sentence, I oughtta see some serious skin.” His eyes crawled over me, and I felt pins and needles prickle across my skin in response.

  I thought for a moment. “I’m a modest woman,” I whispered conspiratorially, “but I could send you a picture.”

  Ray mulled my proposal over. He wanted immediate gratification, but a seductive picture of a law enforcement employee was of high value in prison, and he still believed I was an investigator. Jon told me that, believe it or not, the prisoners managed to get naked photos from some of the prison staff they professed love to, and some from jilted boyfriends of employees. They shared them for status, or sold them like playing cards. If Ray could get a picture of a female investigator, it would be a big notch in his belt.

  Ray leered at me. “Hey, you know what kind of picture I’m talking about, right?”

  Against all of my instincts, I winked. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

  Ray nodded. “All right. But this better be serious.” He realized this was the best he was going to do and, anticipating something sleazy, was placated enough to continue. “Whitey’s the one whose daughter just got jacked. That Brennan guy. Mandy’s leaving didn’t bother me at the time, because she was being a pain in the ass. Stopped listening. Just did what she wanted. But it broke her mother’s heart. Carrie slept in Mandy’s bed every night after Mandy disappeared. Years later, I realized Whitey got away with murder.” Ray leaned back in his chair, adding, “I lov
ed Carrie as much as I’m capable of loving anyone.”

  My first thought was that it wasn’t a hell of a lot, but I remained silently attentive.

  Ray went on, “Hey, I still have friends in Minnesota, so I know what’s going on back there.”

  I had just knocked it out of the park. Ray verified that Al Brennan was Whitey. I took another shot. “Mandy was wearing your leather jacket the night she was murdered, and that jacket was found at a crime scene a couple weeks ago. What was your jacket doing at a crime scene in Minnesota?”

  Ray tilted his head in confusion. “What jacket?” he asked. After a minute, it came to him. He smirked. “I got a brown leather jacket as a make-up gift from Carrie, so I was stuck with it. It looked like something some dude in a boy band would wear. Mandy decided if I wasn’t going to wear it, she would. I haven’t seen that jacket for a decade.”

  I realized it hadn’t been listed among Mandy’s missing items because it wasn’t her jacket.

  Ray was baffled. He finally suggested, “Mandy told everyone that Jon gave it to her, and that was fine with me. Maybe Jon decided to keep it.”

  I thought out loud. “I don’t think Jon took your jacket. It was found on the scene before he arrived. Buttons from that jacket were found in Mandy’s bedroom the night she disappeared. Investigators initially hypothesized that the killer had struggled with Mandy in her bedroom the night she disappeared, and in the process, a couple of buttons were torn off.” I didn’t bother to share that this was before the investigators knew I had picked Mandy up and brought her to Pierz.

  Ray breathed wetly through ever-expanding nostrils as a realization came to him. “Hey, that son of a bitch tried to set me up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Whitey must have known that jacket was mine. He left buttons off my coat in her room, after he killed her, to make people think it was me. Mandy must have told him no one was home—after all, that’s why she had to call him.”

  “But why wouldn’t he leave the whole jacket?”

  The answer was clear to Ray, and he laughed at my ignorance. “That’s too obvious. Hey, if I was going to set somebody up, I wouldn’t leave his winter jacket. Nobody in Minnesota is leaving without his jacket in the middle of winter. You’d realize you didn’t have it as soon as you stepped outside. But you might not think about picking up lost buttons.”

  So, Al Brennan had gone to Mandy’s house that night. I was suddenly struck with a terrifying thought. I had honestly never considered that the killer had been in my house, too. It explained why he was comfortable returning to assault me. I asked, “Ray, what does Al look like? I’m not familiar with the Black Crows.”

  Ray thought for a moment and scowled. “Take a skull and stretch some skin across it like saran wrap, then throw a black mop on top for hair.”

  Without saying another word, I got up and walked out. My stomach was flipping over like rocks in a tumbler. I had always known who killed Mandy Baker. The weight of that knowledge made the walk to my car seem endless.

  I CALLED JON IMMEDIATELY and breathlessly shared what I had. I told him I needed a picture of Al Brennan. He said he’d get one from Tony and send it to my phone. While I was packing at the hotel, the picture arrived. Nightmare after nightmare of lying in bed swirled through my mind, looking up at the face of a man whose skin was pulled tightly over his skull, marionette lines down his chin. It was a caricature of Alban Brennan. My brain had been trying to tell me the answer this whole time. Al must have picked Mandy up that night ten years ago, and stood over me for a moment when I was lying on the couch. In my alcohol-induced haze, I’d seen him. I was a loose end in the Mandy Baker case, a witness who could identify him.

  My memory of Al from ten years earlier probably wouldn’t be enough to prosecute him for Mandy’s murder. Even though we couldn’t do a lot with what we had, this was a breakthrough. The focus of the investigation would now be on Alban, and we had just earned Victor his freedom.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Six

  JON FREDERICK

  SATURDAY, APRIL 19

  LITTLE FALLS

  AFTER LEAVING VICKI at her grandparents’ home, I called Maurice Strock and told him I had new information I wanted to share with the investigators. Maurice told me to be at the makeshift BCA headquarters in an hour.

  I laid out the information I had. Al Brennan had worked for Say Hey Ray Benson. Ray said Mandy Baker would have called Al, whom he referred to as “Whitey,” if she was stranded. Mandy had told me, when we were dating, that she flirted with the guys who had a weekly card game at her home, and she referred to one of the guys as “Whitey.” Al would have been twenty-six years old, while Mandy was sixteen. On the night Mandy disappeared, Serena fell asleep before Mandy left, so she couldn’t clearly identify who picked Mandy up. But Al must have hovered over her before leaving with Mandy, because Serena had nightmares of a face resembling Al Brennan since. Serena was assaulted at the same home where Al had picked up Mandy. Serena’s attacker told her he liked it rough. Vicki Ament shared that Al sodomized her and stated that he liked it rough during the assault. Al also told Vicki that he had killed before.

  The room fell quiet. Then Maurice, sitting back in his mousy gray suit, pointed out that much of what I had was conjecture, and couldn’t be used in court. Tony came to my rescue by asserting that convictions are still obtained solely on circumstantial evidence.

  I suggested that Maurice send an investigator to interview Ray Benson. Ray would verify that Al had a thing for Mandy. My frustration was becoming obvious, so I calmed myself and said, “Al Brennan returned on the morning Brittany disappeared, covered in black mud. He claimed he was at the south field, but the soil in the south field is sandy. You can brush it off your clothing. But it’s heavy clay where we found Brittany’s body. And remember, I was shot near the south field when I was checking out Al’s story.”

  Now I had everyone’s attention.

  I walked over to an aerial view of 210th Street and pointed out how Al could have easily traveled by foot from the farm to the site where Brittany was found, in order to entomb her in the culvert. “My guess is he picked Brittany up on the road and, after he drove by the farm, they argued. Brittany told him she wasn’t going along with his abuse anymore. Maybe she even tried getting out of the vehicle. Narcissists, like Al, can’t stand being denied. So, he grabbed the awl and stabbed her. Then he tranquilized her while he considered his next step. He probably had the tranquilizer along in case she didn’t consent.” Hearing the facts out loud sickened me all over again.

  Tony picked up the thread. “Then Mary called Al and told him Jason was organizing a search party, so he rushed home and deliberately directed the search away from Brittany’s body. Jason’s alibi was that he was putting a new stereo in their vehicle. The stereo wasn’t replaced in their van, but it was in their truck. Jason had the truck. Mary heard the truck in the yard, and assumed Al had returned. But Al had the van.”

  Confused, Maurice said, “I thought the van didn’t run.”

  Tony responded, “Not without the awl, or some long tool to start it. The awl wasn’t in it when we tested it. But Al knew the trick to starting it.”

  Sean interjected, “There was a lot of porn on the Brennan computer. Jason admitted viewing some of it, but blamed it primarily on Al. One of their favorite sites was Barely Legal. It’s basically eighteen-year-olds who look much younger. Consider the victims—Mandy at sixteen, Vicki at sixteen, Brittany at eleven, and Serena would have been seventeen when he first set his sights on her, and she’s still petite.”

  “We all agree that Al burned Jeff Lemor’s trailer, along with their van,” I said. “Serena’s home was burned after she was assaulted.” I clapped my hands together, and asked, “Are we in agreement that Al needs to be brought in?”

  Sean nodded approvingly.

  Maurice asserted his authority by reminding me, “You’re still not working this investigation.” He turned to Sean and pointed a gna
rled finger at him. “We’re here only to listen.”

  Paula was incredulous. “For God’s sake, Maurice, let’s finish this.”

  Maurice leaned forward and told Paula, “Be careful of how you talk to me. I’m your superior.”

  Paula retorted, “You only need to remind people when it’s not obvious.”

  Tony interrupted the feud before Paula got herself in trouble. “Jason told me they kept an awl in the van. We don’t have the awl, but we know Brittany’s wound was inflicted with one.” Tony stood up and paced. “Jon’s version makes sense. Al must have kept Mandy’s jacket as a trophy, then realized he could use it to implicate Jon in Brittany’s attack. Jon had already been a suspect in Mandy’s disappearance after all.”

  Maurice turned toward Tony. “Didn’t I just say we weren’t going to share any more information?”

  Tony coolly reminded him, “Maurice, you’re not my boss. Referencing the Steve Miller song, he added, “Aren’t you supposed to be lovey-dovey all the time?”

  Maurice hated being disrespected. His face tightened and he blurted, “The polygraph.”

  Not wishing to humiliate Maurice, I politely interjected, “I think Jeff failed the polygraph because he didn’t reveal he had seen Brittany walk down that road before. He was afraid of being sentenced for premeditated murder, not because he actually hurt her. We know Jeff didn’t shoot me. Al is the one with a motive. I can prove his alibi was a lie.” When no one responded, I turned to Sean. “Sean, what do you think?”

  Sean rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’m just taking it all in.”

  Maurice used the pause in conversation to ask me to leave.

  Having no choice, I made my exit.

  HOW MUCH MORE OBVIOUS could I make it for them? While I was obsessing over the predicament, my phone rang.

  “Jon, it’s Vicki. I need your help.” She sounded breathless.