Alter Ego

by Brian Freeman

  “I’m not accusing anyone. Not yet.”

  “Oh, well, now I feel better. Maybe you’d like to explain why you think Dean was somehow involved in the deaths of these women.”

  “Probably because he sexually assaulted them and he was afraid they’d talk,” Cab told her.

  This time, Mo’s face reacted immediately. Her eyes turned to ice that could have frozen the humidity in the Florida air. “What a grotesque thing to say. If you repeat anything like that in public, I promise you, we will take legal action. This is not a game, Cab. When you are in our position, there are always people who want to invent lies and cut you down to size. You learn to live with it. You learn when to turn the other cheek and when to sue. But honestly, I’m used to dealing with strangers and outsiders about this kind of venomous nonsense. Not people who are part of our world. You should be ashamed of yourself for coming here. You should be ashamed of yourself for manipulating your mother into getting you an invitation on false pretenses. You can both leave now and we’ll call this over and done, but I assure you, if I hear even the barest rumor of what you have said coming back to me in the future, I will do whatever is necessary to strip you and your mother of every dollar, every friend, every shred of goodwill and reputation you have in Hollywood. Are we perfectly clear about that, Cab Bolton?”

  “Dean raped Tarla,” Cab said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “That is a despicable lie. Tarla would never say something like that.”

  “It was on the set of Society of One. Dean got her the part. She paid for it by being drugged and assaulted. How many other times has he done it, Mo? Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

  Mo didn’t speak for a long time. She got out of the chair and wandered to the balcony of the porch, where steps led down to the boat dock and the water. She spoke to them without turning around. “At least I understand now, Cab. I don’t forgive you, and I don’t take back a word of what I said, but I do understand why you would launch yourself on this misguided quest.”

  “Misguided?” Cab said acidly.

  “I really need to speak to Tarla about this.”

  “Are you saying you had no idea that Dean is a predator when it comes to women?”

  Mo spun around with the speed of a snake. She jabbed a finger at Cab. “Stop it. You don’t know what you’re saying. I wish we all lived celibate, virtuous, faithful lives, but we don’t. Tarla certainly never has. You think I don’t know how many marriages she’s broken up over the years with her affairs? You think I don’t know that you have no idea who your own father is? Grow up, Cab. Did Dean sleep with Tarla? Of course he did. Did I know about it? Of course I did. I’m very sorry that Tarla feels the need to reinvent herself as an innocent victim in a relationship that she instigated. Much as she did over and over again with other married men in the last thirty years.”

  “You can’t possibly believe that Tarla seduced Dean,” Cab said.

  “A wannabe actress trying to manipulate a huge star by using sex? You’re right; that’s a story we’ve never seen in Hollywood.”

  Cab got up. So did Maggie. She felt shell-shocked, watching the back-and-forth as if it were some kind of battle of gladiators. Tall as he was, Cab loomed over both of them.

  “If you’re that naive, Mo, I feel sorry for you,” Cab told her. “I’m not going to stop. You can’t hide from this forever. The truth about Dean is going to come out, and when it does, he’ll be in prison, and you’ll both be ruined. Count on it.”

  The guard in the white suit appeared as if by magic to lead them out. Maggie and Cab retreated silently into the house, but as they did, Mo called to them from the balcony.

  “Both of you, take a good look at the awards and the honors as you leave,” she said in a voice that carried through the empty mansion. “That’s forty years of doing good in this world, on-screen and offscreen. That’s my husband. That’s the truth about Dean.”

  22

  Stride looked up as Serena appeared in the doorway of his office. She didn’t look happy.

  “What did you find out about Rochelle Wahl?” he asked.

  Serena sat down on the other side of the desk and glanced over her shoulder before giving him an update. He noticed a strange buzz of conversation in the cubicle farm outside.

  “I asked the medical examiner to reexamine the report,” she told him, “just in case anything got missed. The body itself was already released and cremated. It’s going to be hard to get the manner of death switched at this point.”

  “Do we have any evidence that the girl was at Casperson’s house?”

  “Nothing so far. I talked to two of the bus drivers on the Number 3 route out of Proctor. They both knew Rochelle pretty well, but they can’t remember whether she took the bus on Saturday afternoon. I’ve interviewed people on the film crew, but they’re tight-lipped. Nobody wants to get in trouble with Casperson. I’m trying to get phone records from Rochelle’s cell carrier to see if she called or texted anyone on Saturday about where she was.”

  “What about Curt Dickes?” Stride asked.

  “I showed him a photo, but he couldn’t identify her. He only saw the girl from the back as she was getting into John Doe’s car.”

  “So we think we know what happened, but we can’t prove it,” Stride said.

  “Right.”

  “That seems like the story of this case.”

  Serena nodded. She glanced over her shoulder again, and the concern in her eyes told him that something was wrong.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “It’s out there,” she said. “The article about you in the National Gazette. It went online a few minutes ago. Guppo found it.”

  Stride eased back in the chair and exhaled as he ran both hands back through his hair. “How bad is it?”

  “Savage.”

  She held up her phone, so he could read the headline:

  COP IN DEAN CASPERSON THRILLER HAS TROUBLED PAST

  “Just give me the greatest hits,” he said. “Does it talk about you and me?”

  “Oh, yeah. You cheated on Andrea with me. I stole you away from her. Then you cheated on me with Maggie. By the way, they imply that your affair with Maggie has been going on for years. Even back when you were with Cindy.”

  Stride swore under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

  “They also hint that you cheated on Cindy with Cat’s mother, Michaela. Basically, you’re just a serial adulterer, Jonny.”

  “Should I get a lawyer?” he asked.

  “They use just enough weasel words to stay out of trouble.”

  “Plus, some of it’s true, right?” Stride said.

  Serena stared at him. Her eyes said that this was a road they didn’t need to travel again. “Whatever’s true is out of context. We both know that.”

  “Thanks. What else is in there? What about the job?”

  “They dredge up the Mort Greeley suicide from years ago. Nothing about Ray. Nothing about Art. They make the whole thing sound like it was your fault. They also suggest that you were friends with Art and that’s why you overlooked evidence that implicated him in The Caged Girl case. So three women died because you refused to consider Art a suspect.”

  Stride shook his head. “Dean Casperson wants to make sure I get the message: don’t mess with him.”

  “Right.”

  “What about Cat? Anything about Cat?”

  “No, nothing about her, thank God. And they didn’t use the photo of the two of you on the porch. Honestly, I don’t know why they left it out.”

  “This was the shot across the bow,” Stride concluded. “If we keep going after Casperson, then they come back and slime Cat. Whatever they do to her will be ten times worse.”

  “We can’t let that happen, Jonny.”

  “I know.”

  Dean Casperson had them in a box. Stride didn’t care what the tabloids said about him, but attacking Cat was a different story. He would do whatever w
as necessary to protect her.

  Before they could say anything more, another shadow crossed the doorway of Stride’s office. His day just kept getting worse.

  “Hello, you two,” Police Chief Kyle Kinnick said in his distinctive reedy voice that whined like a badly played clarinet. The chief wandered inside, dressed in a light gray business suit that didn’t fit him well. He was a small man with a comb-over draped across his head, droopy bloodhound eyes, and ears that jutted out like angel’s wings. His feet pointed away from each other when he walked, as if they didn’t get along.

  K-2, as he was called, had been Stride’s boss for years. They were both Duluth lifers. At sixty years old, the chief was stubborn and gruff, but the two of them had carved out a relationship that worked well most of the time. K-2 did the politics and rarely interfered in day-to-day police work. He yanked the leash on Stride only when crime started bubbling over into the newspapers.

  Like now.

  Serena took the hint and made a quick exit and closed the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. K-2 leaned over with both hands on Stride’s desk. The chief’s mouth wrinkled into a scowl.

  “You’re famous, Jon. And not in a good way.”

  Stride shrugged. “It’s tabloid crap.”

  “Of course it is, but that’s not the point. Now the story becomes the story. You don’t think the local media’s going to pick this up? Everyone in town is going to be gossiping about you.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  “Well, I care. It’s not good for you, it’s not good for us. Any idea why they came after you?”

  “The murder investigation is getting close enough to Dean Casperson to make him uncomfortable. If Casperson picks up the phone, the tabloids do his bidding. He’s trying to warn me off.”

  “Dean Casperson? You sure about that?”

  “It’s him or the people around him.”

  “Uh huh. You’re poking a beehive with some pretty big bees, Jon. And what the hell is Maggie doing in Florida? I told her I wasn’t paying for that.”

  “She went on her own dime. There was a murder in Naples that’s connected to the dead girl up here. She’s checking it out. Casperson’s name keeps coming up with the police down in Florida, too.”

  K-2 dropped into the chair and dug in his ear. “I’m not sure you appreciate the kind of people you’re dealing with, Jon.”

  “I think I do,” Stride replied. “I’m the one with my personal life all over the papers.”

  “A tabloid headline is the least of your problems. The mayor was already on the phone with me today to ask why my detectives have been showing up on film sets and harassing the actors and crew.”

  “If by harassing you mean asking questions about a girl who was murdered, then that’s true,” Stride replied.

  “Oh, hell, I’m not saying your team is doing anything wrong. Thing is, if you push, these people push back. You’re dealing with folks who have money, fame, and influence and aren’t shy about throwing it around. This film is very important to a lot of people in state and local government who want to put Minnesota on the map for Hollywood projects. If they get complaints, they call me.”

  “I appreciate your running interference, sir. I always do.”

  “Well, that’s fine. That’s my job. I don’t care who you go after as long as you find the proof to get them. But this is one where the evidence better be signed, sealed, and delivered. People love Dean Casperson. Hell, my wife loves him, probably a bit more than me on some days. So tread carefully.”

  “Very.”

  “If you can make a case, great. If you can’t, my strong advice is that you let it go.”

  “Understood.”

  K-2 pushed himself out of the chair and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t feel too bad about the article, Jon. No one will take it seriously. We’ve all done stupid things from time to time.”

  “I’m not concerned for myself. I’m concerned about who they go after next.”

  “You’re thinking about Cat?” the chief asked.

  Stride nodded.

  K-2 eyed the closed door behind them. No one could hear their conversation, but he lowered his voice anyway. “Every now and then we get a case that’s better off unsolved. You might want to think about that.”

  The chief wandered out of his office.

  K-2 was a practical man who saw justice in shades of gray. In his world, some battles weren’t worth fighting. It wasn’t the first time in Stride’s career the chief had suggested that his team consider backing off on a high-profile investigation.

  But it was the first time Stride had ever thought about doing it.

  *

  Cat stood on the snowy beach. She picked up chunks of ice with her cold bare hands and hoisted them into Lake Superior one after another. She did it until she could barely feel her fingers. Her cheeks were pink. The wind tossed around her brown hair. Tears had frozen like tiny glaciers on her face.

  “Those bastards,” she murmured. “Bastards bastards bastards bastards.”

  Curt Dickes stood beside her. His wool coat was buttoned from top to bottom, and his scarf blew behind him like a flag. “Hey, I hear you, kitty cat, but you have to let it go. Stride’s a big boy. This article isn’t going to bother him.”

  “Well, it bothers me,” Cat snapped. “How could they say those things about him?”

  “It’s what those jerkwads do.”

  She threw another chunk of ice, but she couldn’t hear a splash or see where it landed. “Dean Casperson. I can’t believe I ever liked that man. I’m never going to see one of his movies again.”

  “Yeah, that’ll show him,” Curt replied with a sarcastic smirk. “He’s really going to miss your ten bucks at the box office.”

  “Well, what do you suggest?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” Curt said. “I just came over here to stare at that pretty face of yours.”

  At any other moment, Cat would have blushed to hear Curt say that, but not now. She picked up another sharp, dirty nugget of ice, then threw it back at her feet and kicked at the snow. “I’m just so mad.”

  “Hey, I’m mad, too. I love the lieutenant no matter how many times he busts me. But if you’re talking about a guy like Dean Casperson, Stride has met his match. It’s just about impossible to take on a zillionaire, particularly when most of the world thinks he’s Saint Dean.”

  “He’s not,” Cat snapped.

  “Saying it doesn’t change anything. You’ll never convince people otherwise.”

  “I know that, but I want to do something.”

  “Yeah, like what?” Curt asked.

  Cat shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  The two of them strolled along the beach with the lake beating and thumping against the high wall of ice beside them. The winter noise always unnerved Cat, because it sounded like an invisible beast pawing at the bars of its cage. She expected to see a huge wave coming over the wall to carry them away.

  They got colder and colder. Her lips were numb. The only thing keeping her warm was the anger she felt.

  “Men like that think they’re invincible,” Cat said. “They think they can do whatever they want and no one will stop them.”

  “Yeah, and they’re pretty much right about that,” Curt replied. “That girl, Haley Adams, she spied on him, right? And she wound up dead.”

  “At least she tried. It’s better than doing nothing.”

  “Yeah, well, not for her.”

  Cat stopped on the beach and grabbed Curt’s sleeve. “Hey, we could do that, too.”

  “Do what?”

  “Spy.”

  Curt waved his hands in protest. “Whoa, whoa, not a good idea, kitty cat. Are you crazy?”

  “No, Casperson thinks he’s safe. The other girl’s dead. He doesn’t think anyone’s watching him now.”

  Curt blew out a cloud of steam from his mouth. “Do I need to tell you what Stride and Serena would say about us doing that?”r />
  “I don’t care. I’m not going to sit around while they smear Stride. No way.”

  “And what exactly do you plan to do?” Curt asked.

  “Exactly what Haley Adams did. Get dirt on Casperson. That telescope she used, do you think it’s still in the house?”

  Curt shook his head. “Nah, I snuck in and checked. Police took it.”

  “Well, I’ll find another way.”

  Cat turned around and headed for the dunes as fast as her short legs and the deep snow would allow. The cottage was invisible on the other side of the sand.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Curt shouted at her over the wind.

  Cat looked back over her shoulder. “To find a pair of binoculars,” she called. “You coming with me or not?”

  23

  “Save me,” Aimee Bowe murmured.

  She was on her back on the dirty floor of Art Leipold’s hunting cabin. Her arms and legs lay limply on the ground as if she didn’t have the strength to move them. Her blue eyes squinted up at the face of Dean Casperson. She blinked, because the barest light was too much after days of darkness.

  “It’s okay,” Casperson reassured her, sliding his strong arms under her shoulders and pulling her closer. “It’s okay, it’s over, I’ve got you.”

  “Save me.”

  “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  Aimee cried.

  The whole scene was nothing but actors playing parts, but Stride’s heart was wrenched because it felt so real. No matter how many other people milled around the set, it was as if Aimee and Dean were alone. They were very, very good.

  “Who did this—” she began.

  “It doesn’t matter now. We have him. He’s not going to hurt anyone else.”

  “I can’t move. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Give it time,” Casperson said. “You’re okay.”

  “I’m so cold.”

  “You’ll be out of here soon.”

  “I killed it,” she murmured in a fit of grief as Stride struggled to hear her. “I killed it. I killed the little girl.”