Alter Ego

by Brian Freeman

  It was already late afternoon. They weren’t any closer to tying Jungle Jack and John Doe together.

  “Maybe we were wrong about the second phone call,” Cab suggested. “If Jack realized that he used the burner phone to make the first call, he might have freaked out and not wanted to leave a trail. So instead of ordering a pizza, he went out and got a Big Mac or something.”

  “True.”

  “Even if we find a driver who remembers him, it will be tough proving he made the first call,” Cab added.

  “Also true,” Maggie said.

  Even so, she wasn’t ready to give up. They had two more delivery drivers to track down from the Hermantown Sammy’s. One was a St. Scholastica freshman named Ginny Hoeppner. Maggie drove onto the college campus and wound around to the parking lot near Tower Hall. The two of them got out, but neither bothered putting on a coat despite the snow. Maggie wore furry calf-high boots, but Cab was in a suit with leather dress shoes. He walked gingerly on the icy pavement.

  The receptionist in the housing office directed them to Somers Hall to find Ginny Hoeppner. One wing of the residence hall butted up to the same parking lot, so they didn’t have to go far. Inside, they found themselves surrounded by fresh-faced young college students, and Maggie noticed that most of the girls took long looks at Cab as they made their way down the hall. When they found the room they were looking for, Cab drummed his fingers on the door as if he were playing the piano.

  A slim raven-haired girl answered the door. She wore an untucked flannel shirt over tattered jeans. As with the other students they’d met, her eyes immediately went to Cab’s face.

  “Ginny Hoeppner?” Maggie asked.

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “My name is Maggie Bei with the Duluth Police. This is Cab Bolton. Do you mind if we ask you a couple questions?”

  “Um, okay, yeah. Is there a problem?”

  “No problem at all,” Cab assured her with a charming smile.

  Ginny shrugged and invited them inside. She lived in a typical utilitarian dorm room with bunk beds near the window and desks on opposite walls. Maggie saw open boxes on the floor. The new semester had just begun, and the roommates hadn’t unpacked fully. A textbook on religion lay on the pillow of the lower bunk bed, and Ginny sat down on the bed next to it.

  “Do you deliver pizzas for the Hermantown Sammy’s restaurant?” Maggie asked.

  “I do, yeah.”

  Maggie rattled off the day and date of the night on which someone with a burner phone had called the downtown Sammy’s. “Do you remember if you were working on that particular evening?”

  “I’m sure I was. I worked pretty much every night after Christmas.”

  “Do you keep records of your deliveries?” Cab asked.

  “No, I just drive. Go out, come back, go out, come back. One night’s the same as every other.”

  “Has it been busier with the film crew in town?” Maggie asked.

  “Oh, yeah. The pizza in L.A. must suck, because we’ve been delivering to them all the time.”

  “It must be pretty cool meeting a lot of movie people,” Cab said.

  Ginny’s face lit up. “It is! I’ve been thinking about a film studies major, so this is great. I love having it happen right here in Duluth.”

  “Have you met anybody famous?” he asked.

  She shook her head in disappointment. “No, the actors don’t usually order anything themselves. They’ve got assistants for that, you know? But I’ve met a bunch of folks who work on the crew.”

  “Do you remember making deliveries to any film people on that evening?” Maggie asked.

  “I don’t know. Like I said, the nights all blend together.”

  “Have you ever made a delivery to a man named Jack Jensen? He’s a stunt double for Dean Casperson. He goes by the nickname Jungle Jack.”

  “I’m not sure. Most of the time, I don’t get anything more than a last name on an order. Unless it’s something really weird, I don’t remember it. Plus, unless they’re wearing a T-shirt or something that gives it away, I don’t usually know if they’re part of the film crew. Sometimes I ask if they’ve got that Hollywood look, know what I mean? Most of them are pretty cool about it. They’ll take selfies with me even if their pizza’s getting cold.”

  Maggie shot a quick look at Cab.

  “Selfies?” he asked.

  Ginny looked embarrassed. “Yeah, I know it’s lame, but I do it anyway.”

  “Do you mind if we take a look at the photos on your phone?” Cab asked.

  “Um.” She hesitated as if trying to make a quick mental calculation about whether there was anything embarrassing on the phone.

  “It would really help us out,” Cab added.

  “Yeah, sure, if you want.” Ginny got off the bed and went over to her desk. She unlocked the screen on the phone and handed it to Cab. “I got a new iPhone 8 Plus for Christmas, so I’ve been taking a lot of pictures.”

  Cab held the phone so that Maggie could see the screen and scrolled backward through the camera roll of thumbnails. Ginny was right. She’d taken a lot of pictures. They saw dozens of Instagram-ready photos taken of friends in the dorm and artistic photos of snow-covered landmarks shot around campus. Then they spotted a selfie of Ginny wearing a Sammy’s baseball cap, posing next to a middle-aged Asian woman in a California sweatshirt. Maggie didn’t recognize her, but she was obviously part of the film crew. They were both making a thumbs-up gesture for the camera.

  Cab kept scrolling and found other nighttime selfies with pizza customers. Ginny wasn’t shy about asking for pictures. Maggie spotted a couple of faces she’d seen on movie sets around the city.

  And then there he was.

  Jungle Jack.

  He was bent down next to Ginny with his cheek against her face and his arm casually slung around her shoulders. He wore his usual self-satisfied grin, the look that said he knew exactly how handsome he was. There was an exterior door cracked open behind him, and Maggie recognized the architectural style of the Hermantown rental cottages.

  “Jack just can’t say no,” Maggie said. “You have to love that. When was this taken?”

  Cab checked the details of the photograph. “Forty-two minutes after the call on the burner phone. Just enough time for a delivery.”

  He turned the phone around and showed the picture to Ginny. “Do you remember anything about this man?”

  The girl took a look at the photograph. “Just that he was really cute. I figured he was too good-looking to be from Duluth, so I asked if he was part of the movie. He said he was.”

  Cab chuckled. “Did he say anything else to you? Or did you see anything inside his apartment?”

  “Not that I recall. I’m usually only at the door for a few seconds and then I’m gone.”

  Cab checked the picture files again. He scrolled backward and found additional photos of Ginny and Jack together. The girl obviously had struggled to get the camera angle right to get them both in the frame. Maggie leaned in as they reviewed each picture. She noticed that one of the selfies was pointed wildly wrong, as if Ginny had accidentally pushed the button while positioning the camera. The photograph showed nothing but Jack’s shoulder on the side of the picture. Behind him was a clear shot of the interior of the apartment.

  “Holy crap, is that what I think it is?” Maggie asked. “Zoom in.”

  Cab did. In the photo, they could see something hung on the back of a wooden chair near the kitchenette.

  “Does that mean something to you?” he asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” she replied. “That’s our smoking gun. We’ve got him.”

  *

  Cat studied herself in the mirror of the bathroom in the cottage.

  She wore a black cocktail dress that was the sexiest thing she owned. She’d worn it only once before, at the party after Stride and Serena’s wedding, and she’d had a big fight with Stride about wearing it in public. It hugged her curves and clung tightly to her legs, where it e
nded at midthigh. The sleeves were lace, adorned with black flowers, and a lace panel stretched below her neck. Underneath the lace, an oval cutout showcased her cleavage. When she turned sideways, she saw black fabric swooping low beneath her shoulders. Another cutout bared the hollow of her back.

  Her chestnut hair glistened, long and full. She’d spent an hour on her makeup, getting her blush and eyes perfect. Serena’s emerald earrings dangled from her ears. She wore strappy black heels. For all the times Cat struggled with self-confidence, she knew that there wasn’t a man with a pulse who would be able to look away from her tonight.

  She was beautiful.

  She was also scared to death and had to swallow hard to avoid throwing up.

  Cat came out of the bathroom, where Curt Dickes was waiting. He had his back to her as he eyed the thrillers on Stride’s bookshelf. When he turned around, he whistled loudly in admiration as Cat presented herself with one hand poised on her hip.

  “So what do you think?” Cat asked in her best “I’m nowhere near seventeen years old” voice.

  “Kitty cat, that dress should be registered as a lethal weapon,” Curt said.

  Cat dropped her sexy persona and giggled like a teenage girl again. “Thanks. You look pretty good, too, you know.”

  “Of course. I am always styling.”

  Curt wore a long-sleeved untucked batik shirt over lavender slacks. His shoes matched his pants, and his hair was tied in a ponytail. His cologne overpowered the room. Cat knew that when Stride and Serena got home, they’d realize that Curt had been there, but it was too late to worry about that.

  She went into her bedroom and checked her phone to make sure it was fully charged. Then she slipped it inside her frosted black clutch and slid the gold chain over her shoulder.

  “Is there cell signal at the resort?” she asked.

  “Probably. If not, there’s Wi-Fi.”

  “How long does it take to get there?”

  “Depends on how the roads are. Maybe an hour in the storm. The movie types are taking a bus.”

  “Okay. We should go.”

  Cat clicked across the hardwood floor in her heels, and she could feel Curt’s eyes on her back. It was going to be that way all evening, with men watching her and hitting on her. She went into the kitchen and found a yellow pad. She pulled off a sheet of paper, grabbed a pen, and thought about what she needed to say to Stride.

  She wrote a few words, then crumpled up the paper and threw it away. She tried again and did the same thing. And again. Finally, she pulled another sheet of paper and wrote what was in her heart.

  She’d never said those words to him in her life:

  You’re wrong.

  Cat finished the note, folded it, and wrote Stride’s name on the outside. When she looked up, Curt was watching her. His face was serious and unsmiling, which was highly unusual for Curt.

  “You really sure about this, kitty cat? I’m not much of a fan of this plan. You could get yourself in serious trouble, and this time I won’t be able to pull you over a wall or anything.”

  Cat chewed her lip. She put on a brave front, because she couldn’t do anything else, no matter what she really felt inside. She’d made up her mind, and she wasn’t turning back. She marched toward Curt and placed the note for Stride on the bookshelf near the front door. Then she took Curt’s arm.

  “You said people have to see it for themselves to believe the truth,” Cat said. “I’m going to make sure they do.”

  39

  The owner of the studio apartments in Hermantown wasn’t happy to see Maggie and Cab arrive with a forensics team and cordon off the area with crime scene tape. They’d searched John Doe’s apartment earlier in the week, and now they were back to do the same thing to Jungle Jack’s cottage.

  “Having cops in my parking lot ain’t exactly good for business,” the man told them, shaking the snow out of his gray hair. He was small and slightly bent, in his sixties, dressed in a hooded winter coat and beige corduroys. His name was Stig Swenson.

  “Renting to murderers isn’t too good for business, either,” Maggie replied.

  “Well, I’m sorry if I don’t have a box for that on the application. Is this going to take long?”

  “It will take as long as it takes. Did you print out the phone records for the apartment like I asked?”

  “Yeah, yeah, hang on.”

  Stig dug in the pocket of his pants and came out with a single sheet of computer paper that had been folded multiple times. He handed it over to Maggie, who smoothed it out and held it up so that she and Cab could read it. They squinted at the small type, which had been made on a printer that badly needed toner. Even so, they saw what they wanted to see.

  “Two minutes,” Maggie said. “Jack called the Hermantown Sammy’s two minutes after the call on the burner phone to the downtown restaurant.”

  “A jury’s going to like that,” Cab said.

  Maggie turned back to the apartment manager. She produced photographs of John Doe and Jungle Jack and held them up side by side. “Let’s go over this again. Did you see these two men together?”

  “Once they sign the rental agreement, they’re not my problem,” Stig replied. “People don’t need me to pay attention to what they’re doing, so I don’t.”

  “You don’t keep an eye on who’s coming and going in your apartments?” Maggie asked. “Because I’m looking over at your place, and I can see your cat sleeping on top of a La-Z-Boy. You’ve got a perfect view from there.”

  “It’s not my cat,” the man grumbled. “I’m pet sitting while my sister is in Norway.”

  Maggie rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Do I look like I care whose cat it is, Stig? Come on, we both know you’ve had your eyes glued to the parking lot while you had a Hollywood stunt man staying here. So tell me what you saw, okay?”

  Stig snuffled loudly. “Lots of girls. It’s like a parade. Every night a different girl.”

  Maggie dug in her pocket for a photograph of Rochelle Wahl. “What about this girl? Did you see her?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Cab opened up his phone. “How about her?”

  Stig leaned in and studied the photograph of Peach Piper. It was Cab’s favorite photograph of Peach. She’d been visiting him at his house south of Naples, and she’d gone out with him to walk on the wet sand. He’d snapped the picture of her before she knew he was taking it, while her freckled face was creased into an innocent smile and the wind was playing with her pageboy blond hair.

  The man frowned and didn’t answer.

  “Stig?” Maggie said. “Do you recognize her?”

  “Yeah, I saw her hanging around here,” he replied.

  “Hanging around? What do you mean?”

  “I saw her sneaking through the parking lot. She was heading toward the cottages in the back. I didn’t like the look of it, so I went out to see what she was up to. She must have heard me coming and taken off, because I couldn’t find her. That was last Sunday night, I think.”

  “Was that the only time you saw her?” Cab asked.

  “No. She was back again a couple nights later.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Looked like she was spying on Jack’s place,” Stig said. “I figured maybe she was a wife or a girlfriend, you know? With all the action over there, maybe somebody got jealous.”

  “What did you do when you saw her?” Maggie asked.

  “I called Jack. If a guy rents from me, he’s got a right to know if somebody’s up in his business.”

  Cab took a deep breath. “What happened after you called Jack?”

  “He came out and rousted her. Sounded pretty loud, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then he dragged her inside his place.”

  “What time did this happen?” Maggie asked.

  “Somewhere around ten o’clock, I think.”

  Maggie grabbed a notebook from her back pocket and flipped backward through several pages. She already knew the answer—
she remembered details by seeing them in her head—but she wanted to confirm what she’d written down. “There was a call between John Doe’s phone and the burner phone at 10:10 last Tuesday night.”

  “Jack found Peach outside his place,” Cab said, “so he called John Doe to figure out what they needed to do about her.”

  “Did you see the girl and Jack again after they went inside the apartment?” Maggie asked the owner.

  Stig nodded. “Yeah. About half an hour later, Jack and the girl left.”

  “Where did they go?” Maggie asked.

  “Back behind the cottage. They were headed for the woods. I couldn’t see them after that.”

  Cab shook his head. “They were headed for the woods?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you didn’t do anything?”

  “What was I supposed to do?” the man asked.

  Cab stared at the apartment owner with silent rage. Then he spun away and marched across the plowed parking lot toward the lineup of spruce trees towering behind the cottages. The snow made a cloud around him like a white tornado. Maggie chased after him.

  “Cab?” she called. “Cab, hang on.”

  She got in front of him and stopped him with a hand on his chest. “What are you doing?”

  “They killed her that night,” Cab replied. “Jack met John Doe back here, they took Peach into the woods, and John Doe shot her in the head.”

  Maggie nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re probably right.”

  “I want to find where he did it.”

  “Cab, we’ll search the woods in the morning. It’s dark, and the storm is still dumping snow. We could spend hours in there and not find the crime scene. Guppo will get a team out here as soon as it’s light. If that’s where Peach was killed, he’ll find it.”

  Cab stared into the black mouth of the forest, his body tall and stiff like a statue. His normally spiky hair was flat and wet on his head. Maggie could see snow landing on his face and couldn’t tell whether the melting snow was mixed with tears. He looked oddly elegant, standing there in his suit and tie, yet she knew his heart was broken.