James dreamed of warmth and rhythmic motion. He smelled woman, heard a throbbing heartbeat, felt the rise and fall of a chest. From the dark embrace of sleep, he struggled to wake. He couldn't quite escape the clutches of sleep. Instead, he woke enough to match the rhythmic movement of the breathing. His hand had somehow penetrated her clothing. The hand moved against the warm soft flesh in time to the breathing. The tempo of breathing increased. One hand moved to the breasts and the other between the legs. In the soft dark embrace, they both moved faster. She shuddered and then went deeper into a sleep-induced serenity with only her breathing and heart keeping any beat. He continued to try to get the warm soft rhythm back, but slowly strength slipped away and sleep took over.
Lori woke first. She left him sleeping. At four-thirty, she started a meal for her father and Jim. The smell of food cooking brought Jim out from sleep and into a dazed state. The rumbling of his stomach registered as an alarm bell, forcing his body to move. Crawling from the bed, he stumbled down the hall until he found a bathroom. He washed the crust from his eyes with tepid water. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror as he remembered the dream he had. Was it a dream? He heard a door open from downstairs and a greeting between Lori and her father.
Jim stood in front of the mirror trying to remember. A knock at the door and Lori's voice said, "Take a shower. You need it. Supper will be done in fifteen minutes. Don't be late."
James needed time to think. He looked at himself in the mirror and
realized his hair was matted from sleep. He decided that a shower would help. He was lathering up when he heard a noise from the other side of the curtain and a cool breeze penetrated the warm moist air. Lori's voice came from the other side of the curtain. "I've got some towels for you on the stool."
He poked his head out from the shower. She smiled and said, "Hurry up. My father is hungry." He opened his mouth to speak but he didn't know what to say. Instead, he watched her smile and leave. He pounded his head on the tile wall in frustration and tried to remember.
Downstairs the table was set. Lori pointed to a chair for him to take. He wanted to say something but her father was here. He sat and tried to eat.
Jeffrey watched. Lori was happy but James seemed confused. Oh, well, that was how Lori's mother had always made him feel. He had never realized it till after she was gone. He loved the way she made him baffled. She was never boring. He would have to talk to James if he could get him alone. Jim needed to realize it would always be like that with Lori. But now he had some news.
"I talked to the boys at the VFW. They'll be coming over later to help. Now, before either of you interrupt, hear what I have in mind. Marion was a force-recon Marine in Vietnam and John was an Army ranger. I figure on having them set up in Swedmark's tree house; their boy is in college now. From there, they can watch the backyard and most of the sides of the house. Ben and I were both just Army grunts, so we will stay in the house. Bob was in the command center of an Aegis cruiser and Betty was a controller for an AWACS. Those two will take care of communications."
Jeffrey raised his hand, stopping Lori when he saw her open her mouth to speak. "Lori, don't say anything. Jim feels the killer could be after you.
I believe him. You and I both know that Jim has been prowling the neighborhood at night. He can't cover everything. He needs help or he will get hurt." Jeffrey added the last to stop any arguments from his daughter.
"Jim, you know you can't protect the whole perimeter. You want Lori safe, don't you?" Jeffrey smiled. He saw both of them getting ready to argue. His comments about the other's safety stopped the possible altercation before it started.
* * * *
Henry walked up to Kawalski's door. He knew it would be empty, but a still clammy scent of evil seemed to emanate from the building. Behind Henry were a half a dozen BCA agents and sheriff deputies waiting to search the building. Henry had convinced Frank the he should enter Kawalski's home first. He had stopped by Kawalski's one time last spring to discuss a scheduling problem that came up with the county mandated D.A.R.E. program. Henry hoped that he could tell what the killer had touched or moved.
The front door was open. Henry stepped in and stopped. Only a few feet in front of the door a table lamp illuminated a huge dark stain on the carpet. Henry knew the killer had set the stage to display his work. Henry tried to examine the rest of the room without stepping in further. It didn't work. His eyes kept moving back to the only illuminated object in the darkened room. Finally, Henry went to the windows and opened the drapes.
Without the lamp being the only light source in the room, Henry was able to examine the room past the stain. He noticed that the furniture had been arranged as silent witness to the murder site. His hopes of finding evidence plummeted when he saw the vacuum cleaner with the open back and missing bag. Henry studied the scene. Kawalski was a big man. Except for the blood, there was no sign of a struggle. Gallea was a trained deputy and he was taken without a trace from a public school building with cops all around. How could the killer do that?
Suddenly it didn't matter to Henry. He removed his portable radio from his belt. "Base, this is Henry. Do you copy?"
"Henry, go ahead."
"Nancy, you contact everyone in the field. No one working on the case is to be alone. If you have to pull them in until we can get them a partner, do it."
Henry was about to say more when he noticed a flash of light coming from the stair's banister. He walked slowly over to it. The light had come from a gouge in the paint that had exposed the bare wood underneath. Henry noticed more scrapes on the painted surfaces and a few dark stains. He heard the noise of the forensic crew waiting to come in by the front door. When he turned to look, he saw the way the bloody stain and the doorway lined up with the scrapes. Something had been here, something to distract Kawalski. What could it have been? It was large, a good five to six feet of the banister and wall had scrapes on it. What would the killer use? Oh, my God! Al!
Henry rushed to the door. For the first time since his rookie year, Henry got sick. A couple of men from the forensic crew held his shoulders as he heaved.
After Henry emptied his stomach, he told the crew, "Sorry, guys. It shouldn't have happened. I just didn't expect..." He saw the worried look on their faces. He took a deep breath and continued, but this time as a professional.
"Kawalski was probably killed just inside the doorway. There's a lot of blood but no sign of a struggle. The killer took the time to arrange the furniture and clean the house. He used the vacuum cleaner and took the dust bag with him. You will need to check if anything useful got caught inside the machine or in the brushes. I think the killer was able to surprise Kawalski by tying something up to the stairway across from the entrance." The pause that Henry gave was unintentional. Somehow he needed a large breath before he could continue. "I think he tied Al's body there."
The somber crew entered the building. Henry turned to leave when a TV truck pulled up. He walked to his car, closed the door to the questioning reporter and drove away.
* * * *
Marion had hated Vietnam. He had nightmares about it for years. There were still times when he woke from sleep, dripping with sweat with the memories of war. But it was also the only time he had ever felt the intense fire of life burning within him. He sometimes wondered if the intensity of life during war was too much for the normal human to stand. The withdrawal from the burning clarity caused the problems that war veterans have, just like the withdrawal symptoms of the heroin addict. The one main difference was that war veteran lived with the withdrawal for life, while the drug addict could eventually leave the affects of the addiction.
Marion hunted. It wasn't the same intensity as war, but life and death were at stake, even if it was only an animal's. He looked at hunting like the methadone treatment for the heroin addict or the nicotine patch for the smoker. It was a way to tame the nightmares of war. When Jeffrey came to the Vets Club asking for help, Marion had to go. Up in the tree house, he
scanned the neighborhood with night-vision goggles. John dozed behind him, waiting for his watch. He reached nervously for his bow, the fire of life starting to burn within him. At first, he was upset when Jeffrey had said no guns. He had not wanted a stray bullet to hurt anyone. Marion now relished the idea of getting close enough to a killer to attack with an arrow.
Marion prayed the killer would come. He had hunted deer with John and knew what they could do with their bows. In the house, Ben and Jeffrey had bats and knives. Ben was the legion baseball coach. Marion had seen Ben hit a line drive so hard it had broken the hand of the pitcher when he tried to catch it. He didn't know much about Bob or Betty, but they had been fast and precise on the radio calls. Marion's biggest surprise had been Makinen. After dark, he had watched James slip through the neighborhood as silently and quickly as a ghost. Marion had not seen James carrying any weapons when he left the house that night, but he projected the same lethal presence of his old gunnery sergeant. The man had served in the Korean War and was on his second tour of duty in Nam when Marion met him. There had been many times in Nam that Marion had been scared, but no matter what was happening, fear had never been an option when Gunny was watching. When Gunny was around, the only emotion Marion had was pity for the enemy.
Marion shook his head to remove the memories. He reconed the neighborhood. Again, he wished the killer to show. He knew the killer was a coward; otherwise, he would come at you straight on, man to man, and not attack young girls. He wanted to see the scum's eyes as he saw his own death coming. Marion knew if the killer came, he would die. He had seen death in Makinen's eyes before he left on scout, and he knew the others would not hesitate to kill.
Marion saw a small truck pull up at the end of the block from Jeffrey's house. Into the radio he said, "Base, this is lookout. Ute pulled in at end of block. Doesn't match any of the neighbors' vehicles." Marion sensed John ease on up beside him. He knew John would be checking the area behind the house in case the killer would use a disturbance out front to sneak in the back way. Marion saw a shadow move at the end of the block and recognized the lethal motions of James.
Over the radio earphone he heard James whisper, "Negative on the Ute, it's a damn TV reporter." Just then the cameraman turned on the camera light and the intense beam flashed across the night-vision goggles, blinding Marion. "Damn! John, watch out for the light. I'm blinded."
It took minutes for Marion to rub the vision back into his eyes and even longer before he could see any distance. By the time he could see what was going on, Jeffrey was on the sidewalk yelling at the reporter and cameraman. Glancing down the road, Marion saw an old Chevy pickup idling closer with its lights off. "Base, this is lookout. Chevy pickup coming in with its lights off." Jeffrey must have had the radio ear piece still on because he stepped to the side to look down the road past the TV crew. The cameraman, seeing Jeffrey's movement, swung his camera down the block. The light from his swinging camera caught James in mid-stride as he raced through the yards to check the truck. Marion heard the squeal of tires and the truck's brights turned on. The truck backed into the night leaving only the smell of burnt tires behind.
Marion saw Jeffrey pull the camera away from the man and throw it to the ground. He heard the words, "You God damn fools! You God damn fools!" coming from Jeffrey as he pushed the TV crew toward their truck. He saw Bob come out of the house and grab Jeffrey, holding him back. With Bob holding Jeffrey, the TV crew started to scream back at him. The yelling kept up until suddenly the TV crew realized they were surrounded by the neighbors. They moved between Jeffrey and Bob and the reporters. The crowd didn't say anything, standing there, some in their nightclothes, watching the TV crew. They just moved closer and closer to the crew, backing them up to their truck.
After the reporters left, the neighborhood settled back to the stillness of the night. It was after midnight when the TV truck showed up again. It drove quietly down the street. Stopping by the broken camera, someone got out, grabbed it, and they drove off.
* * * *
The old man went to the VFW for a beer. He had been sure that with the cop dead, he would have a clear shot at taking Lori. When he had seen the TV reporters harassing Lori's father, he was positive he could sneak in the back and take her. Then that strange figure came out of the dark towards his truck.
It had taken him until noon to find out where Lori was staying after she had left her apartment. He didn't understand why the high he got from the slow killing of Jenny and Pike had worn off already. The delay in finding Lori put his nerves on edge. He had known it was too dangerous to try to capture either Kawalski or the cop. But God damn it, he needed the fix of torturing someone. Without Lori waiting for him in the basement, he had been so tempted to try to stop someone in the street to bring back to his house.
He took another sip of beer and closed his eyes. He remembered the feel of Jenny's heart in his hands and the wonder he had felt when he placed his own hand red with her blood over his chest. He took another sip and thought of watching the throbbing motion of the sticks he had placed near Pike's heart and lungs and timing his own pulse and breathing to match. He felt again the merging of his body with their dying bodies. The thrill! The high!
A chill passed through the old man as he remembered the lethal shadow he saw surge toward him out of the night. Who or what was that shadow? What right did it have in interfering? He didn't fear the shadow he saw in the camera light. He had never really felt fear in his whole life. It was more a resentment of the shadow's interference with his plans. He had cowed to his father and then his wife not out of fear, but an avoidance of someone strong enough to keep him from his pleasure and to give him pain. His glass was empty.
He went to the bar to get another. For the first time he heard that Jeffrey had stopped by for help. He became angry at being thwarted. He gulped his beer. He would add Jeffrey and the others to his list. But first he would get Lori. He could imagine the pleasure of drinking with them in sympathy after Lori disappeared. Maybe he could keep her body in the chest freezer he just bought and installed in his basement. He could spend many nights drinking with them as they wondered what happened to her, hoping she was still alive.
This time, he ordered a whiskey with a beer chaser as he planned amid the loud noises of the busy bar.
* * * *
_The light. The hands. The silent room. A barely audible_ swoosh _and a card turns over. The harsh glaring light from the lamp highlights the exposed card._
Rain clouds with a heart that has three swords piercing it points away from the shadowy figure behind the deck.
_The hands flex, the figure sighs, the ambiguity of the card pervades the dark, silent room. Darkness._
CHAPTER 15: The Three of Swords reversed
The morning briefing at the sheriff's station was filled with silence.
A few of the officers sat in a stunned daze, a hint of moisture formed along the edges of their eyes. The most profound change was in Frank. He had seemed to age twenty years over the night. His haggard face was filled with deep lines and lost sleep. He still held court over the assembled officers with professional control, but a lost, defeated essence emanated from him.
Henry was obviously tired and worn but he still had full mastery of himself and the job. The other officers slowly begin to turn to him for leadership. When a lab report had showed blood residue had been found near one of the back entrances of the school building, the assembled officers paused until Henry commented that he and Frank would go back over the site. After the briefing was ended, the officers waited until Henry nodded before they left.
As everyone left the room, Henry pulled Vernon aside. "Vern, I'd like to talk to you off the record?"
"Okay, Henry. What is it?"
"Frank is not holding up too well. I think we should keep an eye on him. Something happened to him when Al got taken last night. Maybe he's blaming himself. I don't know but I don't think he should be alone. He could get in trouble. I could ask one of the deputi
es to keep an eye on him but he's BCA. I don't want any trouble between agencies now. It's hard enough coordinating local police, three different county sheriffs' departments, the state police, and the BCA without getting into any rivalries. If Frank doesn't get his act together in time and lets something slip by, the whole investigation could be gone.
"Vernon, I know I can't order you. But if you could keep a BCA agent by Frank until he can get back up to speed, it would sure help."
"You're right, Henry. Al's disappearance and murder really threw Frank. I'll keep an eye on him. If you could keep it between us, I'd appreciate it."
"Of course! That's why I talked to you in private."
"And Henry ... I want to be there when we get the son of a bitch. I want to be there..." Vernon ended with a plea.
The old man woke with a splitting headache. He started some coffee brewing. He got a towel, wrapped the last two ice cubes in the refrigerator in it, and placed it on his forehead. It didn't help.
Stumbling down the basement stairs, he went to his new freezer. He opened the towel and threw the two half melted ice cubes toward the corner floor drain. He picked up Jenny's heart, wrapped it in the damp towel, and rubbed it slowly across his head. He had hated to freeze her heart because he had loved the firm feel and resilience of the cool muscle. He had frozen the heart after he noticed a slight darkening to the compact red flesh. He had known that rot was only a few hours away if it wasn't frozen.
He took a deep breath of the cold freezer air coming from the small icebox. The relief of the cold compress permitted him to fully open his eyes.
A smile played across the old man's features as he viewed his prizes, the small package containing the testicles and shriveled penis of Pike, the equally small bundle containing the cop's frozen eyes, and the larger mass of Kawalski's tongue. There had been more bundles of frozen meat he had taken on whim from his victims but they had been cooked and now resided in the stomachs of the neighborhood pets. He had remembered hearing Reverend Peterson preach about Ahab and Jezebel being eaten by dogs. Somehow the preacher's words about God's Judgment on the two stayed with him. He had become Elijah rejoicing in God's Judgment on the weak. The weak were sinners by their very being and deserved judgment. The feasting of the dogs was just retribution to the obvious sin of weakness.
The Duce of Pentacles Page 10