by Joanne Fluke
He got out of his car. No need to take the gun. He’d leave it under the seat until it was time. He doubted the security guard would spot him, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
The night was lovely. Calm. Cool. Very peaceful. The campus was deserted. It was Sunday night, and not even the library was open on the Sabbath. It was pleasant to walk across the beautiful campus and past the towering spires of the cathedral. He was so busy admiring the glint of moonlight on the polished stone that he didn’t notice the dark, silent shadow that slipped into his car.
“Mike!” Toni pulled the DVD out of the drawer. “Let’s have alight. Quickly.”
Michael aimed his penlight at the label, and Toni swore softly. “Oh, no! I thought I had it for a minute, but it’s only a segment of that PBS series on the first amendment. It’s got the library seal right on it. He must have used it in his class.”
“Hold on, Toni. Didn’t you tell me that Professor Zimmer was the most organized man you’d ever met?”
“That’s true, Mike.”
“There’s the rest of that series right over there on his bookshelf. With covers. Was he the type of man who’d let a loose DVD kick around in his desk drawer without a protective cover?”
“No. Check it out, Mike. This is segment three.”
Michael flashed the light on the bookshelf. “One and two are here. And so are four through six. Did you say that disk had the library name on it?”
“That’s right. It says Property of Gateway University Library, Audiovisual Department. “
“Did Harry say anyone had broken into the library?”
“No.”
“Okay, then the footage is still there. It’s inside the cover for segment three. Let’s go!”
They were running across campus toward the library, two fleeting shadows in the dark night. Stan just hoped the security guard wouldn’t spot them. And now they were standing by the side door, where the shadows were deepest. After a few moments, the door opened and then shut again quickly. Gateway University had terrible security, but they probably weren’t too concerned about their students breaking into the library. Why should they be? The last thing a student at this fourth-rate college would want to steal was a book. Would they think to lock the door behind them? Of course. But it would be easy to get in with Professor Zimmer’s keys. He’d kept them all, just in case.
He grabbed the gun and stuffed it in his pocket. It was time. Just as soon as they’d handed over the footage, he’d kill them. Two more deaths and he’d be finished.
“This is it!” Michael let out a long sigh. “Look at the label, Toni. It’s the original from KLAX.”
“Let’s get it to the police right away, Mike. I’m not the type to have premonitions, but I’ve got this terrible—”
“And you’re right, Sister. Turn around very slowly. Both of you. Mikey, hand me that footage.”
Michael turned to face his brother. “Stan! What are you doing here?”
Stan stood there in the light from the dim bulbs that were left on at night. He was holding a gun, and there was a sad but determined expression on his face. “Sorry, Mikey. Give it to me. I need it.”
“Give it to him, Mike.” Toni’s voice was shaking. “Do exactly what he says.”
“That’s good advice, Sister. Come on, Mikey. Delaying now won’t solve anything.”
Michael moved forward slowly and held out the jacket with the footage inside. “Why are you doing this, Stan? I don’t understand.”
“Oh Mikey.” Stan shook his head. “Can’t you see that I don’t have any choice? She had to die, you know. There was no other way.”
“Who?”
“Carole.” Stan sighed. “She fell in love with the wrong man, Mikey. And when she realized her mistake, it was too late. She tried to make me think it was my baby, but I knew that was impossible. You’re better off without her, don’t you see? She cheated. She was nothing but a whore at heart.”
“Carole told you that she was pregnant with your baby?” Michael asked. He knew that he had to keep Stan talking. If they were lucky, Stan would get caught up in his own rhetoric and relax his guard. Then they might have an opportunity to grab the gun, or knock him down, or take some action to try to save their lives.
“She swore it was my baby. She said she wasn’t sleeping with you anymore, but I knew that couldn’t be true. I’m sterile, Mikey. My doctor said I’d never be able to be a father.”
“I’m sorry, Stan.”
“So am I, Mikey. But I’m even sorrier that Carole lied to me. Now you can understand why I had to kill her, can’t you? I couldn’t let her get away with—” Stan whirled and aimed his gun at Toni “Drop it, Sister. Now!”
Toni wavered, and for a moment Michael thought she was going to raise the gun and shoot to save him. “Drop it, Toni! Don’t be a fool!”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, Toni let the gun clatter to the floor. The noise was loud in the huge, silent room. Then she looked at him expectantly, waiting for a cue. What could he do? The only thing he could think of was to keep Stan talking. Questioning might work. Stan loved to explain things.
“Raise your hands, Sister.” Stan gestured with the gun. “That’s it. A little more. And now I think it’s—-”
“I don’t understand why you had to kill all the jurors, Stan.” Michael interrupted. “Wasn’t it enough to just kill Professor Zimmer?”
“That’s not important, Mikey. There’s no need for you to—”
This time Toni interrupted. She’d caught his unspoken prompt. “But it’s important to us, Stan. Mike said you always had a good reason for everything you did. I know it really bothers him that we couldn’t figure it out.”
“Is that true, Mikey? Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, I do.” Toni had asked just the right question and in exactly the right way. “It was just too complicated for us, Stan. Can you explain it?”
“It is rather complicated, isn’t it?” Stan started to smile. “It’s like this, Mikey. Professor Zimmer told me that he’d shown the footage to another juror.”
There was a library cart only a foot or so away. Michael inched a little closer to it. It was the rolling type, and it was filled with heavy books. If Toni could only keep Stan talking, maybe he could reach it.
Toni came through, right on cue. “And he wouldn’t tell you which juror?”
“That’s exactly right. I tried every trick in the book, but I couldn’t get it out of him.”
“Well, it wasn’t me. I didn’t know anything about the footage until tonight. Did you try to figure out which juror it was?”
Stan was facing Toni when Michael’s foot touched the cart. Now all he had to do was locate the lock on the wheel and release it. As he felt around with his toe, Stan laughed.
“Of course I didn’t try to figure out who the juror was. That would have been wasted effort. I knew if I killed them all, I’d be safe. I suppose you would have tried to locate the juror. Right, Sister?”
Toni sighed. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what I would have done. But I can see your way is much more efficient. Did you expect the police to blame Mike?”
“Of course. I read the psychiatrist’s report about his dreams and the sleepwalking. It fit right in. Do you understand now?”
Michael’s toe inched down. The brake released with an audible click, but Toni was talking again and Stan didn’t hear.
“Yes, I see. Or at least I’m beginning to see. The police would look at the psychiatrist’s report, and assume that Mike killed the jurors in a fit of revenge. Do I have that right?”
“Precisely. And now, that’s enough talking.”
“Just one more question, please, one that really puzzles me. If you kill Mike, won’t the police look for his murderer?”
That’s the clever part.” Stan smiled. “Mikey’s going to commit suicide right after he kills you.”
“I don’t understand that at all.” Toni shook her head. “How can y
ou make Mike’s murder look like a suicide when it’s not?”
Michael managed to get one hand on the cart. Just another inch closer, and he could—”
“That’s the easiest part,” Stan went on with his answer. “You see, Sister, I typed a note on that typewriter I put in Mickey’s apartment. And once the police find that, they won’t bother to—”
It was now, or never. Michael pushed with all his strength and the cart took off like a rocket. Stan whirled at the sudden motion, and Michael yelled for Toni to run. She didn’t waste any time ducking behind the stacks, and then the room plunged into darkness. She’d hit the light switch. Good girl! Now if she only had the presence of mind to sneak out the back way and go for help.
It took a moment for Michael’s eyes to adjust to the sudden blackness. There was a dim light coming in through the windows, but all he could make out was the shape of the hulking bookcases. He had the advantage now. Stan had to find them to kill them. All he had to do was stay very still and pray that Toni had escaped.
Someone was moving. He could hear a rustle. The noise seemed to be coming closer, but it was difficult to tell. Was it Toni? Or Stan?
Then his eyes adjusted. A figure was huddled, crawling slowly toward the bookcase. Toni. She was going back for the gun.
Another rustle. The sounds seemed to come from all around him. But then he saw it—a shape moving fast, heading for the same bookcase. It was Stan. He’d spotted Toni, but he wouldn’t dare shoot wildly. The security guard might hear, and he had to make it count.
Suddenly Michael had a flash of insight. Stan couldn’t get both of them at once, and he had to kill Toni. She was the last juror. Even if Michael escaped, he couldn’t go to the police. No one would believe his crazy story without the footage, and he’d be no threat to Stan if he was running from the authorities all his life. Stan would never expect him to stay and save Toni, so he wouldn’t be cautious about looking behind him. That was exactly the advantage Michael needed.
The library shelves were divided, and when they’d first entered the room, Michael had noticed that they’d attached them to the ceiling with eye hooks. It was a sturdy enough method if they were evenly balanced, but one section wasn’t. They were rearranging the philosophy section. Four shelves were empty on one side, down at the bottom, where it counted. And Stan was crawling right in front of it.
Michael hurtled forward and pushed with all his strength. The bookcase swayed and toppled with a crash. There was a scream of pain. Toni? No, not Toni. And then the lights came on to blind him.
“Jesus, Mike! Did you leave anything for us to do?” It was Harry Evans, helping Toni to her feet and grinning like a Cheshire cat. “We had you covered all the time, Mike. No problem, until Toni switched off the lights.”
“Harry!” Toni looked dazed, “But how did you—”
“Brilliant detective work on my part. Take care of her, will you Mike? I’ve got things to do.”
Michael heard Harry tell all his men to take Stan to the station and book him. And not to forget to read him his rights, because he was a lawyer and they didn’t want this one dismissed on a technicality. And then Toni was in his arms, warm and safe and whole. How close they’d come! He’d never let her go again.
“Well, how about that?” Harry came up to them and slapped Michael on the back. “Busy night, huh, Mike?”
Toni was laughing hysterically, and Michael couldn’t blame her. He tried to kiss her, but she just laughed harder and pointed down at the floor. Books were scattered all over, heavy philosophy books that had to weigh at least ten pounds apiece.
“Good thing it wasn’t filled with your books, Mike. They’re going to publish it in paperback. I’ll tell you later. Oh, God!”
And then she was laughing even harder while Michael and Harry stared at each other in consternation. Both men were trying to figure out some way to stop her when she leaned over to pick up one particularly heavy book.
“It’s Wittgenstein. He saved my life, Mike. My father always told me I’d learn to appreciate Wittgenstein someday.”
Harry watched them for a moment. Mike was a real nice guy. He was kissing Toni, and she was kissing him back. He opened his mouth to tell them that they’d never been in any danger. He’d taken all the bullets out of Stan’s gun. But then he decided not to spoil the moment. Wasn’t love grand? The moment he got home he’d tell Doris to start planning the menu for a wedding reception. By the looks of those two, it wouldn’t be a very long wait!
A KILLER IN THE DEAD OF WINTER . . .
As a family clinic administrator, Michelle Layton
has seen her share of suffering. But never anything
like this. Not here in St. Cloud, Minnesota.
A local activist has been found murdered,
his body frozen like a statue and placed in a
Winter Carnival ice sculpture display.
Next a vicious hate crime puts a man in the ICU.
And locked away in the Holy Rest mental ward,
a deranged man of the cloth prays
for more sinners to be punished—
and waits for a sign from above.
These seemingly random acts lead
police chief Steve Radke to Michelle,
who could be the next pawn in a madman’s
chess game of life and death,
good versus evil . . .
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek
of Joanne Fluke’s
VENGEANCE IS MINE
coming in December 2015!
PROLOGUE
“Zina, heel!” Bonnie Novak jerked back on the leash with all her strength and dug her heels into the deep snow flanking Twelfth Avenue. Her thirty-eight-pound Siberian husky strained on the leash, eyeing the park across the street eagerly, but Bonnie managed to hold her in check until a yellow school bus rumbled past. Obedience training had been a waste of money. Walking Zina was still a test of brute strength.
The street was clear now, and Bonnie let the dog pull her across the slippery asphalt and into the snow-covered park. The freezing rain last night had coated the snow with a hard crust of ice, and Bonnie’s boots crunched as she hurried to keep up with Zina. She caught a quick glimpse of the American National Bank sign before Zina pulled her behind a snowbank. It was seven forty-five and minus nine degrees in downtown St. Cloud. Bonnie gave an automatic shiver until she realized that the temperature was in Celsius. It was really fifteen above, and that was a balmy day for February in Minnesota.
Zina stopped to sniff at the base of a tree, and Bonnie stood silently, enjoying the peaceful morning. Flanked by tall pine trees, the park was effectively cut off from the noisy traffic on Division Street. It was an island of serenity in the center of the bustling city. The sky above was still gray, but the sun struggled to peek through the low clouds. This might turn out to be a nice day after all.
“Come on, Zina. Let’s go.” Bonnie jerked hard on the leash and began to walk through the crusty snow bordering the small lake. In the summer Lake George was filled with rented paddleboats, but now it was the municipal skating rink. As Zina sniffed at the frozen bushes Bonnie followed along slowly, examining the ice sculptures that were already beginning to line the shore. On Monday WinterGame would start, and this peaceful little park would be filled with people. The fundraiser would run for a week with figure skating competitions, ice hockey play-offs, snowman building contests, and the ice sculpture exhibition.
“Zina! No!” Bonnie attempted to pull the husky back, but Zina barked sharply and strained toward one of the ice sculptures. It was the most hideous thing Bonnie had ever seen, a statue of a man dying in agony, his skull crushed in. The artist had added plenty of realistic touches. There was even red poster paint for the blood that covered the man’s face. Bonnie certainly hoped that this sculpture didn’t win the contest.
The Siberian husky began to whine as Bonnie held her tightly by the choke chain. The sun peeked through the clouds for a moment, and B
onnie gave a sigh of relief as she realized that this statue couldn’t possibly win the contest. There was something inside, covered by a coating of ice. The rules clearly stated that all entries had to be carved freehand.
Just as Bonnie was ready to turn and start toward home, the clouds rolled away and the winter sun hit the statue fully, highlighting it in grisly detail. Bonnie’s mouth opened in a scream, and she swayed on her feet. This was no ice sculpture. It was real. And there was a dead man inside.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 1989 by Joanne Fluke Previously published by Pocket Books
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-8972-8
ISBN-10: 0-7582-8971-5
First Kensington Mass Market Edition: August 2015
eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-8972-8
eISBN-10: 0-7582-8972-3
First Kensington Electronic Edition: August 2015