The chief of police of La Barca stormed into the mayor’s office, enraged over new remarks made by the mayor about the chief, and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. The citizens of La Barca found themselves with their chief of police in jail and their mayor in the hospital. A number of city cops, sympathetic to their chief—including detective Bill Bourne—quit. Brownie promptly hired Bill. The weary assistant chief of police handed the entire Ripper package over to the Hancock County Sheriff’s Department.
“Thanks a lot,” Brownie said sarcastically.
“You’re very, very welcome,” the assistant chief replied.
Brenda Yee returned from Los Angeles with her report on Harold and Betty Ryan. Not wanting to discuss anything about the case at the office—the walls were beginning to have ears—the four met at Leo’s house.
“Jesus!” Lani said, looking around her. “I’ll come over here and clean this mess up before Virginia returns home, Leo.”
“She’s used to my sloppy ways,” Leo said defensively.
“No woman is used to this,” Brenda said. “I’ll help you, Lani.”
“Can we get on with the report, please?” Leo pleaded, picking up a pair of dirty socks and looking around for someplace to dump them.
“Try the washing machine,” Lani said, very drily. “I believe you’ll find it in the utility room.”
“Cute, Lani,” Leo replied. “Very cute. I’ve been busy, that’s all.” He went into the utility room and returned, sockless.
Brenda cleared off a spot on the couch and sat down. “Harold and Betty Ryan are legit. Both of them very nice people. Ultrareligious. But they have had no contact with Stacy in over ten years. When they discovered her, ah, sexual preference, they told her to either shape up or ship out, so to speak. She shipped out and never went back.
“Stacy was adopted through a legitimate adoption agency——church run. It’s still in operation, very successful and very, very clean. The people there were nice and friendly and very firm. The man who runs the agency said there is no way on God’s green earth he would ever open Stacy’s records to me or to anyone else. He said he would destroy them first.
“Harold and Betty Ryan received a check for a thousand dollars every month for twenty-one years. A cashier’s check. A total of two hundred and forty-two thousand dollars. Harold and Betty Ryan are native Californians. Never been in trouble with the law. Harold still works in the aerospace industry—same job he’s had for twenty-nine years—and Betty teaches in a preschool facility. They both plan on retiring next year. End of report.”
Lani opened a folder. “Stacy wanted for nothing while growing up. She graduated near the top of her class from UCLA. She went to work immediately after graduation and has been employed in broadcasting ever since. She has never been charged or arrested for anything. She has never received a traffic ticket. She pays her bills on time and has an excellent credit history. She drinks only socially and does not use drugs. She is very outgoing and makes friends easily. She’s active in several charities. She knows she is adopted, and to the best of my knowledge has never tried to discover the identities of her real parents. And she is very distraught over the disappearance of Carla Upton.”
Ted said, “Some of the financial affairs of the Longwood estate are handled by a New York law firm—Allen, Frank, Dennis, Williams, and Batson. They were totally uncooperative. Other affairs are handled by a law firm in the principality of Liechtenstein. The Longwood estate has quite a large amount of money in several banks there. To say the banks and lawyers there were uncooperative would be the understatement of the century. I queried people in our state department. They told me that as long as United States taxes are paid, and they are, accurate to the penny, those banks don’t have to tell me a damn thing.”
“I struck out in personnel,” Leo admitted. “I couldn’t even come up with a possibility. I’ve known most of the people for years. And you all know how strict Brownie is about his people. We’re rated as the best department in the state. If a cop is involved, he or she is on the La Barca PD, and I can’t get into their records.”
Leo sniffed the air. “The coffee’s ready.” Then he remembered he’d used every cup in the house and forgotten to wash them. “Ah ... ”
“Never mind, Leo,” Lani said. “There probably isn’t a clean cup in the house. Come on, Brenda.”
“This is kind of embarrassing,” Leo said, when the ladies had left the room.
“They love to wait on a man,” Ted said, jerking his thumb toward the kitchen. “Women are born with that sense of duty in them.”
Leo smiled. “You, ah, ever been married, Ted?”
“No. No. The right one just hasn’t come along for me.” He frowned. “I meet nice girls, but I just can’t seem to hold on to them.”
“I wonder why?” Leo muttered under his breath. Leo would never leave dirty socks on the floor or a sink filled with dirty dishes if Virginia was within a hundred miles of home.
Lani and Brenda returned, the coffee poured into freshly washed cups. They had all sugared and creamed and stirred and were relaxing when the phone rang. Leo picked it up.
“Pig motherfucker,” the voice said. The caller was using one of those electronic voice disguisers, and Leo could not tell if it was male or female. Leo immediately flipped on the cassette-recorder attached to the phone. “Your wife and oldest daughter are next on the list. I’m going to butt-fuck your kid and tape-record her screams. I’ll be sure to send you a copy. By the way, I know your wife is visiting her sister up north. I’ll let you know if your wife has good pussy.” The caller hung up.
Leo’s face had not changed expression. But inside, he had turned ice-cold and hard as steel. His thoughts were murderous. He rewound the tape and played it for the others.
Ted stood up. “Give me the address, and I’ll use my car phone to get San Francisco PD and have them provide around-the-clock protection.”
“Thanks, Ted. It won’t be for long. I know my wife. She’ll want to come right back here.”
“That’s not smart, Leo,” Brenda said.
Lani and Leo smiled, Lani saying, “Virginia and Leo met while Ginny was a cop here in La Barca. She’s one of the best pistol and rifle shots I ever saw. She iced two punks during a liquor store holdup and shooting. The third perp got off a round that shattered her knee and retired her on disability. Leo arrived just then and shot the third punk in the head. There are a dozen or more retired cops in this area who owe Leo and Ginny their lives. They’ll be so many guns around Ginny and the kids, a platoon of Marines couldn’t get to her.”
“Virginia Malone!” Brenda said and Leo nodded his head. “Sure. We studied her in the academy. That wasn’t the only shooting she was involved in. She killed that kidnapper/child-molester.”
“That’s my girl,” Leo said. “If the Ripper comes around here, shortly thereafter the mortician is gonna be stuffin’ cotton up his ass.”
“He does have a way with words, doesn’t he?” Lani said.
* * *
Sheriff Brownwood was angry through and through after listening to the short tape. “No goddamn street slime son-of-a-bitch-punk-bastard asshole threatens the family of any of my people and gets away with it!”
“Calm down, Brownie,” Leo said.
“Calm down’s ass!”
“I’ve got her covered, Brownie.”
“She’ll be safer here than in ’Frisco.”
“She’ll be here late this evening. Two buddies of mine are escorting her and the kids home.”
“That’s not enough personnel. I’ll call the highway patrol.” He reached for the phone.
Leo laughed and caught his arm. “Wait, Brownie. Wait. Sit down. Please. That’s better. It’s Dick Klimer and Stu Powell with her. Two cars, front and back of hers.”
The sheriff relaxed. “Oh, well. That’s better. Nothing could get by those two apes.”
“And the highway patrol has already been informed of the move down.”
&
nbsp; “Better yet. Sorry, Leo. You know how I feel about people who threaten a cop’s family.”
His secretary buzzed him. “Dennis Potter on the line, Sheriff.”
Brownie picked up. “That’s right, Dennis. How do you find out these things? What? No, no. We’ll have her covered. Yes, we will. I ... Dennis. I ... Dennis, if it will make you feel better, I’m sure Leo would be more than happy to have you handling security. I’ll ask him and get right back to you. Thank you, Dennis.”
Brownie looked at Leo. “How the hell does he find out about things like this?” He held up a hand. “If you know, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know about it. He says he’ll have the best security people in the world here by midnight, if you want them, for as long as you want them.”
“Sure,” Leo said. “I know that quite a few of the retired operations people from CIA go to work for Dennis, and he employs his own private army of ex-military types. SEALs, Special Forces, Rangers, Air Force Commandos. I’ll be happy for them to guard Ginny and the kids.”
Brownie called Dennis and it was set.
Leo rejoined his team and went back to work trying to catch the Ripper. By eight o’clock that night, four men appeared on Leo’s porch. They were all in their mid to late forties. Two were of medium height, one was tall, the other was short. They all had the same expression in their eyes and on their faces. Nothing. Cold, with no other emotion showing. Pete, Sam, Ralph, Martin.
Leo was surprised when the fifth member stepped up and it was a woman, and a very attractive woman at that. She looked to be about thirty-five.
“That’s Leslie,” Pete said. “She goes with your wife and daughters where we can’t go. If you get what I mean.”
“I got it. Come on in and meet the family.”
Inside, with Leo’s family, the demeanor of the security team changed, becoming open and friendly, but still retaining that edge of alertness. When the team’s suitcases and trunks were opened, Leo stared in envy. Everything from night-vision equipment, to the very latest in weapons, to stuff that not even the experienced Leo could recognize.
Leo relaxed. His family was safe.
* * *
“We can’t just go to Stacy and lay it all out on the line to her,” Brenda said, during the morning meeting of the Ripper team. “That would be a terrible shock to her.”
“No,” Leo agreed. “But what we can do is explain to her about the hidden messages behind the tapes at the station, and ask her if she would consent to work with us. Then we could gradually work up to the real objective.”
“It’s still going to be one hell of a shock to her,” Lani said.
“Do we have a choice in the matter?” Ted asked.
They all agreed: no.
* * *
“Incredible,” Stacy said. “I’ve heard of subliminal suggestion, of course. We studied it during many of my broadcast courses. But a lot of people claim it doesn’t work.”
“It works,” Lani told her. The team had agreed that Lani and Brenda would be the first to approach Stacy with the idea. The men would come in afterward. “And we’d like you to help us find the Ripper.”
“Certainly,” Stacy agreed without hesitation. She sighed. “Any word on Carla?”
“Nothing,” Brenda answered. “And we don’t know who the dead woman is either.”
“This whole matter is just ... bizarre. I mean everything. The Ripper, Dick Hale, Carla. Everything. Is it all connected?”
“Yes,” Lani took it. “And your help is going to be invaluable to us. Believe that.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You will.”
* * *
Two weeks passed uneventfully. No more bodies were found. Dick Hale did not surface. No attempts were made on the lives of Virginia Franks or the children. No trace of Carla Upton was found. Stacy Ryan was named permanent general manager of KSIN broadcasting. June Hale was placed in a mental institution; a very exclusive, very private, and very expensive one.
Since nothing exciting was happening, most of the press left town to work other, more newsworthy stories around the nation. War, pestilence, famine, and gut-wrenching personal tragedy were the stuff that ratings were made of. It was just plain boring around La Barca and Hancock County.
But the cops and the security team guarding Virginia Franks and the kids knew this was nothing more than a lull before another violent, bloody storm of torture, perversion, and death. The pause was deliberate on the Ripper’s part.
Stacy could not identify the voice behind the suggestions on the tapes. Cal Denning isolated the voice and cleaned it up, but to no avail. Neither he nor Stacy had ever heard it before.
Unknown to Stacy, she was given a series of PSE tests, the most skilled operator in the state located in another room. She passed every test without a hitch. Stacy Ryan knew nothing about the Ripper.
As the dog days of summer struck in full force, so did the Ripper and Dick Hale. And this time, for the cops, it was very close to home.
Chapter 19
Tony Moreno was two years away from retiring from the Sheriffs Department. He had decided to pull the pin after twenty-five years behind a badge. He and his wife, who worked as a bookkeeper in a local factory, had just put their last chick through college. Tony was going to work part-time as security for a local firm for a few years, and then he and his wife would really retire and do some traveling.
His radio crackled. “HC 135.”
“HC 135,” Tony responded.
“See the woman, 11074 River Oak Drive. Signal 34.”
“Ten-four.” Prowler, Tony thought. Not good, but a damn sight better than a domestic disturbance. Cops hate domestic disturbances. You separate the man from hammering on his wife, and the wife many times will turn on you. Tony still carried the scar on the back of his head where, after he’d pulled the man off his wife, who was doing his best to rearrange her face with his fist, and doing a pretty good job of it, the woman had picked up a Big Ben alarm clock and smashed it against the back of Tony’s head. Then after all that was straightened out, the woman dropped the charges against her husband.
River Oak Drive was way to hell and gone out in the country. The house was dark when Tony pulled into the drive.
“HC 135 dispatch.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m 10-97.” Arrived at the scene.
“That’s 10-4, HC 135. Zero three three five hours.”
“Where was the woman supposed to be?”
“Inside. Said she was afraid to come out.”
“Ten-four.”
That was the last voice communication anyone ever received from Hancock County unit HC 135.
When repeated attempts from the dispatcher failed to get a response from Tony Moreno, every deputy in the county was alerted, as well as the La Barca PD.
Deputies found the unit at ten o’clock the next morning, parked in a ravine about ten miles from La Barca. At four o’clock that afternoon, Sheriff Brownwood got a phone call.
“Listen, Sheriff,” the electronically altered voice said. “Listen to your deputy scream his life away.”
Brownie became physically ill listening to the tortured screaming of Tony, as the call was being traced. He finally had to leave the room.
“Pay phone out on 168,” he was told.
“Roll!”
But there was nobody there. Only the phone taped to a tape recorder with the tape on a continuous loop, and an envelope containing a very profane and mocking note printed in large block letters using a ruler, which eliminates a handwriting expert’s testimony. The deputies, including Leo and Lani, Brenda and Ted, followed the directions and found the remains of Tony Moreno about an hour later. He had been completely skinned, from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
“I’ll go tell his wife,” Brownie said, his voice choked with emotion, both sadness and anger.
For the first time since the Ripper began the barbarity in California, a civilian was allowed to see just how s
avage the attacks were. Stacy Ryan was brought to the scene and allowed to view the remains of Tony Moreno. She passed out.
* * *
The newly appointed chief of police of La Barca opened his personnel records to Leo. On that same day, three officers abruptly quit the force and dropped out of sight. Sam Bolling, Mark Jeffreys, and Anita Rush.
“Run them all the way back to the moment of conception,” Leo said. “And put out an APB.” Some departments use what is called BOLO. Be On the Lookout.
The three former La Barca police officers vanished without a trace. Leo and Lani tossed their apartments and found damning evidence of their involvement with the Ripper, and the theory that it was a killing club proved out. Books and magazines of the most perverted type were found: S & M, child pornography, torture, and depravities so horrible they were unspeakable in nature. They found address books and immediately started alerting other departments nationwide. But of the several hundred names, only a few were picked up for questioning. The others had been tipped off and had split for parts unknown.
Leo and Lani flew to Indianapolis, a city that had recently reported several copycat murders, and where one of the names found in Sam Bolling’s address book had been picked up. A team of Indianapolis cops had sweated the suspect, and he finally broke.
“You’re not gonna believe this guy,” a detective lieutenant told Leo and Lani, after picking them up at Indianapolis International/Weir Cook Airport. “This is something right out of a horror story. We’ve got people digging right now, and so far we’ve uncovered the remains of a dozen people. And he’s a DJ, too,” he added softly. “Local hard rock station.”
“Have you made that public yet?” Lani asked.
“No. I figured you guys would want a lid on that.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“The Bureau been notified?”
Night Mask Page 14