Head Shot

by Dan Ames

  "Something tells me this is going to be the best vacation of my life," she said.

  He looked out the window idly before answering.

  "God, I hope so," he said softly.

  Laurie snuggled closer to his shoulder and Mike leaned his head back again, closing his eyes.

  Sleep came quickly to both of them.

  Chapter 35

  Ray pulled into the driveway of the late James Tomczak and unleashed more expletives in one sentence than he had in the last year.

  The Channel 6 news van sat in the middle of the drive, surrounded by police cruisers and unmarked detective cars.

  As he approached, Nancy Bishop and her cameraman descended upon him.

  "Do you know where Ferkovich is?" she asked.

  Ray continued walking toward the house.

  "No comment."

  "Do you think he's headed for Rodgers Bay?" she persisted.

  He kept walking without responding.

  As the cameraman lowered his camera, she fired one last question at him with a smirk on her face.

  "What took you so long to get here, Mitchell?"

  He stopped and turned back to look at her. She answered with a sweet smile.

  Ray felt the heat under his collar and with great restraint, ducked under the police tape and went inside the house.

  A local cop met him in the kitchen and showed him the way to the basement.

  The dead man lay as he had apparently fallen, his arms behind his back, his feet resting on the bottom step.

  The smell of death and decay was powerful and by the looks of the victim, soon to get much stronger. Ray heard a scurry behind a stand of gray metal shelving and guessed the rats were disappointed in the home's most recent arrivals.

  Mitchell looked around the small basement. There were boxes, a small but tidy workbench, rags, a couple of sawhorses and some scrap lumber. Except for the corpse, the room reminded him of his own basement back in Milwaukee.

  A shadow fell on the steps leading down into the basement, and Ray looked up in time to see the crime scene technician walking gingerly down the rickety steps.

  Paul Casey nodded at Ray, who returned the gesture.

  "Find me as soon as you're done here," Ray said as he headed for the stairs.

  "You got it."

  Mitchell walked back through the kitchen and found Detective Krahn standing just outside the back door. The two walked into the backyard out of earshot of the local cops.

  "Did anyone talk to her?" he asked with a nod toward Nancy Bishop.

  Krahn grunted. "I think she got a few questions in but these local guys didn't know much.”

  Ray kicked some loose dirt with his shoe.

  "How did she get here so fast? I'm tempted to arrest her."

  "On what charges?"

  Ray thought about that one.

  "Let's take a walk," he said, and headed for the abandoned truck in the woods.

  The smell of pine needles and thick grass wafted in the air, a testament to the area's increased foot traffic and the fact that pollen was flying at this time of the year.

  Ray felt a tickle in his nose and hoped that his allergies didn't kick up. Sometimes ragweed caused his nose to run for days and gave him some nasty sinus issues.

  He and Krahn walked past the metal shed and the abandoned tractor behind the house.

  "He had a nice little place here," commented Krahn.

  "Yeah, nice and peaceful until now," Ray said.

  They reached the small knoll and the clearing, then found themselves looking down the ravine at the abandoned truck which was being photographed and dusted for fingerprints.

  "What do you make of all this, Ray?"

  Ray gestured toward the truck.

  "He needed a new ride, so he drives home, asks Tomczak to help him hide the truck. Then they go back, have a couple of beers, and Ferkovich eliminates the witness."

  Ray looked at the sky and felt a cool breeze blow off the top of the small bluff shading the ravine.

  "He takes the time to write a Gone Fishin’ sign and posts it on the door to buy himself a little time," said Mitchell.

  Krahn nodded and said nothing.

  "So where does he go about his merry way? Does he go downstate? There's no shortage of crazy rednecks that would hide him out."

  Ray stopped pacing before he spoke again.

  "He's gotta be smart enough to know we're watching his sister, so he can't go there..."

  "So he's driving another stolen vehicle, he's got no place to hide, everyone's looking for him, and he's going to have to kill again."

  The two detectives stood quietly for several moments.

  "Maybe he goes back to Milwaukee, now that he's got us all pulled up here. A little misdirection."

  Ray shook his head.

  "I don't see it. Too risky, and although he clearly doesn't want to get caught, his urges are stronger than his desire for self-preservation."

  Krahn tried again.

  "OK, then maybe he heads for the nearest big city. Minneapolis is what, four hours away? Or maybe he goes over the Mackinaw bridge, then down to Detroit. He's lived there, so he's somewhat familiar with it. A great city to get lost in."

  "I don't think he wants to run anymore," said Ray. "I think he wants to find another victim and take the easiest way out. The question is, which way does he consider to be the easiest?"

  "What he considers the easy way, we might think is the hard way."

  Ray began walking back to the house.

  "Well, I can think of one place priests, saints, sinners and killers, people everywhere turn to when they need help."

  Krahn bit.

  "Where would that be?"

  "Family."

  Chapter 36

  The Cape Cod's pleasant facade welcomed Ray as he pulled the sedan up in front of the house located at 628 Cherry Street in Rodgers Bay. A neatly manicured lawn with a border of multi-colored blossoms surrounded the house and lined the old-fashioned brick path leading to the front door.

  Ray got out of the car and stretched his muscles, his lower back ached from too much time in the car.

  A window curtain was tugged gently aside then released, falling back into place with a whisper of movement that, although slight, did not escape the visitor’s eye.

  He rang the doorbell and waited, knowing full well the person was already standing behind the door waiting for the requisite time to appear casual in answering the caller. The interior door swung open and Ray faced a man dressed in a sweatshirt, khakis and boat shoes. The screen door remain closed.

  "What can I do for you?" the man asked.

  Ray held up his badge and the man squinted, making a bit of a show of checking the metal closely for inspection.

  "Mitchell, Milwaukee Homicide," Ray said. "Is Mary Ferkovich home?"

  The man gave Ray a fatigued look, then stepped aside without answering.

  "Mary!" he called. “More cops!”

  Ray stepped inside and let his eyes adjust to the darker light. It was a quaint, neat home. A small living room with a bay window opened up into an eat-in kitchen with a door at the back of the room.

  The furniture was simple yet elegant and the artwork on the walls was contemporary. The room was bordered by a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. And an entire row of the classics sat on the middle shelf, bound in rich leather. It was a teacher's bookcase, Ray noted. No trashy paperbacks allowed in this home.

  Mary Ferkovich entered the room from the kitchen and Ray took her in. She was somewhat tall, maybe five ten, and looked like an athlete. A slim body was topped off by a slightly lean face devoid of any makeup. She wore her hair short and her clear gaze bored into Ray's eyes.

  She looks a lot like her brother, Mitchell noted to himself.

  "Hi, I'm Mary," she said simply.

  "Ma'am, my name's Ray Mitchell and I'm a senior homicide detective with Milwaukee PD.”

  She nodded.

  "I'm here to ask you some questions about y
our brother."

  "Have a seat, Mr. Mitchell," she said, gesturing to the couch in front of the bay window. "Would you like Hal to get you something to drink? Coffee, tea perhaps?"

  "No thank you, ma'am."

  Mary turned and sat in an armchair. She nodded to her husband who sat on the other end of the couch, positioning himself between Ray and Mary.

  "When's the last time you spoke with your brother Joe?" Ray asked, launching right in.

  Hal was the first to speak.

  "We’ve already covered this with the local cops," he said.

  “I’m sure you have, I just want to go over everything myself.”

  He turned back to Mary Ferkovich.

  "Two years ago,” she said.

  "What was the occasion?"

  "It was Thanksgiving and I wanted to see if he would join Hal and me for a turkey dinner. He wasn't interested."

  "And you haven't heard from him since?"

  She shook her head.

  Ray paused and let the silence hang, but the woman didn't bat an eye, although her husband shifted uncomfortably.

  "Is there anything you can tell us that would help us find out where your brother is?” Ray asked.

  Mary Ferkovich stood and paced the living room.

  "Mr. Mitchell, there are thirty sets of parents in this town who, five days a week, turn the care of their children to me."

  She stopped and looked intently at Ray.

  "For me to allow a suspected murderer to be within a thousand square miles of those children is inconceivable to me. That's not how God made me. If my brother calls me or comes here, I will do everything I can to get him to turn himself in. And if he doesn't, I will pick up the phone and call you. That's a promise."

  Ray ran the information through his head. Krahn would be here soon to help keep the house under surveillance, and he was trying to get some strings pulled to check Mary Ferkovich's phone records at the school.

  Mitchell thought back to Joe Ferkovich's rap sheet. He was a violent man but also cunning. He had to know the police would find the van and be watching Mary's house.

  He stood and idly glanced at the pictures on the far wall, then handed Mary his card. He was about to say something when her husband interrupted him.

  "Anything else we can do for you, Mr. Mitchell?" asked Hal, whose helpful tone was anything but.

  Ray looked at Mary.

  "I don't know if you are aware, but the victims, before they were brutally murdered, were also sexually assaulted and their bodies mutilated."

  Neither Mary nor her husband responded.

  "If your brother did kill those people, then I hope you both realize it can only mean one thing."

  "What?" asked Mary.

  "If he wasn't insane when you were with him, he's definitely insane now."

  With that, he opened the door and left. Ray normally didn't resort to theatrics or pushing innocent people, but something wasn't right with those two. Something nagged at his mind and he couldn't put his finger on it.

  Ray climbed back into the sedan and headed back into Rodgers Bay. Even though he was far from home, he couldn't shake his old habits and old addictions.

  He needed to find a strong cup of coffee.

  Chapter 37

  Large, rolling waves crashed against the harbor's giant, bleached white rocks. Gulls cruised overhead, looking for a quick meal courtesy of the charter boat captain discarding the morning's bait.

  Activity along the pier was minimal except for the occasional fisherman leaving his boat, lugging fishing equipment or a local with a long cane pole and a pail of worms, ready to target the perch that occasionally schooled in and around the harbor's protected water.

  A large, heavyset man emerged from one of the boats and walked along the pier. A baseball cap sat on top of his square head, and his belly, ensconced in a layer of blue flannel, hung over the belt holding up his blue jeans.

  The man strolled awkwardly down the pier with his shoulders hunched forward and his back bent by the heavy cargo wrapped around his midsection.

  If a person looked closely, they would have seen the layer of fat commonly known as the spare tire, was in fact, unnaturally rumpled.

  One would also have observed the man's awkward gait periodically changed. Sometimes he walked more upright, and then became hunched farther forward as if he couldn't make up his mind exactly how much his belly weighed him down.

  On the back of the blue flannel shirt was a rather significant amount of hair clippings. Also, the hair tucked beneath his baseball cap was oddly colored, with light streaks beneath. Not your typical dye job by any means.

  The man strolled around the horseshoe-shaped pier and turned left when he reached the parking lot. He headed for the play structure and swings in the grassy park located between the boat ramp and the swimming area.

  A row of benches had been placed kitty corner from the play structure so the parents could sit and commiserate about the lack of time in their lives.

  The man sat on one of the benches and gazed out across the park to the clear blue waters of Lake Superior. The water looked cold in the gray light. Far out toward the horizon he could see a group of boats scattered haphazardly along a clearly defined line. It was probably a shelf that supplied the structure for suspended lake trout.

  Joe Ferkovich placed his hands behind his head and glanced down at the pillow and blanket stuffed inside his shirt. The disguise was good, he thought from a distance at least.

  His eye caught movement to his left and he casually glanced that way. A police cruiser was making its way slowly down the street. Joe got to his feet to show off his new profile, not wanting the cop to get curious and move in closer. He crossed back over toward the pier, giving the cop a quick glance like any normal person and then headed for the pier. When the cruiser went by and was out of sight, Joe returned to the bench.

  It was a relatively nice day and he figured a mother with a young child should be along any time now.

  He could wait a little bit longer.

  Chapter 38

  Lieutenant Benjamin Soergel plunked his lean, muscular frame into the chair facing Chief Trimble's desk.

  "Heard the latest?" he asked.

  Trimble looked up from a thick sheaf of papers in his hands.

  "No, but I think I'm about to."

  "Ferkovich killed his buddy, stole his truck and disappeared. Mitchell went and talked to the sister who didn’t seem to know anything, but he thinks she might be hiding something. What that might be exactly he has no idea."

  Soergel leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet, then idly glanced around the office. I could get used to this, he thought to himself. His eyes fell on the short, squat figure of Trimble. First, I have to get rid of this jackass, though. Well, the good thing is, he's got no clue I'm gunning for him.

  Trimble finished speaking.

  "Pardon me, Chief?" Soergel said.

  "I was just saying that I'm glad Ray's up there. He's the best we've got and he'll find this sick bastard."

  Soergel raised an eyebrow.

  "You really think Mitchell's the best we've got?"

  Trimble looked across the desk at his next-in-command.

  "You don't?"

  Soergel shrugged his shoulders.

  "I think he's done some good things, but there's something about him I just don't trust. And all these leaks to the media. Where are they coming from? It just seems like he doesn't run a very tight ship, you know what I mean?"

  "Can you blame that on Ray, though?"

  "Well, it's his investigation, isn't it?"

  Trimble nodded.

  "All of the information is going through him, right?"

  Trimble leaned back in his chair, as if to say he knew where this was all going.

  "I rest my case."

  A pause filled the space while Soergel let that thought sink into his boss's mind. A mind, Soergel thought to himself, that was getting more and more like Play-Doh every day.

>   "You know what would really work out well for Ray?" Soergel said, adopting a spur-of-the-moment tone.

  "What's that?"

  "If he can bring in this killer, quickly and painlessly with no more people getting killed in the process, he'll make us all look good, especially himself."

  Trimble nodded.

  "I think he can do it."

  Soergel let the pause hang just long enough. "Sure, I think he can, too."

  "But what if he can't?” Trimble asked.

  "Then he'll look bad,” Soergel pointed out. “But so will we.”

  The chief rocked slightly in his chair, before locking his eyes onto Soergel.

  "How's your schedule look?" Trimble asked.

  "Busy as always,” Soergel said, trying not to smile.

  "I want you up there with Ray,” the chief said.

  Soergel started to protest.

  "I know, I know, you've got a lot to do and it's his investigation, but let's cover our asses a bit,” Trimble said. “Just go up and make sure everything's hunky-dory, okay?"

  "Well, I don't know how much I can help, but I'll go if you want me to, Chief."

  "Just you being there will help. Call me when you join up with Ray."

  With that, Trimble delved back into the paperwork on his desk and Soergel quietly exited the chief's office.

  He walked down the hallway to his own office. He’d gassed up the car the night before and had plotted his trip.

  He turned and looked back down the hall at Trimble's office. How much longer it would be before his name went on that door he really didn't know.

  But that's what made it all so damn much fun.

  Chapter 39

  Beta Giancarlo walked down the main hallway of Global Creative Management's Los Angeles office.

  To say that she was rarely called into Marcus Levenson's office would be a gross understatement. In fact, to say anyone rarely saw him would still be not doing the big man's elusiveness justice. Hell, Beta knew agents who had been at GCM five years and never been called to see him once.

  Marcus Levenson was director of the entire office, overseeing every one of the fifteen agents representing clients. He was a rail thin man with a smile so false it seemed unworthy of the effort made to create it. Because he rarely showed his face around the office, the agents had clandestinely nicknamed him "The Shadow."