Sinister Justice

by Steve Pickens

  “Right out of Grimm’s Fairy Tales,” said Sam.

  “Grimm’s were all terribly moralistic. They had a real sense of justice to a lot of their stories,” said Jake. “That’s what this guy is doing. ‘Enemies of Arrow Bay, a grim fate awaits you,’ the note said.”

  “A very sinister justice,” said Sam, staring at Leona Weinberg’s house. “And I would argue there wasn’t as much a sense of justice in Grimm as there was revenge. That’s not exactly my idea of justice.”

  “You’re right,” said Jake.

  “You’re forgetting something, though,” said Jason.

  “What?”

  “Well, the common thread between Reed Longhoffer and Leona Weinberg was the city council and Wilde Park. Doesn’t that put a third member at risk?”

  Jake and Sam looked at each other, dread in their eyes. Both wondered exactly what Verna Monger was doing, or if she was even still alive.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  When Jake tried to call Verna Monger, he found out she had left the state on some emergency family business overnight. Jake had thanked the housekeeper, a woman with a thick German accent, wondering if there was an emergency or if Verna had astutely gathered her life might be in danger. She wasn’t a stupid woman.

  Jake showered, dressed, and saw Sam off to church while helping Jason pack up a few more of his belongings. By the time Jason left, Jake was feeling completely exhausted again and had to lie down. With Verna Monger out of the state, the next target was undoubtedly out of harm’s way, so Haggerty could wait. Jake wasn’t entirely sure that Haggerty was even in his office on a Sunday.

  Barnaby joined him on the couch and for the next hour he drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming of Leona Weinberg dressed as Snow White spinning around her yard with bluebirds fluttering about her head, her lawn dwarves leaping up to defend her from a dark, faceless shape that cackled and held out a glowing red apple in one hand. He awoke with a start, groaning at the aches that had returned, and got up to blow his nose. He took another swig of the cough syrup with codeine and gulped another cup of hot coffee before heading downtown.

  He parked his PT Cruiser in front of the Public Safety building just after ten, sneezing and hacking all the way into the lobby, where the policewoman on door duty gave Jake a look as if he might be some form of biological weapon. When he asked to see Detective Haggerty, she waved him through the metal detector then asked him to wait for Haggerty.

  “What was your name?”

  “Shackleford,” said Jake, unable to help himself. “Achoo! Rusty Shackleford.”

  “He’s says his name is Rusty Shackleford,” said the guard into the phone. “What’s he look like? I don’t know, about five feet five—”

  “Six and three-quarters.”

  “Five foot six and three-quarters, kind of shaggy hair, goatee. Looks and sounds like he’s got a cold.”

  “You got that right,” said Jake, sneezing again.

  The guard replaced the phone on the cradle and nodded to Jake, handing him a badge that said VISITOR in big red letters. “Go on in. Take the elevator to the second floor; take your first left, go down the hallway about halfway. He’s expecting you.”

  Jake wandered down to the elevator and waited for it to take him up to the gray cube farm on the second floor. It was mostly empty now, save for a man in a suit. Jake had seen him before. The man eyed him for an uncomfortably long period, but Jake did not look down or break his gaze. He wouldn’t have in any case, but the cold meds and cough syrup were making him feel slightly fuzzyheaded. He had to fight the urge to blow the man a kiss just to irritate him. Finally, the man looked away when the phone at his desk began to ring.

  Jake counted doors before he realized the guard hadn’t given him an exact number. Halfway down, he looked into an open office and found Adam Haggerty, looking glum behind a big desk, surrounded by an array of colorful origami cranes, frogs, stars, and assorted creatures.

  “What do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Shackleford?” asked a smiling Haggerty, beginning to fold another piece of paper.

  “Sorry about that,” said Jake, entering the office.

  “Not at all. When someone from the front desk calls up and says someone downstairs is here to see me and gives me Dale Gribble’s alias I knew it could only be one person.”

  “I wasn’t counting on you being a King of the Hill fan,” said Jake, feeling dizzy. He placed his hand on the doorframe to steady himself.

  “Please sit down, Mr. Finnigan. You look as though you’re about to pass out.”

  “I’ll try not to,” said Jake, taking the seat to the left of the two desks.

  “Please tell me you didn’t drive down here.”

  “Felt fine when I left. It just keeps coming back on me.”

  “Sharon’s gone to get some coffee,” said Haggerty. “Would you prefer some juice or something else?”

  “Maybe a glass of water.”

  Haggerty rose and stepped out of the office, leaving Jake to sit back and feel his head spin. He sneezed loudly twice, sitting for several minutes holding the bridge of his nose. The pressure behind it was unbearable, but the codeine was rapidly working on the pain.

  “You don’t look so good,” said Sharon Trumbo, placing three cups of coffee on the desk.

  “Just a cold. Thanks for the coffee. I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

  “You should have some hot lemon water or maybe some tea.”

  “Detective Haggerty is getting me some water,” said Jake.

  Sharon stood up abruptly and shut the door to the office. Sitting back down, she said, “He’s under a lot of stress and sometimes he gets to the breaking point. I know he was a little hard on your brother’s friend, but he should have come forward with the note.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree. He probably wasn’t hard enough on Brauer,” said Jake with a sneeze. “Do you have your gun?”

  “Erm, well, yes,” said Sharon.

  “I may ask you to shoot me at some point,” he said, blinking. The butterflies had returned.

  “You really should be in bed—” she stopped as Jake held up a hand.

  “Believe me, I wouldn’t have come down here if I’d not felt it was important. After my brother told me the contents of the second note, I felt I had better get down here,” said Jake, leaning back in the chair. He eyed the steaming cup of coffee. “Sugar?”

  “I’ve some packets in my desk,” said Sharon, opening a drawer. “How many?”

  “Four. I normally don’t put that many in, but I can’t taste anything. Hopefully this will help,” said Jake taking the sugar packets from her and stirring them into the coffee.

  “What is so important that you felt you had to come down here?”

  Jake sighed and took a sip of his coffee as Detective Haggerty entered the room and handed Jake a bottle of water.

  “Sorry,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I ran into someone on the way back,” he said, taking his place behind his desk, and giving Sharon a we’ll-talk-later look. “What’s up, Mr. Finnigan?”

  “Have you noticed anything similar about the crimes?” Jake asked.

  “We can’t discuss open cases, Mr. Finnigan, even if one of the victims was your next door neighbor,” said Haggerty slowly.

  “Okay, don’t discuss, just…listen.”

  “Mr. Finnigan—” Haggerty began.

  “Adam, hear him out, okay? He wouldn’t have dragged himself down here half dead if he didn’t think it was important.”

  Haggerty sighed, picking up a piece of bright blue paper. He folded it in half very carefully. “Okay. But if anyone asks, you’re here because you had some more information about Leona Weinberg’s movements the day she died.”

  “Agreed,” Jake said with a deep breath. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. Maybe because I’ve been trying to purposefully keep myself out of this whole thing,” said Jake, ignoring Haggerty’s raised eyebrows. “I know serial killers usually choose the same M.O., which
of course isn’t the case here.”

  “We’re not even sure we are talking about the same perpetrator, Mr. Finnigan.”

  “Oh, come on. Both were members of the city council. Duh. Even Rebecca Windsor can put that two and two together and get four. Or the devil,” said Jake, watching Haggerty fold the paper. “I really wish you could see these butterflies. You’d like them with all the other colorful animals you have there.”

  “Butterflies?” Sharon asked.

  “Mr. Finnigan, have you been imbibing your codeine cough syrup again?”

  “Doctor prescribed. Just got a top off, in fact. Only thing that kills the pain in the lungs.”

  “I think you’d be better served by some antibiotics.”

  “It may come to that.” Jake watched the iridescent butterflies swoop around Haggerty’s head. “The butterflies are really cool, though.” He charged on. “The modus operandi was the same for both victims.”

  “I don’t see how,” said Sharon.

  Haggerty stopped folding paper and looked at Jake carefully for a moment. “Go on.”

  “Leona Weinberg was a meddling, bigoted old bat with horrible taste. She did have a passion for Disney memorabilia, though. You had to have noticed it. The shutters are red with little hearts cut out in them and those horrible, horrible lawn dwarves in the yard.”

  “Right,” said Sharon.

  “How was she killed?”

  “Poisoned apple,” said Adam Haggerty, resuming his folding.

  “Right, just like—”

  “Snow White,” said Sharon. “And Longhoffer…”

  “Always wore the maroon hat,” said Adam. “Which, fudging a bit, is red, as in—”

  “Riding Hood.” Sharon looked up at Adam, cross. “You’ve thought about this.”

  “I was mulling it over,” said Haggerty sheepishly. “I was going to run it past you later.”

  “It seems logical then, given the contents of the second note, that whoever is doing this is targeting the dissenting members of the city council. Which would mean Verna Monger is likely the next target,” said Jake. “Except for she’s out of town now and luckily out of harm’s way.”

  “Which is why you called the house at approximately 8:35 this morning,” said Haggerty, making another fold.

  “How’d you know…Ah? Tap.”

  “Yes. We could see which way the wind was blowing. When two of three members of the city council are murdered, it isn’t too illogical to assume the third who shares their beliefs might be the next in line.”

  “Except I don’t think she is,” said Jake.

  Haggerty sat up, setting down a nearly completed origami turtle. “Why not?”

  “Because she redeemed herself. Grimm’s fairytales are all about the evildoer getting it in the shorts by the end of the story.”

  “Well, wait, Snow White wasn’t the evildoer in the story,” said Sharon.

  “I know, I know, but let’s face it, kids, whoever is doing this isn’t playing with a full deck of cards,” said Jake, wincing at the cliché. “Look…I know it’s unorthodox, but can I see the crime scene photos of Leona Weinberg?”

  Haggerty eyed Jake carefully for a moment, then opened his desk drawer and handed a packet to Jake.

  “Photographic memory or not, when I’m sick and on cold meds, the file cabinets in the old noggin sometimes don’t open. The butterflies get in the way, too,” said Jake, thumbing through the photos until he found the one he was looking for. It was a long shot of Leona Weinberg on the floor, her arms outstretched, one still holding the apple, her feet askew. Her eyes were open and her face horribly purple. Jake concentrated on the position of the body itself. He held the photo up for Trumbo and Haggerty to look at. “Notice anything?”

  “It’s how the body was found,” said Sharon.

  “Look at her position. Think of a body falling to the floor. Would it really have fallen in such a way?”

  “It’s possible,” said Haggerty.

  “I don’t think so. I think she’s been posed this way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the wicked stepmother in Grimm’s was put to death by placing her feet in hot iron shoes then forcing her to dance until she fell down dead,” said Jake, looking at the photo again. “I noted it at the time but didn’t really think much about it. Take a look at the shoes with regard to what else she was wearing,” said Jake, showing the photo once again to Trumbo and Haggerty.

  “I don’t see anything…” said Haggerty.

  “You do, don’t you Detective Trumbo?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said with a grin.

  “While I hate anything that resembles a stereotype, Detective Haggerty, you’ve just given valuable evidence of your heterosexuality.”

  “I… What are you talking about?”

  “Her shoes, Adam, are gray. Steel gray, I might add. Which do not go with her blouse or her skirt.”

  “Leona’s taste in lawn decoration may have been awful, and she may have been outfitted by Old Lady USA, but she would not have worn gray pumps with that outfit. I can’t remember her wearing anything but black patent leather Oxford pumps. Always sounded like gunshots going up the sidewalk to her front door.”

  “I think you might have something, Mr. Finnigan,” said Adam Haggerty, looking over the photo.

  “But he’s mixing stories,” Sharon pointed out. “Or she.”

  “Snow White and Cinderella.” Jake nodded. “Yeah, but really, do you think he—or she—would have been able to lay his hands on some real iron shoes and make Leona do the Charleston until she dropped dead? I mean, I’m not even sure that’d kill you.”

  “I’m thinking it wouldn’t do you any good,” said Sharon.

  Jake shrugged. “The butterflies—which are iridescent purple around you, by the way—seem to agree. So you must be right. And that being said, whoever is doing this is fuckin’ nuts, don’t you think? I’m pretty sure getting the fairytale aspect to it was what he was after and maybe he kinda winged it. The poison apple is certainly straight out of Fimm.” He shook his head. “Grimm! Damn cough syrup.”

  “How much of that have you had?” asked Haggerty.

  “A wig or three. Swig. Four. Four exactly. And I think the point was the symbolism, not the method.”

  “With Weinberg?” asked Adam.

  “Yep. She may have lived in Snow White’s cottage, but she was really the wicked stepmother. Hence, the gray pumps.”

  “Long way to go to make a point,” Sharon said.

  “Again,” said Jake, swirling his index finger around his temple in circles. “Fuckin’ crackers.”

  Sharon stifled a laugh, but was not able to contain her smile. Jake grinned right back at her.

  “As for Reed Longhoffer, I think it’s a case of wolf-eating-wolf, ho ho. Although I have to admit I feel more for the furry one than Longhoffer,” said Jake, sneezing again.

  Adam looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “And why do you think Verna Monger is no longer at risk?” she asked.

  “I can’t explain it. A hunch, I guess. She voted for kicking Longhoffer off the council. This guy might consider that an act of redemption and not do whatever he’s got planned.”

  “Which means someone else in town we don’t know about might be targeted,” said Sharon.

  Haggerty shrugged, arching his long, narrow fingers into a steeple in front of him thoughtfully. “We may not know in any case. I thought Monger might be an obvious choice for the next victim. That’s why I put her phone and house under surveillance,” he said with a sigh. “Then I thought that this person surely would have realized we figured out, at the very least, the connection between Longhoffer and Weinberg, making Verna Monger far too obvious a choice for his or her next victim.”

  “If he’s using those against Wilde Park as his criteria for bumping people off, he’s got a pretty narrow list. There were only a few at the meeting who spoke in favor of demolishing it for the sake of a
big box store. I don’t think he’d consider Rebecca Windsor a serious target,” said Jake with a sniff.

  “No, neither do I,” Haggerty said. “Besides if anything happened to her, I’d look at Trudy Mundy,” said Haggerty, grinning crookedly.

  “I guess the next question would be who had dealings with Reed Longhoffer in regard to the SuperLoMart deal,” said Jake, thinking aloud more than anything else. He snapped his fingers and said, “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I know!”

  Adam arched an eyebrow and said, “Who?”

  Jake blinked. “Who what?”

  “You just said…oh, never mind. You’ve professed no interest in being involved in a murder investigation, so we’ll take it from here,” said Haggerty.

  “Too bloody right,” said Jake, rising unsteadily to his feet. “If you’ll pardon the expression.”

  “No worries, Mr. Finnigan,” said Haggerty. “And thank you for coming down. It’s been most illuminating.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Are you absolutely sure you can get yourself home okay?” Sharon asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine, thank you. It’s a very short distance, and I’ll be okay. If I don’t feel well enough by the time I get down to my car I’ll call someone. Actually, I think I’ll just sleep there for a while.”

  “Nah, I don’t think so,” said Adam, picking up the phone. “I’ll have one of the patrol officers take you home.”

  “If you’ll forgive me, I’d rather not arrive back at my house in a patrol car. The neighbors have been…well, curious to say the least given the recent circumstances. I’ll call Sam to come get me. Church should be out by now.”

  “You’re absolutely certain? I don’t want you getting behind the wheel, Mr. Finnigan. Especially if you’ve been taking that codeine cough syrup.”

  “Relax, Detective, I promise I won’t get behind the wheel. I’ve never driven impaired in my life, and I don’t intend to start now. I’ll call Sam as soon as I get to the car,” said Jake, wishing now he’d just called in his information. He stopped at the door, closed his eyes and said, “C’mon, you gotta know who’s next. I mean, there’s only one other person besides Verna Monger.”