“Oh, and by the way. I sent your husband a text when I got there. Letting him know you had arrived safely. Kind of me, don’t you think?”
“You won’t get away with this,” Dorothy said. “You’re underestimating Sam Abbott.”
“That old dried-up pile of shit? He couldn’t think his way out of a paper bag.”
“You’re forgetting Find My Phone,” I blurted. “They will trace my iPhone.”
“So? It will be on the front seat of your car. Which is in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn, by the way. Did you think I would be stupid enough to bring it back here?”
I said nothing and neither did Dorothy.
“But you and the great mystery writer will be nowhere to be found. They will have proof you checked into the motel. But, doggone it, boys, we seem to have lost them.”
Cocky, derisive. My muscles tensed. Was this a game to him? A matter of beating the best minds in law enforcement. But I suspected it ran deeper. His words were rage-driven.
“The next morning, I took the Super Shuttle on to the airport and even made my flight. As planned of course.”
“How did you get back here?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking even knowing he was eager to show off.
“In my own little Volkswagen. By the way, I owe Keith a word of thanks for recommending that shop. It’s terrific. I paid them extra to have everything done by the time I got back from the conference and, what do you know? They got ’er done. Great job too. A nearby salvage yard even had a replacement door for the one that was ruined. Imagine that! New paint. She looks brand new.”
More than anything this man wanted admiration for his ability to think.
“People will report seeing your car out on I-70.”
“So? People see it all the time anyway. I treat vets with PTSD all over Kansas. It’s my specialty. That and tracking down serial killers.” He guffawed. “And as for this little detour. Had to deliver groceries to my houseguest. And get gas. There’s a 7-11 back down the road a bit. Of course when I’m here I park in one of the outbuildings. To get it out of the weather. So if you were thinking Google Earth, forget it.”
“This house. Is it yours?”
“Sort of. My grandmother left it to me. Oh, you’re worried about the taxes, aren’t you? Bless your heart. They are paid. Every year. By her nephew. Who no one has ever met. He’s just a name on a check.”
“You couldn’t have planned that accident. I don’t see how.”
“Oh, you dumb bitch. You incredibly dumb bitch. You’re almost as dumb as your sister. Even dumber than Frank Dimon, if that’s possible. No, I didn’t arrange it, but that’s why I’m a genius and you’re not. I know how to take advantage of circumstances and spin them on their head. I see opportunity in every crisis. You have to plan the shit out of everything. All I have to do is hold my hand out while it rains gold.”
If he was expecting admiration he wasn’t going to hear it from me.
“As an example, when that little fiasco at the Regional Room played out, I hadn’t planned to go back to Topeka empty-handed. You and your Tarzan of a husband stormed into Dimon’s office and got nowhere, whereas I turned dross into gold. Again. If life hands you a lemon…”
He stopped then and made ape calls. He laughed when I did not respond.
“Anyhoo. I left another little offering for the baby gods and stepped forward—smartly, I might add—and got to be the main man in the investigation, by default. The press thought I was Jesus Christ Almighty. See? That’s how to take advantage of circumstances. You might be the leader on paper. But goodness, gracious, I think CNN knows better.”
I froze in place.
“Now about that houseguest…”
I lost it. “Stop, stop, stop…” I covered my ears and backed away from the door. I huddled against the far wall. Dorothy walked over and put her arms around my shoulders.
“Keep him talking, Lottie,” she whispered. “As long as he’s talking, he’s not doing anything to us. Or to that poor child. And we might learn something that will help us. We already know he flies into a rage when anyone underestimates his abilities. He might be easy to goad into doing something foolish. Keep going.”
“What do you get out of tormenting someone as fragile as Merilee?”
“It’s fun. Try it, you’ll like it.”
“The Suters. Why did you keep on persecuting this family?”
“The perfect 4-H family? The icon of American wholesomeness? To see what it would take to break them. Not much, by the way.”
“You’re insane,” I blurted.
He walked away and I heard his footsteps going up the basement stairs. He was gone a couple of hours. When he came back down I walked back over to the door. “My sister. And Harold Sider. You are up against the A-team. Way out of your league.”
He jeered. “Oh yeah, your sister. The great Josie Albright. Everyone genuflect now. Or just fall on your knees.”
I was taken back by his venom. “What do you have against Josie?”
“Other than the fact that she’s full of shit? And a fraud? And other than the fact that she ruined me? Caused the whole psychiatric community to turn on me?”
Revenge? But Josie hadn’t even met the man until the organizational meeting. It didn’t make sense. This was all about revenge?
Speechless, I walked back over to Dorothy. I didn’t have the slightest idea what he meant. She pressed a finger to her lips. “S-h-h-h. Don’t say another word. I was mistaken. Getting him to talk is fueling his anger.”
I shook my head and angrily spun around. Staying quiet wasn’t working either. No one would be looking for us out here and we were running out of time. I didn’t care what kind of label psychologists would pin on him. He was pure-D crazy. I wanted to goad him into making a mistake. He had covered his tracks so well that I couldn’t imagine how anything could be used to our advantage. But Dorothy was right. His greatest weakness was his need for constant admiration. Unwavering praise. He couldn’t resist letting people know how smart he was.
I thought about the Unabomber and the BTK killer. And the Zodiac Killer. They all taunted law enforcement: “See how dumb you are and how brilliant I am?” All three wrote letters to newspapers teasing the police. Childish games risking exposure: “See how smart I am? See, see?” But they had taken years to reveal themselves and we didn’t have that kind of time.
Josie had once said that in addition to CEOs and politicians and serial killers, some of the biggest narcissists and sociopaths were psychologists. She’d then come up with examples of intra-professional warfare that left me gasping with laughter.
I would go for his weak spots. He would never, never admit he was inferior in any way. Never admit that he was a pedophile. Or that there was much wrong with assaulting children. He would come up with some elaborate rationale to account for raping little boys. Or perhaps deny it altogether or wipe it from his mind.
I hugged my coat tighter around me and marched back to the door. I stopped cold. Just what was my goal here? What did I want to make happen? Certainly not for him to rush in and kill us. No doubt he owned plenty of guns, big ones, more on the lines of assault rifles. But I doubted they were stored in this house. An outbuilding maybe. He was too flagrant to be the conceal-and-carry type.
“Yoo-hoo. Cat got your tongue?”
My head throbbed. But I hit a dead end. He surely would have taken my gun from my purse.
If I could just get him to call Josie. Just call. Call to torment her. Everyone already had to be going crazy. Worried sick over our disappearance. They would know by now that I hadn’t made it to Topeka with the evidence for Dimon and that Dorothy hadn’t made her flight.
No matter how he tried to disguise his voice, a call to Josie would give her and Harold a chance to do some whiz-bang thing. Something with electronics. Something.
Keit
h, Dimon, Sam, Harold Sider, David—they would all pounce on a phone call. I decided to skip the pedophile accusations—although it was true, it was too risky. I needed to find out what had happened between him and Josie so I would know how to proceed.
“My sister would never deliberately hurt anyone.”
“Your sister is a sadist bitch and a pathetic excuse of a psychologist.”
“That’s not true. You know her reputation. She’s brilliant.” I wished I could see his face. I depend on facial expressions when I take oral histories and that stood me well when I moved into law enforcement. I could tell when to take a softer approach and when to press harder. Right now I wanted him angry. Angry enough to let someone know that he was the unrecognized genius behind the murder of those little boys. Angry enough to call my sister. But not mad enough to kill us.
“Your sister. Your sister. She doubted my Madonna theory, which was one of the finest psychological works I’ll ever produce. In it I proved a connection between serial killers and cradling mothers that is in direct conflict with the classic theory of the cold unfeeling mother. I built on Jung’s theory of the Whore/Madonna complex and it was received with a great deal of acclaim.”
“But the Whore/Madonna theory is Freudian,” I jeered. “It wasn’t Jung’s work at all.”
There was an ominous silence. Then his voice changed. Low and deranged now. “Your sister ruined me. With a single review. She said she ‘wasn’t buying it.’ Not any of it.”
“But that’s basic psychology. Freud, not Jung. She had to be honest. Peer reviews are taken seriously.” What he was proposing was so wrong that I doubted if his paper had ever received “great critical acclaim” from anyone. He was simply nuts. And as for Josie not buying it. Of course not. A college freshman taking Psychology 101 would have been skeptical.
Josie wasn’t buying it.
Her dream. The dream that had haunted her. Her subconscious was trying to tell her that the killer was right in front of us.
“You sick, depraved pervert. You’re a sadist.” Dorothy spoke slowly and her accusation sounded like the final judgment of God.
“What fun! The great mystery writer has decided to join in.”
Dorothy was right, I realized suddenly. That’s why the sex of his victims was not an issue. He needed to torture and maim. Boys and girls, men and women. I grasped the bridge of my nose between my fingers and bowed my head. Not just a narcissist but also a sadistic sociopath. I tried to remember everything I had read, but none of the cases analyzed were bad enough.
The babies. That was pure evil. There was no motive behind that other than to commit a crime too shocking and depraved for law enforcement to get its head around. He wanted to prove how inept my sister was. No deep subconscious compulsion. Just revenge. The universal motive since the beginning of time.
My head exploded with hatred. “She’ll figure this out. Josie will connect all this with you.”
His laughter echoed. “Ya think? She’s not doing a very good job so far.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks. “You bastard.”
“Can’t hear you. Louder.”
“They’ll trace phone records. Link this place to you. Your landline. Your cell. It’s all there.”
“Nope. No landline here and I’ve never used my cell from this location. In fact, I always leave it in Topeka when I’m here.”
Paralyzed with despair, my mouth worked like a guppy gasping for air. He really was smarter than all the rest of us. And more powerful. Shocked into submission I walked away vowing not to say another word.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Dorothy had heard everything and was no longer able to stand. Using her walking stick for support she lowered herself to the floor. Once there, she slumped against the wall and tried to wave me away. Her color wasn’t good.
I whirled around and walked back to the door. “Water. Dorothy needs water. She’s not well.”
“Not very tough, is she?”
“You’ll have everyone in the country after you if you let this woman die. There will be no place you can take her that cadaver dogs won’t sniff out. Nowhere.”
“Wanna bet? I just found a place that was ideal the other day.”
“For who? Who?”
“A mother. A very recent mother. A precious little mother that everyone has looked high and low for. Guess who? It would be a good spot for our great literary genius too.”
A recent mother. “Joyce Latimer, of course.” Making me guess was part of his sadism, this obscene teasing. Presenting everything as though it were a riddle. My stomach knotted. “Why did you pick Joyce?”
“Because she was there. I’ve already ’splained that to you. I know how to make the most of opportunities. Mediocre minds can’t grasp that. She was just strolling along. Picking daisies, if you will.”
“I don’t care where you buried her. They will find her.”
“Nope. The place I put her has already been scrutinized inch by inch. The spot where they found the little boys. I buried her after the forensic team finished. No reason for anyone to look there again.”
Stunned, I braced my elbows on the door and rested my head against them. He was right. No one would ever think to look there. Not a second time. Was it true that he was simply too smart for the rest of us?
Dorothy called to me and I went back to her corner and sat down beside her. “You’re wearing yourself out,” she said softly. “It doesn’t work to try to reason with a madman. We need to think. We’re both going to die. And soon. He can never let us out of here. As for Merilee, he’s going to keep her for a long time We know why she is here. She is destined to be the next ‘little mother.’”
Merilee hadn’t made a sound now for over twenty-four hours. No doubt weak from lack of food. Cold. Drained of hope. Barely clinging to whatever sanity she had left.
“Merilee…” My throat was dry. “Merilee can’t help.”
“We’ve got to get Ferguson in here. He has to pass through here to get to Merilee. He wants to keep Merilee alive.”
I nodded. “But after we get him in here? Then what?”
“Just get him in here. Now help me get to my feet.”
She hoisted herself up. “When he comes through the door. Get in front of him. If you’ve had self-defense training, I doubt it will do you a bit of good. I’ll be behind him. You can try to get through the door, but I doubt if you will make it.”
I scoffed. “You’re going to whack him, Dorothy? He’ll brush me off like I’m a gnat and then go for you.”
“Just do it.”
“He won’t come in for us. Not even if one of us is dying because that’s what he wants to happen in the first place.”
“If he thinks something is happening to Merilee, he will come. She’s important. He doesn’t want anything to happen to her.”
“He’ll take your walking stick away from you first and then use it on me.”
“Yes, I know. That’s what I think he will do, too. But we’ve got to try. He’ll disarm me and then go for you. He’ll kill you and then me. He’ll disable the biggest threat immediately. That’s you.” She blinked like a wise old owl and reminded me of Sam Abbot in her willingness to face the inevitable, no matter how harsh.
She was right, of course. We were going to die anyway. Might as well go down fighting.
I walked back to the door. “Ferguson. Something is wrong with Merilee. I think she’s trying to hurt herself.”
Sadly, I looked at Dorothy. There was something majestic about the stoicism with which she was preparing for her death. She stood perfectly straight with heroic bearing. Regal in her long chesterfield coat, dry-eyed with her head held high. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she murmured. “Never. Just written about it. I would like you to know this isn’t coming naturally to me.”
“Oh, Dorothy,” I
groaned.
“Proceed please. And remember, keep in front of him.”
“Ferguson!” I yelled. “Better hurry if you want to save her.”
The lock clicked and the dead bolt snapped back. He crashed through the door and anticipating that one of us would be hiding behind it, he smashed Dorothy violently against the wall. Then he slammed the door shut with his foot before I could escape and whirled and yanked the walking stick from her hands.
Windless and body-shocked, Dorothy leaned against the wall, swayed, and struggled to maintain her uneasy footing. She could topple at any moment. We might as well have handed Ferguson a script, so accurately did our worries play out.
Then he turned to me and tossed the stick from hand to hand. “Fast? Or give you a taste of what Merilee has been enjoying? I just can’t decide.” He made a quick feint toward me.
Just for fun.
I tensed. Ready to kick out if he came any closer. Dorothy was right and as Keith had warned me, my experiments with martial arts weren’t going to do me one bit of good. There was too much distance between me and him. But he loved the verbal sparring and would keep me alive as long as I could come up with retorts. He admired my quick mind.
His movement was so fast it hardly registered before the walking stick cracked my collarbone. My hands flew toward the injury. Then he danced backward and spun the stick like a baton twirler.
Nauseated, I knew he intended to bludgeon me death. One blow at a time, with a lot of time between blows.
“Is revenge this important to you? After all these years? All this is about a paper you wrote.”
“Oh, gosh, no, sweet pea.”
Flash. Thump. He swirled to his side and hit me in the side of my right thigh. Sharp, quick. Like before, but leaving the bone intact this time.
“Your sister makes it more interesting, that’s all. Guess again.”
I bent and grasped my leg. If I was going to die, I wanted some answers. I wanted to know if he had raped Franklin before he killed him, but I couldn’t get the words out right. All I could manage was “the little crippled boy. Franklin.”
Fractured Families Page 27