Wilding Nights

by Lee Killough

  An old pain echoed in Honora’s voice, reminding Allison that her grandmother knew personally the effort and price of killing. Which also reminded her that ultimately the good of the clan came first, no matter what that required one to do.

  17.

  The painting had changed. Zane stared at it while he unclipped his holster from his belt, pulled off the handcuffs looped over the back, and toed off his jodhpur boots. Before it had been just artwork he liked. Now... He set the gun and handcuffs on the end table and shed his coat, then flopped onto the couch. Leaning back, hands behind his head, he propped his feet on the ottoman. Now the painting had history. He would never look at it again without picturing Honora creating this landscape there in her studio. Did she use her family as a model for those eyes in the foreground darkness? Sitting there together on the patio, the group looked as much like that as an Elvish court.

  For the first time he wondered if the painting had monetary value. All those other paintings around the house might mean her art was just a hobby. Now recognizing her style, he realized she had done the murals in the rotunda of Civic Hall that depicted Arenosa in its seaport heyday. That commission could have been arranged by the Parkview Gang because she was one of them, not awarded on the basis of artistic merit. On the other hand, she must be making money somehow to afford to be one of the Parkview Gang.

  A couple of years ago Dan Zuck fixed him up with a girl who worked at an art gallery. Kirsten...Kirsten Carakostas, from the Wyner Gallery. If he had time today he would give her a call.

  Yawning, Zane heaved himself to his feet and headed around the loft for the bathroom, stretching from the rear of the elevator to the rear wall. What would it have been like to be Honora’s lover? Considering the raw energy and passion in her paintings, and her commanding personal presence, in her youth she must have been stunning...and making love to her, like playing with fire. But he imagined the pain had been exquisite, and irresistible. A dangerous woman.

  Just one of many in that family. He scrubbed at his teeth. Look at Allison...a coiled titanium spring without a soft edge anywhere, for all her ethereal appearance. Ditto Councilwoman Lennox Goodnight, from what he had read in the Sentinel...the prow of the Parkview juggernaut. Rikki reminded him of the big cats and canine predators at the zoo, prowling the edge of their habitats checking out the passing meat.

  Thinking of her as predatory, he considered how the Blondie composite resembled almost any of them. Allison insisted Peter Makepeace had nothing to do with the murders. She could be speaking from family loyalty...but maybe she was right. The trouble with Makepeace being innocent was, then there had to be two Blondie’s, and Demry had to run into number two after leaving number one.

  Unless Peter Makepeace was lying.

  Zane stopped brushing and stared into the mirror. Why would Makepeace confess to being Blondie, Allison had asked. Maybe to protect a family member. What better way than by convincing them that Demry split from Blondie and met his killer afterward. Sir Galahad’s description generally fit Manning, and Makepeace told his story before they knew Manning had an alibi.

  What about the waitress in Benton’s then? She could have been paid to corroborate the story. It would have to be a lot for lying to the police, but the Parkview Gang were heavy hitters.

  Then he thought about the telephone interview with her...and the answering machine that started its message before she answered.

  He rinsed his mouth and hurried back out to his suit coat on the couch for his notebook. And called Misty Gant’s number.

  Her machine answered in a high, breezy Minnie Mouse of a voice. “Hi. This is Misty’s voice. Her body isn’t answering right now, so leave a message. The cooler you sound, the sooner she’ll want to return your call.”

  Even with a terrible cold, Minnie Mouse could never be the voice he talked to. Well, well.

  Which left one more question: how Makepeace knew Manning’s description. Had he pumped it out of Allison? Maybe that explained why he wanted the news of his “confession” withheld from her...and why she went ballistic hearing how he used the information.

  Zane preferred that to the alternative explanation. It certainly made no sense that Allison would help Makepeace with his story and then insist on his innocence. Yet she knew more about the killer than she had told him or why else her instructions to the chopper pilot. Then she ducked the question about body heat in her family. Despite her assertion that the killer was not a member of her family and as unbelievable as it seemed for a detective with Allison’s reputation, could she be lying? What lengths would this family go to for each other?

  Zane returned to the bathroom and started the water in the shower. Forget sleeping. He had too many questions. They needed answers. He wanted another look at that computer search, all the statements she had taken, and much more information on the clan Goodnight/ Makepeace et al.

  Thursday, April 5

  1.

  Coming into the deserted Crimes Against Persons office, his suspicions in front of the bathroom mirror seemed absurd, and suspecting a distinguished officer like Allison, investigating her for no more than a certain evasiveness, reprehensible. And if he invaded her desk again...she would know.

  On the other hand, he had every reason to investigate Peter Makepeace, and determine whether Allison’s cousin was Blondie or covering for Blondie. Leave the desk and concentrate on Makepeace and family in connection to him, then.

  Zane switched on his computer. While it booted, he paged through the now bulging case book, sipping coffee from Quickie’s while he read. The report of the interview with Francis Church now had the supplemental attached, he noticed. Neither that statement nor any of the others from people in the area of the crime scene mentioned anything that could send Allison looking for a woman connected to the case, or anyone who sounded like a member of her family.

  With the computer booted, he typed Peter Makepeace’s name into the police data files. Makepeace had been Field Interviewed once when a patrol unit spotted him by a vehicle with a carrying case of Slim Jims and car opening tools on the ground at his feet. Three other times complaints of car theft had been made against him...though none resulted in an arrest because Makepeace had authorization to repossess the vehicles.

  Zane grimaced. It would have been nice if just once they fingerprinted him.

  Makepeace also had a couple of speeding citations...both in a 1971 Formula Firebird, with the most recent last year. A phone call down to Dispatch and five minutes later the DMV said Makepeace still had the car.

  The agreement to give Makepeace until one o’clock to show up did not prevent them, surely, from keeping an eye out for his car. Zane requested an Attempt To Locate on it.

  Then he began running last names through the files: Goodnight, Makepeace, and those of all the other officers he knew who looked related to Allison...Lamb, Fairchild, Bliss, Lovejoy, Sweet, Swann, Golden, Cherry, Silver. When he first came on the department, he had been fascinated that Elvish looking officers had almost Elvish sounding names, too...but ironic ones for adrenaline junkies. He never realized before, however, that they all had such names. Had none of the women married a Schwartz or Borowsky or Gambrielli?

  According to the files, despite the need for speed and action of all other kinds that he had observed, they stayed out of trouble remarkably well. Since 1993, as far back as the computer records went, the only serious offense was Assault and Battery. A Bliss and two Sweets had been arrested on that charge...the Sweets in November. A scattering of others had been involved in verbal altercations and some minor shoving matches with drunks in bars, all of which had been resolved without an arrest, the drunks apparently the aggressors. Rikki Goodnight had been charged and fined for criminal trespass eight years ago when a zoo security camera caught her in the cheetahs’ habitat one night playing tag with them. Otherwise none of the families had more than speeding tickets and citations for chasing deer in the park. The latter appeared to be the most common violation for juveniles
between the ages of sixteen and twenty. Interesting. Writing down the names of the deer chasers, Zane wondered what this family’s obsession with it was all about. Though no animals had apparently ever been harmed, only chased, he could see someone moving on to more violent pursuits in search of a bigger rush.

  It might be interesting to search the pre-‘93 records to see if Peter Makepeace chased deer.

  Meanwhile, Nathan Sweet looked like someone to examine more closely. He had dislocated his Battery victim’s shoulder. But while that illustrated a willingness toward violence, the assault did not look like thrill seeking. According to the report, Sweet had attacked a man his niece was dating. Coming to her date’s rescue, Penny Sweet put a choke hold on her uncle that rendered him unconsciousness...resulting in her arrest, too. Another dangerous woman.

  Peter Makepeace was most likely to cover for someone close to him. The Makepeaces had six deer chasing violations. When Zane plugged in the six names, however, only one had another mention, and that was as a victim, his car windows and those of five other vehicles smashed in the parking lot outside Cinema 10 at Mercado Square. Since the Makepeaces and Goodnights seemed close, judging by Allison’s attitude, he ran them, too. Five Goodnights had been cited for deer chasing, one of them Rikki a couple of months before her caper with the cheetahs.

  Zane frowned at the monitor. Despite being female, maybe Rikki ought to join Nathan Sweet on his list. Barring a death wish, playing tag with cheetahs sounded like someone feeding a major adrenaline habit. She had been seventeen then and the records showed no offenses for her since, not even a speeding ticket, but...that could mean only that she had avoided being caught. In secret, thrill-seeking could escalate until nothing but blood satisfied it. If Allison were shielding someone, it made sense that it was someone close. What was Rikki to her? A close cousin? A sister? The introductions to the family had not included specifying relationships. Makepeace could be close to Rikki, too.

  But--big “but”--he had trouble picturing a mere thrill-seeker of either sex tearing apart another human being as Demry and Cromer had been, even if a female were capable.

  His coffee had gone cold. Zane slugged it down and went out to the vending machines for more.

  As he picked out the cup, Lieutenant Garroway stepped off the elevator. “Morning, Kerr. You and Allison are at it early.”

  Zane fed coins into the adjacent machine for a Danish roll. “It’s just me so far.”

  Garroway grinned. “You beat Allison in? That’s an event.”

  Zane shrugged. “It’s easy when you don’t go to bed.” He collected the Danish.

  “And you’re still bright-eyed?” Garroway shook his head. “Youth is a wonderful thing. Anything new on the murder?” He waved his ID card past the reader on the door.

  As the door slid open, Zane followed Garroway through. “Well, it’s pretty clear both Demry and the victim last night were killed by the same person. The security guard at the Basin saw the victim arrive in the West Bay with a tall blonde.”

  Garroway swore. “So we have not just a homicidal maniac but a homicidal maniac serial killer. Any idea of his identity yet?”

  Zane bit hard to hold back Makepeace’s name. “Nothing definite.”

  Garroway swore again and lumbered away through the Admin waiting area toward his office.

  Back at his desk Zane frowned at the computer monitor while he ate the Danish. His efforts so far just brought him more questions and speculation. Unsubstantiated speculation. Nothing here linked Nathan Sweet--he used his free, unsticky hand to type his way back through the records--Rikki, or any other member of the family to Demry and Cromer’s murders.

  Sweet’s address caught his eye. North Parkview Drive. Being a rodeo bull fighter and bull fighter instructor at the rodeo school could not pay well enough to live in that neighborhood. At least by himself. Zane washed down the rest of the Danish, licked his fingers clean, and tabbed through the records again. Penny and Nathan Sweet lived at the same address. When he phoned Makepeace yesterday morning, the answering machine’s options included switching him to the main phone. A few minutes of searching found that all the Makepeaces in the file shared a common address, too, and the Blisses another. Did they all live in extended households?

  The phone book listings made it appear so. A large percentage of the individuals sharing a name also had the same address. All with addresses along North and West Parkview Drive.

  Zane whistled soundlessly. Part of the Parkview Gang? Allison’s tribe was the Parkview Gang. The other night she said the family had been here since the Civil War. Settling close together then was probably a good idea. He remembered reading that some of the beach-combing Native American tribes at the time had a reputation for cannibalism.

  His mind jumped to the portrait of the New Orleans madam, then Honora’s paintings and asking Kirsten Carakostas about them. He looked up the phone number of the Wyner Gallery.

  “Kirsten, this is Zane Kerr. I was wondering if you know anything about a painter named Honora Goodnight, and if so, what the value of an unsigned painting would be. When it’s convenient will you give me a call?” He gave her both his office and cell numbers.

  Next he called Ident to see if fingerprinting on the patrol unit and Cromer’s Cruiser had been finished.

  Janice Tran said, “One look would tell you we have.”

  He grinned. Until they experienced it, civilians never realized what a mess fingerprinting made. Either white or black powder residue, which ever provided the best contrast, ended up all over the vehicle...outside and inside of the doors, door handles, the dashboard, steering wheel, seat belt buckles. “Have the prints been entered into AFIS yet?”

  “Probably those from the patrol unit have, but they used white powder on the PT Cruiser.”

  And the format had to be changed to black prints on a white background before being scanned in.

  The Day Watch began straggling in. Natalie Herrera had a cell phone clutched to her ear, arguing with someone about child care. Hugh Bass balanced a cinnamon roll carton from Quickie’s on top of a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

  Bass set his breakfast on the peninsula of his desk. “Kerr, you know what the news is calling your killer? The Wilding Killer.”

  Zane winced in disgust. That would ensure calm in the city. Did they deliberately pick the most inflammatory name possible?

  “I heard he got Travis Cherry last night.”

  Herrera whipped to face Zane, and Carl Ng, just coming in, froze in the doorway.

  “He’s all right,” Zane said quickly. “Just a broken leg and concussion.”

  Their faces relaxed.

  Bass settled in his chair, uncapping the cup and tearing the top off the cinnamon roll carton. “K-Gulf this morning made it sound like a bloodbath. Did the killer really cut off the victim’s hand and leave it clutching the patrol unit door?”

  Ng and Herrera’s eyes widened.

  The radio did not seem to have mentioned the victim being hauled up that wall. A temporary oversight by the media, Zane had no doubt. The evening news would almost certainly show copious helicopter views of the rooftop and lurid footage of the broken window and bloodstained brick wall. He just hoped it gave no one at a TV station the same idea he had seeing that wall last night...the movie Predator II...a reptilian alien stalking in a hot city, humans hauled roof-ward and through skylights to their deaths, leaving blood streaked walls. The similarity felt spooky.

  The image of the predator hung in his head...a tall reptilian shape silhouetted atop buildings like a gargoyle...as Carillo and Allison appeared. The sergeant passed out a page of department memos, beginning Briefing.

  The name Surrette leaped from the page, shattering the image. The ATL had been cancelled with finding Surrette’s body on Lacabra Island yesterday afternoon. He swiveled toward Allison. “I never heard anything on the radio about this.”

  Carillo broke off reading the wants and warrants. “I wouldn’t think so unless you had your portab
le set to the SO channel. Sheriff’s deputies took the call, of course.” He raised a brow at Allison. “You think there’s a connection to your case?”

  Her expression showed no recognition of the name. “I’d have to know more about how they found the body. It doesn’t appear to have excited the SO very much. I’ll check.” She picked up her phone.

  Zane strained to hear but she kept her voice too low to be heard above Carillo’s, then Herrera’s. Her expression told him nothing, either.

  But when it came her turn to report on their case, she said, “I talked to Undersheriff Swann. He says Surrette appears to be a shark attack victim.” Then she moved on to discuss Cromer’s murder.

  After Briefing, as Allison headed out the office door, Zane caught up with her. “Have you changed your mind about Surrette being one of our victims?”

  She dropped her voice. “I want physical evidence of it before I say anything. So while I’m enduring this morning’s dog and pony show for the media, you see what his and Cromer’s autopsies show.”

  2.

  Neil Hertzel looked over as Zane approached the table, still tying on his mask. Above his own mask, Hertzel’s brows rose. “You’re Goodnight’s new partner I take it. Interesting color combination going with the two of you...fire and ice. But what is it with the case of yours?” He pulled Cromer’s head out of its plastic bag. “Sending me customers with dissection already started.”

  “We know you’re busy. We’re just trying to save you time.”

  Hertzel’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “So...since you know when and how this poor schmuck died, what more can I tell you?”

  “Do you have any ideas about the weapon used to cut off his hand and head?”

  “Weapon?” Hertzel grunted. “Along came a tiger.”

  Zane blinked. “Excuse me?”