by Rick Reed
Liddell opened the drawer and took out a leather-bound album that was cracked and faded with age. He brought it to the table and set it in front of Jack and himself. Inside were family photos, some extremely old. Jack saw one of the people in the photo and stared at it, then at Payne.
“This is your family?” Jack asked.
Payne nodded. “The first photo is of my daddy and me. I was only five years old. There aren’t many pictures of me when I was growing up because I was in prison most of my life. But I wasn’t always a bad man.”
Liddell looked through the album and stopped at one photo of a heavyset white man wearing a gray suit complete with white preacher’s collar. “Who’s the white guy?” he asked.
“That’s Giuliani Solazzo. Bobby and Eddie’s father,” Payne said.
Jack and Liddell left the Reverend Payne in his sitting room. He had told them a story that shed some light on the motivation behind the killings. Not that Eddie needed much reason to kill. Jack flipped open his cell phone intending to call Susan, but the phone rang in his hand. He didn’t recognize the number.
“Murphy,” he said into the phone.
“Did you miss me?” an unfamiliar man’s voice asked.
Jack put the speakerphone on, and the voice said, “Who’s with you, the Cajun?”
“Eddie,” Jack said. “Why don’t we meet somewhere?”
“You don’t know how much I’d like to do that, Jack,” Eddie hissed. “But you have miles and miles to go before you can rest, Jack.”
“Eddie, let’s stop dancing around,” he said, but Eddie cut him off.
“Shut the fuck up, Murphy, and listen. I’m not gonna repeat this.”
Jack looked at Liddell and was glad to see that Liddell had pulled a small tape recorder from his jacket and turned it on. He held it close to the cell phone and said, “Okay, Eddie, go ahead.”
“Here’s a riddle for you Jack. You’re a smart guy. If you figure it out in time, someone won’t have to die,” Eddie said.
“Wait, Eddie, you don’t have to do this. It’s me you want,” Jack said, his heart pounding in his chest.
“I said shut the fuck up, Murphy! If you interrupt again, I’ll take my time killing them. And the blood will be on your head, again.”
With great effort, Jack remained silent.
“Okay,” Eddie said, “here’s the riddle.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Eddie hadn’t blocked the cell phone number. Jack wrote it down, then hit redial. It immediately went into voice mail, and the recorded voice said, “The person you are calling…”
Jack hung up.
“He’s turned the phone off, and I got the answering service,” he said to Liddell.
Liddell stomped down on the accelerator, and drove at breakneck speed toward headquarters. “Call Garcia,” he said, and careened around a corner, almost hitting the curb.
“Drive much?” Jack said sarcastically, and then said, “Slow down so I can use my hands to call.”
Liddell looked over and saw Jack was hanging on to the door. “Ya’ big pussy,” he said with a grin. But he slowed, and Jack was able to call Garcia, and then Captain Franklin.
He filled Franklin in, and then called Susan’s cell again.
“Where are you?” Susan asked.
“Almost back to the war room,” he answered. “Did you find him?”
“We’re waiting for you,” she answered.
When Jack entered the war room, Susan and a darkly tanned man with a powerful build were chatting with Garcia. Dr. Don Shull was not exactly what Jack had expected. Shull was shorter than Jack by maybe an inch, and was older by at least fifteen years. But he was compact and looked like he could twist the head off a bull. His hair was pulled into a short gray ponytail, and he sported a close-cropped beard covering only his chin. He was dressed in a multicolored golfing shirt with cargo pants and suede deck shoes, giving him a relaxed and stylish appearance. Except for the hair he could have passed for Harrison Ford’s twin.
“Jack, this is my good friend, Don,” Susan said enthusiastically.
Don? Not Dr. Shull? Jack thought. He took the doctor’s offered hand and was surprised at the gentleness in his grip.
“Jack Murphy,” Shull said, “I’ve heard good things about you.”
“So you’re the friend of Susan’s I’ve never heard so much about,” Jack said with a twisted smile, ignoring the warning look from Susan. “Nice to meet you. At last.”
Liddell came in followed by Mark Crowley, and Jack made introductions. While the team chatted with the doctor, Jack whispered in Susan’s ear, “Don?”
“Behave,” she said with a playful smile.
Jack raised his voice to be heard, “Dr. Shull, how would you like to begin?”
“Please, call me Don,” Shull said amiably. He pulled out a chair and straddled it, facing the whiteboards. “Why don’t you just walk me through the case from the beginning?”
The meeting with Detective Jansen had left Maddy unnerved. Jansen was a disgusting asshole, and it wasn’t like him to not want anything at all from her, not even money. But on the drive to the television station Maddy counted her blessings, and her mood brightened considerably. She hadn’t needed to do anything disgusting with Jansen, which was her biggest fear, and she had a scoop on every other reporter. This had national news written all over it!
When she reached the station she called her researcher into her office and swore her to secrecy with promises of great rewards. She didn’t trust the little twit, but she had no choice. She needed the information fast and couldn’t do it all herself. The bouncy blond researcher had gone to the news morgue—that’s what they called the temperature-controlled room that held all the video and files on back stories—and was going to pull everything she could find on Eddie and Bobby Solazzo. Within an hour I’ll have everything I need. Maddy smiled.
She took the tiny audiotape from her purse and scrabbled through her desk drawers until she found a suitable tape player. Maddy put the tape in the player and switched it on.
Oh my God! she thought, and her hands shook as she listened to the voices on the tape.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
At first the idea of bringing in a psychiatrist had seemed like a good one. But watching the man sit motionless, almost sleepily, as he listened to one after another of the investigators relate their stories, the idea seemed desperate, a waste of time. The only reaction the good doctor had shown was when Garcia had displayed the Mother Goose map. His eyes had widened slightly in some secret knowledge as he watched the computer-generated displays of locations of killings, body dump sites, and homes of the victims. Other than that one telling sign, the man was a statue.
When they were all talked out, Liddell flipped the light switch, and the room was bathed in bright lights. Shull remained seated and quietly chewed a thumbnail.
“So what are your questions?” he asked Jack.
Jack’s doubts about bringing in an outsider became even stronger. He’d spoken to psych people before, and they never had any answers, just questions about how you felt. But he’d gone this far. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought.
“What do you think about Eddie?” Jack said.
To his surprise, Shull didn’t hesitate or beat around the bush with psycho-jargon.
“Oh, he’s your killer all right,” Shull said. “He shows strong symptoms of dissociation, schizophrenia, and has a history of violence. Quite frankly, I’m surprised that he hasn’t killed more people before now.”
Shull stood up and walked to the whiteboard, where photos of Eddie and Bobby Solazzo were taped up alongside the victims.
“My guess is that Bobby was the strong one, although he was psychotic himself, and that he somehow kept Eddie under control. Then when Bobby was, ah, removed from the picture, Eddie didn’t have a strong enough personality to function on his own.”
“So it’s my fault that Eddie lost it?” Jack asked.
Shull look
ed directly at Jack. “Well, yes, but only because you were the one that actually took his brother from him. Bobby Solazzo was a dead man walking. Someone would have killed him sooner or later.”
He pointed to the photo of Bobby Solazzo.
“But the most important thing to remember is that Bobby acted as father, and role model, for Eddie. If what your informant told you is correct, Bobby couldn’t protect Eddie from being molested by their father, but he was at least there to comfort him and share the pain and confusion that Eddie felt.”
Shull looked around the room as he spoke. “Imagine you are eight or nine years old and your mother has left you in the care of a religious zealot who is also sexually and mentally abusing you. The older brother probably had his turn as well. And for all we can surmise, that may have been what caused the mother to leave. Fear and shame are strong motivators.
“Jack, you said this informant of yours hinted that the boys may have killed their father in that house fire?” Shull questioned.
Jack nodded. He had checked fire department and police records and the news accounts. “It seems there was a root cellar under the main room of the house their father used for his church gathering. There was a podium in the front, and behind it a trapdoor set in the floor. The fire department report said the fire started near the podium, and when the fire department arrived the blaze was already out of control. The police report said the old man was found in the cellar with a lot of debris on top of him where the floor had caved in during the fire. They believed the father had been trapped by the fire, panicked, and crawled into the cellar. The boys, Eddie and Bobby, were found later. No statements were ever taken from them, but they were turned over to the Welfare Department.”
“So there is no evidence that the boys killed their father?” Shull asked.
“Nothing solid,” Jack admitted.
“Well, let’s take a leap of faith,” Shull said. “Let’s assume they acted together, or at least conspired in their father’s death. These two share some extraordinary bonds. The same abuse at the hands of the father, hatred of the father, and then the elimination of their common enemy.”
“I can believe that,” Liddell said, “but how does that help us find Eddie?”
“You must understand your prey to track him,” Shull said to everyone’s surprise. He stood up and went to the whiteboard. “These are all for you, Jack,” he said, pointing to the victims’ photos. “They are a message to you. One he wants you to understand so that you can finish the game.”
“You’re saying Eddie is playing a game with me?” Jack looked grim. “What game?”
Shull made an open gesture with his hands. “That’s what you’re supposed to figure out.”
He turned back to the whiteboard and said, “But I don’t think he’s finished with killing. I think he’s going to continue until you get his message. And then he’ll try to kill you.”
Garcia spoke up. “I don’t think Eddie is smart enough to be doing all this. Planning all this. You said that Bobby was the planner and Eddie was just a follower. So how is this just one guy? There must be someone else.”
“I agree with Garcia that Eddie’s not nearly smart enough to have planned all this. He’d just come at Jack and get it over with,” Liddell said, but in the back of his mind he was thinking about the attack on Jack. Eddie was surely responsible for that. They’d have to talk to Shull privately.
Dr. Shull looked unruffled at the cynicism. He was used to it.
“You asked for my opinion, and this is it.” He looked around at the faces, and he stopped on Susan’s and smiled.
Jack saw the look they shared and knew there was more than friendship there. They had a past of some type. It irritated him that he was bothered by that, because he sure as hell wasn’t ready to get serious with anyone. He and Susan got along fine, but he hadn’t thought beyond that. His relationship with Katie had ended badly. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be entangled in a serious relationship. He sure as hell didn’t care for the drama.
“Dr. Shull, I apologize, and we do appreciate your help. It’s just that your theory is confusing in a way. You’re saying that Eddie is the killer, but that he is not a planner. Then you are saying these murders were planned,” Jack said and sat down on the edge of a desk.
Jack shook his head. “Eddie was always a little nuts, and violent to boot. To him it was not about the money, it was always about inflicting pain.”
“That’s exactly right,” Shull said. “That’s the message he has for you, Detective Murphy. The infliction of pain.”
Shull looked thoughtful. “He wants you to feel pain. He wants you to suffer like you’ve made him suffer. He is punishing you for more than killing his brother. He’s punishing you for being you, for being something he could never be, never had the chance to be. He’s going to take everything you have away from you and replace it with pain.”
“Do you have any idea what Eddie might do next?” Liddell asked. He looked at the map of Mother Goose Land and felt a shudder. There were many locations left on that map. Many people Eddie could kill.
Shull let out a sigh of exasperation. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You have to quit thinking in terms of Eddie Solazzo.” He looked at Garcia and said, “You were right, young lady. There are two killers. But you were also wrong, because only one of them is still alive.”
Garcia shook her head. “I’m not following you.”
“Eddie is your killer, all right,” Shull said, and turned back to the whiteboard and the photos of the victims. “He killed all these people.” He turned back to face Jack. But…” He stopped talking and took the photo of Bobby Solazzo from the whiteboard and stuck it over Eddie’s photo. “There are two killers,” he said. “Bobby and Eddie. Inseparable in life. Inseparable in death.”
Jack stared at the photos as the meaning of the doctor’s words sank in. “Are you suggesting that Eddie has multiple personalities?” Jack said.
Dr. Shull sat down on the middle of a desk and let his legs dangle. He was smiling. “I’m not saying multiple personalities. I’m saying he has a dissociative disorder. Of course he is a good candidate for multiple personalities, but at this point I would be comfortable with the belief that he is mimicking his brother, maybe even hearing his brother in his mind. It is the brother, Bobby, that is keeping him in check.”
“You call eight murders being in check!” Mark Crowley said angrily.
“Yes,” Shull said. “I know it’s horrible, but you have to remember who Eddie Solazzo is and who he ‘thinks’ he is. It would be hard to say that he would or would not have murdered so many people if his brother were still alive. We will never know that. But it’s safe to say that as long as he thinks his brother is calling the shots, he is under some control.”
Shull stopped talking and looked at Jack curiously. “I’m surprised that he didn’t come after you, Detective Murphy.” He saw the look on Jack’s face and said, “Then he has come after you? Please, tell me about it. It could be important.”
Jack looked embarrassed and explained the attack outside his cabin that had put him in the hospital. Shull looked concerned.
“I think you are lucky to be alive, Detective Murphy,” Shull said. “Eddie’s brother is a much stronger influence on him that I had imagined. The control Eddie showed in not killing you when he had the chance is almost unbelievable. This changes things.”
“What do you mean?” Crowley asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” Shull said. “I’ll have to think about it some more.” He saw the disappointed look on Mark’s face and explained, “This isn’t an exact science. I’m trying to tell you what’s in the mind of a man I’ve never met.”
“Sorry, Doc,” Crowley said. “I guess I’ve seen too much BBC television.”
Shull laughed. “Yes, like Cracker or Wire in the Blood where the forensic psychiatrist solves cases for the police in under an hour.”
“You mean those aren’t real?” Liddell said.
“Of course they are,” Garcia chimed in. “Our boy here just ain’t as good as those British types.” She gave Shull a teasing smile.
Shull took the kidding good-naturedly. He knew this was a way for the stressed-out investigators to let off some steam. That was why on the television news you saw policemen standing around the scene of some horrific shooting or a fatal accident and some of them would be smiling or joking. It’s not callousness; it’s self-preservation and a way of denying their need to express their shock and pain until they are alone. That was one of the reasons why suicide, divorce, and alcoholism were common among the ranks of law enforcement around the world.
Jack reined them back in, saying, “Okay, quit picking on the doctor, and come up with some ideas. He’s given us a lot to think about here.”
The snickering stopped, and the seriousness of their situation settled back on them like a storm cloud. Shull saw the bleak looks on their faces and said, “I do have some ideas for you, however.”
Everyone looked up with hopeful eyes. Shull picked up an erasable marker and looked at Jack. “Do you mind?” he asked, picking up an eraser.
Jack nodded his consent and Shull erased part of the whiteboard and wrote the name Bobby. Under that he wrote the words: friends, relatives, employers, news articles, deceased relatives, prison mates.
“This is just my gut feeling at this point, without knowing more, but I would say that for Eddie, his brother is guiding his actions. Bobby was such a strong personality that Eddie is either acting the way he thinks Bobby would act, or he is somehow being manipulated and controlled by Bobby,” Shull said. “In any case you need to find out more about Bobby to get into Eddie’s head.”
Jack looked at the older man and shook his head.
“What? You disagree?” Shull asked.
Jack smiled and said, “It’s just that in half an hour you came up with more than we have in weeks.”