No Ordinary Killer

by Rita Karnopp

  “Fair enough. So tell me, private dick, who cut the brake line on Reynolds’ car?”

  “Happened before I was hired.”

  “Who torched the B&B I was staying at?”

  “I read about it in the paper and it was the next day I started following you.”

  “You report anything interesting on me so far? Oh, don’t look so nervous, my finger isn’t pressing the trigger right now.”

  “You spent the night with Reynolds.”

  “Get any juicy pictures of us?”

  “No. But his ex-wife sure had something planned for Reynolds.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Saw her get out of her car and the wind blew her jacket open. Damn, that woman was bare ass naked under that coat and she has one good looking body.”

  “What about when she left?”

  “She was a woman scorned. She kicked a tire and squealed out of the parking lot. That was one very pissed-off woman.”

  “Here’s what we’re going to do, Mr. Private Dick,” Dallas reached into her coat pocket and withdrew a card. “You’re going to take my number and when anything happens between you and your contact, you will give me a call. I find out you didn’t call me after learning something interesting, I’ll send the IRS so far down your throat you’ll be coughing up your balls. You understand me?”

  “Yes. But what about this gig?”

  “Oh, you will continue to watch me as you have. Keep your log and good pay. Know one thing, if anything happens to me … like I get shot at or killed, you’d better watch your back. Cooper Reynolds won’t be far away. Isn’t that right, Mr. Reynolds,” Dallas called out.

  He stepped out from the shadows and moved alongside Dallas. “You can count on it.”

  “What if I can’t get ahold of you … what if I try and fail?”

  “Then you’d better call Detective Reynolds at 911, don’t you think?”

  “Uh … yeah … I guess so.”

  Cooper holstered his gun. “Did the guy who hired you have white hair?”

  “Don’t know. First time he called me and when I tried to find out the number, it was a pay phone.”

  “Where was the location of the pay phone?” Dallas asked.

  “That’s the strange thing—“

  “What do you mean strange?” Cooper scanned the area.

  “It was a pay phone right across from the police station.”

  “You’re right, private dick, that is strange.”

  “My name is Burton Oliver.”

  “You have a card, Burton Oliver?”

  He handed one over with shaky fingers. Cooper grabbed it and stuffed it in his pocket. “You need to work on your surveillance skills, Burton. An unsuspecting cheater might not notice you, but anyone with experience would spot you within minutes. Just a suggestion.”

  Dallas tipped her Smith and Wesson to the sky, then back inside her jacket. “Don’t cross me, Burton.”

  Cooper followed as she led the way back to his rig. “You came down on him pretty hard. You think he’ll mention it in his notes?”

  “Not if he knows what’s good for him. I wasn’t joking. I need some sleep. We have about six hours before our morning briefing. Can I crash another night on your couch?”

  “Anytime. If you want the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

  “Did I ask for the bed? Get it straight, I’m here investigating you, Cooper. Don’t fuck with me and we’ll get along just fine. Right now I need to recharge. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Her sudden change toward him could have meant one of two things; she was starting to believe him guilty or she was in some deep shit, having nothing to do with the case. He slid behind the wheel and waited for her to settle in.

  “You going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Cooper started the Jeep and pulled onto the one-way.

  “I’m tired, Cooper. Can we have this conversation in the morning?”

  “Well, we could. What if you die before we can talk? Then I won’t have a clue who the hell to go after. Why has someone paid a PI, a piss poor one at that, to follow you?”

  “You see, that’s definitely bothering me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Burton Oliver, private dickhead. He’s like the joke of PIs. Whoever hired him wanted me to know about him. His way of saying ‘I’m still here, bitch’.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. You are in danger. Who is after you, Dallas?” Cooper pulled up to his apartment building and turned off the ignition. He faced her in time to see fear flash in her eyes. “Who is stalking you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Dallas. I’m here for you and I want to help. I can’t if you’re going to shut me out.”

  “I’m telling you … I … don’t … know.”

  Her tears surfaced and he held back. “Let’s get inside. Once we are, you and I are going to have one hell of a talk. You hearing me?” Her slight nod was all he needed.

  Once he locked the front door, Cooper canvased the apartment with a steady gaze. Nothing seemed out of place … except … he motioned Dallas to stay put. “Did you see Sparks’ face when we surprised him tonight? I think he almost—“ Cooper whipped his gun out and moved toward the drapes and pulled hard on the cord.

  “Well would you look at that,” Dallas said.

  Cooper stood back and read; “My, my, careless little IA agent Dallas, let the handsome detective see your malice. You may think you’re the target dear, but it’s not really me that you should fear. Watch and don’t allow yourself to believe, or you’ll be snared into the hell I’ve weaved.”

  “That’s my lipstick. He must have stolen it at the B&B. He’s that many steps ahead of us? We are in some deep shit, aren’t we?”

  “He can’t be any smarter than we are. We just need to try and figure out what he’s really saying.”

  “He’s saying that if I believe you, he’ll make sure I’m framed right along with you. Which in essence he’s saying you’re innocent and he’s the one framing you. Now we need to establish the why.”

  “Tell you what … I’m too fricking tired to worry about why tonight.” Cooper pulled his fingers through his short, red hair. “Let’s sleep on it and we’ll tackle it in the morning. I’m hitting the shower and then the bathroom is all yours.”

  “That’s a plan. I’ll get a couple of snapshots of that lovely poem with my cell phone.”

  “Good idea. Don’t know if you’re hungry, but if you are I think there’s some leftover pizza from a couple nights ago … uh … you might not want to touch that. There is some soup or whatever. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  Cooper tossed his dirty clothes in the hamper and jumped into the shower. He allowed the hot water to pound his skin, easing the tension that hadn’t left his body for two days. What had he gotten himself into? Who was Megan’s lover? Did he have anything to do with these murders? Was she in danger? What about Tina and Tucker? Would Megan have hired Burton to follow Dallas? Was her hatred that warped? He’d ask Sparks to check on her. Damn he couldn’t, she’d gone to Helena. Or had she? He had so many questions his head swam. Cooper rinsed his hair out and turned the faucet off. He heard the TV in the living room. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he walked into the kitchen.

  “I left a set of towels on the sink for you.” Cooper grabbed a bag of trail mix and headed for the bedroom. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I was just jotting down some notes.”

  The rustling of bags told him she was going through her purchases. “You find everything you needed at the store?”

  “That was a poor excuse to have to buy new underwear and socks. There is nothing I hate more than to shop. I’d rather—“

  “A woman who hates shopping? I don’t think I heard right,” Cooper laughed. He strolled to the living room and watched her pile her clothes and toiletries on the coffee table.

  “Damn, I forgot pajamas.”

 
“Want one of my t-shirts?”

  “Sure, that’d be great. My, don’t you look dashing in a towel?”

  “Oh, damn, Dallas. I wasn’t thinking. I’m tired and … and … I just—”

  “Stop being so embarrassed. I happen to think you look … well … mighty fine in a towel. Go get me that t-shirt and I’m off to the showers.”

  Cooper stepped into his bedroom and opened the top bureau drawer and pulled out a Packer t-shirt. Exhausted he tossed the shirt toward the couch. “There you go. Need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.” Cooper left the bedroom door slightly open and waited for her to close the bathroom door. Hearing the shower he ventured back to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He took it and his notes to the bedroom, slid under the covers and wrote: have Sparks check to make sure Megan went to Helena; have team dissect poem on my window; verify lipstick is Dallas’s; receipt from crime scene. Cooper ate a handful of berries and nuts and washed it down with juice. He leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes.

  Maybe it was the warm body snuggled against him or maybe it was the matching steady breathing that caused him to wake. Cooper opened his eyes and found Dallas in his bed. A quick glance at four AM on his clock told him morning would be coming too soon. With it he hoped for some answers.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Carolina Bed and Breakfast was rather impressive. Megan smiled at the young man running to open her car door.

  “My name is Adam. May I park your car, ma’am?”

  “Only if you’ll call me Ms. Reynolds. Thank you, Adam.” Megan popped open the truck, then handed over the keys.

  “Charlie will get your bags. Are you the writer that’s staying on the whole third floor?”

  “Yes, that’s me. Why?”

  “Oh, just wondering Ms. Reynolds. Everyone is excited you’re staying here to write. We have orders to keep quiet so we don’t disturb you.”

  “How very thoughtful.” Megan nodded as Charlie piled her four suitcases on his cart. She adjusted her jeans down over her heels and walked into the lobby. A lovely bouquet of flowers added a touch of class to the inviting B&B.

  “I have the Courtney Rose Suite, I’m Megan Reynolds.”

  “Welcome Ms. Reynolds. I’m Colleen Cox, the owner of The Carolina. Everything for your two weeks stay with us has been taken care of. I’ve chilled a chardonnay and it will be brought up to your room within the hour. If there is anything else you will need, please let us know.”

  “I’d love some Swiss and perhaps mild Colby cheeses and some crackers for a slight snack with that wine if at all possible. After that, I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “Your agent requested that we cater your lunch and dinners for you. We have placed several menus in your room for you to choose from. If you could let us know your choices several hours before you wish to eat, that would help us immensely. “

  “How nice of him … and you of course.”

  “We serve breakfast at 7:30 and again at 8:30. You may enjoy breakfast in our lovely dining room or at private tables located in the sun room, garden area or our lovely front room. Our three-course breakfast features a combination of fruit and a hot savory main course. Examples you may expect to taste include Cranberry Cobblers, Carolina Scones, Eggs Benedict, Sour Cream Buttermilk Pancakes, Egg Sandwich Strata, German Crepes served with lemon custard and Country Omelets. Please notify the kitchen staff ahead of time about alternative times and dietary requirements. Your needs will be accommodated to the best of our ability.”

  “It looks like I’ll be very happy here. Thank you. Where is the elevator?”

  “We have no elevator. But I promise you the walk will be well worth the effort.”

  “Three floors and no elevator, I find that rather strange.”

  “Not if you understand historic buildings. Our home is officially listed on the National Historic Registry as the C.B. Power Mansion. This mansion was commissioned by railroad contractor Peter Larson whose home was located across the street and would later become Montana's first Governor's mansion. Mr. Larson commissioned the home in 1904. It was completed three years later in 1907 and presented as a wedding gift to Larson's daughter Mable and future son-in-law, Charles B. Power. Charles was the only child of Thomas C. Power, Montana's first senator and business mogul. Charles and Mable, their two children and five servants lived in this house until 1914. Extensive efforts to restore the house to its original glory were undertaken in the early 1990's by former owners Mike and Debbie Corak. Their dedication to this effort received National recognition, when in 1998 the home was featured on Bob Villa's Restore America. Of course my husband and I did additional remodeling when we purchased the house in 1999 with the dream of establishing a bed and—“

  “Yes … yes … I get it. Thank you for the history lesson. I have way too much work to do. I’m wasting precious time.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Reynolds. Charlie is back from taking your bags up and he’ll show you to your suite. We wish you a lovely stay. Do let us know if there is anything we can do for you.”

  “Thank you.” Megan desperately needed to get that book started. Two weeks … hell she needed two years. Her shoes clicked on the hardwood floors. The Courtney Rose Suite was beyond lovely. She tossed her heels off and walked across a plush floral area rug, then dropped into an overstuffed leather chair and closed her eyes. Now what? Megan asked herself.

  She jumped and grabbed the ringing cell phone. “Hello?”

  “See you found the place. I took the liberty of setting up a computer with keyboard in the library. Never could understand how a writer could type on a laptop. You’ll need to get crackin’. I’ve provided you with some notes. You might start the book out the same way you started Malicious Intent. What do you think?”

  “I think I’m fucking crazy.”

  “My, such language just doesn’t suit you. You can whine all day or just get busy. You know what will happen if you don’t meet that deadline … don’t you?”

  “No, what exactly will happen?”

  “You hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Megan listened intently. Good God, it couldn’t be! “You have the twins? You bastard. Why? I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do. I—“

  “Calm down. They aren’t with me right now, but they were with me earlier today. I just want you to know that I have access to them whenever I want. You keep that in mind when you don’t feel like working on our book. So, hang up and start fucking writing.”

  Megan stared at the phone, then dropped it. What had she done? What would happen if she went to the police? The phone rang again … she hesitated before answering, “Yes?”

  “Don’t go to the police. By the time they reach Tina and Tucker … it’ll be too late.”

  What the hell … can he read my mind? Shaking Megan set the phone down and headed for the library. As promised, a computer awaited the first word. She sat and stared at the white screen for a moment, then glanced at a stack of papers to her right. In bold green print was Bannack Murder. She read through the notes and swallowed hard. She could do this … she had to. Megan typed….

  Doris Shane stared at the handsome man she thought she knew. He was the first man she’d wanted to be with since her fiancé died two years ago. “I believed you,” she said, tears trailing down her cheek.

  “Two month chatting on-line and you think you know me? You are a naïve little tramp, aren’t you?”

  She pulled on the ropes that bound her to the chair. “What are you going to do with me? Why are you braiding my hair?”

  “Questions … questions, so many questions. I have big plans for you.” He picked up a knife and split open her blouse. “You can scream all you want, the place is closed down. But, let me advise you to save the screaming for when you really need it.”

  “I don’t understand. All I wanted was a relationship and love.”

  “Me, too, lovely Doris. But now you must help me in a way no one else can. That
must make you feel good.” He turned the gas stove burner on and placed a scalpel into the flame. “You should see the size of your eyes. They look like they might bulge right out and drop to the floor.” He laughed, loud and vibrant.

  “Let me go and I won’t tell anyone about this. I promise.”

  “I wish I could. Truly I do. But you see, Doris, I have a timetable that I have to meet. I must stay on schedule. I gotta do this. I’m sorry, but it has to be you. I want you to know I think you’re lovely and if I was looking for a relationship and love, you’d be that girl.”

  “Please don’t do this.”

  “Breathe deep … because this is going to hurt.” He pressed the tip of the hot point into her forehead, carving a perfect three. Her screams were like a symphony. Dragging the knife the width of her nose created a dash. Things were moving along nicely.

  * * *

  “Good morning, team. Hope everyone got at least a couple hours of sleep,” Cooper said, walking into the evidence room. “I’m sure that’s all I got,” he added. “I’m sharing with you some advice I was once given. “Treat the boundaries of the crime scene like two squares, one framing your murder and the second a block square around the first one. Now limit your investigation to what is presented within each square. Most important … trust what you see. Remember, all you have is what the killer left behind.”

  Maxwell sipped his coffee. “I’ve given this board some real thought and scrutiny. We need to find this killer’s obsession. We figure that out and the rest of all this will make sense.”

  “Well, since we’re sharing ideas here, let me add mine.” Arnott tapped his pen against his palm. “Yesterday, Cooper said this guy is no ordinary killer. I think that’s our killer’s obsession.”

  “I don’t follow you,” Weaver said.

  “Bear with me a minute. None of these murders really follows a pattern other than they are a copycat of an original murder. Oh, I see similarities. But I think the killer wants us to see them, too. Our guy is a pleasure-seeking killer, whose thrill comes from performing a knowingly perverted act, which is his gratification. Most serial killers follow a pattern, take trophies and they don’t change their modus operandi. This killer’s MO is a different crime scene for each killing. They are based on previous murders, right down to the sequestered evidence. So what does that mean?”