The Coldest Fear

by Rick Reed

Tunney shrugged and said, “I’m going to check on the chief.” He walked off the porch and down the stairs to where Chief Johnson was leaning against one of the cars.

  “That’s it?” Detective Zimmer asked.

  Jack shrugged. He couldn’t answer for Agent Tunney, but he had no doubt that this killing and the previous ones were connected. Looking at the faceless skull that had once been the smiling face of Jonathan Samuels told him everything he really needed to know. Another thought struck him.

  “Where’s the dog?” Jack asked.

  “Dog?” Zimmer repeated.

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “Samuels had a dog. Did anyone find it?”

  The same crime scene tech who had given them the short tour through the crime scene butted in. “I took the dog outside when we got here.” He held out his arm and showed them a few small tears in his white Tyvek coveralls. “It was crouched on the floor between the guy on the couch and the one on the floor and growling. It looked hurt, and there was blood around its mouth, but I didn’t see any bite marks on these two bodies. Damn thing bit me when I took it outside.”

  Jack and Detective Zimmer exchanged a look. Jack asked, “Where’s the dog now?”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  As soon as the three detectives stepped outside they heard a commotion brewing near the side of the building. Jack ran down the steps, taking them two and three at a time. When he hit the bottom he saw that Chief Johnson had his pistol out of its holster and was arguing with one of the uniformed state troopers.

  Jack approached the altercation and could hear the trooper warning the chief.

  “Listen, Chief, I know you have some jurisdiction here, but you have no right to shoot an animal inside this crime scene. Put your gun away, sir.”

  Chief Johnson’s face was full of fire.

  “I’ll tell you what, son,” Johnson said. “I was a cop when the best part of you ran down your momma’s leg. This is my crime scene. My city. You are here to assist me. Not the other way around. You understand that, or did you screw your hat on too tight, son?”

  The trooper’s face was getting red as well when Jack stepped between the men.

  “The dog is part of the crime scene, Chief Johnson,” Jack said in a calm voice.

  “You stay outta this,” the chief yelled, and tried once again to point his pistol at the cowering dog that was partially hidden by the trooper’s legs. It was giving a low menacing growl, but Jack could tell the animal was in pain, and there was blood around its snout.

  “Look there, Chief,” Jack said. “It’s got blood on it. That blood could be from the killer. The dog might have bitten him.”

  “Well,” Johnson said, lowering the barrel of the gun slightly, then raising it again. “All the more reason to put the mangy mutt down. Easier to get blood samples that way.”

  Jack got close to the chief ’s ear and grabbed the hand that held the weapon, pushing the barrel toward the ground. “If you so much as touch that dog I’ll take your head off,” Jack hissed.

  The men locked eyes long enough for Chief Johnson to realize that Murphy was serious. As he looked up he saw that other big Evansville detective—the one they called the Cajun—striding toward him with a determined look on his face.

  “Well, shit!” Chief Johnson said, putting his gun back in his holster and walking away. “Get that dog out of here.”

  The trooper gave Jack a grateful smile, then looked embarrassed. “Couldn’t let that old redneck shoot the dog, sir,” he explained. “I got a dog at home and my kids think it’s one of us.”

  “You did the right thing,” Jack assured him.

  The dog tried to stand and gave a yelp, sitting back down on the gravel. Then it looked toward the entrance of the drive and howled loudly.

  The men looked that direction and saw that a Channel Six news van with an antennae tower partially raised was parked at the mouth of the drive and a cameraman was busy filming them.

  The trooper straightened his hat and tie and wiped his shiny shoes on the back legs of his trousers. The guy wasn’t old enough to realize that the news media was no one’s friend.

  Jack recognized Claudine Setera standing off to the side taking notes. The Illinois troopers were standing back as if a goddess had descended from heaven. Jack knew that it was more likely an angel of death straight from hell. But it wasn’t his crime scene and he couldn’t tell the Illinois cops how to do their jobs. He noticed Lieutenant JJ Johnson lurking on the other side of the news van, checking his teeth out in the back window and running a hand over his shaved head.

  Detective Zimmer had been standing on the porch watching the events in the parking lot. When he saw Claudine Setera spot Jack and head in his direction, he hurried down the steps to try and head her off. She was on a collision course with Jack Murphy.

  “You really think the dog has DNA from the killer?” the young trooper asked.

  Jack said, “Not really. But I wasn’t going to stand around and watch that asshole kill it. And speaking of assholes . . .” Jack said, watching Claudine Setera coming his way.

  “Be nice, Jack,” Liddell cautioned. Claudine Setera walked up to them.

  “No comment,” Jack said, beating her to the punch.

  “I haven’t asked a question yet, Detective Murphy,” she said in her perfect television-mode diction.

  “And you won’t be asking Detective Murphy any questions about my crime scene, Miss Setera,” Zimmer said from behind her.

  She turned in surprise and looked him up and down before putting a hand out. “Claudine Setera, Channel Six news, Evansville,” she said.

  Detective Zimmer took her hand and said, “Illinois State Police, Miss Setera. I’m in charge of this scene, so I’d appreciate it if you would direct any questions to me. Not that I will be able to answer all of them, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

  Jack was relieved, but before he could extricate himself, Claudine leaned down and patted the dog on the head.

  “What a . . . cute . . . doggy,” she said. To everyone’s surprise the dog licked her hand and allowed her to rub its ears.

  Jack looked across the lot to see Chief Johnson coming their way. Not going to miss his Kodak moment, Jack thought. Seeing a way to mend fences, he said for the benefit of the chief, “And Chief Johnson here pointed out to us that the dog should be taken somewhere to be examined to see if there might be evidence present that would be instrumental in identifying the perpetrator here. I was just about to take the dog to get examined.”

  Chief Johnson’s mouth tightened until Setera looked up at him and smiled, saying “You’re a real humanitarian, Chief. A lot of lesser men would have tried to put the dog down.”

  Johnson wasn’t sure if she was having him on, but he was a politician at heart and knew how to turn the events to his benefit. “I agreed to let Detective Murphy take the animal, and I hope that he will also take it to a veterinarian to be sure it’s not injured too badly.” Now he smiled at Jack, teeth gleaming like a shark.

  Jack could sense that Claudine had seen the entire incident and knew that the chief was trying to kill the dog. She had to also know there was no way the dog would produce any evidence or the Illinois State Police wouldn’t let Evansville detectives take the dog out of their jurisdiction. The fact that she’d kept her yap shut and turned the tables on the chief gave her a couple of points.

  “You’re a nice guy, Chief. Not the kind who would leave a lady stranded in a parking lot of a morgue in the middle of the night,” she added.

  Scratch the points, bitch, Jack thought.

  Zimmer led Setera toward her news van, where they could get their thirty seconds of film for the afternoon news spot, leaving Jack and the others to make their getaway.

  Chief Johnson spat on the gravel near the dog and said, “This don’t change nothing, Murphy.” As he stomped away Jack could hear him mumbling to himself, and he wondered what would become of JJ once the news media had vacated the scene. Surely Chief Johnson had to know that it
was his idiot nephew who had brought the news media to the feast.

  The trooper watched Claudine Setera’s every move. Without taking his eyes from her, he said to Jack, “You really gonna take that mutt to a vet?”

  Jack looked at the dog and she bared her teeth at him. “Anybody got a muzzle?” Jack said.

  Liddell laughed. “You gonna put it on Setera or yourself ?”

  Jack didn’t feel like smiling. He’d put his foot in his mouth and now he was stuck with a dog who kept looking at him like he was a steak.

  “You’re not as tough as you want people to think, Murphy,” the trooper said.

  “He’s just a cuddly teddy bear,” Liddell added. “So. What are we going to do with the dog?” Liddell asked. “I heard the Chief tell you to get it out of here or he’d shoot it.”

  Jack looked at Liddell and grinned.

  “You aren’t putting that mangy injured animal in my clean car!” Liddell said.

  Twenty minutes later they were going over the top of the big hill on Big Hill Road and heading back toward Evansville. Liddell was driving, Tunney in front, leaving Jack and the dog in the backseat in an uneasy truce. If Jack even shifted in his seat the dog would emit a menacing growl and bare her teeth.

  “Hey, Jack. Don’t you always say that no good deed will go unpunished?”

  “It’s not a good deed, Bigfoot. The dog might hold a clue to the killer’s identity,” Jack responded, and looked at the dog, who was glaring at Jack suspiciously.

  “What are you going to do with that animal, Jack? We’re in the middle of a murder case,” Liddell reminded him.

  “I’m going to put it in a suit and make it my new partner if you don’t stuff a sock in it.”

  “Touchy, touchy,” Liddell said. “Didn’t Samuels say the dog hated straight men?”

  Jack didn’t respond. He was just thinking the same thing. And thinking how stupid he was for getting involved in this. He was just about ready to tell Liddell to pull over where they could turn the dog loose when Tunney, who until now had been silent, seemed to sense his thoughts once again and said, “Probably turning it loose out here by one of these farms would be the kindest thing to do.”

  What the hell would the FBI know? Jack thought. “I’m going to take it to a vet and then I’m keeping it.”

  The car swerved across the center line as Liddell twisted in the front seat. “You’re going to do what? You can’t take care of a dog, pod’na.”

  “Why not?” Jack said.

  Liddell straightened the car out and slowed down. “Well, ’cause you live by yourself and you’re never home and the dog would destroy your cabin, for starters. And you barely remember to feed yourself, much less give the dog that type of care.”

  “And it hates you,” Tunney added.

  Jack ignored Tunney’s remark. “I don’t live by myself all the time. Susan’s there a lot, and the dog likes women.”

  “Yeah, well, have you asked Susan if you can have a pet?” Liddell retorted. “And did I mention that we’re in the middle of several homicide investigations and you won’t be home much?”

  “I think, Jack, that you are attaching yourself to the dog as a way to gain some control over these cases,” Tunney said. “It’s not unusual for someone, especially someone such as yourself who is used to being in control, to try and regain a toehold.”

  “Please, Agent Tunney. Save your profile for the killer.”

  “He’s right, Jack. The last thing in the world you need is a pet,” Liddell said.

  Jack reached out a hand, palm up, toward the dog, and had to pull back before he lost some fingers. The snap of the dog’s jaws was audible and Liddell said from the front of the car, “Told you so.”

  “Listen,” Jack said starting to get angry. “This dog was the only friend that Jon Samuels had in his life, and it had enough guts to attack a serial killer. It deserves something for that. I’m going to make sure it gets a good home. I’m not keeping it. Okay? So drop it.”

  “Just a reminder, pod’na,” Liddell said. “You had to get Claudine to put the dog in the car. How you planning on getting it out?”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Lenny Bange came awake and shifted his eyes to the red glowing letters of the bedside alarm clock. It was only five-thirty. The alarm was set for six o’clock and he planned on doing some personal errands today. To hell with the office. His secretary could reschedule all of his appointments and he didn’t have court. Besides, he needed the day off. The visit from Cubby had unnerved him, and he was still angry over the fleecing he’d taken from the big man. When he’d called Cubby to “take care of his problem” he had agreed on a thousand bucks to just rough the guy up, get any documents, and make sure the blackmailer wouldn’t return. But Cubby had taken him for three grand.

  He buried his face in his pillow and tried to go back to sleep, but he was angry and a little embarrassed that he’d let Cubby intimidate him. If it had been anyone else, Lenny would have told them to stuff it and taken care of the problem himself. Lenny Bange was a dangerous man in his own right. But he didn’t physically rough people up, and in this case he knew that it was physical toughness that was called for. Besides, he didn’t have the talent to find the blackmailer. Cubby would easily beat that information out of someone on the list he had provided to the muscle-headed jerk. That was what Cubby was good at.

  He rolled over to get up and felt a weight next to him as if someone had just sat on the edge of the bed.

  “What the hell?” Lenny said and started to get out of bed when something hard struck him in the face. He fell back against the headboard, striking his head, and a fist came down hard on his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. Another blow landed on his face, and another and another until he was dizzy and feeling nauseous and gagging on his own blood. The beating stopped as quickly as it had started.

  The first thought that entered his mind was Cubby. But the voice that came out of the dark wasn’t Cubby’s.

  “Lenny Bange. Bange, Bange, Bange,” the man’s voice said, and then he chuckled.

  “Who are you?” Lenny heard himself saying though split lips. His voice was so weak he barely recognized it as his own.

  “Who am I?” the voice asked.

  Lenny felt the man’s weight lift from the mattress next to him. His head spun and he thought he was going to black out. Then something moved in the shadow in the corner of the room and a man wearing dark clothing materialized. “I’m death, Lenny.”

  Lenny felt a gloved hand crush his mouth and nose. He struggled to free his face from the man’s grip, but the hand was too strong. A blow landed on his groin, sending lightning bolts of pain throughout his body and taking the remaining air from his lungs.

  The worst of the pain subsided, and Lenny sucked in huge gulps of air before another blow landed across the side of his face and another fist hammered into his chest. Lights danced behind the attorney’s eyes. He felt sure he would pass out this time, but the man’s face leaned close to his ear and a whispering voice warned him, “Don’t scream. And . . .” The man paused long enough to grip Lenny’s face again, as if in a vice. “Don’t lie to me. Nod yes if you understand, Mr. Bange.”

  Jack, Liddell, and Frank Tunney decided to go back to the Evansville Police Department and meet with Captain Franklin and Chief Marlin Pope and update them on their trip to Illinois. They had spent the best part of the early morning dealing with Shawneetown’s case, and had picked up an injured dog in the process. Now it was nearing seven o’clock. Jack was anxious to get back to headquarters and talk to Garcia to see if she had gleaned any more information. After that he planned to pay another visit to the attorney, Lenny Bange.

  As they walked through the back entrance to the detectives’ office, Jack saw that his plans might have to be postponed.

  “Have you read it yet?” one of the detectives said to Jack and handed him the front page of the newspaper.

  Liddell and Agent Tunney leaned close to Jack
to see the headlines. SERIAL-KILLER HUNTER IN EVANSVILLE: NATIONWIDE MANHUNT BEGINS. Jack looked at the byline. “Arnold Byrum again,” he said out loud. “How is he getting this stuff ?”

  Liddell, who had been reading further down the page, said, “He even has the information from Shawneetown. We just got back and haven’t told anyone yet.”

  “I think your chief might be upset to see all this before we’ve talked to him,” Tunney added.

  Jack folded the paper tightly in his fist. “Shit!”

  Captain Franklin came up in the hallway and motioned for them to follow him. He headed for the front of the building where the chief of police’s complex was located.

  “Think we’ll get a spanking?” Liddell whispered to Jack.

  “You’d like it,” Jack said.

  “Nothing wrong with a little foreplay,” Agent Tunney added.

  “Quit it,” Liddell said. “You’re going to make me like you.”

  “I already like him,” Jack said as they followed Captain Franklin through the locked doors that led into the main public corridor of the police department. Jack noticed the usual crowd of discontented citizens mixed in with law clerks and insurance agents who regularly visited the police department records section.

  “Excuse me,” a voice came from the hallway that led from the police station to the Civic Center Complex.

  Liddell turned and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder just as bright lights came on from the direction of the voice. As they turned they were staring into a bright light of the Channel Six cameraman. Next to him was anchorman Blake James.

  Liddell turned his back to James and looked at Jack, saying, “We should have brought the dog in with us.” Jack tried to hide a smile.

  Captain Franklin stepped forward, blocking the camera view of Agent Tunney, and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. James, but we are late for a meeting.” Franklin motioned for the others to continue to the chief ’s office while he stayed behind and dealt with the media.

  Jack was more than happy to get out of there, but Agent Tunney seemed hesitant. “We have to go, Agent Tunney,” he said and took the man’s arm.