Death Angel (3 page)

Nothing in her life had prepared her to
deal with this. It could not be happening. The police would find Jenny. It was
a mistake. She had tried to be a good person. She and Richard and Jenny were a
family and she had worked hard to make their world warm and loving and safe.
They were protected from bad things. If she remembered that, everything would
turn out fine.
 

 
She prayed. Meaningless words. She wanted to bargain
with God but was afraid to even think about what she could offer for the safe
return of her daughter. She recited the prayers she had learned as a child,
taking comfort from the familiarity of ritual.

The call from the hospital came at
eight-thirty.

Jenny had been found.

Two

Police
Chief Carl Leidecker made his way
back to the squad car, slammed the
door, and automatically reached for the pack of cigarettes on the console. His
fingers closed over a package of gum and he swore. He’d quit when he turned
forty. Two years and the compulsion was still there. He tore off the wrapper
and wadded the silver foil into a ball, flicking it out the open window of the
car and cramming the stick of gum into his mouth.

His teeth jarred together as he stared
at the trees lining the parking lot of the forest preserve. The city had spent
a lot of money planting flowers and shrubs, putting fresh wood chips on the
trails, and picking up the trash. Before the divorce, he and Mary Clare used to
picnic in the Chicago parks. None as nice as this one. Death was never
acceptable, but rape and murder in such a place was sacrilegious.

Located thirty miles from Chicago,
Pickard had always had the atmosphere of a small country village. He’d taken
the job of chief of police in order to get away from the brutality of crime in
Chicago. He should have remembered that evil was universal.

He turned the key in the ignition and
backed up slowly, muttering under his breath at the small group of onlookers
who stood just beyond the yellow tape that blocked off the outer reaches of the
crime scene. Voyeurs and thrill seekers. Earlier there had been a carnival
atmosphere, but when the covered stretcher containing the body of the child had
been put into the ambulance, the spectators quieted and huddled together as if
for warmth in the gathering chill of night.
 

The ambulance pulled away. Caught in the
red glow of the whirling lights, the crowd appeared motionless, reminding
Leidecker of a stop action scene from a horror film.

After viewing the crime scene, he’d
talked to the jogger who’d found the body. Unfortunately he was so into his run
that he hadn’t seen anyone or heard anything until he’d lost his glasses. He
was pretty shaken up, so after a few more questions, Carl had let him go home.

The chewing gum turned hard and Carl
spit the wad into the night then threw the car into gear.

It was time to go to the hospital. Since
becoming the chief of police six years earlier, Carl had made it a practice to
go to the hospital whenever there was a fatality and the police were involved.
Traffic-related deaths were the only ones he’d had to deal with. This was
different.

It was never easy talking to the parents
after the death of a child, but in this case it would be particularly
difficult, since he knew both Kate and Richard Warner from church. He and
Richard had worked on the fund-raising committee, and he’d been to the Warner’s
house several times for meetings.

The hospital doors slid open
automatically with an asthmatic wheeze. Rubber matting muffled the sound of his
heels as he approached the nurses’ station. He was not surprised to see Marge
Carrier, the head nurse, waiting for him. In a small town, news travels
fast.
 

“This way, Carl.”

She preceded him along the hallway.
There was a stiffness to her white uniformed back that reminded Carl that
Marge’s granddaughter was the same age as Jennifer Warner. She stopped at a
door with a nameplate that read:
Dr. Michael Kennedy
.

“Dr. Kennedy said to bring you to his
office.” She tapped lightly and without waiting for a response turned the
handle and swung the door open.
 

Mike came around from behind the desk
and met Carl halfway across the carpet. They shook hands.

“Thanks for coming, Carl. Have a seat,”
he said, waving to one of the chairs pulled up in front of the desk.
 

Carl sank into the leather chair and
stared across at the doctor.

He knew Mike mainly from the golf
course. They’d played together in several charity events. There was an air of
reassurance about him that immediately put people at ease. Perhaps it was his
size. He was easily six foot, heavily built, the buttons of his white coat
straining slightly across his midsection. Beneath the overhead fluorescent
lights his brown hair held red tints. It was thick and worn on the shaggy side,
standing away from his head as if he had a habit of running his hands through
it. The pallor of his skin accentuated the freckles that covered his face.
 

“Since I know the Warners, the hospital
asked if I’d act as liaison. Here’s my card.” He waited while Carl jotted the
numbers onto his clipboard notes, then sat down behind the desk. “If you have
questions or need anything from the staff, I’m the one who’s supposed to
expedite things. We haven’t had a lot of experience with this . . . .”

Mike’s words trickled away and he made
no attempt to complete the sentence. He rubbed his face with one hand, then
reached around to massage the back of his neck.
  

“I briefed the men who accompanied the
body,” Carl said. “They know exactly what guidelines to follow. Everything will
be done by the book. We want to do everything possible to make sure the
perpetrator is brought to justice.”
 

The formal phrases lowered the emotional
level in the room and set the focus on procedure.
 

“Sorry,” Mike said. “This is still hard
to take in. Richard called me when he found out that Jenny had been brought
here. All he’d been told was that there had been an accident.”

“There’s no good way to get this kind of
news,” Carl said. “Are Kate and Richard here?”

Mike nodded.

“You know I’ll have to talk to Kate.
She’s the one who reported Jenny missing.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No. It’s got to be done now while all
the details are fresh.”

“They’re pretty cut up so go as easy as
you can. Besides being a doctor, I’m their friend. Richard and I go back a long
way. We were roommates in college. I’m Jenny’s godfather.”

Poor bastard! Mike’s words explained the
wealth of emotion Carl had sensed just below the surface. “Were you Jenny’s
pediatrician?”

“No. Geriatrics. I deal well with my
older patients. Jenny says it’s the freckles.”

At mention of the murdered child’s name,
a bleak expression crossed his face. Before he could say anything else, the
phone on the desk rang. Mike snatched up the receiver, spoke briefly, and then
rose from his chair.
 

“The hospital chaplain has just left
Kate and Richard. I’ll take you down there. I won’t come in, but if you need me
just pick up the phone and page me.”

He crossed the room in long, restless
strides, leading Carl along the hall to the staff lounge. They stood at the
door, watching as Richard leaned over Kate, his words a quiet murmur in the
room. Carl entered, waiting until Richard became aware of his presence and rose
to his feet.
 

Richard’s athletic body and
five-foot-eleven frame appeared bowed by the tragedy of his daughter’s death.
Beneath curly black hair, his tanned hawkish face looked skeletal, blue eyes
lackluster. In his jeans and sweater, he looked youthful, but he moved stiffly
as if he had aged overnight. The man was in the zombie stage, too stunned to
take in the long-term effects of the tragedy. Perhaps the body reacted that way
as a form of protection. Carl couldn’t begin to imagine how one coped with the
pain.

He crossed the room and reached out to
shake hands. “God, I’m sorry.”
 

“I know.” Richard nodded as if he
understood all that was left unsaid.
 

Kate had not changed positions since his
entry. She sat primly on the edge of the couch, feet together, and hands folded
in her lap. Her head was bent, any expression hidden behind the curtain of
brown hair that fell on either side of her face.

Carl leaned down toward her. “Kate?”

She didn’t move, and he wondered if he
had spoken too softly. The fingers of her hands tightened around each other.
She raised her head slowly as if the weight were too much for her slender neck
to bear. Her eyes searched his face and he could see that it was an effort for
her to concentrate.

“She’s a little groggy,” Richard said at
his shoulder. “Mike gave her something after we heard about Jenny.” His voice
broke and it was a moment before he could continue. “Kate, it’s Carl Leidecker.
He’s going to help us.”

Her brown eyes were enormous. She
blinked rapidly, as if to help her focus. She started to rise and Carl held out
his hand for her to grasp.
 

“Oh, Carl. How could anyone hurt Jenny?”
she asked.

“I don’t know, Kate. We’re trying to
find out, but we’re going to need your help.” Although she did not pull away,
Carl could feel her withdrawal. “That’s the only way we’re going to find the
killer. Do you understand?”

Her response was a whisper. “Yes.”

She released his hand as if to distance
herself from him and sat down. Richard looked uncertain for a moment and then
perched on the overstuffed arm of the couch, near enough to offer comfort, yet
free to move at will. Carl pulled up a chair.

Questioning Kate about the events
leading up to her 911 call was difficult. Several times he had to repeat the
questions. Occasionally in the midst of a reply, her words would become
halting, fading into silence until she looked up in bewilderment unable to
grasp the thread of her answer.

Carl turned to Richard with relief. In
contrast to Kate’s responses, his words were bursts of energy, punctuated by
restless gestures. He gave a crisp summary of his actions during the day.

Through each of their recitals, Carl
took notes. Despite his resolve to remain impersonal, he could not keep from
thinking about the last time he had seen Jennifer Warner.

It was in February after Sunday Mass.
The Girl Scouts were sponsoring a Valentine’s Day bake sale in the choir room.
The smell of coffee and fresh baked goods drew him in, and he recognized Jenny
behind the Brownie Scout table. He asked her what she had baked.
Self-consciously she pointed to the peanut butter cookies. When he bought three
plates full, Jenny’s eyes opened wide in astonishment and her mouth stretched
in a grin of delight.

When Carl had seen her body at the crime
scene, Jenny’s mouth had been bruised, lips split by her attacker.

“I think that’s it for now,” he said.
His words came out more harshly than he intended and Kate’s head jerked up, her
eyes fluttering in confusion. In a softer tone, “I have everything I need
for the moment.”

Both Kate and Richard rose to their
feet. Now that the questioning was over they were reluctant to let him leave.
Their business with him was unfinished; he was their hope of a solution. Carl
shook Richard’s hand and took Kate’s hands in both of his. Her cold fingers
clutched at him as if to steady herself.

“I realize it’s little comfort, but the
entire police force will be working on this.”

Richard put his arm around Kate’s
shoulders, and she released her grip on Carl’s hands. He walked to the door and
exited without looking back.
 

When Carl had moved to Pickard, he’d
felt a sense of community that he’d never had in Chicago. This was his town. As
police chief he was responsible for public safety. No matter what it took, he’d
find the bastard who killed Jennifer Warner.

The following morning Carl turned into
Kate and Richard’s street, a quiet residential area in the older section of
Pickard. A clutter of vehicles lined the street half way up the block to the
cul de sac.
 

Dammit!
 

Two mobile TV vans from Chicago were
parked beneath the trees, while other reporters and photographers huddled in
groups on the lawn and sidewalks. He drew his car up to the curb and they
converged on him like a pack of snapping pit bulls.
 

“Chief Leidecker! Chief Leidecker!”
 

Voices shouted at him as he opened the
car door; a microphone and several tape recorders were shoved in his face.
Wanting to set the ground rules immediately, he remained perfectly still,
waiting until the frenzied group had quieted before he spoke.

“All right, folks, listen up. I’m going
to give all of you ten minutes to clear out of here. After that I’m going to
haul your butts in for obstructing traffic.” He ignored the groaning objections
and glared at the cameraman who was closest to him until the man backed up a
little. “This is not Chicago. In Pickard we expect a certain show of decency.
These people have suffered a terrible loss. I know you’re looking for a story,
but for the moment this place is off limits. After I talk to the Warners, I’ll
be more than happy to meet with all of you back at the station and answer your
questions. Now get moving.”