Fishing in Brains for an Eye with Teeth (Thirteen Tales of Terror) (3 page)

Trojanowski responded, “We do.”

Lortz only nodded, but he did it while looking Jack squarely in the eyes, and that was good enough for the Sheriff.

Jack instructed his men to question employees of The Red Brick House about men who came in yesterday— especially near closing time last night— to purchase carry-out fried chicken and fries (presumably for two.)

The only benefit derived from being brutally raped was that Jack could now call the maniac “Our Boy” with utter conviction the killer
was
male.

Later, just after 4 p.m., Jack made a statement to the press.  For the first time in his life, he went before television cameras feeling confident.  He told the representatives of the world that his men were actively working promising new leads.  He also stated, emphatically, “At this point, we still believe Laura Eaton is alive.”

After the press briefing, back in his office, Jack had an unpleasant conversation with Agents Coopersmith and Creasey.

Creasey began with an accusation in the form of a question, “Are you holding back on us, Sheriff?”

Jack tried to look surprised. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Coopersmith said, “If you have any ideas about Our Boy— any additional information— it would be counterproductive not to share it with us, Jack.”

Carver didn't like the Suits calling him by his first name.  “I'm aware of that, Trent.”

Trent Coopersmith frowned.  Apparently, he wasn't crazy about his first name being used either.

Creasey oozed with suspicion as he said, “You're different today.”

“Oh?” said Jack.  “How so?”

“Your attitude has changed,” said Creasey.

“Are you certain there isn't something you'd like to share with us, Sheriff?” asked Coopersmith.

“Nope,” said Jack.

“Okay,” said Coopersmith.

Creasey scowled.

******

Shortly past 7 p.m., Jack received a call on his cell-phone.  His ring-tone was the theme from the television show:
Hawaii 5-0.
  As was his habit, he answered the phone by saying, “Book 'em, Danno.”

Ed Eaton didn't bother with any opening pleasantries.  “I saw you on the news earlier.  What's this about new leads, Jack?  What's going on?”

The Sheriff reminded his best friend, “You know I can't discuss details of the investigation with you.”

The dentist whined like one of his drills, “But Jaaaaack!”

Jack winced.  “I know how hard all this is on you and Joanie.  Believe me, I do.  Just hang in there, okay?”

“You seemed so
different
on the news tonight.  Everyone is talking about it.  I was just wondering what changed.  These must be some pretty significant new leads, huh?”

Jack wanted desperately to give his friend hope but he didn't think it was a good idea to mention that his new informants were psychics.  So he told Ed the same lie he told his deputies, after soliciting a promise from his friend that he would keep the information Top Secret.  “Someone called in a tip to my house last night.  She claimed that—” he shied away using the words 'Cornfield Killer,' “the person we're looking for ate chicken at The Red Brick House last night.”

“You're kidding me!”  Ed sounded stunned.  “That's great news, right?  Doesn't that give you leads to track?”

“It sure does,” said Jack.  “We're talking to everyone who works at The Red Brick House.  We're getting
close
, Ed.”

After a long pause on the phone... “That's
great
news, buddy.”

“I've probably said too much.  Keep this under your hat, okay?”

“Okay.  I understand.”  Ed's voice cracked as he asked, “So you really think— Laura is still alive?”

“I do.”

“And this informant who called you?  You said it was a woman?”

“Yes.”

Ed whimpered, “Who can it
be
?”   

“I don't know.  But I'll find out.”  Jack asked, “How's Joanie holding up?”

“Not great.  She's all drugged up on Valium most of the time.  Or sleeping.  She sleeps
way
too much.”

Jack flashed suddenly on what it had felt like to get raped the previous night and he was shaken by the viciousness of the recollection.

“Jack?”

Sweating, grimacing, Jack swallowed, his eyes closed.  He fought against the memory.

A pulse of static interrupted the conversation, loud enough for Jack to pull his cell-phone away from his ear.

He regained control of his emotions as the connection cleared.

“Jack?”

“Yeah.  I'm here.”

“I know you're doing everything you can, my friend.  I'm grateful.”

All the insecurities of the previous days threatened to break down a dam just recently built around his heart.  So Jack ended the conversation by asking, “You're not working, right?”

“Hell, no!  I can't work.  The office is closed indefinitely.”

“I'll call you if I learn anything else,” promised the sheriff.

“Okay,” said the dentist.

When he hung up, Jack whispered, “Hang in there, Laura.  It'll all be over soon.” 

He thought of the Sensora sisters and had hope.

******

Jack Carver sat at home at his kitchen table in front of a new bottle of Jack Daniels, a filled glass, and two empty microwave dinner containers.  His appetite had been enormous.

Once again, he drank to take the edge off.  He found it hard to sit still; he paced a lot, thinking about Laura. 

Jack knew that this evening he would see through his goddaughter's eyes and, with any luck, the identity of the Cornfield Killer would finally be revealed.

The cuckoo clock in his front hallway chirped twelve times.

As a new day darkly began, there was a tapping on his front door.

Jack Carver hurried to greet his saviors.

******

He rolled onto his dining room table, lying flat on his back, with his head pointed west.  The Sensora sisters encircled the table.  With a discernible lack of tenderness, Ivona Sensora placed her hands over Jack's ears.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Before he could answer, four of his five senses were blasted apart by a thunderclap.

******

Moaning, coming from Laura, her (his) breathing a raspy accompaniment to a hammering heartbeat—

A snap and rattle— creaking hinges (a heavy door swinging open) — all of this coming from
above
her.  The creak was reversed (the door shut) —
whump
.

Heavy footfalls descended a wooden staircase.  The approaching person was whimpering louder than Laura was.

His goddaughter (Jack) began to cry.

“Pleash.”  She slurred her speech because of drugs and alcohol.  Her voice barely audible, she pleaded for him to “Stop!”

“I can't stop, Honey,” said the sniffling Cornfield Killer.  “I
mustn't
stop.”  His voice was strained from holding back sobs.  “This has to be done.”

“Please, please, please!” said Laura, getting louder with each repetition.  She heard the
thunk-scuttle
of two shoes (boots?) being kicked off.  “Nooooo!”

“Why do you fight me, Baby?” asked the monster, sounding terribly sad.  “Don't you know how much I love you?” 

The sound of a belt buckle being unhitched— a zipper being pulled down— the soft
fluttle
of clothes hitting the floor—

“Don't you
see
how much I love you?”

“Please, Daddy!  No!”

(The-Jack-inside-Laura was so shocked, he nearly became himself again.)

“Daddy
has
to, Laura.  Daddy
needs
you.”  (There was no mistaking the voice this time.  Once again, Jack's mind popped to the top of their pooled identity, like a hot fishing bobber on a cold lake.)

In a very clear voice, Laura said, “I can't
feel
anything anymore!”

Doctor Edward Eaton DDS sighed heavily.  “Perhaps that's for the best.”

Bed springs squeaked as additional weight was added to them.

Laura quietly wept.

In a husky voice, very close to her (his) ear, Ed declared, “I adore you, Sweetheart.”

Sheriff Jack Carver had heard more than enough.

******

He bounded off the table, nearly knocking both Evata and Flora over.  “Oh my God!” he shouted.  “Oh my God, no!”

“What—?” began Clara.

He cut her off, wailing, “Ed is the Cornfield Killer!”

Jack dug into his pockets for his cell-phone and realized he didn't have it on him.  “You have to go,” he said to Clara.  “I'm sorry but
I
need to go.”

Clara looked over at Ivona, who was slack-faced and sluggish.  “It will be a few minutes before my sister regains her composure.  Do what you have to do, Sheriff.  We can lock up behind us.  I take it you know this 'Ed' person?”

Jack laughed shrilly, tears springing up in his eyes.  “He's my best friend.”  He dashed to his china cabinet, where he had put both his gun and his cell-phone.  He picked up his weapon first, checking to make sure it was loaded.  Pushing a lump of emotion deeper down his throat, he told Clara, “He lives next door!”

Flora exclaimed, “How horrible!”

“Exactly,” Jack agreed with her. 

He flipped his cell open and called the station.  Connecting to Deputy Shawhan, his man on the night watch, Jack gushed, “I know who Our Boy is.”

Of course, Shawhan wanted to know, “Who is it?”

Unable to say Ed's name, Jack rasped, “It's my neighbor.”

After soliciting a promise from Shawhan to send backup, Jack ended the call.

Vividly, he remembered Laura saying, “
Please, Daddy, no
!”

As he dashed out of the dining room into his front hall, he told the sisters, “No need to lock up!  Just let yourselves out!”  He rushed out his front door, shouting, “And thanks!”

Jack lived on East 5
^th
Street, in a residential neighborhood twelve blocks east of downtown Middleridge.  Mailboxes and old maple trees lined the sidewalk next to the street, casting short and tall shadows.  Lamp poles bathed the rows of two-story houses in pale orange light. 

His gun leading the way, Jack hurried off his own property, onto the Eaton's front lawn.

Tasting chicken from The Red Brick House, Jack remembered all that sweaty weight on top of him—
Ed's
weight.

Thoughts zipped through his head at twice their usual speed.  He knew Ed had a large basement, which included an enclosed workshop where he kept all his tools.  Jack imagined Laura locked up down there, not twenty yards from where Jack sleeps.

Worried for Joanie too, he suddenly remembered what Ed said earlier about his wife being doped up on Valium all the time.  He wondered,
Is that what he's got Laura on?

After hurrying up the five steps onto Ed's front porch, Jack hesitated.  He knew he should wait for backup.  Obviously, Ed was not only deranged, he was dangerous.

Fearing for Laura, Jack kicked in the Eaton's front door.

He didn't bother calling out any names.

The house was dark but he knew where the light switches were.  Instead of heading upstairs to the bedrooms— where he hoped Joanie was snuggled up safe in bed— Jack crept through the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, flipping on lights as he went.  In the back laundry room, he opened the door that led to the basement stairs.

Below, the light was already on.

Jack charged down the basement steps, trying to look everywhere at once, fearful Ed might be hiding behind the furnace.

Unconsciously biting his lower lip, the Sheriff crept over to the room where Ed kept his power tools.  He put his ear up against the door and heard nothing (especially no cries from Laura.)  His heart sinking fast, Jack kicked in the door.

He was so startled by what he saw, he nearly shot it.

Surrounded by Black and Decker products, Joanie Eaton hung from the ceiling, a handmade noose around her neck.  Her wrists were tied together behind her back.  She was dressed in plain pink pajamas.  One foot was bare; the other was wearing both a sock and a fuzzy yellow slipper.  Her eyes were open, bulging, and permanently glazed with the pain and terror of being slowly strangled.

Jack remembered telling Ed on the phone that his new informant was a woman.

At the time, he had no inkling he was talking to the Cornfield Killer.  Only now, in retrospect, did he realize
he
was directly responsible for Joanie's murder.

Jack's knees went weak.  He stumbled, then slumped against the wall, unable to take his eyes off Joanie.  He bawled, both sad and mad at his own stupidity.
  I'm sorry, Joanie,
he thought. 
I didn't know!  I didn't mean to get you killed!

He recalled telling Ed that the Cornfield Killer ate at The Red Brick House.  He imagined Ed knowing that Joanie knew where he ate.

He imagined his best friend stringing his wife up by the neck.

Jack was still crying ten minutes later when his deputies found him.

******

When the Suits arrived at the crime scene and questioned him, Sheriff Carver told more lies.  Jack claimed to have realized Ed was the killer because of something he let slip when they spoke last night on the phone.

Agent Creasey wanted to know, “What was it he said that made you suspicious?”

Jack's imagination failed him.  Unable to concoct a credible lie, he answered, “I can't say exactly.  It was the way he
sounded
, I guess.”

Coopersmith gave him a dubious look.  “How did he sound, exactly?”

“Remorseful.  Guilty.  Scared.”  This was how
Jack
felt. 

The Suits didn't press him any further.

The connections that previously eluded the investigators were now obvious. 

Paula Shepherd was Joanie Eaton's hairdresser.

The other three women— Diana Humphries, Carla Johnson, and Julia Kendall— were all Ed's
patients
.

Further, all the farms where the bodies were dumped— all those families also went to Doctor Eaton.  (Later, Herb Livergood's oldest son, Johnny, would distinctly remember Ed questioning him about the layout of their family's farm, while waiting for the anesthetic to kick in before Johnny's root canal.)