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Authors: Terri Reid

Tags: #Paranormal Fiction, #General Fiction Speculative Fiction Suspense

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BOOK: Loose Ends
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“Well, whatever she does and whatever she is, my constituents don’t like it,” he said, standing up and leaning over the desk toward Bradley. “So keep an eye on her and if you can find some way to encourage her to move back to Chicago, I would appreciate it.”

Bradley understood politics; he also understood that if he stood up, he would be taller than the Mayor and that would not please him one bit. So, he sat back and met the man’s eyes.

“Are you asking me to harass an honest citizen of Freeport?”

The Mayor chuckled. “No. No, of course not, Chief. I would never do something like that. I’m just asking you to keep an eye on a troubled gal,” he smiled ingratiatingly. “We have to keep the citizens of our good city happy, or we might find ourselves without employment. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you Chief?”

Bradley just nodded, he was afraid if he opened his mouth he would lose his job.

The Mayor nodded, an amused smiled playing on his lips. “Have a good day, Chief,” he said as he let himself out of the office and closed the door firmly behind him.

Bradley stared at the closed door for a few moments. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Fifteen

Two hours and a heavy make-up job later, Mary sat in her office researching the disappearance of young girls near northwest Illinois in the mid-eighties. The FBI’s missing persons database provided her with the information she needed. There had been five of them, including Jessica, and none of the cases had been solved. They came from small towns within a thirty mile radius of Elizabeth – two from Illinois, two from Wisconsin and one from Iowa.

She printed out each case, four of them looked alike – they could have been sisters. Only Jessica stood out. Only Jessica was not among the ghosts that the paramedic had seen.

Mary glanced at the clock on the computer screen. It was after nine – she was sure her old pal Gracie, the shrink, was at her desk at the district office in Chicago. She dialed the number and within two rings Gracie had answered the phone.

‘District 43, Gracie Williams speaking. What can I do for you?”

“Hi, Gracie, this is Mary O’Reilly. How are you doing?”

“Why Mary O’Reilly! What have you been doing with your skinny self lately? I haven’t seen you laying on one of my couches for months. You still seeing ghosts?”

Mary laughed. “Yeah, I’m still seeing them and I’m still nuts. But, I’m getting used to the idea...you know, psychiatric adaptation.”

Gracie laughed deeply. “Girl, if you’re nuts, then we’d all be better off being nuts just like you. What can I do for you, sugar? You got yourself a man you need me to analyze?”

An unbidden image of Bradley Alden flashed in Mary’s mind and she pushed that thought away.

“No, no men. I’m working on a case that’s about twenty-four years old. It involves at least four little girls – all about the age of eight – and perhaps another one, but I’m not sure she is part of the same case.”

“What’s your hunch?” Gracie asked.

“They’re connected,” Mary said.

“I know that the girls were murdered and all brought to one place, but I don’t know if they were sexually assaulted,” Mary added.

“Well, sugar, there are a couple of choices in your cast of characters,” Gracie said, “Because of the systematic way the predator has killed his victims, some good possibilities would be a child molester who was a Sadistic Pedophile or a sociopath, or a serial killer who just happens to like eight-year old girls.”

“Okay, do you mind giving me an over-view of each one, so I know what I’m looking for?” Mary asked.

“A Sadistic Pedophile gets a kick out of abusing their victims – sex is power and control. These are the pedophiles that kill their victims. These types search for the perfect victim and they don’t mind traveling a long distance to gain access to their quarry. Think of a cougar and a hunting territory – that’s your pedophile.”

“Sounds like an intelligent predator,” Mary said, “Someone who thinks things through – not an impulse kind of guy.”

“Yes, usually, this type of pedophile is intelligent and middle to upper class,” Gracie answered. “Some of them tend to have large egos and feel that they are unstoppable. That’s generally when they get caught. They act impulsively, change their patterns and make a mistake.”

“So, the last girl, Jessica, she might have been an impulse, rather than a planned victim?” Mary asked.

“Well, if she didn’t fit his usual pattern, you could be right. He could have acted on impulse – which was more seductive because it was risky. Which could have caused him to change some other part of his modus operandi,” she replied. “Also, if she was an impulse, it was likely an impulse opportunity – so look for your molester to have closer ties to that community than the other ones he was hunting in.”

“But, she could have stumbled on him killing one of the other girls,” she added, “And just got in the way. You gotta cover all your angles.”

“Okay, how about the other kind of child molester?” Mary asked.

“A sociopath uses violence to have power over others - sexual violence is not sex gone too far, it is violence with sex as its instrument,” Gracie explained. “And once again you have someone who has a big ego and loves power.”

“Like a politician,” Mary mused.

Gracie laughed. “Girl, I like my job - I take the Fifth!”

“All right, how about a serial killer?” Mary asked.

“You’re going to see a lot of similarities here, sugar. A serial killer is a person who
murders
three or more people over a period of more than thirty days, with a "cooling off" period between each murder,” Gracie said, “The motivation for killing is largely based on
psychological
gratification. But often a sexual element is involved with the killings. The murders may have been attempted or completed in a similar fashion and the victims may have had something in common.”

“Okay, according to the FBI files – after that final missing girl, I haven’t been able to find any other missing children matching that description,” Mary said, “Does that mean he’s stopped?”

“No, it could mean a number of things,” Gracie answered. “Could be he’s in jail, arrested for something totally different. Could be he’s dead. Could be he’s sick or injured and can’t physically continue to prey on his victims. Could be that he moved away.”

Then again,” she continued. “It could be that the last one scared him and he got more careful. He’s probably still finding ways to feed his hunger – maybe pornography or abusive sex with an adult partner or he might have gotten better at hiding his crimes – but he’s still out there. Sugar, be careful, from what you’ve said, this predator is smart and skillful. And even twenty-four years later, he’s paranoid and is looking over his shoulder. If you trap that cougar, you make sure you got the means to put him down.”

Mary shivered. Her gut told her that he was still out there.

“Thanks, Gracie, this helps a lot,” Mary said.

“Oh, anytime,” Gracie replied. “If you send me those cases, I’ll see if I just can’t put together a more detailed report for you – on my break time.”

Mary chuckled, “Thanks, I owe you.”

“Honey, I’ll remember that and when I need a ghostbuster, you’d best be on my doorstep in record time.”

Mary laughed. “I’ll break all kinds of speeding records.”

“Just don’t get caught!”

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

Mary zipped off an email to Gracie with the case files attached and then reviewed her notes from her interview with Lisa. She meeting with the Ryersons in an hour and she wanted to be sure she had her facts straight.

She was packing her information into her briefcase when Rosie burst into her office.

“What did you do to your face?” Rosie asked.

Mary’s hand went up to her cheek. “I thought I had covered it up pretty well,” Mary replied. “You still think it looks bad?”

Rosie stopped in front of Mary and peered closely at her face. “Well, if someone didn’t know you...” she began.

“So, if they thought I was born this way, they wouldn’t notice,” Mary said, “Thanks.”

“Well, the idea behind make-up is to blend, not scoop it on like frosting,” Rosie replied. “What happened?”

Mary shrugged. “No, big deal, I ran into the fort at Apple River.”

“Well, of course you did,” she said, examining Mary’s face again. “Go to the bathroom and wash your face.”

“But...”

“No arguments,” she said, “Wash.”

When Mary returned, Rosie was just re-entering the office with a large box in her hands.

“What’s that?” Mary asked.

“My emergency kit,” Rosie said.

She placed the box on the desk and lifted the lid. Inside were smaller boxes of assorted make-up, hairspray, nail polish, some cartons of nylons and a collection of scarves.

“What kind of emergencies?” Mary asked.

“Fashion emergencies,” Rosie responded. “You should always be prepared.”

In the bottom of the box Mary saw what she thought was a flesh-colored beach ball. She pulled it out and realized that it was a life-sized blow-up woman.

“What in the world?” Mary asked.

“My third husband bought that,” Rosie said.

“Not for that!” she exclaimed at Mary’s shocked face. “We used it for the boutique I owned. It was a portable mannequin. Now I find that it’s handy for seeing if outfits work.”

“You try your clothes on a dress up doll?” Mary teased.

Rosie didn’t seem embarrassed at all.

“One can never be lax in preparing one’s outward appearance,” Rosie admonished. “You are judged by how you present yourself. Now sit.”

Mary obediently sat at her desk while Rosie applied makeup using a little white piece of foam to the tender area around Mary’s eye. “Ouch,” Mary said.

“Don’t whine,” Rosie said, “Beauty hurts.”

The door opened again and Stanley joined them. He walked over to Mary and winked.

“So, Mary, the word on the street is that the Police Chief’s car was parked in front of your house all night,” Stanley teased, and then he really looked at her. “What did you do to your face, girlie?”

“That’s right,” Rosie added. “I heard that too, that’s why I came over in the first place.

“She ran into a fort, Stanley,” she added.

“Well of course she did,” Stanley said without a pause. “Now about that Police Chief.”

“When the Police Chief saw how I looked last night, he had the same reaction as you two. But, the bruise was fresher and obviously more colorful at the time,” she explained. “And I was not very steady on my feet.”

“He helped me in my house and I passed out on the couch soon after,” she continued. “So, he stayed on the recliner all night – just watching out for me. It was nice.”

“Wonder if he’d do the same for me?” Stanley smirked and elbowed Rosie.

“Oh, Police Chief, I do believe I have a headache,” Stanley said in a high falsetto.

“Well, if you talked to him like that, he’d probably arrest you for solicitation,” Mary said dryly.

Rosie giggled. “Besides, a bruise like this could only improve your looks, Stanley.”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he replied, sneering at Rosie. “So, how come all of the sudden you’re not a nut case?”

Mary chuckled. “Well, I was probably still in the ‘nut case’ category when he helped me into the house. But, by the time he left this morning, I think he was reconsidering his own sanity.”

“What happened?” Rosie asked, standing back a little to see how Mary’s face looked.

“He met Earl,” she laughed.

“You mean, headless dead-guy, Earl?” Rosie asked.

“Well, he didn’t actually see Earl,” Mary corrected, and then in a Boris Karloff accent added, “He heard Earl and saw the door open and close by itself.”

Stanley chuckled and sat down on the edge of the desk. “Well, poor Police Chief Alden, that must’ve scared the crap out of him.”

“He actually handled it very well,” Mary said, “Once he put his gun away. The only casualty was my cookie jar.”

“Well, I never liked that cookie jar anyway,” Rosie said, turning Mary’s head to each side. “Mary, I think I’ve done it.”

“Thanks, Rosie,” Mary said, “I really try to avoid scaring clients.”

Mary turned to Stanley. “Okay, so how do you think I look?” she asked.

“Can’t hardly see the bruise,” Stanley agreed.

“Well, good,” Mary said, standing up and grabbing her purse. “Hey, lock up for me – okay?”

She gave Rosie a hug. “Thanks again, I appreciate it.”

She started to walk out the door, but stopped and turned back to Stanley, “No teasing the Chief about Earl. Promise?”

Stanley sighed. “Yeah, I suppose. Spoilsport.”

Mary grinned. “You don’t want me to end up in the hoosegow again – do you?”

Stanley chuckled, “Get out of here.”

 

 

Chapter Seventeen

An hour later, Mary pulled up to the front of the Ryerson home and parked her car. Her first instinct was to meet with the Senator alone, to not only spare Susan from the information about Renee’s pregnancy, but to also gage his reaction without his wife in the room. Unfortunately, she was not offered that choice.

“We’ll meet with you together, Miss O’Reilly,” Senator Joseph Ryerson said, as he guided her to the parlor where she had met with Susan during their last meeting at their home. “I have nothing to hide from my wife. We have no secrets.”

Ryerson was tall and handsome, even though his thick brown hair now had grey highlights, Mary could still see the boyish good looks that would have attracted Renee twenty-four years ago. She could also see intelligence in his eyes; this was not a man who was easily fooled. She’d have to see if he was as honest as he was intelligent.

Mary watched him slide his arm comfortably around his wife as they sat on the couch together.

Very smooth
, she thought,
but it’ll take more than that to convince me.

She smiled politely and took the offered cup of tea. Then she leaned forward in her chair and waited until the right moment.

The Senator had lifted his cup nearly to his mouth when she asked, “Were you aware that Renee Peterson was carrying your child when she was murdered?”

BOOK: Loose Ends
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