Murder Comes by Mail (22 page)

He dialed her home phone number from memory. Her answering machine picked up on the second ring. He waited through her greeting and the beeps. “I’m serious about this, Alex. You don’t call me, I’m coming.”

He hung up and called her cell. It went straight to voice mail without ringing. He left the same message there.

Then he pulled Whitt’s card out of his pocket and dialed the number. After a couple of transfers, he got Chekowski. “Aaron’s gone for the day, and I was on my way out. But I can get in touch with him if I need to. Something else happen?”

“No murders, if that’s what you mean. But I may have a line on Jackson. A picture in an old high school annual. Could be him. Could not be. We’ll get the information to you first thing in the morning.”

“So you think he might have gone to school there. Family still in the area now?” Chekowski asked.

Michael could almost see her pulling out her notebook. “No, they were only here a few years while Jackson was in high school. Actually, Jackie Johnson is the name in the annual. We’ll try to get a line on the parents’ names and a current address.”

“You really think it might be the same guy?” Chekowski sounded doubtful. “What would that make him now? Forty something?”

“Right.”

“Probably a long shot, but we’ll check it out. We check everything out.” Chekowski sighed. “So far all we’ve found are dead ends. Everything still calm and serene in Solla Sollew?”

“Solla Sollew?”

“You know. Dr. Seuss. Solla Sollew—where they never have troubles or at least very few.” Chekowski laughed. “You must not have kids if you don’t know Dr. Seuss stories.”

“You have kids?”

“Not yet, but I intend to someday. Until that someday, I borrow my sister’s kids now and again to stay in practice on Dr. Seuss books. His stories take a nimble tongue.”

“I see, I think.”

“The perfect mindset for Dr. Seuss. But how about it? Things okay down there?”

“I guess you could say so. Things seem peaceful tonight.”

“I hope they stay that way for you and for us too. This perp is way too good at what he does and way too fast at picking out targets.” Every trace of laughter was gone from her voice now. “Watch your back, Deputy.”

That was all he had been doing, Michael thought as he hit the off button on the phone. He started to put the phone back on the base, but then stuck it in his belt instead. He didn’t want to miss Alex’s call while he looked for Jasper’s yard chain, which he seemed to remember leaving on the back deck a couple of weeks ago.

He didn’t chain the dog often. Nothing out there Jasper could hurt except an occasional unwary possum. He never roamed far from the house. He was always waiting in the yard when Michael got home. But who knew what the dog did during the day? Michael imagined him swimming in the lake, sleeping in the sun, chasing squirrels—then again, he might have a whole pack of coyote girlfriends.

Michael touched the dog’s head. “You better be careful. Those wild women can get you in trouble.”

Jasper wagged his tail as he padded out on the deck behind Michael. The bad odor was worse here. Maybe Jasper and his wild girlfriends had downed a deer and dragged it up in the yard. But then dead fish could stink up the place too.

He surveyed the yard, but the night was too dark to see if anything was out there. He’d have to make time during the day to check it out and get rid of whatever it was.

Michael ran his hand down Jasper’s back again, then sniffed his hand. Nothing but dog odor. Whatever it was, Jasper must be staying away from it. Not normal behavior for a country dog. Michael found the chain on the deck railing and retreated inside.

He had his duffel bag packed and ready to go out the door when the phone finally rang. He hit the answer button. “Hello.”

“All right, you’ve got my full attention. What’s going on?” Alex’s voice was brisk, all business.

“Is that the way you talk to clients?” Michael asked.

“Not at all. I’m much sweeter to them. As long as they pay their bills.”

“You’re all heart, Sheridan. How much is this call costing me?”

“We’ll work out something.” Her voice was softer with the hint of a smile. “Fact is, your message sounded like it was time to be serious. So out with it. The bad news first. Then the good.”

“Nothing but bad news. Jackson killed the reporter who interviewed me after that stupid hero story came out in the
Gazette
.”

“You know Jackson killed her?” The lawyer voice again.

“I don’t know anything.” Michael rubbed his eyes. “But the killer—and who else but Jackson—brought pictures of her to Hidden Springs. The same poses as the first girl.”

“Wait a minute. Brought pictures? What do you mean brought pictures? They weren’t mailed like the others?”

He could practically hear her mind clicking. “Okay, where do you want me to start, Counselor?”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Why, Counselor, you sound like you care.”

“I got three hours’ sleep last night and may have lost a case in court this morning. All because an old friend yelled help.”

“Yeah, thanks, Alex.” It was time to cut the small talk and get straight to facts. “I am in trouble. This nut I pulled back from the edge is offing girls and sending me letters and pictures to let me know if it wasn’t for me they’d still be smiling and laughing.”

“All right. Let’s try to make some sense of all this.”

“Nothing makes sense.”

“Wait a second. Let me set my phone to record what we’re saying.”

Some beeps sounded in Michael’s ear. “Why?”

“Because you can miss some important things the first time you listen to somebody’s story.”

“Recorders make me nervous.”

“Then pretend you don’t know it’s on,” Alex said shortly. “Besides, you sound plenty nervous already, recorder or no recorder. So start over. Why are you in trouble?”

“I told you. This psycho is killing women and I can’t catch him and I don’t know who he might go after next.”

“You actually think he killed the reporter because she interviewed you?” Alex sounded a little incredulous.

“That’s what his letter said. Whitt, remember, I told you about him.”

“He’s the Eagleton detective who made you feel like small potatoes.”

“More like no potatoes, though that’s not important. Anyway, he thinks the killer is targeting me. Not his victims. Me. That he’s killing people to get at me.”

Alex was silent a moment. “So you broadcast a warning to all the women in your life. How could he even know about me?”

“He was in my house last night. He could have been here when you called and heard you leave your message. I have caller ID and your name and number is listed in a book right by the phone.”

“Whole name?”

“No, only Alex.”

“That’s good. He might think I’m a guy.”

“Not if he was here when you called and heard you. You don’t sound like a guy.”

“Now you’re making me nervous, Michael.” Her voice sounded tight.

Michael imagined Alex with the phone pressed hard against her ear. She’d be shoving her dark hair back away from her face, as if that would make her hear better. He wished he could really see her. “You didn’t get any weird phone calls then?”

“Only from you. How do you know he was in your house?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You talk. I’ll listen. Don’t leave anything out, whether you think it’s important or not.” She was all business again.

Michael perched on the arm of the couch while he considered the best place to start. Across the room, the curtains were only half closed over the window, and Michael suddenly felt on display. He couldn’t remember ever worrying about whether the drapes were open or shut, but now he got up and pulled them tightly together. He sat back down, ready to tell her anything she wanted to know except how he kept feeling monsters in the dark around him.

23

Michael talked and Alex listened, inserting a quick question now and again to clarify something. Finally he got it all told. “That covers it. The earring. What little I know about Kim Barbour’s murder. Rebecca Ann getting the pictures. Jackson’s car disappearing from T.R.’s. Whitt and his sidekick, Chekowski. Me going around scaring women.”

He hoped that last would lighten the mood, but it didn’t work. It was too true.

The only sound from the other end of the line was Alex tapping her pen on a table or her desk. When the silence went on so long that it started whining in his ear, Michael asked, “Well, Counselor, surely you have questions.”

“There are always questions. We’ll start with the most important one.” Alex hesitated a bare second. “Where were you when Hope was killed?”

“What?” That was the last question Michael expected her to ask.

“I want to know where you were when that first young girl was killed. Friday night, wasn’t it? Or has the coroner established a different time of death?”

“Whitt isn’t likely to share the findings of the medical examiner with me, but it almost had to be Friday night.”

“You haven’t answered my first question. Where were you Friday night?”

Michael pulled in a deep breath and forced himself to relax his grip on the phone. “What difference does that make? I didn’t even know that girl existed until I saw those pictures that came in the mail.”

“Just answer the question, forever more.” Alex’s voice was clipped, impatient.

“All right.” He didn’t like the question, but he had asked for her help. He shut his eyes to think back to Friday. It seemed ages ago. “I went by Aunt Lindy’s around dinnertime, maybe six thirty. Then I came home, went fishing for a while, and cleaned my guns.”

“Guns? As in plural?” Alex didn’t give him time to answer. “Oh, you mean your Civil War toys.”

“My Civil War antique guns,” Michael corrected. Alex liked to needle him about his gun collection, but tonight he just went through the motions of pretending to care. None of that seemed to matter much when she was asking him if he had an alibi for murder.

“Nobody with you? No girlfriend there to help you clean the fish you caught? Spending the night?” She kept her voice light, but it was obvious she was deadly serious.

“Nope. All alone.” He wanted to pretend they weren’t talking murder alibis. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous, Sheridan.”

“Not jealous. Envious.” Alex went along with him, perhaps giving him time to wrap his mind around the reason for her question.

He wondered if she used that tactic on her clients. Pressuring for answers, then letting up. He pushed that thought away. He was a friend. Not a client. “Envious? That’s hard to believe.”

“I don’t know why. It all sounds so peaceful.” Her exaggerated sigh came across the line. “I had to not only buy dinner for the obnoxious client of the year, but also hold his hand and tell him how the firm absolutely refuses to allow him to go to jail. I’m beginning to hope I was lying. If it wasn’t for what it would do to the reputation of the firm, I’d wash my hands of the whole mess and hand him over to the prosecution in one of those extra-large gift bags.”

“That bad, huh?” Michael wished she were sitting beside him holding his hand. “You could always hang out your shingle here in Hidden Springs.”

“I may have to show up down there to keep a certain old friend out of jail.” Her voice was serious again.

“What are you talking about?” Michael stared toward his window. A sliver of dark night showed at the bottom of the drawn drapes.

“Come on, Michael, you’re a cop. Think like one. That man planted evidence on you. He didn’t hide that earring there to scare you. He put it there to incriminate you, and now you’ve just told me you don’t have alibi one for the time of death.”

Michael’s mouth was suddenly so dry he could hardly get out the words. “That’s nuts, Alex.”

Her voice went soft, almost a caress across the miles. “I know that, Michael. I do. But this man, this Jackson, Johnson, whatever his name, is mentally disturbed. You’ve got to try to think like he’s thinking.”

“I don’t want to think like he’s thinking. I want to find him and stop him.”

“He has the advantage on you there. He’s already found you.” Alex paused a couple of seconds. “You do have your gun loaded, don’t you?”

“Yes. And where I can reach it. But Whitt doesn’t think Jackson will come after me personally. Just that he might pick someone connected to me somehow.”

“He won’t show up in DC.” Alex sounded as if she were trying to convince herself as much as Michael.

“He couldn’t find you. Not with just your telephone number.” Michael hated the doubt in his voice. “Could he?”

“Maybe. It’s not listed, but if a person knows what he’s doing, he can track things down on the internet.” She was silent a minute with the pen tapping on the desk again. “You think this guy has that much on the ball? To be able to do that?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so. That’s the weird thing about all this. Out there on the bridge he looked like nothing more than a run-of-the mill bum down on his luck and tired of it all. He was ready to pitch himself in the river rather than face whatever scrape he was in. But no, I didn’t peg him as too smart or at all dangerous to anybody but himself.”

“Unfortunately, you can’t always tell by looking. About the dangerous part.”

“Yeah.” Michael stood up and walked into the kitchen and back. He needed to be moving. “You ever defended any murderers? Clients you knew were guilty?”

“The firm handles all sorts of cases.” Her voice sounded a little stiff, as though he’d stepped on her toes.

“So that means you probably have. I always figured you could tell a psycho just by looking. Do you think that’s true?”

“I think that’s simply something we tell ourselves so we don’t have to be jumping at every shadow. But keep in mind how reporters can generally dig up at least one neighbor who always says, ‘He seemed like such a nice guy. Never bothered anybody. Minded his own business.’ Which turned out to be killing people.”

“So you don’t think you can tell?” Michael stopped in front of the sink to stare at his fuzzy reflection with the room mirrored behind him. Maybe that’s all a person ever saw. Just their own image mirrored back to them. At least until the monster in the dark put his face right against the window and let you know for sure he was out there.