Once Shadows Fall (15 page)

D
an Pappas entered the lobby of the adult detention center and flashed his badge to the receptionist at the window. He asked for the sergeant on duty and was directed to a door at the far side of the room marked “Personnel Only.”

Each time he’d been there, it seemed like the same people were in the lobby. Some were on pay phones calling bondsmen. Others were talking in low tones to family members, trying to raise bail for those on the other side of the wall. Several years ago, some genius decided that “detention center” was politically correct, so the county changed the name. Supposedly, it played better than “jail.” Call it what you want; both had bars.

The sergeant he asked for was waiting on the inside. William Cludder was a gray-haired, twenty-four-year veteran with the sheriff’s department. They’d known each other professionally for quite some time.

“Sorry to get you up so early,” Cludder said. “He had your card in his wallet.”

Pappas glanced at a wall clock. It was just after seven.

“Not a problem. Appreciate you calling.”

“Guy says he’s a lieutenant with RHD.”

“He is,” Pappas said.

Cludder looked out the window and muttered a curse under his breath.

“He had no ID, only his driver’s license. There’s no record of him in the system. What’s the deal?”

“New acquisition,” Pappas said. “You process him yet?”

“Naw. I decided to wait for you. You bein’ straight with me?”

“Completely,” Pappas said.

Cludder informed him, “I got eight months to retirement. I don’t need any headaches.”

“There won’t be any,” Pappas said. “Can you lose the paperwork?”

The sergeant searched Pappas’s face for a moment and then handed him the arrest report he’d been holding. “What paperwork?”

“Thanks, Bill. What about the uniforms?”

“They’re good. They said he was a bit of a wiseass but didn’t give them any trouble. Where do I know this guy from?”

“It ain’t important,” Pappas said. “All you need to know is he’s on our side.”

“If you say so,” Cludder said.

“I say so,” Pappas said.

Cludder didn’t push the point. He’d been in the system long enough to know how it operated. “He’s not drunk, but he’s on something. These pills maybe.”

The sergeant pulled a bottle of Paxil out of his pocket and tossed them to Pappas.

“They’re prescription,” Pappas said, examining the bottle.

“Don’t mean he’s not abusing.”

“Where is he?”

“Number six on the A wing.”

Pappas found cell six without any trouble. The door was already open, having been electronically released on the sergeant’s order. Jack was sitting on a metal bench with his head in his hands, the only one in the room. Except for a metal toilet in the corner and two unmade bunk beds, it was completely empty. The floor was gray cement.

“Morning, Jack,” Pappas said.

Jack looked up. Medical intake had applied a butterfly bandage to his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot.

When Jack didn’t respond or make a move to get up, Pappas asked, “You ready to leave, or you planning to move in?”

“That’s it?” Jack said.

“C’mon, before they change their minds,” Pappas said.

*

Once they were in the car, Pappas asked for directions to Jack’s house.

“I need to pick up my ride first.”

Pappas nodded. Jack told him where it was located.

“What happened to your head?” Pappas asked.

“Close encounter with a curb.”

“The cops who picked you up thought you were out of it.”

“Trained observers.”

“Is this a one-time thing, or do we have a problem here?” Pappas said.

“We?” Jack said.

“Consultant or not, you’re working for the APD now. People need to rely on you and vice versa. You get my meaning?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t need to be worrying about you going off the deep end if push comes to shove.”

“Understood.”

“You told me the other day your medical situation wasn’t an issue. This have anything to do with it?”

“They’re separate,” Jack said.

“So what gives?” Pappas said.

“Sometimes I drink too much,” Jack said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Me, too,” Pappas said. “I’m asking again: is this a one-time thing?”

“I can control it,” Jack said.

Pappas shook his head. “Kale, it ain’t real good to mix pills and liquor. You know that.”

“I won’t let it interfere with what we’re doing.”

Pappas studied the man sitting next to him staring out the window. Book smart didn’t necessarily mean overall smart.

Jack tightened his lips and continued to look out the window.

“How long’s this been going on?”

“A few years,” Jack said.

Pappas wondered if a few years coincided with his leaving the FBI. One plus one didn’t necessarily equal two. Things were rarely as simple as that.

They eventually reached Wellington’s Bar. Jack’s car was still in the parking lot where he left it. He thanked Pappas and started to get out. The detective put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

“You remember how this works, right? Partners watch each other’s backs. We even look out for consultants.”

“Sure,” Jack said.

“If you need the meds, great, but it’s nuts washing them down with Scotch. I need to have your word that won’t happen again.”

“You have it.”

“All right,” Pappas said. “I’m taking what you say at face value. I’ll look out for you. So will Sturgis. She’s trying so hard to impress you.
She’s been staying until ten o’clock every night hoping to get up to speed on all that forensic stuff you seem to know. That’s a good woman.”

“I know,” Jack said.

“You run into trouble, you can call me. It don’t matter what time.”

“I appreciate that, Dan.”

“This stays between us,” Pappas said.

“I ain’t gonna mention it to her. But there’s only so much covering we can do before the genie gets out of the bottle. The paperwork’s history. As far as everyone’s concerned, it never happened.”

Pappas stayed there until Jack started his car and pulled out of the lot.

D
r. Morris Shottner looked over the rim of his glasses and waited for Jack to continue. This time Jack had chosen to sit on the couch instead of the chair he normally used. He didn’t think that was significant. Jack’s eyes, Shottner noted, were bloodshot, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in at least a day.

“When did it happen?” Shottner asked.

“As soon as I got home,” Jack said.

“Any specific trigger?”

Jack shook his head. “There never is, Moe.”

“We simply haven’t found it yet.”

Jack’s smile was meaningless.

Shottner continued, “I saw your interview on the news this morning. I take it you haven’t been to bed yet?”

“No, I was too busy having a heart attack.”

“Panic attack,” Shottner said. “You look like hell.”

“Thank you for noticing.”

“Would you care for some coffee?”

“Please.”

Shottner went into the kitchen and returned with a china cup and saucer. After Jack had taken a sip, Shottner inquired, “Was the woman standing behind you one of the investigators?”

“She was.”

“The same lady who kidnapped you?”

“The same. Her name’s Beth Sturgis. She’s the lead in the case.”

“Really? Then why did you do all the talking?” Shottner asked.

“Sacrificial lamb,” Jack said. “In case things go south. The department can always say their consultant didn’t work out.”

“I see. And she’s fine with you taking over?”

“I don’t think it sits well, but she’s new and is going along with the program. She thinks she needs to prove herself.”

“She picked quite a case to do it.”

“Not much choice,” Jack said. “The orders come from the top. I’m the official spokesman until further notice.”

“You appeared to handle the situation well,” Shottner said.

“Think so?”

“That was my impression. Can you recall what you were feeling while you were addressing the reporters?”

“Not much of anything. I was there to do damage control.”

Shottner was hoping to gain some insight into what kicked off the latest panic attack, but that could only come from Jack, who seemed to have no idea at all. It was no use forcing the issue. Instead he asked, “The woman you rescued, is she all right?”

“She appears to be,” Jack said. “I called the hospital to check on her. She’ll be discharged later today. I’ve arranged for police protection in case the killer decides to try again.”

“Wonderful. Is it true she was wrapped as a mummy?”

“Yes. That was something Pell never did. The killings started off the same, but this one is trying to separate himself.”

“Individuating.”

“I just said that.”

“But not as artfully,” the doctor said. “Having police protection sounds very sensible. Out of curiosity, why do you suppose this man chose her?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

“You think you’ll find out?”

“Yes,” Jack said without hesitation.

“Just like that?” Shottner said. “You can understand what makes a person tick?”

“I’m afraid so,” Jack said.

It was an odd choice of words. Shottner sat back in the seat, observing Jack for a moment. He waited once again for him to continue, but nothing more was forthcoming. The doctor reached forward and made a note on his pad.

T
he Soul Eater wandered through Piedmont Park. It was dusk and most of the visitors had gone home to their families or whatever such people do. In the lake, a single toy sailboat remained. A sandy-haired boy of about eight stood on the shore working the levers on a radio control device for the boat while his mother looked on from a bench.

A young couple walking hand in hand along the path passed close by him with no more than a glance. Why should they do otherwise? He was dressed as a cop and cops were safe. He smiled to himself and kept going.
We’re here to protect you
. It was all part of being invisible.

This time it would be more complicated . . . and riskier. But there was no choice. The pressure in him was building.

Just over the treetops, the sun threw long shadows onto the water, illuminating parts of it like jewels. On Tenth Street, a few cars already had their lights on. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching. The conditions weren’t optimal, but they’d do.

He stopped to watch the toy sailboat. The boy noticed him and explained what kind of boat it was. The Soul Eater pretended to be interested. After a few minutes, the boy’s mother decided it was time to go and called to her son. The child’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t argue. He adjusted the control levers causing the sailboat to begin a lazy turn back to shore.

The mother was plump and wearing jeans that were about a size too small when she bought them. She got up and walked to where they were standing.

“Aaron couldn’t wait to try out his birthday present,” she said.

“At that age, neither could I,” he said. “Haven’t changed much over the years.”

“Boys and their toys,” she sighed, smiling.

The Soul Eater smiled too, just to show what a regular guy he was. Of course they were safe with him. He explained to the boy, “Your mom’s right, son. It’s getting dark.”

The mother felt obliged to explain they normally didn’t stay out late, but she had made an exception because it was a special occasion.

“Understandable,” said the killer, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Do you live nearby?”

“On Barksdale Drive,” she said.

“That’s not too far. I’ll walk with you to your car.”

“Oh, please don’t go to any trouble.”

“No trouble at all, ma’am. Nothing like a police escort.”

As they walked, the woman kept up an incessant stream of conversation. In five minutes she managed to talk about the weather, clothes, her job, and being a mother. He found himself getting annoyed. Would she ever shut up? Her son said nothing. Perhaps he was intimidated by the presence of a policeman. More likely, he wanted to get home and play with his XBox or PlayStation.

After crossing Tenth Street onto Taft, the woman pointed and told him her car was at the end of the street. Of course, he knew that. He’d watched her park. His van, stolen earlier that day, was in the driveway directly behind her. It was too risky using the same vehicle again.

The Soul Eater’s hand moved to the Taser on his utility belt. He wasn’t certain if a young child would survive the jolt of electricity, so he’d taken the extra precaution of bringing along a cloth soaked in chloroform. It was now in a plastic bag in his back pocket.

There were lights on in several houses along the street. It was possible someone would see them walking together, which made the risk even more delicious. Wouldn’t the newspapers have a field day with that? He could just see the headlines: “Is the Scarecrow a Cop?”

As they neared the woman’s car, she reached into her purse, removed a remote-entry fob, and pressed a button. A polite beep of the horn and flash of the headlights followed.

“Looks like we made it safe and sound,” she said.

“Not quite.”

D
etectives Stafford and Mundas were speaking with Beth and Pappas when Jack returned to the office. He searched his memory trying to remember which was which and gave up.

Beth informed him, “We have a possible lead. Mundas spoke with Betsy Ann Tinsley’s neighbor. She told him Betsy Ann and Sandra Goldner recently joined the Parkwood Health Club.”

Jack turned to Mundas and asked, “Why is that important?”

“I’m Mundas, sir. He’s Stafford,” the other detective said.

“Sorry.”

The real Mundas continued, “Because Jerome Haffner and Donna Camp are also members of that club.”

“Tinsley and Goldner lived in Jordan. You’re telling me they drove forty-five minutes to Atlanta to get a workout?” Jack said.

“The Atlanta club runs a mixed doubles tennis league,” Beth said. “That’s where Betsy Ann met Haffner. According to Goldner’s brother, she talked Sandra into a trial membership. Apparently, it’s a good way to meet single guys.”

“Interesting,” Jack said.

“Four people at the same club’s a helluva coincidence,” Pappas said.

“I agree,” Jack said. “Any chance a judge will issue a subpoena for their list of members? I’m reluctant to ask the club management at this point. If the killer is there, it might spook him.”

Pappas commented, “We can always sic Beth on them. She can terrorize them the way she did that guy at McKeachern.”

Beth gave her partner a flat look and asked, “If they won’t cooperate, do we have enough as it stands now?”

“Dicey,” Jack said. “Maybe you could kidnap the manager and force him to ride around with you until he cracks.”

“It’s a she,” Beth informed him, taking the ribbing in stride. “There has to be some way around this. We need that list. If it’s not a member, it may be an employee.”

“Let’s start with the state licensing board,” Pappas suggested.

“Explain,” Beth said.

“Parkwood has a cafe where they sell sandwiches, salads, and cocktails. If you work in a place that sells alcohol, you have to go through a background check. We make nice to the board secretary, I’ll bet we can get their employee list in a few minutes.”

“How do you know they have a cafe?” Beth asked.

“I used to play tennis a few years ago,” Pappas said. “They have eight courts.”

The surprise must have shown on Jack’s face because Pappas added, “Pretty good at it, too.”

*

Beth made the call. In under an hour, an e-mail arrived from the Georgia State Licensing Board. Jack was just finishing his first cup of coffee. The list contained all of Parkwood’s employees.

She handed it to Stafford and told him to start running criminal background checks. Mundas was assigned the DMV records in the hope that one of them might own a white van like the one seen in the town of Jordan before the first killings.

Jack watched Beth as she was speaking. She was becoming more comfortable with her role as the case lead. If she was nervous or uncertain, she was covering it nicely.

When she was through, she turned to him and asked, “Can you see any kind of a pattern emerging?”

“Not really,” Jack said candidly.

“Even with the bodies we found?”

“I asked a colleague at school to look at the clothes,” Jack said. “He called me on the way in this morning from the ME’s office to say two of them are approximately a hundred years old. Another dates from around 1930 or so. After that there’s a gap of nearly eighty years before we see the next two. I was told they also recovered a quarter in the pocket of the most recent victim dated 2006. That gives us a baseline to work from.”

“About the time Howard Pell got started,” Beth said.

“It’s consistent. I’ve never believed he revealed all his victims or where they were buried. This could be his work.”

“Well, it’s obvious it ain’t the same guy running around since 1900,” Pappas said. “I’ll jump on the missing persons. By the way, Fancher said the chief wants daily reports.”

Beth said, “Jack, could you handle that? I want to take Dan with me to Mayfield and speak to Pell again.”

“Why?”

“Because I think he knows more than he’s saying. We should also take a closer look at his visitors list.”

Before Jack could respond, Ed Mundas came back in the room holding a piece of paper. He was followed by Dwayne Stafford, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“What?” Beth asked.

“George Merkle, personal trainer,” Stafford said. “Hired a little over two years ago. He has a record for assault and was a guest at Mayfield for twenty-four months.”

Stafford turned to his partner, who appeared equally smug. Beth gave in and said, “And?”

“I called Parkwood and pretended to be interested in joining. Seems ol’ Mr. Merkle runs their introductory health and fitness program. They use it to entice new members into signing up for lessons. I’d say there’s a pretty good chance that brought him into contact with each of the victims.”

“That’s great,” Beth said. She turned to Pappas. “Mayfield can wait. Let’s go have a talk with Merkle.”

Pappas stayed put and gestured toward Dwayne Stafford with his chin.

“Was there something you wanted to add?” Beth asked.

“Not if you don’t consider that he drives a white van important.”

Beth blinked. “Fantastic. Is he working now?”

“Day off,” Stafford said. “The gal at the front desk told me he doesn’t come in until tomorrow. According to the DMV, his address is still current.”

“Let me see his photo,” Beth said.

Stafford handed it to her.

“Light blue eyes,” Beth said, showing it to Jack and Pappas.

“Interesting,” Jack said.

Pappas suggested, “Why don’t you and the professor go? I still need to work up a search warrant for Jerome Haffner’s employer.”

“Wanna take a ride?” Beth asked Jack.