Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series) (23 page)

Frank walked out of the interrogation room to where Captain
Holloman and Molly Shapiro, the ADA waited. Molly was an attractive dark-haired
woman who had paid her dues and advanced to the District Attorney's office
ahead of an impressive string of court victories as a public defendant. She had
petitioned and received appointment as a prosecutor after one of her clients
walked on an assault charge and murdered three people that same night. She had
handled many menial cases in the beginning, everything from drunk and
disorderly and shoplifting, to domestic abuse. She drew her first felony case
after one year and got a quick conviction. Whether she would be assigned to
this case remained to be seen, but she had been appointed to do the assessment.

"Won't wash," Holloman uttered. The ADA stood with
her arms crossed, looking dour.

"We might make it stick if we can involve his brother
Gus, or this Bigley as an accomplice," Frank offered.

"If he isn't guilty, how does he have so much detailed
information about the scenes?" Molly asked.

Frank and Holloman looked at each other and didn't answer.
Molly looked both peeved and suspicious at the slight.

"There's also the problem with a second vehicle,"
Frank added. "The bodies were transported in a car with a badly leaking
transmission. Rankin's Mercedes doesn't have any leaks. We need to find that
other car."

"Did you see the leak this evening at Rankin's
house?" Holloman asked.

"Yes. There was a stain near the Mercedes and it wasn't
there earlier. There has to be an accomplice."

"Could be Bigley."

"If it were, what happened to the car? Rankin doesn't
drive."

"Not as far as we know, anyway."

"I'm going to see if the task force has anything
new," Frank said, looking at his watch. "After that, I'll catch
Gerry's second act at the Ha Ha House, then go home. It'll do Rankin good to
spend the night in an uncomfortable cell while he thinks about this mess."

"Call me if you learn anything new," Holloman ordered.
"Make sure either Molly or I are here for any further interrogation."

Frank nodded and headed upstairs. He stopped in the men's
room, overtly to wash his face and hands. He wanted a moment to think things
through.

Aaron Fox had beaten him to the work area and was already
making notes on the white boards. Grisham was on the telephone.

"Any news yet from the latest crime scene?" Frank
asked. Grisham pushed a pink slip from the telephone message pad across his
desk as he continued listening to the party at the other end of the line. Frank
picked it up, and read: MO same as other clown murders. Preliminary evaluation
by Aquilla is that it's not peyote. Death occurred approximately six to seven
hours prior to discovery. Scene secure, body in transport to lab.

Frank made a notation that Bigley was probably dying about
the same time he and Chad had been visiting with Rankin. One more twist to put
his thoughts in confusion.

"Any word from Gardner or Harrington?" Aaron Fox
asked.

"Roger called in right after Gerry's first show. He
said Gerry had discovered that Sheridan Barker was really Rankin's oldest
daughter. He said she seemed upset, but had gone to the dressing room to rest
up for the second show."

"I can understand her concern about Sheridan, but we
found that out at about the same time."

Fox nodded. He crossed to a vacant desk and picked up a
printout. "Olivia got this far on researching Barker's data file.
Interesting in spots."

Frank scanned the report. Sheridan Barker, nee Rankin: born
in Houston, Texas thirty nine years ago to Reuben and Mildred Rankin; family
moved to Las Vegas when she was twelve; mother died when she was thirteen from
complications due to back surgery; honor graduate from LVHS and UNLV, Forensic
science and Law Enforcement, did graduate work for one year before
matriculating in the Las Vegas Police Academy, graduated at the top of her
class, married a fellow policeman, Harmon Barker, in Las Vegas about eight
years before joining HPD. Her husband had been killed on duty one year later
while trying to help a crack-head off the streets and into detox. She had asked
for and received a leave of absence to recover from her loss, then came home to
Houston to live with her father. Joined HPD six months later. There was nothing
in the report to suggest that Sheridan Barker was anything other than a good
cop.

A shout from Grisham as he slammed the telephone on its
cradle startled Frank and interrupted his second reading of Olivia Stanton's
report.

"I'll be a son of a junkyard dog," He shouted.

"What's got you acting like a shocked talk-show
host?" Fox asked.

"That was John Magruder in Galveston. Good cop. He
found a filling in one molar in the Jane Doe's mouth with an unusual mix of
silver and stainless steel. Took him mucho hours to run it down, but a dentist
in Seabrook, originally from Russia and now attached to NASA, identified the
body."

"And?" Frank asked.

"You ain't gonna believe this one, Loo. Her name is,
er... was, Marsha Meyers."

Gerry woke inside a sweating body racked with aches and pains.
She kept her eyes closed, trying to identify what had happened. The last clear
memory she could recall was being fidgety and gulping a glass of white wine in
her dressing room at the Ha Ha House.

"Looks like our glamorous headliner is waking up."
Gerry knew the voice, but couldn't place it immediately. It came to her
suddenly. Mars. Her eyes flew open. Marsha Meyers sat in a white, hardwood
rocking chair that Gerry had bought at a country-style restaurant in Conroe. It
had been an impulse buy, but she loved it. She remembered searching to find
willow-patterned, tufted cushions that set the inexpensive piece off as a
beautiful, year-round decorative part of her bedroom. She scanned the room to
convince herself that she was indeed in her new bedroom in the Heights, and not
dreaming. When she tried to stand, she realized she was restrained, her arms
wrenched behind her and trussed with sheets to a straight-back, kitchen chair
that looked like the companion piece to the rocker. The restraints were not so tight
as to cut into her flesh, but secure enough to prevent her from busting loose.
Maybe if she were left alone for and hour or two she'd be able to wiggle out of
the binding, but she knew that wasn't going to happen.

She also realized she was naked.

A movement behind her caused her to crane her neck. Gus
Sullivan leaned against the wall near the bedroom door, eating fruit from a
plastic cup he'd acquired from her refrigerator. His mouth, shut tight and
moving in a slow circular manner as he munched the food, curled into a smile,
his eyes were squinted as if he knew about things to come—secrets that would
not make her happy.

"Welcome back to the living, Geraldine Gardner,"
Marsha snarled. "Even if the trip is only temporary."

Gerry snapped her head back to face Marsha, unable to hide
her surprise at being called by her real name.

"What's the matter, you arrogant bitch? You think
you're so smart I didn't know you were a cop?" She leaned forward in her
chair, her arms resting on her knees. "And that brute you tried to pass
off as your pimp, he had cop written all over him." She leaned back and
rocked the chair with a smirk on her face. "When you've been flirting with
the law in places like Vegas and LA, the small town cops here in Houston are
inept, shambling buffoons."

Gerry didn't want to exchange pleasantries with this nut
case, but procedure said to engage the perp in chitchat. "So? How many
people have you slaughtered to satisfy your blood lust?"

The woman bristled, her nostrils flared and her eyes turned
to azure marbles.

"Don't you dare deliver judgment on me, you bitch. You
don't know nothin' about me. You sit there with your counterfeit morality and
assume you're better than me. I've heard that crap all my life. What I do or
don't do is for me to decide. I have no interest in your opinion, not about me
or anything else. You're scum, hypocritical scum." She stopped rocking and
crossed her arms over her chest.

"You're right, Marsha..."

"Don't call me that. My name's not Marsha, its Sheera.
Sheera Rankin, officially, although I prefer my birth name, Sullivan. I'm the
ignored and devoted daughter of the self-important and esteemed man about town.
A selfish bastard that abandoned his family when I was only three. Five years
later my mother died. I've been making my own decisions ever since."

Gerry knew if she'd been half as smart as she had thought
she was, this information wouldn't have been a surprise. She visualized the
picture she'd seen in Rankin's office. Or course. I focused too much on the
older girl, and when I identified Sheridan, I stopped thinking. Damn! She
closed her eyes. Keep her talking. Gerry scrambled for the right question.

"I see," she grumbled, wiggling to ease the
knotting muscles in her shoulders. "So you decided to revenge your
misfortune. But why kill Nguyen?"

"I couldn't stand him. Daddy's such a hypocrite, using
his wealth to keep the whole family in chains. At first I only intended to send
him a message by annihilating his favorite son. He never recovered from not
having a son of his own. I was supposed to be the male heir. He always treated
me as a big disappointment. Sheridan was the favorite. He used his influence to
make her a big, bad lawman, and I was expected to grovel and be grateful to be
a bar-back." She glanced over Gerry's head. "And Uncle Gus, the
faithful marionette. It was Gus's idea to point the finger at him. What could
be more satisfying than watching such a pompous ass hauled off to death
row?"

"Why Laurie Lowe?"

"Old score. She came to the Ha Ha House to interview
for the gig and recognized me from Las Vegas. Threatened to expose me to
Gretchen. Gretchen was the only one who didn't know I was hired in payment for
the sins of the father. Poor Laurie. She was such a loser. She couldn't resist
the offer of her old friend, peyote, to carry her away from her miserable
existence."

"And who else did you ice to console your misunderstood
childhood?"

Sheera frowned and glanced at her watch. "No more
bullshit. It's nearly time for your next appearance on stage. I don't want to
cut this too close. They'll be looking for you."

She stood and stretched. "Gus, bring me my medical
bag."

Gerry heard movement behind her and watched Uncle Gus come
into view carrying a black bag that looked like a prop from an old episode of
"Gunsmoke." He handed the bag to Sheera and turned to stare at Gerry.

"What's the problem, you big freak, can't you afford a
Playboy magazine?"

Gus fixed a cold stare on Gerry, and reached over and
massaged her naked breast. Summoning all her energy, Gerry spat in his face.
Gus drew back his hand to smack her, but Sheera intervened.

"Stop screwing around, Gus. We don't want any
unnecessary trace evidence. Go sit down." Gus hesitated, looking at Gerry
as though he wanted to stomp her like a worm. He reached a handkerchief from
his hip pocket and wiped the spittle from his face. He gave Gerry a last look
that told her he had no more use for her than for a bug on a window screen. He
moved off to lean on the back of the rocking chair. Sheera opened the doctor's
bag and peered inside.

"I asked you a question earlier, and you were too rude
to answer," she demanded, looking at Gerry. "What's your favorite
flower?"

"I ain't comin' on that, fool. No way I'm playing your
sick game. You choose whatever nasty plant you want to kill me with, but I
ain't gonna help you have so much fun."

Sheera smiled and lifted a vial from the bag. "I think
I'll use Black Hellebore." She looked at Gerry. "You may know it as
Christmas Rose, but I think it's generic name is fitting, Helleborus
Niger."

"I take it you're the Shaman Lily I been hearin' about
'round town," Gerry suggested. She heard a barking laugh from Gus. Sheera
beamed.

"Cool name, huh? I got that tag out in New Mexico a few
years back. I was pretty much restricted to peyote then. That's before Uncle
Gus and I got together and decided to tap into Big Daddy's treasure
chest." She looked pleased with herself.

"Who's Marsha Meyers?"

Sheera shrugged as she nonchalantly measured some brownish
liquid into a glass and added water. "It's who was Marsha Meyers... not
is. She was some goody-two-shoes I ran into in Kemah. She wanted to try peyote,
so I obliged. She couldn't handle it." She stared at Gerry. Gerry saw cold
serpentine eyes. The Shaman Lily was prepared to strike.

Frank hurried into the Ha Ha House, his eyes scanning the
room for a view of the dispassionate, ditzy blonde before the door closed
behind him. He didn't see the girl who called herself Marsha Meyers, but he
stopped dead when he caught sight of Sheridan Barker at the bar talking to
Roger Harrington. Once he had overcome his surprise, he headed straight for the
couple.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked
Barker.

"The same as you, I imagine," Sheridan said.
"Looking for Marsha. I just arrived. Besides, someone has to look after
the business, what with you locking up Reuben."

Frank turned to Roger. "Where's Gerry?"

Roger jerked his thumb toward the far side of the room.
"She's in her dressing room resting. I escorted her there right after the
first show. She was a bit jittery after having learned that the lieutenant here
was Rankin's daughter."

"Are you sure she's all right?"

"1 checked a few minutes ago. The door was locked and I
couldn't hear anyone moving inside."

"Did Marsha carry a drink to Gerry's dressing room
after she came off stage?"

"Yeah. Routine."

"Has anyone seen her since?"

Both Roger and Sheridan looked at him, unable to answer the
question.

"We identified that Jane Doe the Galveston police
pulled out of the bay," Frank said. "Her name was Marsha Meyers."

"Oh my God," Sheridan exclaimed.

Roger didn't say anything. He spun off the bar stool and
bolted for Gerry's dressing room. Frank and Sheridan hurried after him. They
caught up in time to see him stop trying to open the door then back up a step
and place a size-fourteen shoe into the door near the lock. It flew open,
splintering the frame. All three rushed inside. The room was empty. Frank
grabbed Sheridan's arms and resisted the desire to shake her.

"Do you know who Marsha Meyers really is?"

Sheridan's eyes were wide at the unexpected emotion from
Frank. She started to say something, changed her mind then dropped her eyes and
mumbled. "Her real name is Sheera Rankin. She's my baby sister."

Without letting go of Sheridan's arms, Frank turned his head
to Roger. "The motel. Go. I'll check her new apartment. Keep in touch over
the phone. Go!"

Roger headed for the front door on the run. Frank came close
behind, dragging his ex-boss behind him.

Gus came up behind Gerry and grabbed a handful of hair,
pulling her head back. He forced a tongue depressor in her mouth, wiggling it
between her teeth and prying her mouth open. Gerry fought the best she could,
but Gus had evidently performed this action before and easily overcame her
resistance. Sheera tipped the glass with the watered down amber fluid into
Gerry's mouth. Gus whipped out the depressor and clamped his hand over her jaw,
preventing her from spitting out the fluid. Sheera squeezed Gerry's nose like a
mother forcing a child to swallow medicine. Despite willing herself not to,
Gerry felt the liquid flow down her throat. When Sheera released her nose,
Gerry choked and spit, wanting to wipe the tears from her eyes.

Sheera stepped back and nodded to Gus. The brute released
Gerry's hair and walked away. Gerry's head lunged forward and jammed against
her chest. She would have fallen from the chair if the restraints hadn't
prevented it. It felt like her mouth was on fire. Her tongue swelled. Her
cheeks sucked in. She tried to clear the tears from her eyes by blinking. She
heard herself gagging.

Oh, crap! This is it.

Frank literally threw Sheridan in the squad car and jumped
in himself. Sheridan drew up with her back to the door, her eyes wide, showing
a mix between fear for what Frank might do, and remorse for her complicity in
how this whole mess was winding up.

Frank rammed the car into reverse and backed out of the
parking spot. He crammed it into drive before it came to a complete stop and
sped away from the Ha Ha House. He turned on the siren as he raced west on
Gray, and took the right turn on to Studemont.

"There's no time for any more cat and mouse, Barker.
How long have you known that your sister is a nut case?"

"I don't know exactly."

"Bullshit."

"I first suspected there was something missing in her
when she was in junior high school. She was such an angry, unhappy sort that
all I wanted to do was get as far away from her as possible. I didn't see her
again, until the night I went to visit Dad and she was there."

"When was that?"

"About three years ago. She told me she had come to
terms with Dad abandoning us, and had turned over a new leaf. Reuben backed her
up. I bought into it, until Dad called me this morning."

"Have you been keeping her informed about this
case?"

"No. I haven't told her anything. We seldom talk to
each other."

"Well, she seems to know everything we do."

"I tell Reuben, and he no doubt tells Gus. If Sheera
has been getting information, Gus is her source."

Frank maneuvered a left onto Washington and cut off the
siren. "Fill me in," he fired at Sheridan.

"It was Reuben who called when you were in my office.
He told me he was going to send Sheera away and call you to confess to
everything." She paused, apparently thinking about the conversation.
"He's such a rescuer." Another long pause. "He realized the
truth when you confronted him with the oil-spot in his garage. He knew it was
Sheera's car. The whole puzzle came together for him then."

Before Frank could respond, a cream colored Chevrolet shot
out in front of him as he flew toward Heights Boulevard. He whipped the wheel
and slammed on the brakes, barely missing the car's rear bumper. He slid into a
wild spin at the intersection. It took all his talent and strength to recover
control and continue west on Washington. He grabbed the radio transmitter.

"Dispatch, this is Frank Rivers in C-18. I'm Code Red
on Washington in route to assist an officer in distress. Request backup, a CSI
unit, and an EMT at Fowler between Maxie and Eigel."

The call went out for all available vehicles in the area.
Double clicks on the radio told Frank that three other squad cars were
responding. He keyed the mike again. "Third responder, identify."

"Hey, Frank, C-24." Frank recognized the ID.

"Hey, Gil. Helen with you."

"She's here."

"Two cars will do me here. Head for the Ha Ha House on
Gray. Show your presence, but wait for Roger Harrington to arrive before
arresting Gretchen and Sammy Sullivan on suspicion of conspiracy to commit
murder."

"Ten four, 18. We're on our way."

Frank laid the microphone on his lap and took out his
cell-phone.

"Hey, Roger, Frank here. What did you find?"

"Gerry's not here. The place has been tossed and I've
interviewed the motel personnel. No one's seen her."

"I'm almost at her townhouse. I'm pretty sure she's
there. I've got the situation under control. Go back to the Ha Ha. Car 24 will
be there to aid in apprehending Sammy the Stick and The Grinch."

"I'd rather come and help Gerry, Frank."

"I know you would, but it's important to get those
other two in custody. When they're locked up, we'll be at Methodist."

Frank punched the phone off before Roger could argue
further, and turned his head toward Sheridan.

"Hand me my briefcase from the back seat," he
shouted. Sheridan didn't hesitate. She pulled the briefcase over the seat back
and balanced it on the console between them. Frank snapped open the clasps
without taking his eyes from the street, and took out the special cell phone.
Three flashing red lights told him that the microphones, the ones he had hidden
at Gerry's townhouse, in the hall downstairs, in the telephone, and the one in
the upstairs hall, were not operating. He grabbed the radio mike and ordered
the back-up units to approach in silence.

Gerry tried to vomit, hoping maybe it wasn't too late to rid
her stomach of the dreaded poison.

"Don't worry," Sheera smirked. "You'll be
throwing up soon enough, but it won't help." She leaned over with her face
near Gerry's. "Let me explain what's going to happen. There are several
nasty chemicals bubbling through your system. Some cause blisters to form in
your mouth and throat. Before long, you'll be crapping all over yourself, and
puking until you think your guts are coming out. Then, after several hours,
your heart will stop, and you'll be dead. That's the bad news. The good news is
you're just a pawn. Sad, when you think about it, but it couldn't be helped.
It's that Spic partner of yours I really want dead. He's worse than the gook
from Viet Nam. Daddy dotes on him. He keeps notes and newspaper clippings, like
some adolescent worshipping a sports hero, about the great Frank Rivers."

Gerry managed to shoot Sheera a glare of disgust. "I
thought you were afraid Frank would come looking for you. Now you tell me
several hours?" The effort of talking exhausted her, but she was
determined to act a cut above her assailant as long as she could.

Sheera smiled. "That's the good news. Gus and I are
leaving soon. We'll be out of the state when your friggin' Spic champion comes
bursting in here to save you." She looked at her wristwatch. "You
should be about half gone by then. Unable to talk or function coherently. He'll
see your sweaty, filthy, black body and rush to the rescue." She stood and
walked to Gerry's chair. She peeled up an eyelid and studied her victim's
pupils, pursing her mouth. She reached down and brought an electric wire from
under the chair, lacing it behind Gerry's back to the other side, and reached
under the chair seat. Gerry heard a distant click.

"A simple booby trap, really," Sheera explained.
"Uncle Sammy isn't into high-tech but he's efficient. Any serious movement
of the chair and BOOM, you and Detective Rivers are bacon. You get to avoid the
inhuman symptoms and die quickly. Good news, right?"

Gerry must have expressed surprise when she heard Sammy's
name because Sheera smiled. "Yeah, everyone hates good old Dad. He's such
an arrogant, self-serving bastard." Sheera turned away and then stopped,
feigning an afterthought. "By the way," she added nodding at the
chair. "Don't worry about getting too reckless in your movements while
you're waiting for Frank. I wouldn't let anything happen to deprive you two
from going out together."

Gus snorted.

The two women stared at each other silently, Gerry showing
hatred, Sheera smirking like the twisted sociopath she was.

Frank turned north onto Fowler and eased past Gerry's
townhouse, noticing the beat up sedan sitting at the curb. He crossed Eigel and
continued on to Inker, made a U-turn and parked in the exact spot where he'd
left the car when he broke in and installed the listening devices earlier. He
reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the leather wallet with the
lieutenant's shield. He handed it to Sheridan. "It's against regulations
to allow civilians at a crime scene," he remarked.

Sheridan looked at the shield then at Frank. "It's also
against regulations to imitate a cop. I resigned, remember?"

"The way I see it, you don't need to imitate, and we're
going to end up breaking regulations one way or the other anyway."

Sheridan took the badge from the wallet and pinned it on her
jacket, then handed the wallet back to Frank. He fished in his briefcase and
found his old shield. "Get out this side," he ordered Sheridan.
"I've got the interior lights blocked on this door."

Sheridan scooted across the seat and wedged herself under
the steering wheel, grunting as she squeezed by, and grabbed Frank's hand as he
helped her out. Frank went to the rear of the squad car and opened the trunk.
He took out two weapons and handed one to Sheridan.

"You ever use one of these?" he asked.

Sheridan turned the bright yellow weapon over in her hand.
"I took a training session on the Tazer when the department bought the
first ones. I've fired them at aluminum targets and seen the effects, but I've
never used one on a human being."

"Same with me. Can't be too tough. It isn't brain
surgery." He took Sheridan by the shoulder. "Are you sure you're up
to this?"

"Frank, I'm a cop. Sheera may be my sister, but she's
also a cold blooded killer. I'll wait until later to have regrets." Frank
smiled and tightened his grip on her shoulder. Sheridan tucked the stun gun
under her left arm and pulled a Colt 380 Auto from her purse, checked the
loads, and tossed her bag back into the squad car. Frank followed a like
routine, thinking, / hope I've read her right "Let's go get Gerry."

Frank and Sheridan had barely concealed themselves behind
bushes on either side of the entrance to Gerry's townhouse when the front door
opened. Frank had expected Gus to be the first one out so he could check the
street before Marsha showed herself. He was wrong. The woman stalked out the
door, swinging a black leather bag like she was arriving at a party. No glances
right or left, confident that she was several steps ahead of the dumb cops.
Frank tightened his grip on the laser and waited. Gus came slouching behind,
following Sheera by only two steps. Frank waited a moment, making sure he
didn't foul Sheridan's view, and then fired the weapon without warning. Gus was
too strong for him to take the slightest risk.

Two barbed metal darts flew into the small of Gus's back,
spiraled wires dangling as 50,000 volts of electricity shot into the brute's
body. Before Gus's first yell, he heard Sheridan's gun go off, and watched both
bodies arch their backs and collapse to the sidewalk, writhing in pain. Gus managed
to turn toward Frank and force himself to a crouch. Frank let another 50,000
volts go. It knocked Gus backward, but he still managed to turn and grab at the
nasty wires. Frank hit him one more time. Gus fell forward, shrieking and
flapping his arms, then lay still. Cautiously, Frank eased up and stood over
the body. He clamped a handcuff on the man's left wrist, yanked the arm behind
Gus's back and pulled the right arm back so he could secure the other cuff.
Only then did he glance toward Sheridan and her sister. Sheera was cuffed and
moaning. Sheridan had her automatic out, and was reciting the Miranda rights.