Sugar & Spice (19 page)

Theresa froze. Her mind filled with questions.
How did they find us? Had the Connelly twins sold us out? Was Catherine Spalding alive? Did she faint? Had she played us for fools last night? How did they get our number?
Then it occurred to her that the earlier call from the phone company had actually been the FBI checking to see if both of them were in the house.

“Am I speaking with Geraldine or Theresa?” Phoenix said. “You girls have a chance at walking away with your lives if you cooperate. I don't want to kill anyone today.”

“What makes you think we want to live?” Theresa laughed sardonically.

Phoenix paused. She hadn't counted on that response. “Point taken.”

“But…if we surrender, what are we looking at? The chair?”

Sarcastically, Phoenix said, “If I had to guess, I'd say you two are looking at life without the possibility. But that's just a guess.”

“Aren't you supposed to try and talk us out, Agent Perry? Sounds like you want a fight. Is that what you want? You want a shootout? ‘Cause if you do, we can provide one.”

“Nobody wants a shootout, okay? But there's no way you're going to get away. We have the house surrounded and all the roads are blocked. Now…are you two really prepared to die?”

“We need time to think about it.”

“I'll give you thirty minutes. After that, we're coming in. It's your choice.” She hung up the phone.

***

“This is about to get dicey,” I said. “They're prepared to shoot it out,”

“Why antagonize the situation, Phoenix?” Kortney asked.

“I needed to know what our people were up against,” I explained. “We could have sent our guys in there unsure of their intentions. They're cornered and they know it. They've got nothing to lose. And if I have to push a little to see what their thinking is, that's what I'm going to do.”

“If they have nothing to lose, why are we waiting?” Kelly asked.

“I gave them thirty minutes,” I said.

“We don't owe them anything, Phoenix. They could have an arsenal in there. And if they do, in thirty minutes we could run into a buzz saw. I say we send them in now and surprise ‘em.”

“It's your call, Phoenix,” Kortney said. “But I think we give them the thirty minutes. We need to be shark sure when we go in. I think it would be better in the long run to wait them out. They're not going anywhere. Sooner or later, they're going to fall asleep and we can take them then. You do want them alive, don't you, Phoenix? Or do you want to even the score for Sarah Lawford's murder?”

“I won't even dignify that with a response,” I scowled. Then I picked up the radio. “Assault team leader, are your people in position?”

“Affirmative. We are good to go. Awaiting further instructions.”

“Sit tight. We need them alive,” I said.

“Have you looked at the sky lately? A storm is coming. It could impair our vision. I don't want any of my people to get caught in our own crossfire if the suspects decide to shoot their way out.”

“I understand your concern, but we need these two alive. Let's not rush this thing. They have vital information on another suspect. We'll deal with the rain when we need to.”

“Understood. Standing by.”

“They're coming in,” Geraldine whispered. She picked up paper and a pen and wrote:
They‘re probably listening, Sis. We better gear up. We've only got thirty minutes, if that.

Theresa wrote:
If we get the thirty, we can be sure they're going to shut off the electricity when the time expires. Let's stick to the plan.

Geraldine wrote:
Let's get everything we need upstairs and turn on some music so we can talk in private.

Theresa wrote:
I think I should call the media now. You start bringing up the stuff.

Geraldine nodded.

The twins had a contingency plan for the FBI. But for it to work, they needed time. Time the FBI wouldn't give them. In less then twenty minutes, they would be coming through the doors—guns blazing.

Theresa Temperton sprinted up the basement stairs and into the kitchen, where her cellular phone was recharging. She picked up a notebook, which had the telephone numbers for CNN, ABC, NBC, CBS, and WSDC, Season Chambers' station. She didn't know how many she could call before the authorities caught on.

Just as she was about to make the first call, it occurred to her that she needed to close all the blinds. There would definitely be snipers. She did so as quickly as she could.

Geraldine ran up the stairs and dropped ammo clips on the kitchen floor. Just as quickly as she ran up, she was on her way back down. Theresa picked up the stereo remote control and turned on the stereo. Bon Jovi's “Dead or Alive” began.

The first call was to WSDC. “This is Theresa Temperton. My sister and I are responsible for the death of Season Chambers and quite a few others. My house is surrounded by FBI agents. So, if you want to scoop the networks, you'd better get to 1619 Vermont Avenue, Fairfax, Virginia in fifteen minutes. They're coming in.” Theresa hung up the phone and called the remaining networks.

“Are you getting anything yet?” I asked the tech.

“Nothing since one of them said, ‘They're coming in.'”

“What are they doing?”

“I can't tell. There was lots of movement. But they've turned the music up; I can't hear much now. It's like they know we're listening.”

“The electric company will be here soon. We'll take care of the power then.”

“I don't like this, Phoenix,” Kortney said.

“I don't either,” Kelly agreed.

“It's been almost thirty minutes,” the assault team leader said. “Are we a go, or what?”

“Stand by,” I said.

“I say we send them in now while we can still surprise them,” Kelly offered. “Who knows what they're doing in there. You heard the tech. If they know we're listening, they could be setting booby traps or something.”

“McPherson's right, Phoenix,” Kortney said. “I still don't like it, but if we don't go in now, we might be sorry later.”

“Come on guys,” the assault team leader said. “We're about to lose our window of opportunity.”

“Didn't I tell you to stand by?” I yelled into the radio. I was under tremendous pressure. If this went bad, it would set the advancements that women had made in the bureau back twenty years. And Kortney could forget about a permanent position as FBI director. They might have us all fetching coffee like the good ol' days.

“Yeah, but…” the team leader began.

I cut him off. “Then don't do jack until you hear from me! You got that!”

There was a long silence before the mic keyed. “Affirmative.”

I was sure he was calling me all sorts of names, but I didn't care. I had more important things on my mind. I closed my eyes and tried to block out everything. Deep down, I believed I was right to wait. Theresa had told us they were prepared for a shootout. And I don't think she was bluffing. I didn't want to put the assault team in danger, but they had practiced this sort of thing thousands of times. I decided to go in.

“Team leader, this is the SAC. Prepare for a full breach on my command.”

“On your command,” he repeated.

Just as I was about to key the mic, an agent opened the van door and said, “Phoenix, you might want to hold off. The media's here.”

“Which one?” I asked.

“All of them.”

I shook my head slowly and curled my lips. “Team leader, this is the SAC. Stand down. I say again, stand down.”

We moved the van closer to the Temperton house. They knew we were here. No need to hide. I looked out the tinted window of the van. The music in the house was still playing so we had no idea of what they were doing. With all the shades drawn, our sniper had nothing to shoot at. I wouldn't admit it, but I was glad the media showed up. I didn't want to go in anyway.

With the networks watching, filming everything, we had to be very careful. After all, this was a chance for them to up the price of a thirty-second spot during what they might call “Showdown in Fairfax” or something that would catch the viewers' attention. Besides, the last thing I wanted was a shootout with two desperate women—no matter what their crimes were.

The story was being broadcast on all the networks. The television screens in our van showed ID photos of Geraldine and Theresa Temperton they had acquired from their jobs. As the newsanchors filled the audience in on their crimes to date, pictures of each victim were displayed along with their occupations. They had assembled expert psychologists and lawyers, who debated their sanity and what legal strategy would be most effective. It was sickening. Nevertheless, I was amazed at how quickly they could get background information, and pictures of all the victims.

Just as I knew they would, the news anchors began to assign blame. In a subtle, almost undetectable way, they blamed everybody except the
women who had committed the crimes. CNN was doing a special
Talk Back Live.
A caller asked, “How can Geraldine work for the postal service and have a criminal record?”

A lawyer answered, “Her record as a juvenile was sealed. Whatever crimes she committed as a juvenile couldn't be held against her when she applied for the job. In fact, because her records were sealed, the postal service had no way of knowing her juvenile record. On top of that, her records can't be found. We only know what we know through word of mouth, which incidentally wouldn't stand up in a court of law.”

The moderator of
Talk Back Live
couldn't resist the opportunity to bring up past postal shootings. On a split screen was a list of every postal shooting in the country and the number of victims.

After that, the moderator asked, “What's happened to American women? Have they taken equal rights too far?”

I knew it was only going to get worse when I read the question at the bottom of the screen. “What impact does race have on mass murder?” I bet they made a bundle on that question alone. People were going to tune in just to hear the responses. I shook my head in disgust.

The phone rang in the van. The call was coming from inside the Temperton house. I heard one of the Temperton girls say, “Have you guys forgotten about us?”

“No,” I said.

“Thought you hotshots were coming in to get us.”

“We'll be coming—don't worry. It'll be in our time, not yours,” I said and muted the television. “In the meantime, tell me how you know Alexis Connelly.”

“First, tell me how you found us?”

“Who am I speaking with? Sugar or Spice?”

“We're both on the phone. This is Jerry, but you can call me Sugar if you like. I can be very sweet. Want a taste?” She laughed. “Theresa likes to be called Terry.”

“I guess that's a dyke thing, huh?”

“Agent Perry, do you know how close you came to being one of our captives?” Terry asked.

“Captives? Is that what you call the women you brutalize, rape, and dismember?”

Terry ignored my question and went on talking as if she didn't hear me. “Remember taking that adorable daughter of yours to the library a couple of weeks back?”

“Yes,” I said in horror.

“When I mentioned you to my sister, she told me you were an FBI agent. If we had been identical twins, you would have recognized me. We let you live because we didn't need the heat. So tell us how you found us.”

“A combination of luck and skill. When we found Rappaport, he was
watching a skin flick called
Sugar and Spice
. We found a replica of the Plow you girls like to use on your victims in his closet, but what led us back to you, Geraldine, was the receipts.”

“The receipts?” Terry repeated. “What receipts?”

In a deprecating tone, Geraldine said, “I'm sorry, Sis. I forgot all about the receipts.”

I listened to the sisters talk.

“What receipts are you talking about?” Terry asked.

“The receipts we give to customers have our first names on them. And I forgot all about that. I got careless.”

“Don't worry about it, Sis.” Terry consoled. “We knew they were going to find us sooner or later.”

“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “Now that we're all getting along, tell me about Alexis Connelly.”

“We met her at Norrell,” Terry began. “She was a fragile thing, but a straight lesbian all the way. She had to be ganged by the Deuces a few times before she fell into a routine. Tried to escape. That's when the guards started raping her. She told the warden and he got a piece, too. Kinda lost it after that. You could tell she wasn't all there to begin with. Had special medication and everything.”

“Is that why she killed Warden Perkins and his wife? Because he raped her?”

“Alex didn't kill the warden,” Jerry admitted. “We did. Me and Terry.”

“So she hired you to do it?”

“You might say we did it out of gratitude,” Terry said.

“Gratitude? So, she didn't hire you? She didn't ask you to kill for her? You did it as a thank-you gesture?”

“Yes,” Jerry agreed. “What you have to understand is that Terry and I are poor white trash. Alex Connelly was rich. We helped her enhance the library computer system, and she wiped out our records with a few keystrokes. We owed her something for that.”

“Why didn't you just stay out of jail? Wouldn't that have been thanks enough? You both had well-paying jobs with benefits and you threw them away.”

“You can't change who you are any more than we could change who we are,” Terry barked. “Spare us the self-righteous attitude. Prison changes you, okay, Agent Perry. The things that we did to women. The things they did to us. You don't know what freedom is until you've spent a few years confined with sex-crazed women. Prison is the only place left in America where slavery is allowed and, dare I say, encouraged. You have two choices in the penal system. Take or be taken. Now…are you coming in to get us, or do we have to come out there and get you?”