The Dying Game (42 page)
Suddenly, without warning, he jerked her around and covered her bloody face with a foul-smelling rag. Within seconds everything went black.
By the time Sandi came to, Pudge had arranged everything in the back storeroom to his satisfaction. He had also locked the front door to the studio. How long would he have before Sandi was missed, before her husband got worried about her and came by to check on her? Thirty minutes? Forty-five? No matter, this wouldn’t take long.
She opened her eyes. When she saw him standing over her, staring down at her where she lay on the wooden table, she let out an ear-piercing scream. Back here, so far away from the street, no one could hear her, even if there had been anyone on the sidewalk in front of the studio. But there wasn’t. All of Main Street, except for an occasional vehicle passing through, was empty. Dead as dead could be.
Pudge stroked her flushed cheeks. “Aren’t you the spunky little fighter.”
She tried to get up, but quickly discovered that she was spread-eagled on the table, her arms and hands bound so tightly they were quite immobile.
“Just go ahead and rape me,” she told him. “Or have you already—”
“Rape you? Don’t be silly. I have no intention of raping you.”
“Then what are you …” Realization dawned. She screamed again.
“No one can hear you,” he told her.
“Please, dear God, please don’t kill me. I have three children …”
Drowning out her pitiful pleas with thoughts of the shiny new axe he had brought with him when he’d entered the studio, Pudge visualized hacking off her lovely feet. He had stored the axe in a large box, wrapped with twine, and set it near the front entrance. At present, that effective chopping tool rested against the foot of the table.
He walked around the table to the end, reached out, and caressed first one of her feet and then the other. She squirmed and whimpered.
“Such pretty little feet. A ballerina’s feet.”
He lifted the axe. Sandi’s eyes widened in fear. She opened her mouth, but only a hoarse wail came out.
As he clutched the axe and lifted it up, positioning it for the first strike, an incredible sense of power shot through him, like an instant high from drugs, only stronger and sweeter. So much sweeter.
He could all but taste Sandi’s fear. The sound of her whimpers, her cries, her pleading gave him a hard-on. He brought the axe down across her right ankle. The sharp, heavy blade severed her foot from her calf.
Sandi screamed in pain.
Pudge lifted the bloodstained axe and repeated the pro cess, hacking off her left foot. Sandi screamed again. His muscles tensed. His nerve endings burned.
Pudge ejaculated.
As Sandi’s dying screams echoed in his ears, he shivered with release.
It didn’t happen all that often. He usually didn’t come when he killed a woman, only later, when he relived the moment looking at the photographs he always took at the scene.
Still clutching the blood-soaked axe, he stared at Sandi, who apparently had fainted from the pain. It wouldn’t take long for her to bleed to death.
Before he actually realized what he was doing, Pudge lifted the axe again and brought it down over Sandi’s left knee. It took three tries before he separated her calf from her thigh.
Excitement flooded through him. Then he took off her right calf at the knee.
God, what a feeling!
Laughing from the sheer joy of possessing such godlike power, Pudge brought the axe down repeatedly, hacking away, taking off Sandi’s hands and arms. Blood soaked the table and dripped down onto the floor. And Pudge kept laughing as he swung the axe over and over again.
Resting in the hotel bed, Lindsay stretched languidly, savoring the memory of Judd’s lovemaking. They were sharing a room at the Wynfrey, so Griff and the Powell agents all knew. So what? Everyone already knew she loved Judd.
When she turned over, expecting to see Judd lying next to her, she found an empty bed. Her heart skipped a beat. Where was he?
“Judd,” she called.
“Be right there.” His voice came from around the corner. He was either in the bathroom or out in the hall.
She heard the mumble of voices, then a soft click-clack. She felt around near the foot of the bed, searching for her nightshirt, but couldn’t find it. After shoving back the covers, she scooted to the side of the bed and looked at the floor. There it was. She reached down, grabbed her nightshirt, and pulled it over her head. Just as she got out of bed, Judd rolled a white-tablecloth-covered cart into the sitting area of their small suite.
“Breakfast is served.” Judd smiled at her.
“You ordered breakfast?” She padded across the floor. “Thank you. For some reason, I’m starving this morning.”
He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Vigorous lovemaking builds up an appetite.”
He kissed her. She sighed, loving his mouth on hers.
“I’m going away for awhile,” he told her.
She felt as if all the air had been knocked out of her. “What? When?”
He caressed her hip, then took her right hand, brought it to his lips, opened her palm, and planted a kiss in the center. “This afternoon. Griff’s sending Holt Keinan with me back to Griffin’s Rest, then Dr. Meng will accompany me to the clinic. The rehab clinic.”
“When was all of this decided?”
Without me? Why wasn’t
I involved in the discussion and the decision?
“I spoke to Griff about it yesterday and then last night he told me Yvette had made the arrangements and I could check myself in whenever I was ready.”
“I’ll go with you,” Lindsay told him.
“No.”
“But why not? You need me. You—”
“I need you to let me do this without you.”
She looked away from him, not wanting him to see how upset she was.
“Lindsay?”
“Huh?”
“Stay with Griff. Be my eyes and ears during this investigation. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
She nodded.
“If I’m lucky, I’ll be gone only a few weeks.” He grasped her jaw, her chin cradled between his thumb and index finger, then forced her to face him. “I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober less than four days and I’ve wanted a drink the entire time.
“I can lick this thing on my own, but just temporarily. The clinic Griff found is the best in the South and after the first few days, they’ll allow Yvette to work with me, as my personal psychiatrist.”
“Judd, are you saying—?”
“I’m saying that I’ve needed grief-counseling ever since Jennifer died.” He laid his forehead against Lindsay’s and closed his eyes. “I’m finally going to get the help I’ve needed.” He whispered the next words against her lips. “Because of you.”
His admission filled her heart. A timid joy. Accepting. Nondemanding. Realizing that he couldn’t tell her that he loved her. Not yet. But someday. If she were patient.
“Can I call you while you’re in rehab?” Lindsay asked.
“Probably not the first week,” he said, opening his eyes and lifting his head. “But I’ll call you as soon as they’ll let me.”
She cuddled in his embrace.
While you’re fighting your demons, I’ll be laying a trap
for Jennifer’s killer and hopefully catching him. It will be my
gift to you. Closure
.
Griff called in his troops that afternoon—all four Powell agents and Judd. He hadn’t told them anything except to be in his suite at two-thirty. Everyone would be on time, if they knew what was good for them. Griff hated tardiness. It was one of his pet peeves.
Lindsay had spent part of the morning devising what she and Maleah believed was a very persuasive plan to present to Griff. If they could get Paige Allgood to agree for Lindsay to assume Paige’s identity—temporarily—then Lindsay would move into Paige’s home and Maleah would pose as her personal maid.
Judd had spent most of the morning making his plans to go to the rehab clinic near Atlanta. Phone calls to his attorneys, one to Yvette, and another to his old friend Camden Hendrix. He had told her that Cam had been surprised to hear from him, but that they had talked about ifteen minutes and agreed to meet once Judd came out of rehab.
“I’ve lost too much these past few years,” Judd had told her. “Jenny was taken from me. The rest, I threw away.”
Lindsay and Judd arrived at Griff’s door only a couple of minutes before Holt Keinan, a long, lean cowboy from Texas, who wore boots and a Stetson, and had the manners of an old-fashioned gentleman.
When they entered the suite, they found Maleah and Rick already there.
Griff motioned for them to enter. “Come on in.”
Once they were all seated around the dining table, standard in the VIP suites, Griff placed a small cassette player in the center of the table.
“Is that what I think it is?” Lindsay asked.
“If you think it’s a copy of the tape from LaShae Goodloe’s purse the night she was murdered, then you’d be right,” Griff replied.
“I would ask how you got hold of it, but I assume palms were greased and money exchanged hands,” Lindsay said.
“Quite a bit of money,” Griff admitted. “I haven’t listened to the tape since Rick brought it to me, so we’ll all be hearing it for the first time together.” He eyed Judd. “If you’d rather not listen to it …”
“Play it,” Judd said.
Griff hit the Play button.
The room went quiet and still.
They listened, first hearing a woman’s voice—obviously LaShae Goodloe—and then a man’s voice, soft, low, almost hushed. Timid.
“
I’d very much like for you to come on my show and talk
about what happened to you,” the woman said. “Even if you
don’t want to name your rapist
—”
“
Reverend Boyd Morrow,” the man blurted out
.
Griff stopped the tape. “My guess is there is no Reverend Morrow, but we’ll check out the name to make sure.”
He restarted the tape.
“
I know how much courage that took—to tell me the
man’s name. If you decide to press charges against this Reverend
Morrow, I and WBNN will stand by you and help you
in every way possible
.”
The conversation continued with the man asking her to promise not to desert him.
She promised.
A few minutes later, the man asked, “
Are you all right?
” To which she replied, “
Yes, I–I think so. I feel odd. A bit
dizzy
.”
“The son of a bitch drugged her,” Rick said.
“He probably put something in her Coke,” Maleah added.
For several minutes, they heard no more conversation on the tape, only faint noises, nothing really identifiable. Then, sounding as if it came from across the room, a man’s voice said, “
Don’t fret, my lovely LaShae. You’ll never grow old
and ugly. I’m picking you before you wither, while you’re
still fresh and beautiful
.”
Lindsay’s gut clenched. She looked at Judd. He’d gone ashen, his eyes glazed, his jaw tight. She knew what he was thinking. Wondering if the killer had spoken similar words to Jennifer the night he killed her.
The man’s voice continued, “
I’ve been practicing, so I
should be able to take off your head with one powerful chop.
I don’t want you to suffer
.”
Lindsay reached between them and grabbed Judd’s hand. Cold as ice. And trembling.
As they continued listening, hearing only the man’s voice, Griff made an observation. “Apparently he had her gagged. All I’ve heard are her whimpers.”
“There’s music in the background,” Rick said. “There are no radios in the motel rooms at the Triple Eight. Our guy must have provided his own musical accompaniment to murder.”
“
If you lie still, it will be easier for me to take off your
head with one chop. If you keep squirming, it might take several
tries. We don’t want that, do we? You don’t want to suffer
and I don’t want you to suffer
.”
Judd squeezed Lindsay’s hand so tightly she almost cried out. But she didn’t say anything. Dear God, the pain he must be suffering.
“
I’ve never chopped off a head before, but I decided
that since time was running out and the game would soon
end, that I should try it. On a human, that is. I’ve practiced
numerous times on various animals. Cats and dogs
mostly
.”
Judd released Lindsay’s hand abruptly, jumped up, knocking his chair over in the process, then ran toward the door.
Griff shut off the tape. Lindsay shoved back her chair and stood.
No one said a word when she rushed out the door after Judd.
She caught up with him where he had stopped and doubled over, about halfway down the hall. When she reached him, she didn’t touch him, just stood nearby.
“Judd?”
“Leave me alone.” No hostility, just overwhelming sadness.
“I shouldn’t have let you listen to that tape.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me.”
“I should have tried.”
He lifted his head and glared at her through damp eyes.
My God, he actually had tears in his eyes!
“I need to be alone,” he told her.
“Judd, please, let me help you.”
“You can’t. Not right now.”
She desperately wanted to put her arms around him.
“I’m sorry. I …” He turned around and walked away.
“Judd!”
He was going to the nearest bar. Liquor could dull the pain, if only for a few hours.
Go ahead, drink until you pass
out. Do whatever you need to do to stop the pain
.
Startled when a big hand came down on her shoulder, she gasped and jumped, then looked over her shoulder and up into Griff’s ice-blue eyes.
“I’ll send Holt to find him and stay with him,” Griff told her.
“We shouldn’t have let him listen to that tape.”
“He had to listen to it.”