Vengeance Is Mine (19 page)

The L.A. cops were sure the two men they'd arrested at the airport were responsible for the St. Cloud murders. The two fugitives were wanted for murder in three states, and they had used various disguises. They'd gone on a killing spree in Detroit, stabbing three college roommates. The fourth girl had hidden in a closet. She said they were dressed as telephone workers. In Chicago, three days later, they had strangled a seventeen-year-old prostitute in a hotel room. The next evening the pair had broken into a gun store in Milwaukee and armed themselves with handguns. Several witnesses remembered seeing them hitchhiking in clerical garb. They had shot the owner of a new Cadillac Seville when he picked them up outside Eau Claire. Then they had disappeared for a week until they resurfaced at the L.A. airport this morning, dressed as Catholic clergy.

The times matched up, but the unanswered questions were driving Steve crazy. Why had they used the crucifix? It was awkward to carry, and they were already armed with guns.

Then there was WinterGame. What was the connection? The other murders had been isolated incidents, separated from each other by more than 300 miles. Why had the killers stayed in St. Cloud for a week to eliminate systematically the guests on Margaret's interview show? It could be simple coincidence, but Steve found that hard to believe. Coincidence was the excuse poor cops used when they couldn't find the right answer.

Steve sighed and got up. There was a dull throbbing at his temples, and he reached for the aspirin bottle on the top of the file cabinet. There was no use fooling himself. He had wanted to catch those killers himself and be a hero in St. Cloud. Nothing about those two men in Los Angeles fitted into Steve's theory of the murders. Were the St. Cloud killers still on the loose, or was his ego getting in the way of his good judgment?

Carol knocked on the door and stuck her head in the office. “Doug for you on line two, boss. He wants to know if he should keep checking those addresses.”

Steve gulped down two aspirins and frowned. If the two men in Los Angeles were his killers, he'd be wasting valuable police time by keeping Doug on the job.

He was about to tell Doug to call off the search when he saw the note on his desk:
“Michele called. She said to tell you she loved you.”

How about that? Steve grinned. Michele loved him, and she believed he was a good cop. If she were here right now, she'd tell him to trust his own judgment. It was a gamble that might cost him his job when Chief Schultz came back, but Steve was convinced he was right.

Steve was still smiling as he picked up the phone.

“Doug? Keep at it. I think they're still out there, and we're gonna get 'em.”

CHAPTER 21

It was past four in the afternoon when Steve pulled into the Embers parking lot. His stomach was rumbling again, and he needed a break. A doughnut and coffee might help.

A small red Toyota was parked in the handicapped spot by the door, and Steve noticed that it had no sticker on the front windshield. Suddenly he was irrationally angry at the inconsiderate jokers who used handicapped spaces illegally, just to avoid walking a few extra feet. Maybe the department ought to take a harder policy. If the owner of this car wasn't already handicapped, the situation could be rectified in a hurry.

Steve was jotting down the license number when a woman and a boy came out of the restaurant. The child was on crutches and his right leg was in a cast. He was having difficulty navigating even the short distance to the Toyota.

Suddenly Steve was ashamed. Maybe this car didn't have a sticker but that little boy was entitled to one.

“Let me help, ma'am.” Steve walked over to open the car door. He lifted the boy in and put the crutches on the backseat.

“Oh, thank you.” The woman smiled at him. “I'm Gladys Halvorsen, and this is my son, Ronnie. You're not going to give me a ticket, are you? We were a little afraid to go out, so we haven't picked up our sticker yet.”

“That's perfectly all right, Mrs. Halvorsen.”

The woman sighed with relief. Then she gave Steve a closer look. “You're Steve Radke, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I'm so glad they caught the killers. Ronnie's been begging to go out for a hamburger, but we didn't think it was safe until now.”

“They haven't signed a confession yet, Mrs. Halvorsen. I'd still be very cautious, just in case.”

“Oh, don't worry about that, Mr. Radke. I'm naturally paranoid. It comes from growing up in Detroit.”

“Mrs. Halvorsen?” Steve stopped her as she was about to get into the car. “If you give me your address, I'll have my secretary send you a temporary handicapped sticker. Put it on your windshield and you're entitled to free parking at any metered space.”

“Thank you. Ronnie doesn't get his cast off until the end of March. He was playing King of the Snowbank at recess. He's not going to play that again, are you, Ronnie?”

Ronnie's expression was solemn as he shook his head. Steve remembered playing King of the Snowbank when he was a boy. It had been his favorite winter game. It was kind of nice to know that some things never changed.

Steve saw Ronnie was watching him, and he winked. At first Ronnie looked surprised, and then he winked back. Both of them knew that Ronnie would be right back on top of the snowbank the minute his cast came off.

The Embers was crowded, and there was a half hour wait for a booth. It looked as if people were out in full force this afternoon. Ginny Eilers, one of the waitresses Steve knew, waved him over to her section. Another perk of the policeman's life.

“I haven't seen you in a while.” Ginny handed him a menu and lowered her voice. “It's been like a morgue in here the last couple of days. Now they're lined up three deep. I'm making a fortune in tips today.”

“Just a doughnut and a cup of coffee, Ginny. That's enough.”

“For you?” Ginny laughed. “That's what I'll write on the ticket, but that's not what you'll get. Let me surprise you, okay?”

Steve knew about Ginny's surprises, and he settled back for a good meal. Since Doug was working Joe's list from the top, Steve had started at the bottom. He'd checked six addresses this afternoon.

Ginny came back with an order of garlic bread and a big dinner salad, swimming in extra blue cheese dressing. Steve had no sooner tasted it than she was back to deliver a Reuben and a large order of fries. Next came a pecan tart with a side bowl of whipped cream.

Steve dug into the Reuben. It was delicious. What was Michele eating tonight? If she remembered to eat at all, she'd probably make do with a hot dog from the snack booth at WinterGame. Steve wished she were sitting beside him to share this meal. He missed her so much he might even give her half of his pecan tart.

 

 

It was four-thirty already, and Michele had been up and down the mall. She had only a half hour to shop before the stores closed for the night. She didn't want to settle for a flannel nightgown or a pair of fuzzy pajamas, but it was that or nothing. Nothing would certainly be sexier, but she'd planned to buy a negligee, and she hated to give up.

The stores were unusually crowded, but it was a good afternoon for shopping. The clerks were smiling and cheerful, and the shoppers chatted pleasantly while they waited in line at the cash registers. It felt almost like the day before Christmas. Since Steve's interview had been aired, there was a holiday mood in the city.

Michele stopped for a moment to catch her breath in Herberger's hat section. She tried on a stretchy red knit and looked in the three-way mirror on the wall. It wasn't bad, but perhaps she should go for the lady executive image. She could picture herself hopping from commuter car to train station in a gray tailored suit topped off with a rakish felt hat. Michele picked up a fedora and clamped it on her head. No, it looked silly. The Russian fur cap was nice if she tucked up her hair, but it cried out for an ermine cloak, and all she had was her knee-length parka.

She was wasting time. Michele zipped up her parka and wiggled her fingers into her gloves. As she came out of Herberger's front door she saw the sign across the street.
GRANITE CITY BRIDAL—EVERYTHING FOR THE BRIDE'S TROUSSEAU.
It was bound to have something that wasn't flannel or fuzzy.

Ten minutes later Michele had found the perfect negligee. The tag called it the honeymoon special, a gown of sheer apricot silk with a lace peignoir. There were matching silk slippers with four-inch heels, and Michele decided to splurge. She'd have to practice walking in the slippers before Steve came home or she'd break her leg answering the door.

The saleslady smiled as she wrote up the ticket. Michele could understand why. The honeymoon special negligee set was sixty-five dollars, and the slippers were another twenty. Michele hoped the saleswoman worked on commission. She'd been very helpful.

“Congratulations, Miss Layton. I think this set will be lovely with your coloring. Are you marrying a local man?”

For a moment Michele was flabbergasted. Then she remembered she was shopping in Granite City Bridal. It was natural to assume she was getting married.

Michele smiled to cover her embarrassment. She couldn't very well admit she was buying these things for a wild night with the acting chief of police. In a lot of ways St. Cloud was still a small town. What could she say?

“Oh,
I'm
not getting married. These are for a friend. My former college roommate in Texas.”

“What a lovely wedding present! Would you like it gift-wrapped? There's no extra charge.”

“That would be very nice, but I don't think I have the time.”

“I promise it won't take more than five minutes, and there's complimentary coffee while you wait. We have three beautiful selections of wedding paper. Number one is bridal white with silver wedding bells, number two is mauve with tiny gold flowers in a double ring pattern, and number three is pale blue tissue with an antique lace overlay.”

Michele sighed. She felt a little guilty accepting the gift-wrapping, but she could certainly use a cup of coffee.

“Thank you. I'd like the second paper, I guess. My friend's always been partial to mauve.”

 

 

It was nine o'clock in the evening, and the patients at Holy Rest had been medicated and tucked into bed for the night. Sister Kate sat in the kitchen, watching the coffee brew. She'd been thinking about Bishop Donahue all day, and she was uneasy. Perhaps it had to do with his censored file. The bishop must have done something truly dreadful for the Vatican to take such an action. She wondered if Archbishop Ciminski had been allowed to read the censored sections. Could that be the reason he had suspected Bishop Donahue?

The double-strength coffee was ready at last. Sister Kate poured it into a thermos and frowned. She couldn't help remembering Mother Superior's dream. The poor dear had been so positive that she'd seen Bishop Donahue and Cissy outside on the sidewalk the night of Mayor Hollenkamp's murder.

Sister Kate's hands trembled as she put the cap on the thermos and carried it down the hall to her quarters. It was probably foolish to harbor suspicions, especially since those two killers had been apprehended in Los Angeles, but she couldn't seem to relax. Sister Kate knew she'd never be completely sure unless she stayed awake all night to stand watch.

 

 

The hockey game was a good one, and the crowd was in a festive mood. Michele put another fifty hot dogs in the warmer and filled a dozen paper cups with beer. The halftime rush would start in just a minute, and she felt guilty leaving Judith and Louise to handle the customers alone.

A cab pulled up close to the snack bar and honked its horn. Michele waved and grabbed her gift-wrapped box.

“I'm going now, Judith. Be sure to tell Steve that I'm at his apartment, waiting for him.”

“Don't worry, I'll tell him. What did you finally decide on for hors d'oeuvres?”

“Apricot lace.” Michele grinned. “I thought food would take away from the effect of my new outfit.”

It was less than a mile to Steve's apartment, but Michele had called for a cab. It was perfectly safe to walk now that the killers had been captured, but she didn't want to waste a minute of her time. She had lots of things to do before Steve came home.

Michele slid into the backseat and held the box on her lap. It was so pretty she almost hated to open it.

“The Oaks, please. And hurry.”

The driver stepped on the gas, and the cab moved out onto Twelfth Avenue. In seconds they were turning the corner at Tenth Street, and Michele held on tightly. The driver had taken her literally. She hoped she'd survive this ride.

In less than three minutes they were parked outside Steve's door. Michele hadn't known she could hold her breath for so long.

“Thank you. Will you wait for me to get inside, please? And keep the change.”

The driver looked down at the bill Michele handed him and turned around to stare at her.

“Excuse me, miss, but you gave me a ten. Your fare's only a buck thirty-five.”

“I know.” Michele smiled at him. “That's for getting me here so fast. I'm celebrating tonight.”

Michele was just getting out of the cab when the driver stopped her.

“Hold on, miss. I'll carry that package and walk you right up to the door. I'm celebrating too. This is the biggest tip I've had in three years.”

 

 

It was nine-thirty, and Steve was ready to quit for the night. He'd checked out another five places, and it was getting too late to knock on doors. He drove down Fifth Avenue and cut up to East Lake Boulevard. There was a parking place on the street right across from the hockey rink.

Steve backed into the space and got out of the car. A huge crowd of people surrounded the rink. Everyone in town had turned out for the game tonight, and the thought of working his way through that milling mass of humanity made Steve cringe. People were bound to stop him to ask questions, and he didn't want to talk to anybody tonight. He just wanted to pick up Michele and take her home.

Someone had shoveled a path through the five-foot snowbank that the snowplow had left, and Steve cut through to the sidewalk. He'd walk up to the corner and enjoy the air. Then he'd be ready to tackle that noisy crowd.

Steve walked past a white house with green shutters and thought about his apartment. Maybe he ought to talk to Michele about moving into a house. Pete would like a backyard, and he was sick of the college kids upstairs with their earsplitting stereo.

The houses were really beautiful along this street. Steve wondered if they were terribly expensive. He'd always wanted a house like that yellow brick ahead of him. It looked as substantial as a fort.

Steve stopped and stared for a moment. The windows were barred with decorative grillwork. There was a wrought iron fence around the perimeter and a security gate. That was peculiar. Very few houses in St. Cloud had security systems.

Now he was curious. Steve walked up to the gate and tried the knob. It was locked. There was no buzzer to press and no way for anyone to get in without a key. A bronze plaque was fixed to one of the rungs, and Steve stepped closer to read it. Holy Rest. That sounded like some sort of Catholic retreat. Why wasn't the name on Joe's list? And what kind of Catholic facility would have the need for barred windows and a security system?

Steve frowned and went back to his car. He'd better go back to the archbishop and ask some questions. It looked as if the people who owned this place were terribly afraid that someone would get in. Or out.