The Coldest Fear Read online

  “Well, that’s better,” the caller said.

  As the killer hung up the phone he became thoughtful. This was something new for him. Maybe it would be fun.

  A nurse brought them both a cup of hospital coffee while they waited. Liddell took a sip and made a face. “I think they gave me cyanide by mistake.”

  Jack poured his coffee into a potted plant and left the empty cup on top of the doctor’s desk. Doctors tended to piss him off. The ones he’d met had no sense of humor and expected to be treated like gods.

  “I guess our time isn’t as valuable as his,” Jack remarked, just as the door opened and in walked a short man in a stiffly starched white lab coat.

  “Your time’s valuable, Detective,” the doctor said, and held out a hand in greeting.

  “Busted big-time!” Liddell said, and Jack’s face turned red.

  The detectives shook hands with Dr. Virgil Phipps.

  “Can I ask what this is about?” Phipps asked.

  “What can you tell us about Brenda Lincoln?” Jack asked.

  Dr. Phipps’s face stiffened, and he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here about Bren.” The color drained from his cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Jack said. “We have been asking all of her colleagues and friends about her today. I just assumed you knew why we were here.”

  Dr. Phipps stood and went to a window that looked out over the front parking lot of the hospital, lost in thought.

  “Sir?” Jack said, and Phipps flinched.

  “In answer to your last remark, Detective, no one around here would have come to me with any news about Brenda.” He returned to his desk and sat again. “I met Brenda after I had just come here from Toledo, Ohio. One of my friends tried to fix me up with her. They didn’t realize that she preferred to be alone. I guess they thought that since Brenda was unattached and I was unattached, we would hit it off.”

  “You didn’t?” Jack asked.

  “We had coffee in the downstairs lounge sometimes,” he said, and looked down at the top of his desk as if he were embarrassed. “We never really got beyond that.”

  “But you would have liked it to be more?” Jack said.

  Phipps’s eyes met Jack’s and in them Jack saw the truth and felt sorry for the man. Katie had loved Jack once upon a time, and he had loved her, but he knew that was ancient history now. The thing was, that love was like an appendage. Even when it was removed, you could still feel it, just as real as if it was still there.

  “We really need some help on this, Doctor. Can you tell us anything? Did she ever confide anything personal to you?” Jack asked.

  Phipps shook his head. “It was like she was always afraid. I had the feeling she had been treated very badly by someone at one time. I think she was afraid to let anyone get close to her again. If she ever told anyone anything personal, I don’t know who that would be.”

  Jack and Liddell stood to leave, but Dr. Phipps remained seated. His prior enthusiasm and humor seemed to have deserted him. “I’ll call you if I hear anything,” he said.

  “You handled that well,” Liddell said when they reached the parking lot.

  Jack turned back toward the building and looked up at the fourth floor, where he could see Dr. Phipps once again at his office window. Phipps raised a hand and Jack nodded at him.

  “Another victim,” Jack said.

  Liddell nodded. “The dead ones aren’t the only victims. Taking someone’s life affects so many other people.”

  “Brenda Lincoln must have been something to have affected him like that,” Jack said.

  They walked to their car without speaking and were heading to the war room before Jack broke the silence.

  “We need to talk to Lenny Bange again,” Jack said.

  “You think he might have remembered something he didn’t tell you?”

  “No. I think he was lying the first time around,” Jack said.

  “An attorney telling a lie,” Liddell said, putting a hand over his mouth in shock. “That’s not something you see every day.”

  “You should have been a comedian.”

  “Mr. Bange will see you now,” the young woman said, and motioned for Jack and Liddell to follow her.

  “You know why they bury attorneys twelve feet deep instead of six?” Jack asked.

  Liddell shook his head, playing along.

  “Because, way down deep, attorneys are really good people,” Jack said.

  “Never heard that one before,” Liddell said with a straight face.

  “Well, did you hear the one about the rabbi, the priest, and the attorney?” Jack said and then they were at the door of Lenny Bange’s office and were led inside.

  Bange came around his desk to shake hands. Jack had forgotten how strong the man’s grip was. Lenny was short but powerfully built. Jack wondered if the man was on steroids. He was slim in the waist and thick in chest and arms and legs. His head was square, smoothly shaved, and seemed to rest directly on his shoulders with no neck. His features were swollen and even his jaws looked muscled. The overall effect was that of a diminutive strongman in a circus show. All that was missing was a leopard-skin thong and handlebar mustache.

  “So this is the one they call Cajun,” Lenny said good-naturedly, and shook hands with Liddell.

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “He’s a man ahead of his mind.”

  Everyone grinned and Jack couldn’t help but notice how jolly everyone was. If Bange was being that friendly there was a lubricated penis somewhere in the picture. Bange was being a little too cooperative, which meant that he was ready for them. His lies had been prepared, been rehearsed, and already won an Oscar.

  “Did you know Cordelia Morse was a call girl?” Jack asked, and for just a microsecond, Lenny Bange’s expression slipped.

  The questioning was brief due to Bange’s reluctance to answer. As they left the offices of Bange, Bange and Bange, Liddell said, “When you told him Cordelia Morse was a hooker, I thought he was going to swallow his tongue.”

  “Yeah. It was definitely an ‘awww, shit’ moment,” Jack said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Officer John “Kooky” Kuhlenschmidt blew the foam from the top of his beer mug onto his training partner, Corporal Timmons.

  “Don’t get too big for your britches, rookie,” Timmons said, and wiped at the stain spreading across the front of his shirt.

  “Ex-rookie,” Kooky reminded Timmons. “This is my day to celebrate.” He hefted his mug and offered a toast. “Here’s to the end of my probation,” he said, and the four or five other officers gathered for the occasion sloshed their mugs together before downing the entire contents.

  “Tell ’em the rest, partner,” Timmons said.

  Instead of answering, Kooky dug into his jeans pocket and produced a small gray velvet-covered box.

  “Oh my God,” one of the officers yelled. “You and Timmons are getting married! Well, congratulations.”

  Timmons slapped the officer across the back of the head, and said to Kooky, “Come on, kid. Tell ’em the rest.”

  Kooky opened the lid of the box. Inside was a diamond solitaire the size of New York City. “Me’n Ellen are getting hitched,” he said, and his eyes became misty.

  “When are you popping the question, hotshot?” one of the men asked.

  “Kooky’s still a virgin, fellas,” Timmons said. “He woulda gotten married today if it wasn’t so damn close to Halloween.”

  Kooky’s face turned red, unable to hide the truth in his partner’s remarks. He’d tried getting intimate with Ellen dozens of times over the years, but, as they were both Catholic, she had rebuffed him.

  “I’m asking her, officially, tomorrow evening. We been talking about this for a long time,” Kooky said.

  “It’s bad luck to ask on Halloween, buddy,” Timmons said.

  “Well, I got plans for that day. We’re going to a hayride and a party, and then I’m going to ask the question.”

  “Okay, s
o when’s the wedding? We’re all invited, right?” one of the men asked.

  “I’m hoping it’s around Christmas,” Kooky said. “We haven’t really set a date ’cause I haven’t asked yet.”

  “Christmas isn’t a good time, buddy,” Timmons said.

  “Why do you keep being negative?” Kooky asked, a little annoyed.

  “I’m just saying,” Timmons said and called for another pitcher of beer for the table.

  “Tying the knot at Christmas is very romantic, Romeo,” one man said.

  “At least he’ll be tied in a knot,” one of the men chuckled, and another laughed so hard he blew beer out of his nose.

  “Quit laughing, assholes,” Kooky said. “This is the rest of my life we’re talking about.”

  “You poor clueless baby,” Timmins said.

  Kooky stared into his empty glass and frowned.

  “Okay, we’re sorry,” one of the men said, pouring more beer from a pitcher into Kooky’s mug. “So are we all gonna receive invitations?”

  Kooky’s face turned beet red. “I’m saving money for the wedding. You have any idea how much those things cost?”

  “Well, what do ya think being married is gonna cost?”

  “You’re married,” Kooky said to the man.

  Timmons interrupted, saying, “Three times if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Screw you, Timmons, and the cheap beer you drink, too,” the chastised officer said.

  Kooky laughed and the mood was once again more about drinking and less about him. He didn’t like being the center of attention. The fact that he was the mayor’s nephew had not been an easy thing to overcome, and the further fact that he had almost no toleration for the sight of blood or death had pretty much put an end to the career he had dreamed of his entire life.

  But Ellen always saw the good in everything. Instead of looking at his compulsion to vomit at the sight of blood as a weakness, she had pointed out to him that he had a good heart and would make an excellent D.A.R.E. officer or a school liaison officer. Plus he was smart. He could remember almost anything he ever read or saw. He would be a shoo-in for taking tests and making rank. Higher-ranking officers hardly ever had to work with dead bodies.

  Kooky was pulled out of his reverie by Corporal Timmons. “Who’s playing the pipes?” Timmons asked.

  “Pipes?” Kooky asked.

  “If he plays his cards right, his wife will play his pipes,” one of the men joked, but was shouted down by Timmons.

  “If we’re gonna give the boy a proper police wedding he’s got to have a color guard and a bagpiper.”

  The men agreed. Not because they cared whether Kooky had a proper wedding, but because a “proper police wedding” with a bagpiper meant lots of drinking.

  Timmons slapped Kooky’s shoulder. “You gotta ask Murphy.”

  “Jack Murphy?” Kooky asked in bewilderment.

  The others all chimed in. “Yeah. Murphy, ya dumb rookie. Didn’t you know he played bagpipes?”

  “Are you telling me that Jack Murphy wears one of those skirts?” Kooky said, eyes wide.

  Timmons squeezed Kooky’s arm so tight it hurt. “Don’t ever let him hear you call his kilt a skirt.”

  “Unless you want to be wearing a couple of black eyes on your honeymoon,” another chimed in.

  Kooky seemed to draw back. “Me’n Ellen hadn’t really talked about having a bagpiper or any of this police stuff. We were just going to have a simple wedding at St. Anthony’s Church with some family over afterward.”

  One of the men looked at him seriously and said, “Listen to me, Kooky. This is just the beginning. You let her decide all the wedding plans and it will be the last thing you ever get to decide. This is your wedding too, right? You put your foot down now, or next thing you know you’ll be wearing high heels and maxi pads.”

  “We’ll supply the kegs and scotch,” Timmons added.

  “All you gotta do is ask Murphy,” another said.

  “Yeah, he oughta love you, bro. You threw up on him a few months ago, and then passed out at one of his recent crime scenes. So he owes you, right?” the man said, and everyone laughed.

  How am I ever gonna ask him to play bagpipes for me? Kooky wondered.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The black Ford Fusion rolled slowly down U.S. Highway 41. The driver, a bullet-headed man with a bouncer’s physique, was looking for the entrance to the Drury Inn. Cubby Crispino had heard an interesting story about the motel that made him decide to stay there for the next night or so, until his work was done. According to local legend, a few years ago, a military cargo plane had been doing a routine takeoff/landing from nearby Fort Campbell. The plane went down unexpectedly and crashed into the Drury Inn. Lots of deaths. Lots of cops and firemen hurt, too. And then the Drury Inn was rebuilt in exactly the same spot and life went on as usual.

  The story was special to him. He liked places that were steeped in blood.

  He turned into the back parking lot of the Drury and pulled his environmentally friendly vehicle into a slot. He checked himself out in the mirror. He had to put his game face on. While he was in Evansville, he was Jimmy Campbell, union representative for over-the-road truckers.

  The identification he was carrying was legit—all except the photo—and would pass the scrutiny of any law enforcement agent. It should, he thought. It belonged to the asshole I killed yesterday and he’s still sucking down sand in the desert outside of Vegas.

  Cubby Crispino left the car and headed inside. Lenny Bange had given him all the information he needed to get this thing started, but he needed some cash. That was supposed to be delivered via hooker later at the Drury. He was looking forward to the meeting.

  Officer Kooky Kuhlenschmidt drank more than he could remember. The bartender at the FOP Club had cut him off and none of his buddies had stuck around to make sure he got home. He was also a little ticked off that he’d paid for all the alcohol drunk that evening, but it was part of the bonding experience among police officers. The new guy always got stuck with the bill.

  He left the bar and made it to his red Ford pickup intending to go home. The love of his life, Ellen, was spending the evening with her girlfriends.

  As he left the club’s parking lot, he remembered Timmons and the guys teasing him about getting Jack Murphy to play bagpipes for his wedding. They didn’t think he had the balls to ask Murphy. I’ll show them, he thought, and turned south toward the river. He knew where Jack lived, and he also knew that Jack kept late hours. He’d just go to his house and ask him. How hard could it be?

  Lynn Road was a straight stretch that ran east from Highway 41 South along the Ohio River. The area was underwater much of the rainy season, but the road had never been washed out. There were several cabins along it, all built on poles that kept them high and dry. Murphy lived in one of these.

  The killer drove exactly two and a half miles according to his GPS, but didn’t spot the gravel access road until he had almost driven past it. Murphy’s cabin was hundreds of yards from his nearest neighbor. It was also the only cabin that could be reached on that access road.

  He turned right onto the gravel and slowed. The crunch of stones under his tires was louder than he had counted on. But then, Murphy had a reputation for putting away large amounts of single-malt scotch and Guinness. He felt confident that at this hour of the night, he would not be detected.

  He drove south toward the river until he spotted the single muted light that came from somewhere down below. He pulled to the side, into the cornfield, and turned his ignition and lights off. The axe lay on the passenger seat. The dull iron color didn’t reflect the bright full moon, but the shape of the blade was distinct.

  He decided to watch for a few minutes, and then he would approach on foot. If Murphy was asleep, he planned on leaving him in that permanent condition. Lights out, Jack, he thought.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Kooky saw the taillights of the SUV turn down the gravel drive that led to Jack
Murphy’s cabin. He smiled at the thought of Jack Murphy driving an SUV instead of a pickup truck like most policemen. That’s why he’d chosen his red Ford pickup. Jack would make a good soccer mom, Kooky thought and laughed at his own joke.

  Up ahead the taillights went out and he saw a brief flash of brake lights.

  He thought about turning around and going home, but then the thought of having a police wedding had seemed like a really good idea, and Ellen would surely go along with it.

  He continued down the gravel for a hundred yards or so until he noticed a black SUV pulled to the side of the gravel, off into the cornfield. The driver’s door was cracked open, but there were no interior lights on. Kooky turned his headlights back on and flipped them to bright. Someone was broke down and it was his job as a duly sworn law officer to render assistance.

  “Hey. You need a hand?” Kooky yelled at the man who emerged from the SUV.

  “Among other things,” the man said and hefted the bone axe high over his head as he ran toward the red pickup.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Jack Murphy heard the screams while sitting in his hot tub. He grabbed his gun and sprinted down the driveway behind his cabin in a pair of flip-flops and nothing else.

  The night air was cooling on his wet skin, the heavy white rock digging into the soles of his feet as he ran toward the screams in the blackness ahead of him. He couldn’t tell the exact distance, but they were coming from down the gravel drive toward Lynn Road. The sound of the screams had changed from loud and strong to the unmistakable whine of someone close to death. It was a sound Jack was very familiar with.

  The screams stopped. Jack slowed and listened, trying to get a bearing on their location. He heard a door slam less than a hundred yards from him, and then an engine struggling. He picked up his pace. As he rounded a bend in the drive, he spotted taillights in the distance, moving away, and the headlights of what looked like a new pickup truck pointing into the cornfield. Lying in the bright beams of the truck lay the body of a man, his head smashed, bits of brain and a pool of blood spread around it.