Jack Daniels Six Pack (88 page)

“I’m really not in the mood right now, guys.”

Agent Dailey made a face that almost looked sympathetic. “We understand how you must be feeling.”

“I doubt it.”

“We lost two good men in Rosser Park when Lorna Hunt Ellison escaped custody,” Agent Coursey said. “They were friends of ours.”

“I’m sorry.”

Coursey looked at his shoes, which was the most emotion I’d ever seen from him.

“It should have been us. We were assigned to accompany Lorna. But when you cracked the Caleb Ellison case, we were ordered back to Chicago.”

“In a way, you saved our lives, Lieutenant.”

That was a karma debt I really didn’t need.

“Gentlemen, I feel bad for your loss, but I’d really like to be alone right now.”

“We’d like to help.”

“I prefer doing this myself.”

“Kidnapping is a Federal offense, Lieutenant. This is technically our jurisdiction.”

I shot venom out of my eyes. “Do you really want to play fucking jurisdiction games?”

“No,” Agent Dailey said. “We really want to help.”

I collapsed in my chair. I had no fight left in me.

“Fine.” I closed my eyes, tried to rein in some semblance of control. “What have you got?”

“We’ve created a new profile, with Vicky, of Lorna Hunt Ellison.”

“A new profile. Great. Does it happen to mention where she’s holding my friends?”

“Probably someplace close to Busse Woods, or perhaps in the woods themselves. We had a chance to interview Lorna before her escape. She’s a DO offender, impulsive, erratic, very low intelligence. Bud Kork has similar characteristics, plus he’s delusional and psychotic. They couldn’t have planned very far ahead.”

That had been my assessment. Luring victims to your house in the boonies and burying them in your basement, though horrible, wasn’t the work of a criminal mastermind. But escaping from prison, rescuing Bud, then grabbing Harry and Phin took some real intelligence. A DO—disorganized personality type—couldn’t muster that. It didn’t make sense.

“How did Lorna escape? Give me details.”

They ran it down for me.

“We recovered the derringer, and a plastic bag we believed it had been wrapped in. Lorna could have planted it there years ago.”

I didn’t like it.

“Then why wait until now to use it? She’s been locked up for twelve years. Why didn’t she pull this stunt a long time ago?”

Both Coursey and Dailey shrugged at the same time. It was eerie.

“She might have been waiting for the right moment,” said Coursey.

“Or she’d forgotten about it until now,” said Dailey.

“Or”—I reached for the phone—“somebody planted it for her.”

I caught Ms. Pedersen, the assistant superintendent for Indiana Women’s Prison, on her way out the door.

“This is a terrible time for us, Lieutenant. I feel partially responsible. I knew Lorna was capable of violence, but didn’t think she could pull off something like this.”

“None of us did. This isn’t your fault.”

“I appreciate that.” And it sounded like she did. “Can I do anything to help?”

“When I visited you the other day, I asked about Lorna’s visitors. You said she had none. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“How about phone calls? Prisoners are allowed calls, right?”

“Of course.”

“Do you keep records?”

“No. But I can talk to the guards. They’d remember if Lorna had received any calls for the last few days. Can I call you back?”

I gave her my number.

“What if Lorna had help?” I told the Feebies.

“You think she was coached?”

“Maybe someone planted the gun, and gave her instructions on how to grab Bud and kidnap Harry and Phin. The same someone who supplied her with the roofies, or whatever drug they used.”

“Caleb Ellison?” Dailey asked. “He was obviously an organized personality. Sending the videotapes, leaving no evidence—”

“You saw his house, right?”

They each nodded three times. I almost looked up, trying to see the puppeteer.

“It was a mess,” I continued. “Garbage and porn all over. And look at the sloppy way he broke into my partner’s house. How would you profile that?”

“That’s typical disorganized behavior. Clearly Caleb manifested both O and DO traits.”

Maybe, but something bothered me. Some nagging little doubt that made me think I was missing the bigger picture. I gave the Crime Lab a call, surprised that Officer Hajek was still in this late.

“Hi, Lieut, I was hoping you’d call. Get my messages?”

Only now I noticed the voice-mail light on my phone, blinking on and off. Some detective I was.

“What’s up, Scott?”

“Got some results back. That burned bag you brought me? Analyzed the contents. Mostly clothing, and some glass and plastic fragments. I think they were toiletries: toothpaste, deodorant, hair spray, face cream, cosmetics.”

“Cosmetics? You mean makeup?”

“Yeah. Which goes along with the burned hair sample you gave me. There were traces of spirit gum on it. I think it was a fake beard.”

I pictured the Identikit photocopy; a man with a blond beard.

“So it was part of a disguise kit?”

“It could have been. And that bullet casing you found . . .”

My phone beeped. Call waiting. I told Scott to hold on.

“Lieutenant Daniels? It’s Ms. Pedersen. Lorna received three calls over the last week.”

“Do you know who they came from?”

“No. But the guard I talked to said it was a woman, Midwestern accent.”

“Thanks.” I switched back to Hajek. “Tell me about the bullet.”

“Nine millimeter.”

“Anything off it?”

“Nothing. But I did get something off that message machine I took from the University of Chicago. I digitized the tape and ran it through a filter, did a few comparisons.”

“And you found out it’s a woman’s voice.”

“How did you know that? That was my big surprise.”

A woman had called Lorna, so it made sense a woman left the messages on Mulrooney’s machine. The fake beard could have made a woman look like a man. With the sunglasses, and the hood, it would have been easy to fool the desk sergeant downstairs. And Al the car rental guy—when he greeted me, he didn’t have his glasses on. He couldn’t see a damn thing. Al had also mentioned the man who’d rented the Titanium Pearl Eclipse had a cold.

But it wasn’t a cold. It was a way to hide a feminine voice, by coughing and speaking low.

I asked Hajek to hold on, digging into the pile of papers next to my fax machine, the ones I’d gotten the other day from the Gary Police Department. Dozens of pages on the Kork family. Criminal records and tax records and utility bills and school records and there it was—a death certificate for Bud’s daughter, Alexandra.

“Scott? I need you to do two things for me. Is the Caleb Ellison evidence there yet?”

“Came in this morning.”

“Caleb’s computer?”

“Rogers is working on that right now, one room over.”

“Connect me with him. In the meantime, get your hands on the gun used to kill Ellison.”

“You got it.” He transferred the call, and I crossed my fingers, hoping I was wrong.

“This is Rogers.”

“Dan, it’s Jack Daniels. Are you in Ellison’s database?”

“As we speak. It’s filled with both the real names and the made-up names. Not a smart way to make fake IDs. We’ll probably get a few dozen arrests out of this.”

“Check a name for me. Alexandra Kork.”

I heard fingers
tap-tap-tap
on a keyboard, Rogers humming softly to himself.

“Got it. Made a Detroit driver’s license, a bunch of years back.”

“What’s the new name?”

I held my breath.

“Frakes,” he said. “Holly Frakes.”

Son of a bitch. Harry’s new bride was the killer. It all made sense, in hindsight. I couldn’t believe I’d been so easily duped.

“Put me back on with Hajek.”

“He’s standing right next to me. Here.”

“Lieut? I’ve got an empty nine-millimeter shell from Caleb Ellison’s house. It’s a match.”

I thanked him and hung up the phone.

“Bud Kork’s daughter is going by the name Holly Frakes,” I told the Feebies.

“Where is she?”

“Still in Elk Grove, I think. She called my cell but blocked the number. Can you guys access my call records?”

Dailey looked at Coursey. “Not only that, we can use satellites to triangulate the signal.”

“It’ll take a little while to set up.”

“How long?”

“An hour, if we move.”

“We might not have an hour. If Harry and Phin are somewhere near Busse Woods, she could be with them right now.”

Chapter 43

A
LEX KORK, WHO
now uses the name Holly Frakes, pulls Harry’s Mustang into the warehouse parking lot. She discovered the place a few days ago, and it’s one of the reasons she insisted on getting married at that stupid forest preserve. Though Alex is a strong girl, hauling a two-hundred-pound man around is hard work, and takes a long time. Privacy is essential.

Here she has plenty of privacy.

This entire area, for several square miles, is industrial. Factories, warehouses, and shipping yards. This building is currently between tenants. And since it’s Sunday night, there isn’t a single person anywhere near here.

It’s the perfect place to kill someone slowly.

Alex gets out and opens the garage door. She pulls the car inside the loading dock, parks, and closes the door behind her.

This next part is going to be fun.

“Holly? Holly! Holy shit, it’s you! Thank God you’re here, baby! I have to piss so bad the change in my pockets is floating.”

Alex approaches Harry and Phin, both still securely wired to the heavy frame metal chairs. They’re back to back, a few feet apart, and the chairs have been bolted to docking anchors in the concrete floor.

No way of escape, no matter how hard they struggle.

“Hi, Harry.”

Alex sits on his lap and grinds on him, playfully. She curls a finger in his hair and twists a lock.

“Quit screwing around, Holly. Grab those pliers off the table and untwist these wires.”

“Pliers? Sure.” Alex giggles. “Just a second.”

She leaves Harry’s lap and circles the table, smiling at all the wonderful toys.

“How did you find us, Holly?” Phin tries to turn his head around to see, but can’t.

“Easy. I just followed my heart. Nothing could keep me from the man I love. My precious husband.” Alex picks up a tool. “How about this one, dear?”

“What are those? Tin snips? Yeah, that oughta work. Bring them around to my hands, baby.”

“Or how about this one?” Alex picks up something older, something she knows very well.

“What the hell is that? A hairbrush? Can’t you do that later?”

“It’s not a hairbrush, Harry. Not anymore. Instead of bristles, it has rusty nails sticking through the end. Father used it on me, when I was bad.”

McGlade makes a face. “You’re not making sense, Holly.”

Moment of truth time. Alex gets close. She wants to gaze into his eyes when she tells him.

“My father’s name is Bud Kork.”

“I thought your last name was Frakes.”

“Kork, Harry. Doesn’t the name sound familiar?”

“Kork? Yeah, Charles Kork was that psycho that I . . .”

McGlade stops talking. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His eyes become comically wide.

“That psycho was my older brother, Harry. The only man I ever loved.”

Harry’s face twists from confusion to mirth.

“This is a joke, right? You’re getting me back for that time I accidentally used the rear entrance. I told you, baby. It was dark. I was working by feel.”

“Why do you think I always turned out the lights when we had sex, Harry?”

McGlade doesn’t answer.

“Scars, Harry. Along my back. I had a lot of plastic surgery, but it still doesn’t look right. Want to see?”

“Not really. Scars freak me out.”

Alex plants her feet, rears back, and slams the hairbrush onto McGlade’s thigh. The nails penetrate a good inch, anchoring themselves into bone.

McGlade screams like a train whistle.

Alex basks in his pain, his fear. It’s like sunlight on her face. That single scream is worth all of the time she invested, all of the gropes she endured. To finally have this man all to herself, for her to enjoy, is simply delicious.

As McGlade sobs, Alex walks over to Phin. His eyes are cold, emotionless.

He’s going to be fun to break.

“What’s the matter, Phin?” Alex pouts. She caresses his chin and runs her hand over the back of his head. “Don’t you like me anymore?”

“I was wondering why you married McGlade. Now it makes perfect sense.”

Alex brings her face to within inches of his.

“I married him for revenge.”

“You married him because you’re out of your fucking mind.”

The smile leaves her face. Alex steps back, centers herself, and finger-strikes Phin in the abdomen. The blow forces air out of Phin’s lungs, and he grunts in pain.

“You had a hand in it too. You helped Jack and Harry find my brother. I’m going to make you pay for that, Phin.”

“I want a divorce!” screams Harry McGlade.

Alex gives Phin a kiss on his forehead, then turns her attention back to Harry.

“You have to remind me, my dear husband. What are you again? Left-handed, or right-handed?”

Harry spits on her.

“I’m glad I made you sign that prenup, you crazy psycho bitch!”

“I think you’re a righty. Let’s start with that one, then.”

She lowers the tin snips to the fingers on McGlade’s right hand. Puts the pincers around his middle finger.

“Don’t worry, Harry. You won’t bleed to death. That’s why I bought the blowtorch.”

Snip.

Harry’s screams are like candy.

Chapter 44

T
HE DOOR GAVE
on my third kick, and I twisted my ankle badly enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Special Agent Dailey and Special Agent Coursey waited in the hallway, citing statutes about breaking and entering, illegal search and seizure, speaking without raising my hand, etc.