Killing Spree (14 page)

“Who’s there?” she called nervously.

Twigs snapped.

Shadows swept across the Plexiglas and steel shelter. The bushes’ branches and leaves seemed to move again. It took a moment for Gillian to realize another vehicle was coming up the street. It was the bus.

The number 502 pulled up to the curb, and the door whooshed open. Gillian glanced over her shoulder at the bus stop shelter. She didn’t see anyone.

Still, even as she took her seat and the bus pulled away, she had to look back again at the bus stop—the last place Kelly Zinnemann had been seen alive.

Gillian noticed something moving in the bushes, a strange silhouette. She wasn’t sure if it was a human or an animal or just another clump of bushes. The bus was going too fast. Considering the spot was sort of a morbid landmark, Gillian couldn’t help wondering if she’d just encountered a ghost.

She really couldn’t be certain about anything—except the awful feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. It just wouldn’t go away.

“Tie a Yellow Ribbon on the Old Oak Tree” played over the din of people screaming, slot machines churning, and roulette wheels spinning in the Grand Room of the Midas Mountain Casino in Missoula, Montana. The handsome, dark-haired, forty-one-year-old, whose luck and money were running out on the dollar slot machine, didn’t even hear the other man addressing him.

“I said,
‘Hey!’
” the other guy yelled. He had just hit the jackpot on the next slot machine over. He handed the man a silver dollar. “Here, Jack, take this for luck!”

“My name’s not Jack,” the first man said with a half smile.

“In this place it is.
What happens in Missoula stays in Missoula!
Isn’t that what they say about Vegas? So—you’re Jack and I’m Mike, okay? Let me buy you a drink, Jack.”

“The drinks here are free,” “Jack” reminded him.

“Yeah, but I’m a generous tipper,” “Mike” replied. “And this has led to a very intimate rapport with a very hot-looking waitress. But some of these babes, they’re like cufflinks, beautiful baubles traveling in pairs. She has this friend, who I hear is quite the looker, and she doesn’t want to leave her alone tonight. This is where you come in, Jack.”

Jack threw him a wary look, then slipped the silver dollar into the slot and pulled the lever. It came up cherry, lemon, and a dollar sign. “I didn’t score with your lucky dollar,
Mike
. Sorry. Try your luck with someone else, okay?”

Mike waved down a tall, thin waitress with wavy brown hair and dimples. Her skimpy, midnight-blue uniform showed off a gorgeous pair of long, tapered legs. She balanced a tray full of dirty glasses against her hip. “How are you doing over here, Mike?” she asked. “Want another?”

“Yeah, Fran, thanks,” he said. “And my buddy, Jack, here could use something.”

Fran turned toward Jack and gave him a big smile. “Well, Jack, what will it be?”

He couldn’t help smiling back. She was so cute. “How about a Scotch on the rocks?”

One Scotch on the rocks became five.

Mike convinced Jack he was the perfect escort for Fran’s friend. He’d been watching Jack earlier at the roulette table, and there was something smooth, polite, and polished about him. “Class, that’s what you got,” Mike told him over a steak dinner in the restaurant attached to the casino. “I trust you with Fran’s friend, and Fran’s going to trust you. It’s a good deal for everybody. Now, they get off work at one-thirty in the morning….”

Jack had yet to meet Fran’s friend, but Mike stepped away from the diner booth a couple of times to firm up their rendezvous plans. “They’re going to freshen up and come by your motel at two,” Mike said.

“How do they know where I’m staying?” Jack asked, his thinking a little fuzzy.

“The Aces High Motor Inn, Room 220,” Mike said.

“How did you know that?” Jack squinted at him. “I didn’t tell you.”

“Yes, you did. C’mon, let’s get you outside for some fresh air. We’ll go for a drive. I don’t want you too drunk for the girls. They’ll change their minds about us.”

As they headed out to the parking lot, Jack told Mike he didn’t need any help walking, thanks. But Mike kept grabbing onto his arm, and Jack realized he was indeed almost ready to topple over. He’d had too much to drink. “Jesus, don’t let me do anything stupid, okay?” Jack whispered to his new friend.

“No sweat, buddy,” Mike replied. He led Jack to a black Honda Accord, parked near the corner of the lot. He unlocked the passenger door and opened it.

Hesitating, Jack glanced at a single sneaker left on the floor of the passenger side. “Huh, somebody lost a shoe,” he muttered.

“Oh, that.” Mike snatched up the tennis shoe, and then helped Jack into the front seat. “I picked up this hitchhiker in Rapid City last night. He kept coming on to me. Some people don’t get it when you’re just being friendly. I finally had to dump his queer ass in Billings.”

He tossed the shoe on the backseat. “This must have fallen out of his knapsack. You all in and buckled up, buddy? Ready to take a little drive?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, thanks. Like I say, just don’t let me do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” Mike said, then he shut the car door.

“Of course Todd Sorenson was stalking you. I’d be a pretty crappy detective if I hadn’t caught on to that.”

The phone had rung just as Gillian was heating up some soup for dinner. It was 10:25, and Ruth was home from her daughter’s house in Everett. Her nine-year-old grandson, Darnell, had received six stitches in his forehead. She’d cleaned up the blood in her daughter’s living room, washed the dinner dishes, and helped put the kids to bed. “Anyway, we have damage control,” Ruth had cracked. “So did I miss anything tonight?”

Gillian had told her about her phone conversation with Gary Connelly. Ruth hadn’t been at all surprised about Todd’s Sorenson’s after-school activities.

“Todd wasn’t exactly a
subtle
stalker either,” she said. “He’d follow us out to the parking lot after every class—up to a point. Then he’d just stand there and watch us get into the car. I was tempted to run him over a couple of times. I pointed it out to you, Gillian.”

“Well, I don’t remember,” Gillian said into the cordless phone. She stirred the pan of Progresso Cream of Chicken and Wild Rice Soup on the stove.

“I probably mentioned it around the time Barry disappeared,” Ruth surmised. “Communicating with you was like talking to a fire hydrant for a few weeks there. You were so out of it. Anyway, he seemed harmless enough—until he went nuts on us and quit the class.”

“Refresh my memory about that incident. Wasn’t he upset at the way everyone reacted to his latest chapter or something? I keep thinking it was my fault for not moderating the critique session better.”

“Oh, please, he was challenging everyone,
‘You don’t like it because you know nothing about poetry or art.’
And then in the hallway during the break, we were hanging around the vending machine. You weren’t there. But he called all of us
‘fucking ignorant assholes.’
That includes sweet old Edna. Her jaw dropped so low, I thought her dentures were going to pop out. And him, I thought the crazy son of a bitch was going to kill somebody.”

“Do you think he has?” Gillian asked soberly. “Killed someone—I mean.”

Her friend didn’t answer for a moment. “No, Todd wouldn’t wait almost two years to release his wrath on the class—one by one. I could see him coming back to class the following week with an assault weapon and doing us in with a few rounds. But no, Todd wouldn’t have the patience and the smarts for something as methodical as these copycat killings.”

Ruth paused on the other end of the line. “Listen, I used my daughter’s computer and went online. I dug up a couple of stories about the Montana murder, but they’re sketchy. The article my Internet pal, Hester, sent has the most details so far.”

“Well, thanks for checking, Ruth.” Gillian looked at her soup again, and then switched off the stove.

“Did you talk with anyone else from the old class besides Gary?”

“Well, my cell phone went out on me on the bus. But I made some calls when I got home. I didn’t have any luck reaching Todd, Chase Scott, or Shauna Hendricks. The phone numbers aren’t good anymore. I didn’t find any listings for them in the Seattle phone book either. But I got through to Edna.”

“Well, how is the old girl?”

“Still dabbling with her bodice-ripper romance novel,” Gillian said. “But she mentioned something that might be worth checking out. She ran into Jennifer Gilderhoff near the ferry terminal downtown last month. She went on and on about how sweet and pretty Jennifer was. I didn’t have the heart to tell her what happened. Anyway, according to Edna, they talked briefly, and Jennifer was with a friend named April. End of story. But—well, maybe this friend knows something useful. I figure—”

“Hon, the police already talked with Jennifer’s friends, and came up with bupkis. What makes you think this April character would tell you something she didn’t spill to the cops?”

“Because they’re the police and I’m a woman. Anyway, it might be worth pursuing.”

“Maybe,” Ruth allowed. “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you. I’m really ticked off you went ahead and took a bus home after I warned you not to. How was the rest of the class session after the break? Did I miss anything?”

“Burt read another chapter from his story.”

“Searching for Little Debbie?”

“Close.
In Pursuit of Sarah Lee
,” Gillian said. “You didn’t miss much.”

“Are you going to be okay tonight?” Ruth asked.

“I think so,” Gillian replied. She poured the steaming soup into a bowl. “My upstairs neighbor is back. So it’s not like we’re totally alone here. In fact, she has a
gentleman-friend
coming over tonight. The joint is jumping. We’ll be fine.”

After she hung up with Ruth, Gillian carried her bowl of soup to the kitchen table. She noticed the strip of light under the door to Ethan’s bedroom. She went to the door and knocked.

“Yeah?”

Gillian poked her head in. Ethan was lying on top of his bed, reading a history book. “I’m having soup for dinner,” Gillian said. “Do you want some? Or would your body go into shock if you fed it something besides pizza?”

He glanced up from his book. “No, thanks.”

Gillian came in and sat down on the edge of his bed. “How are you doing?”

Ethan sat up. “I’m fine.”

Gillian frowned. She thought about those boys taunting Ethan in front of the duplex yesterday afternoon. She wondered if it was a regular thing Ethan had to endure. “Well, you don’t seem fine,” she said. “Did something happen at school today?”

He shrugged evasively. “Nothing happened. I’m fine.”

“I haven’t seen Craig in a while. Did you two have a falling-out?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “No. I just—he’s busy, Mom. That’s all.” He nodded at the book in his hands. “I really gotta study.”

Gillian got up from the bed. “Well, think about what you’d like to do for your birthday next week. Okay?”

“Okay,” he answered. He glanced toward the door. “Thanks, Mom.”

She leaned over and kissed the top of his head. Then she left him alone and closed the door to his room.

Gillian retreated to the kitchen, sat down at the table, and tried to eat her soup. It was cold.

At one in the morning, Jack still felt a bit wobbly as he got out of Mike’s Honda Accord. They’d parked in back of the Aces High Motor Inn, where Jack had a room with a kitchen. He’d told Mike the unit was kind of cheesy, but it was clean and had a view of the pool. The plan, as Jack understood it, was that once Fran and her pal came by, they’d all have a drink in his room, and eventually, Mike and Fran would go off by themselves. “But I have to be honest with you, buddy,” Mike pointed out. “Fran has made no bones about the fact that she sure likes you. You may end up with her tonight. But I hear her friend is a knockout too. So we’re both doing all right. I mean, we’re farting in silk underwear either way.”

“That’s a charming expression,” Jack chuckled, fumbling with his keys to the motel’s side entrance.

“Hey, you don’t recognize me at all, do you?” Mike asked.

Jack squinted at him. “Huh?”

“Never mind.” Mike was still holding onto his arm. His new friend somehow seemed to know the way as they headed down the corridor to the pool area. Jack bumped into a patio recliner chair and it scraped against the cement deck. “My room’s right over there,” Jack announced, pointing to one of several sliding glass doors on the other side of the large, kidney-shaped swimming pool.

Mike shushed him. Most of the units were darkened with the drapes shut. All the patio lights were off, but the pool light was still on.

Suddenly, Mike stopped and peered down at something in the shallow end of the pool. “Wait a second,” he whispered. “Is that a dollar bill?”

Squatting, he rolled up his sleeve and reached into the iridescent blue water. “Holy shit, look. We’re recouping your losses tonight, Jack. There are three twenty-dollar bills here—if I can reach these suckers. Help me out, buddy.”

Jack got down on all fours beside him and gazed down into the pool. “I don’t see anything,” he murmured.

“You need to look closer,” Mike said, moving behind him. “See them down there? Lean toward the edge. See them now?”

“No, I—”

All at once, Mike grabbed him by the scalp and slammed his head against the edge of the pool. There was a loud snap, the sound of the man’s skull cracking. He slumped forward. Mike grabbed him under his arms, the same way he’d been keeping Jack from falling down most of the night. He just held him for a moment, and then gently lowered him into the pool.

The blood began to bloom red in the shallow end of the chlorine-blue water. “
Like a scarlet cloud sweeping across a blue horizon
,” Mike murmured to himself. That was how Gillian had described the blood in the water after her poolside murder in
Killing Legend
.