The Cruelest Cut (26 page)

With her usual efficiency, Susan had already thought of bringing Bobby's files after she had discovered that both he and Eddie had been patients of the first victim, Dr. Anne Lewis.

“This is all the information I have on Bobby,” Susan said, handing the file to Garcia. Then to Shull she said, “Would you like to go somewhere to eat?”

Shull's face brightened, and he heartily agreed. “Jungle Mornings on the Walkway?” he suggested, and Susan grabbed her purse.

Jungle Mornings was an upscale restaurant on the Main Street Walkway across from the Civic Center. The service was slow and the menu was a bit pricey, but the food was excellent.

After Susan had walked off, arm in arm with Doctor Shull, Jack said to the closing door, “That's okay. None of us wanted to eat. You two have a good time.”

Garcia snickered at him, causing him to blush.

“Well. They could have asked us,” Jack protested. He wasn't jealous in the least.

“Would you have gone?” she said to him.

“No. We have work to do,” Jack said in an even tone, “but it would have been nice for her to ask.”

“Pizza?” Liddell asked, and everyone agreed. He called it in.

 

With hot pizza and ice-cold soft drinks, they sat around the table discussing what was next.

Crowley shoved a large slice of “extra everything” pizza into his face as if he hadn't eaten for days.

“Be careful, you might get some of it in your mouth,” Liddell said and laughed.

“I'm armed,” Crowley cautioned him, talking around the huge mouthful of food.

“And he might eat you,” Garcia kidded Liddell, and then to Crowley she asked, “Do you like Cajun?”

“Oh, ha ha. You're a real comedian, Garcia,” Liddell said in mock sarcasm.

And so it went for the next fifteen minutes. Jack was glad to see them relaxing, having fun. It had been a long couple of weeks, and he knew it was going to get worse before it got better. He didn't know just how right he was about that.

 

Her researcher was a college student doing an internship, so she wasn't very motivated, or just didn't know shit about research. Maddy tracked the girl down an hour after asking for the material on Eddie and Bobby Solazzo, and found her schmoozing with the news anchor, Clark Jameson.

“Excuse me!” Maddy said, and the young woman gave her a bewildered look and popped her chewing gum.

“You were supposed to be researching some things for me,” Maddy reminded her.

“Oh yeah,” the girl said, and picked up some papers and a VHS tape from Jameson's desk and handed these to Maddy. She then went back to her one-sided conversation with the very enigmatic news anchor,
ooh
ing and
aah
ing in all the right places.

“If you showed this to anyone I'll kill you,” Maddy muttered under her breath, but the pair had dismissed her from their minds. Maddy stalked back to her office and spent the next hour reviewing all of the video and news stories involving the Solazzos.

She put all the background paperwork and videotape in a large envelope and sealed it. She marked it
Bill Goldberg—confidential
on the outside, thinking that if someone snooped in her office they wouldn't dare open something that was intended for Bill.

Maddy sat back in her chair and mentally sorted through all the information she had. The story about Eddie Solazzo was just icing on the cake. The bigger story was Mayor Hensley. Killers came and went, but crooked politicians had a shelf life that put nuclear waste to shame.

When this story came out there would be an uproar, and not only from the citizenry. Maddy was sure that Mayor Hensley and his political machine would come at her full bore. She decided she could protect herself and her exclusive story with a “poor man's copyright.”

She made a copy of the tape and put it aside. She then typed a synopsis of what was on the tape, including a description of how she had obtained the cassette tape and the date and time. She took the paper from the copier, signed it, and then stuck the paper and the original cassette tape in a small manila mailing envelope. By addressing and mailing it to herself, she would have the unopened envelope as proof that she had possession of the contents on the date the post office applied when canceling the stamp. And the original tape would only be out of her hands for a short period while it was at the post office.

The news business was so competitive and cutthroat that she didn't want to risk anyone getting their hands on any of this before she got on camera.

Her hands were shaking when she dropped the envelope in the mailbox outside the station, but she felt safe knowing she had the copy safely tucked away in her pocket.

Back in her office she sat down and looked at the beginning of the news story she had written. It was killer material. Surely Bill Goldberg couldn't refuse to air it? Then she remembered how he had buckled under pressure from the mayor and ordered her to go on air announcing Jack Murphy's reinstatement. She sighed at the idea that her boss was a politician masquerading as a newsman.

She went over in her mind what she would tell Goldberg. He wouldn't expect her to give up her source, but what if he just stalled her again? He could point out that all she had was a confidential source with no verification. And there was no way that weasel Jansen would back her up.

If she could just verify the suspect's name through even one piece of evidence, or another policeman, she could run with the story. Goldberg wouldn't dare get in the way of that. The station owners would fire him if he tried. This was BIG! Murphy was being stalked by a psychotic killer out for revenge. The mayor was on tape saying he doesn't care what happens to the public. What a story!

She picked up her purse and threw a fresh notebook inside. She was an attractive woman. She would find a way to get someone to talk. On her way out she looked at the clock. Almost six o'clock. The second-shift policemen would be on duty. That wasn't good, because she didn't know many of them. She was more familiar with day shift and late shift, because that was when most things happened in this town.

She got in her car and checked her makeup in the rearview mirror.
Oh well,
she thought.
I'm sure someone will talk to me.

 

When Dr. Shull was explaining things, the idea of running down Bobby's contacts sounded pretty good. But after they had eaten four large pizzas and drank a gallon of soft drinks and coffee, the idea sounded like a waste of time.

“Detective Chapman is running down the cell phone number that Eddie used to call me,” Jack said to his yawning crew. “He's already sent the subpoena to get the ball rolling, but it may take overnight for them to answer.”

“So what do we do next, boss?” Crowley asked.

“First of all, I'm not your boss,” Jack said. He hated being in charge, and preferred to work alone. If he hadn't grown so attached to Bigfoot, he would still be working alone.

“If you have to call me something besides Jack, just call me Supreme Commander,” he said, and Liddell started bowing toward him.

Crowley chuckled and said, “Okay, boss.”

“Anyway, Liddell and I will run down these people,” Jack said, and pulled out his notebook that contained the names and addresses of the ten or so contacts for Bobby Solazzo.

“I'll run them through the computer and see what I can find,” offered Garcia. She had kept the files at her desk, and though she would have liked to do some fieldwork, she knew that was not her forte. Sure, it sounded exciting, but she was a computer tech and was good at research, not at chases, fights, or gun battles.

“Go home and get some rest. You're no good to us if you're half asleep,” Jack said, and then realized that he had sounded curt. “Sorry, Angelina. I guess I'm kind of tired myself,” he said by way of apology.

She looked at Mark and was disappointed when he announced that he was going back to Dubois County to update the sheriff on their progress.

He had conveniently forgotten to call his dad and tell him they now knew who the killer was. Conveniently, because if he did, the sheriff would then be compelled to share that information with the state police. His department did all the work, and the state police would take all the credit.

 

Chief Richard Dick sat staring at the top of his desk. The cassette tape someone had shoved under his door was unmarked, and there was no note left with it. He had almost thrown the tape away, thinking maybe someone had dropped it and it had inadvertently been kicked under his office door. But before he threw it away he noticed it had been used. He could see a small amount of tape wound on the take-up reel.
Does anyone even use cassette tapes anymore?

Out of curiosity he rummaged through his desk drawers and found a cassette tape recorder. He stuck the tape in and pressed Play. He was shocked to hear his own voice come out of the tiny speaker. He listened in horror, then rewound it and played it through three more times.

Someone had taped his conversation with the mayor. But how? Why? And most importantly, who? And that brought him back to, why? What could they want? There was no note, no message of any kind. He had played the tape all the way to the end, and nothing else was on it.

His hands shook.
If this tape gets into the hands of the media…or anyone, for that matter…
He couldn't decide what to do. Should he go to the mayor? Did the mayor get the same tape? If so, why hadn't Thatcher called him about it?

Again, he wondered how in the hell someone could tape a private conversation that took place in the mayor's office. Maybe that nasty-mouthed secretary? She hated him with a passion. But wouldn't she be more likely to blackmail the mayor with this?

He put the tape player inside his center desk drawer, locked it, and then took a deep breath, let it out, and rose to his feet. Talking to the mayor could wait. He would see if he was contacted again. Better to find out what was going on before he risked the wrath of that stupid man upstairs.
And besides
, he thought,
there really is nothing on the tape that is negative about me
. He started to feel better as he played the conversation through his mind, analyzing each word. Hensley was the one that would take a beating on this. Dick had said nothing wrong.

He was about to leave his office when another thought crept into his mind, forcing him back to his chair.
If Thatcher is kicked out of office, so am I.
He couldn't go back to being a deputy chief and give up everything he had worked for.

Maddy Brooks had not found any policeman who would talk to her all evening. One had told her that Chief Dick had put out a department-wide order that she was off limits. Anyone caught talking to her or any other newspeople would be fired. She finally called it a night.

At daylight she made rounds of several coffee shops that were frequented by cops. She spoke to a crime scene tech who confided, “off the record,” that he had been asked to compare the fingerprints of Eddie Solazzo with some fingerprints from a motel assault case. He wouldn't admit or deny that Eddie was a person of interest in the string of recent murders.

Admittedly, it would have been better if they were comparing his fingerprints with ones found at a murder scene, but it would be enough for her to go ahead with her story.

She felt her pocket, assuring herself the tape was still there.
Time to see Bill Goldberg,
she thought.
And if he won't run this story I'll sell it to one of the big stations.
She smiled and was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice Lois Hensley had entered and was standing beside her.

“What are you working on?” Lois asked, and Maddy jumped. She turned the notes over, saying, “What do you want, Lois?” She hoped Lois hadn't seen the mayor's name on anything.

“Pah,” Lois said condescendingly. “You newspeople think everything you do is a state secret or something. Always hiding your material, so afraid someone will look or, God forbid, steal your
big story
!”

But then a strange thing happened. Lois's voice turned maternal, and she put a wrinkled hand on Maddy's shoulder. “Take some advice from one who has been in the business longer than you've been alive, hon. Don't take this work so serious. It'll kill you.”

Maddy couldn't believe that Lois was giving her motherly advice. But Lois, mistaking Maddy's silence for interest, continued, and said, “You're a young woman now, but someday your boobs will sag, your looks will go, and your career with it. They don't give anchor jobs to wrinkled old dames like me.”

If Maddy wasn't so angry that Lois had been snooping, she would have laughed in Lois's face. But she was too close to achieving her goals to ruin things by telling Lois how she really felt about her.

“Thank you, Lois,” she said, almost amiably, and patted Lois's hand before gently lifting it from her shoulder.

Lois smiled radiantly, feeling that she had done something quite noble. She was almost out the door when she turned and said, “Oh, by the way, this number is for you.” She handed Maddy a piece of scrap paper with a telephone number written in Lois's unmistakable scrawl. “And before you get mad, it was a man's voice and he left the number on the answering machine sometime last night.”

Lois turned to leave and turned back once again. The real Lois Hensley resurfaced, and she looked scathingly at Maddy. “I'm not your personal secretary, you know. So tell your gentlemen callers this is a workplace and to call you at home in future.”

Lois left and shut the door firmly behind her, while Maddy tried to control her blood pressure.
Just who does that useless old bag think she is?
But Maddy's curiosity overcame her anger, and she looked at the number written on the paper. If she hadn't burnt her bridges with the police department, she would have been able to talk to Murphy. But that would mean sharing what she had with the police, and so far they had done nothing for her that she couldn't have done for herself.

She could feel the cassette tape burning a hole in her pocket. She was torn between the need to go to Bill Goldberg with her breaking story and the urge to call the number first. Of course, the phone number could be some crackpot wanting to complain about something and hoping to get a few minutes on air. But the feeling that her career was about to skyrocket was overwhelming.

She decided to call the number first. If it was some idiot, she would make the call short. But if she didn't call the number, she could miss a piece of information that might clarify what she already had. Maybe it was another police source coming forward with information on the murders and Eddie's connection. She dialed the number.

The phone was answered in mid-ring, but no one spoke. “Hello,” Maddy said not trying to hide her irritation. She hated it when people did that. “This is Maddy Brooks,” she said, and then added, “with Channel Six News,” thinking that would sound important and let whoever this was know they were wasting someone's valuable time.

No one spoke for a full minute, and then a voice came over the line that made her shiver with recognition. It was the man that had grabbed her outside her home.

The soft voice said, “I have a little sister, they call her Peep, Peep. She wades the waters deep, deep, deep. She climbs the mountains high, high, high. Poor little creature, she has but one eye.” Then he was silent.

Maddy had scribbled down what the voice was saying, and when he went silent she asked, “Is it you?” Her voice quivered with excitement, not fear.

“Do you know my name?” the voice asked.

Maddy hesitated, unsure how to answer. She didn't want to lose him by lying, but she didn't want to scare him off by telling the truth. Everything in her told her to lie, but she heard her voice say, “Yes.”

The line went dead.

“Damn, damn, damn!” she yelled at the phone and hit the redial button. The phone seemed to ring forever. She hung up and redialed. “The number you are calling is unavailable. If you would like to…” came an automated voice, and she slammed the phone down on the desk.

“Shit!” she yelled. She knew she should have lied. Then she had a thought. Maybe he would call back. But she remembered that he had called the front desk the first time so he probably didn't have her direct number.

She ran out of her office and down the hallway, and from somewhere ahead of her she heard a phone ringing.
Please don't hang up on him, Lois
, she thought and sprinted for the reception desk. She arrived just as Lois was telling the caller that she was not Maddy's personal secretary. That was when Maddy yanked the phone from Lois's hand and said, “It's me. It's Maddy.”

She listened to the instructions the man gave her and then reached over the reception counter and placed the phone in its cradle, her mind churning with what she was about to do.

A smile stretched across her face. The danger involved was great, but then, so would be the rewards. And she wondered what she would wear when she got the award for best story of the year. Oh hell! She would buy something new.