Authors: Charlotte Hinger
Deadly Descent (18 page)
It was Friday. Boots and Levis day, which suited me just fine. As I dressed, I winced at the stranger in the mirror. Circles under her eyes. Saggy jeans.
I settled down while driving to work. Overhead, a flock of geese V-d their way south, and I saw three pheasants in a fence row. We were starting corn harvest in Western Kansas. The air smelled like money. Gathered bounty.
I had just rounded the three-mile corner when an announcement came over the radio.
Senatorial candidate Brian Hadley became ill at a rally in Wichita last evening. Hadley started swaying at the lectern, and, according to those in attendance, began making a bizarre series of unconnected remarks. His publicist, Myron Caldwell, immediately rushed on stage and asked the organizers to call an ambulance. Hadley was taken to Wesley Medical Center for treatment. A spokesman there stated that Hadley was suffering from exhaustion and had contracted a flu-type virus. He will be released today and plans to return to Carlton County and spend several days with his parents. His schedule will be curtailed until he returns to health.
Sick or dead drunk? Furious with this egotistical alcoholic who would not admit or face up to his problem, I missed my turn, braked abruptly spraying gravel, and then backed to the intersection.
I tried to put him out of my mind. It was none of my business. Not anymore. But all of the events of the last month were congealing into a dark lump somewhere in my stomach.
When I got to the office, I logged onto AOL, clicked on the mail icon, and pulled up a message from AngelChild.
We told everyone she was blind. When she had to go out in public, she always wore dark glasses and used a white cane, but she could see all right. Momma saw everything.
I kept myself neat and clean and did everything just right and never, ever missed school. Even when mother tried to trick me into staying home I didn’t miss school.
I was very smart and all the teachers liked me. I did not have friends. If I had gone to slumber parties, they would have wondered why I didn’t have them to my house. Momma didn’t have to go to parent-teacher conferences because she was blind.
P.S. I missed school when I buried her. But I had a perfect attendance record until then.
My throat tightened as I reread the last line. In one of her letters she had written about “a long line of murders.” I hadn’t known what she meant at the time. I did now. I forwarded the message at once, then phoned Josie.
“Lottie. We’ve absolutely got to locate this woman.”
“I thought women weren’t supposed to be serial killers.”
“This isn’t the same as a serial killer. She may have killed more than her fair share, but in her mind there’s a reason. None of these people were random victims killed for the thrill of it. They seem to have been a threat to her in some way. I’ll call you right back, with our latest and greatest plan.”
It was a quiet day at the courthouse. I had plenty of real work to do. It steadied me somewhat. The phone shrilled like a banshee an hour later.
“Carlton County Historical Society,” I said. It was Josie.
“Lottie, can you set up AOL to reply to AngelChild on your laptop or home desktop?”
“Well sure, but Sam wants it to go through my server here and my off-site backup in case we need to file charges. He doesn’t want some lawyer to accuse me of altering dates.”
“Oh God.” She paused. I heard another voice in the background.
“Would it be possible for you to stay in the courthouse tonight so you will know the moment a message comes in?”
“It can be done. I’ll have to pull a few strings, but I can do it.”
“We want you to reply immediately. Harold thinks she might mail right back, and if she does, it will be more spontaneous.”
“My questions will be more immediate, too.”
“Harold wants you to have police protection while you’re there.”
“Honey, I
am
the police. Why does everyone keep forgetting that?”
“Can’t someone stay with you?”
“No. What a mess. The letter saying she killed her mother changes everything. Most of the time my two jobs are a dream situation, but sometimes I’m walking a tight-wire and this is one of those times. Keith would be here in a flash, but now this is police business and the wrong person could jeopardize our prosecution later.”
“Lucky me. I’m the lone professional consultant. Sam? Can’t Sam be there?”
“Nope. One-horse town. No extra personnel. He’ll be on duty, covering all the rest of the county. There’s the city police department, but they don’t know anything about any of this because it wasn’t in their jurisdiction to begin with.
“Harold and I are thinking about coming out.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll be just fine. What do you think? She’s going to reach through the screen and grab me?”
“No, but she’ll know where you are. If you email right back, he’ll know you’re at the courthouse. If she lives in this county, pure logic will tell him you’re there alone. I don’t like it.”
“He again, Josie? Freudian slip?”
“Did I really say
he
?”
“You did. ‘He’ll know you’re at the courthouse.’”
She was quiet for a moment. “There is a masculine
feel
to this person. I’ve said that all along. This person is extremely cunning. What worries me is the possibility some of what’s being sent might be a disguise. Close enough to the truth emotionally, but physical facts switched.”
“To throw me off?”
“Exactly. The reclusive mother has a ring of truth, but maybe they told the teachers she was crippled instead of blind. The right clothes could have been overalls instead of dresses. That kind of thing.”
For the first time I felt like I was totally over my head.
I got permission from one of the county commissioners to be in the courthouse after hours. He gave me an extra key for the use of the historical society. I was spared explaining anything to Keith as he was out of the house when I got home.
Grabbing a sleeping bag, my travel kit, and some fruit, I left a note saying I had to be on duty, not to wait up. He could reach me through the sheriff’s office. Which was the truth. Sam knew where I was and why.
The massive stone courthouse looked sinister in the moonlight. Leaves on the ancient cottonwoods flashed silver in the night wind. I shivered, hair rising on the back of my neck, as I unlocked a side door.
Once inside my office, I did not turn on my light until I had closed the door tightly. The heat had been turned down for the weekend and the room was chilly. I arranged my sleeping bag, my little sack of food, turned on the computer, and thought about all Josie had said. Push a little, but don’t scare off AngelChild. A ticklish balance.
Finally I typed:
I’m so very sorry you had to ruin your perfect attendance record.
I waited. There were far more important issues than her attendance record, of course. Serious questions I wanted to ask. Like, did you kill your mother, darling? But I was trying to establish a rapport. A rapport with a crazy woman. Or man.
She had ignored my question asking “which war.” Was it because she didn’t want me to get a fix on her age?
The old pipes clanked. There was a snake-like hiss in the corridor. I rose, opened my door a crack and risked a peek. It came from an old radiator at the end of the hallway. The maddening hum from my ancient overhead fluorescent light sounded like a distant plane. The odor of wax and Pine-sol permeated the air. I sat back down and stared at the chipped green and white tiles on the floor, the institutional green walls, the mismatched cabinets and desks.
I didn’t have to be here. I wanted to be home. All I had to do was walk away from all this. Back to my lovely house and my warm husband. AngelChild wasn’t one bit crazier than I was.
Around ten o’clock, she came on line.
Thank you. I was very proud of my attendance record. I had to bury her, you see. All by myself. The ground wasn’t frozen yet, but it was taking too long to dig only at night. So I had to miss a day of school. I didn’t want a neighbor to see a light in the yard at night. Besides, at night I always had homework and I didn’t want to get behind.
That was all. I forwarded it to Josie. She called back shortly.
“Harold’s right here beside me, Lottie. Good job. You got a lot of concrete information. Her mother died in the fall, because ‘the ground wasn’t frozen yet.’ We know she had neighbors. Try to get more.”
“Okay. I’ll see if she is actually at her computer.”
More exhilarated than fearful now, I typed:
It must have been hard for you.
Fingers crossed, I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, a new message appeared on the screen. For the first time, she was coming back in real time. Responding instantly, just as we had hoped.
It was the worst day of my life. I had never missed school before.
I blinked. Burying her mother wasn’t the worst part of the day. It was missing school.
What was the best day of your life?
She typed:
The day I turned eighteen and I wasn’t a minor anymore.
I drew a deep breath.
How old were you when your mother died?
The screen was quiet for a few minutes. Then:
Just sixteen. That’s why I had to bury her all by myself. I couldn’t let anyone know she had died. Funerals, burials cost money. They would have made me live with someone else, but I could take care of myself. They would have snooped and snooped and found out about the money.
My hands shook as I typed:
Did you kill your mother?
The answer came back, lightning fast:
I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to trick me. You’re next.
I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers against my temples. I had pushed her too far. The phone shattered the silence. Assuming it was Josie, I started talking before the caller could speak.
“I’ve blown it. Too fast. Much too fast.”
“Sam Abbott here, Lottie. I need you to come with me to the Hadleys.”
“Can’t do it. My letter writer is on-line. I don’t dare stop.”
“This is more important. We got a 911 and I want a woman there with me, just in case.”
“A 911. Did they say why?”
“All they said was that it was an emergency and they needed an ambulance. I don’t want Betty Central to go with me for obvious reasons.”
“For obvious reasons,” I echoed.
“The ambulance is on the way, and just in case, we need to be there, too.”
I closed my eyes, knowing I couldn’t hold up if the “just in case” was another murder.
“Sam, I can’t leave here. Not now.”
“There’s no one else, kiddo. Just you.”
I looked at the screen. It was blank. She had signed off.
“Okay,” I said bleakly. “Chances are she’ll never speak to me again, anyway.”
“I’ll be there in a flash and pick you up.”
I hung up, reached for my coat, locked the room and headed out.
***
All the lights were on. An ambulance blocked the circular drive. White-faced and trembling, Fiona opened the door before we could knock.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
“You called 911, lady,” Sam said.
“I wanted an ambulance. Not the police.”
“Well, you’re getting the whole enchilada. Two for the price of one. What’s the trouble?”
“It’s Brian,” she said. “Something happened. He started breaking things. Saying things.” She was in a bathrobe. Without make-up, she looked years older. She pressed her fist against her mouth, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Edgar stood in the hallway and watched the EMT’s load Brian onto a stretcher.
Sam gazed around the foyer. A dented brass pot from an overturned uprooted ficus plant lay on the slate floor next to splintered rungs of a walnut chair. Brian was yelling, writhing on the gurney. One of the technicians drew some liquid into a syringe, held it up to the light to eye the contents, ejected a drop, then turned, plunged the contents into Brian’s arm.
“I’ll get dressed,” Fiona said curtly. “Edgar and I will follow the ambulance to the airport.”
“The airport?”
“He’s ill. Can’t you see that? We’re flying him to Denver, where there’s top-notch doctors.”
“All right,” Sam said. “That’s your privilege. Looks like this is strictly a medical problem, but we wanted to be sure.”
Fiona nodded stiffly. Edgar still had not spoken, and a glance told me he didn’t intend to. They wanted us gone. Once again, I regretted having seen this family when they were so vulnerable.
“Now what in tarnation do you suppose
that
was all about,” Sam said finally, on the drive back.
I turned from the window where I had been staring at the moon-lit landscape. Sam’s craggy old features were high-lighted by the glow from the dash.
“I don’t suppose. I know. I tried to tell Brian he needs treatment. Not that a drunk ever listens. D.T.’s, that’s what. You were just seeing a man in a full blown episode of delirium tremens.”
“Brian’s a drunk?” He took his foot off the accelerator for a split second.
I told him about the hidden bottles, Brian’s sullen refusal to give a kid an autograph at the rally.
“Who’d a thought it?”
“Not me, Sam, and I can spot one a mile off. He had me fooled.”
“Guess this finishes off his career.”
“Yes, I guess it does.”
I turned my face away so Sam couldn’t see my tears. Brian was a dead duck, but it didn’t give me one whit of satisfaction. Ashamed at the anger I’d harbored, after seeing a magnificent man in such a pathetic state, I thought about what he might have been, should have been.
“Do you want me to take you home, Lottie?”
“No, my car’s back at the courthouse. I’ll check back in on my poison pen pal before I go home, but I think I lost her when I left.” I filled Sam in on all the details of the email exchange.
Back inside my office, I glanced at my watch. We had been gone over an hour. Thinking there would be no more activity that night, I rolled up my sleeping bag and collected my bags and headed for the door. Then I paused, just to be sure, and touched a key on my computer to de-activate the screen saver.
The words were in caps, bolded and underlined:
WHERE ARE YOU? YOU’VE ABANDONED ME. I WAS GOING TO TELL YOU AND YOU LEFT ME. TELL YOU EVERYTHING. I KNEW I COULDN’T TRUST YOU. YOU’RE LIKE ALL THE OTHERS.
She had broken. I’d missed my chance. Balloon-light, my head tried to fathom the implications of bungling this opportunity.
My fingers trembled as I typed:
Please, oh, please. There was an emergency. I had to leave. I want to keep talking with you. Don’t stop.
There was no response. Fifteen minutes later I called Josie and told her what had happened.
“I just hope we haven’t lost her for good,” she said. “What she’s already told you might have satisfied her urge to confide. It may have been enough. Not enough for us, of course. But enough for her to feel better.”
“Oh, no, what incredibly rotten timing.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Incredibly rotten.”