The Spirit Survives (10 page)

He had purchased this condo just a year before for $1.6 million. It had increased in value by thirty percent since then. He used it as his downtown Chicago headquarters, the place where he conducted business meetings and met on occasion with his mistress, Melissa Browning. Sergey liked his girlfriends young and slender with full lips, and Melissa, a twenty-three-year-old model from Charleston, South Carolina, met the requirements. He had bought her a Cadillac Escalade for her birthday, and she frequented the Gold Coast area around the condo and the nearby Magnificent Mile boutiques with his credit card. Shopping came second to her primary purpose, which was to sexually service Sergey. She preformed this duty whenever he wanted it.
 

Today, first he wanted information, then silence and solitude.

As Sergey entered the building, he hastened to the elevator and punched the gold-lettered “seven.” The elevator purred to his floor and Sergey strode off and shoved his key into the lock of Suite 704. He entered and looked at the sweeping glass windows that held breathtaking views of high-end Chicago.
 

A tall, lanky policeman was sitting stiffly on the black leather sofa, taking short, quick swigs of a Jack Daniels on the rocks. Sergey had called ahead, and given permission for the doorman at the condo to let him.
 

The living area was decorated in black leather with glass and stainless steel end tables and coffee table. A glass and stainless-steel bar was stocked with all the finest bourbon and whiskey. The cabinet in the bar contained a small freezer and Sergey’s private stock of vodka. There was a large painting of Veronika on the wall beside the bar. An aquarium sat in the corner near the front windows. Inside, lurked an
Irukandji jellyfish, a silent, mysterious, nearly invisible killer found in the seas off northern Australia. Sergey had imported it the year before.
 

He walked to the bar without a word. Having retrieved a tumbler, he opened the small freezer below the bar and pulled out a bottle of Diva vodka, the only alcohol he drank.
 

He poured the tumbler half full of the icy liquid and took a long pull. He walked back to the couch and stood over the assistant chief. “What do you have for me?”
 

Sergey Ivanova had contacts in both the Houston, and the Chicago police departments. It cost him five thousand a month for each contact, plus bonuses, but he received valuable information and protection for his money. When told of Veronika’s death at Lookout Mountain in Wisconsin, he had called both contacts for information. He wanted them to check hotels, flights, and police records for anything that would lead to the killer. He made it clear to those contacts that he didn’t want the police to find the man. He was going to deal with killer on his terms.

Both his contacts had the authority to secure detailed and confidential information for him.

The man on the couch replied, in a tentative voice, “All I have so far is that a man named Ben Harris was reporting missing on Lookout Mountain the same day Veronika was killed. Harris, an ex-cop, was living with a girl named Leah Hamilton in Green Bay.” He gave Sergey the address of the Residence Inn where they had been staying.
 

Sergey took the information and placed it in his shirt pocket. “I pay you a hell of a lot of money and all I get is this?” he said, outwardly very calm.

The man stood up and replied in a shakier tone, “Sergey, that’s all the facts the police have now. I’ll continue to monitor the situation and call you immediately with any information we uncover. The police in Tomahawk, Wisconsin are in command of the investigation, and I’ll maintain daily contact with them and the Green Bay police department. I told both chiefs that our interest is so intense because Ben Harris was an ex-cop.”

Sergey nodded and handed the man an envelope thick with cash. “You better get more information soon, asshole. Now get out of here.”

The cop set his drinking glass on the table, hurried to the door, and left. He was aware of Sergey’s temper and willingness to kill at the drop of a hat. He didn’t want his hand stuck in the aquarium with that damned jellyfish. He had heard the rumor that Sergey had killed three men that way.

When the door closed, Sergey grabbed his cell phone and dialed Petrov’s number.

Chapter 23

Bo knew he couldn’t keep Leah in the hotel room he had rented in Tomahawk. He had the address from the papers in Ben’s car of where she and Ben Harris were staying in Green Bay. He decided that the most productive place to set his trap for Ben Harris was from that location. The trip back to Green Bay would take a couple of hours, and he could not be sure that Leah would stay unconscious long enough for him to implement his plan. Bo had trouble sleeping most nights, especially after he killed someone. It was not a guilty conscience; it was more about the adrenaline rush he experienced from watching a person drawing their last breast before they entered whatever afterlife existed. He always kept a couple of bottles of sleeping pills with him to slow down the rush, so he could rest.
 

Bo had about a third of a bottle of water in the cup holder. He pulled his vehicle into the last observation area about a mile from the Lookout Mountain entrance. He located his shaving kit in his suitcase and took out three of the sleeping pills. He put them in a plastic bag from the kit.
 

He heard a noise coming from underneath the tarp covering Leah’s unconscious body. He put the plastic bag underneath his foot and crushed the pills, took the residue, put it in the bottled water, and shook it up. Bo looked both ways, down and up the road and saw no vehicles. He uncovered Leah’s head and saw that her eyes were open but dazed. Blood trickled down her cheek from the blow that had knocked her unconscious, and her forehead and the bridge of her nose were swelling from the injury. He had to act quickly, so he ripped the duct tape from her lips and immediately held open her mouth and poured some of the liquid down her throat. He held her mouth shut so she had no choice but to swallow. He repeated that action four times until the bottle was empty, while she struggled and coughed, almost choking.

 
He replaced the tape on her mouth and pushed her down hard to the floor of the SUV, covered her with the tarp, and slammed the back hatch shut. He heard her struggle for a few minutes, and then she was silent for a moment. Bo started his vehicle and left Lookout Mountain for, he hoped, the last time. He heard muffled grunts from the back and turned on the radio to block them out. He always kept his radio tuned to the oldies station and now Elvis was belting out “Hunk of Burning Love.” Bo loved Elvis and sang along. After about an hour he turned down the volume and heard only silence from the back. The sleeping pills must have taken effect; Leah would be out cold for at least eight hours.

He stopped by a convenience store, used the john, and bought a six-pack of beer.
He popped a beer
and turned up his radio again. Ben E. King was singing “Stand by Me.” Bo sucked on his beer
.
His trip back to Green Bay was turning out to be a pleasant one.

When he arrived at the Residence Inn, he checked the papers he had taken from Ben’s car. Bo got out of the SUV, locked it, and walked around to Ben’s suite, number 107. The hotel was designed in an L shape. Bo decided that if he wanted a view of 107—and any visitors that might show up—Suites 98 or 101 would make the best stakeout positions.

He walked back to the entrance and into the lobby.
 

“May I help you sir?” The greeting came from a pretty girl in her twenties. She flashed a beautiful smile, which complemented her curly red hair, freckled nose, and large brown eyes. Her name tag read Gina, but Bo thought she looked more like Strawberry Shortcake.
 

 
Bo asked her if Suites 98 or 101 were available. He wanted to be on the first floor facing the pool. Ms. Gina Strawberry checked the computer and replied in her cheery voice that 101 was available. It was a two-bedroom bi-level suite. Bo gave her his credit card and told her that his stay would be indefinite at this point. Gina signed him in, told him about the full breakfast every morning, and the special services available. She gave him the directions to the suite and thanked him for choosing The Residence Inn. Bo emphasized that he would not require any maid service, took his card key and left.

 
It was dark when Bo moved his SUV to a parking place directly in front of the door for Suite 101. He walked to the door and shoved the card key in the lock and walked inside to see if the accommodations were appropriate for his needs.
These facilities will work nicely
, he thought.
 

He returned to the SUV and retrieved his suitcase and a length of white plastic rope. He placed the suitcase on the luggage rack in the bedroom next to the closet and threw the rope on the bed. He walked back to the SUV and looked around. Seeing no one, he opened the hatch and threw the tarp containing Leah’s limp body over his shoulder. He quickly walked to the door and went inside. He placed the body on the couch and went back, closed the door and locked it. Bo removed Leah’s body from the tarp, threw it over his shoulder again, picked up the rope from the bed, and walked up the stairs. Leah was still out cold when he heaved her body on the bed. He cut the plastic restraints from her hands and feet, cut a piece of rope, tied her hands tightly, and tied the other end of the rope to the headboard. He bound her feet and tied the end of that rope to the bed frame. He left the duct tape over her mouth.

Bo had nothing to eat since the breakfast at Denny’s, and he was famished. He left the suite, making sure the door was secured and that the “do not disturb” sign was on the door handle, went to the drive-through window of a nearby Burger King, and ordered two whoppers, large fries, two side salads with French dressing, and two large Diet Cokes. His next stop was a liquor store where he picked up a fifth of Jack Daniels Black, a quart of Dewar’s scotch and a couple of Ginger Ale mixers. He drove his SUV back to the Residence Inn and unloaded his purchases.

Bo filled a glass with ice and filled the glass about half-f of the bourbon. He drank it in three gulps and walked up the stairs. Apparently, Leah had awakened and struggled because her wrists had traces of blood where she had strained against the ropes. She was lying still, but her eyes were open.
 

Bo said, “Well good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you have a nice restful nap?”
 

Leah’s eyes filled with hatred and fright, but she lay still and just stared at him.

“Listen lady,” Bo grunted, “behave yourself, and you won’t get hurt. I just want to talk to Ben Harris. We can talk about that a little later, but I’m sure you’re as hungry as I am. To show you I’m a nice guy, I brought you some food.” He went back to the kitchen area and put one of the Whoppers and some fries on a plate. He grabbed one of the Diet Cokes and walked back to Leah’s bed. He placed the food and drink on the end table.

“Okay, I’m going to remove the tape from your mouth and untie your hands so you can eat. If you try to scream, I’ll punch you out and put the tape back on and let you starve. Are we clear?”
 

Leah stared at him for a moment and then nodded.
 

He sat on the bed and ripped the tape from her lips. A gasp escaped Leah’s lips. He untied her hands but stayed close enough to her that he could subdue her if she screamed. Her feet remained securely tied.
 

Leah sat up and rubbed her face. Blood was crusted on the bridge of her nose and her forehead from the blow that knocked her unconscious. She reached over to the end table, got the Coke and took a long drink. She took two bites from the Whopper, chewed slowly, and then laid it back on the end table. “What do you want from me?” she whispered.

“I want to know where Ben Harris is,” Bo replied.

“Why are you looking for him?”

“Listen lady, I ask the questions, and you answer them. Do we understand each other?”

Leah was silent a moment then replied, “I don’t know where he is. I’m looking for him too. I’m afraid he was hurt in the tornado.”
 

Tears streamed down her face, but Bo didn’t care one way or the other about her feelings. He sat for a minute and waited for her to stop crying. When she didn’t, he grabbed her hands and wrapped the rope around her wrists again. He pushed her back on the bed and tied the end of the rope to the headboard. As he reached over to put the tape back over her mouth, she spat in his face. Bo didn’t take that from anyone, man or woman. He roughly pushed the duck tape over her lips and then, without warning, slapped her hard across the face. “If you ever do that again I’ll break your arm.” He picked up the remainder of the food and drink from the end table and threw it in the waste can beside the bed and stormed out of the bedroom.
 

Bo went to the kitchen area, took his food and drinks out of the bags and put them on the coffee table. He turned on the TV to David Letterman. He added some scotch to his coke, ate his whopper, salads and fries and watched the show. Bo laughed at Letterman’s sick jokes. Letterman was about the only man who could make him laugh.

Chapter 24

“What do you want, Sergey?” Petrov grumbled into his cell phone.

“Where are you?” Sergey replied.