(2005) 'Whispers In the Wind' (14 page)

“Please…sit down, Detective Turner…and tell me what I can do for you”, she said, and once again the softness and power of the voice jolted him.

“Name is Josh…Josh Turner, Dr. and I…I need some help with this”, he said, raising the bag with the axe head so she could look at it, letting his body fall into the chair in front of the desk.

“Good…you can call me Mariska, Josh”, she said, eyes going to the plastic bag in Turner’s hand. Her face remained impassive as she extended her hand, reaching for it. Turner surrendered the item, watching the woman inspecting the axe head through the plastic.

“This is a replica of the one behind me”, she said, head pointing in the direction of the axe in the glass case. “Very common in pawn shops and with people who collect items like this, but I’m afraid is not worth very much”. She passed the plastic bag to him, cursing herself inwardly for being so stupid and leaving the damn thing at the murder scene.

“You said it’s…common?”

“Yes…quite common. As I said, you can buy one in just about any pawn shop or business that caters to people who collect strange weapons or knives.” She paused for moment, eyes on the axe head, finally glancing at him. “At one time Viking axes were the rage with collectors, but the real thing, like this one”, she said, her head nodding in the direction of the real axe in the glass case, “is worth millions now…so collectors who are not too discriminating started getting these replicas, and soon the market was inundated with them.”

She handed the bag to him, saying; “Now…even inexperienced collectors can get these replicas very cheaply.”

“So…any one can buy one like this just about anywhere?”, Turner asked.

“That’s correct, Josh”, she said softly, watching him closely, seeing the frustration building on the rugged, handsome face. She felt the moistness in her loins, thinking how ironic it was that the man in front of her was asking for help from her…the killer. She was about to jump from her seat, emotions running wild with her, forcing her to exert all her control to remain still.

“Why don’t you tell me what it is that you are working on?” she asked, the strong voice sending shivers through him again. She watched him closely, the expression in her eyes one of wanting to be close to him, expressing concern for his problems.

“I don’t…want to bother you with details Dr. Mason”, he said, realizing he had reached another dead end. Hell…if anybody could buy one of those damn axes…then any one could be the killer. “We have been working on those cop murders. The killer…as you probably know by the damn newspapers and the TV, is using an axe…just like this one…or that one”. Saying that, he stood up coming closer to the glass case. Inside, the axe head with the silver inlaid shone with a fiendish glimmer. He fixed his eyes on the weapon, taking in it’s beauty, the head and the handle. He turned to her, sighing deeply, watching her closely.

She nodded her head, the long, wheat colored hair bouncing, shining, and framing her face. She stood up swiftly, coming around the desk to stand next to him, her butt leaning against the desk slightly.

“I’m afraid I don’t watch much TV or listen to news on the radio, Josh”.

“We are at a dead end”, he started, raising his eyes to her, feeling the powerful presence of the woman next to him. He could smell her perfume and something else, a smell of muskiness about her, something that made him realize he was becoming turned on by her. He stood up, pushing his hands in his pockets, walking away from her. He wanted to talk to this woman about the murders, but realized that was not very professional. He shook his head, saying; “Any way…this axe was left at the scene of the last two murders. We thought it was unique, that maybe…we could get something from it’. He paused for a second, realizing he was talking too much. Shrugging his shoulders, he faced her again, a smile etched now on his face. “You have been a great help, Mariska. Thank you.”

“Okay…but if you need anything else”, she said, bending over the desk, picking up a pen and writing something on a pad of paper. Finished, she ripped the paper, turning toward him, arm extended. “If you need anything…or if I can help…in any way”, she said, a small, pink tongue moistening her lips. He felt a shudder run through him again and he reached for the paper, glancing at it, seeing a telephone number written on it. He raised his eyes to her, questioningly.

“My home number…just call me, anytime”, she said almost in a whisper, deep blue eyes fixed on him with an intensity that left him breathing hard. He swallowed painfully, wondering why he was acting like a goddamn kid in front of the woman, shaking his head, angry now.

“Thanks…thanks a lot”, he said, stepping to the door and exiting as quickly as he could. He closed the door softly after him, standing still for moment, wondering what the hell had happened in that office. He could swear that the woman in the office was coming on to him. Still shaking his head, he made his way out, the paper with the phone number burning in his hand.

* * * *

Inside the office Dr. Mariska Mason smiled to herself, thinking about the discomfort of the lieutenant just a few seconds before. The telephone number was a last minute idea for her. She was feeling powerful, reckless now and she wanted to see how far she could go with the man that was heading the investigation into the murders, wanted to see what she could find out about…her. She was glad the damn axe was going to be a dead end now. She needed to find out more about the murders and what the police really knew, she thought, walking back to her desk, stopping in front of the glass case. She stood still for a minute, eyes resting on the glimmering weapon. In her job as assistant curator, she was able to take work home, items that she was working on and to take the axe home had been no problem for her after the fantasy of killing the two men became a reality. When she had finally resolved in her mind to kill the men that had ruined her life, she had decided on the axe. She had studied the history of such a weapon, her mind fantasizing about the Vikings of that long ago era, creating mayhem around them, and exacting revenge on their enemies with a weapon just like the one she had in her office now. She had thought that it would be fitting for men that had done such damage to die by a weapon like that. At first, in the privacy of her office, she had spent long hours practicing with the axe, and then she had started taking the axe home at night, practicing there, bringing the axe back in the morning without any one realizing what she was doing. Soon, as she became proficient with it, she could visualize herself with the axe, a warrior, killing people that stood in her way and exacting revenge.

Her thoughts went back to the day she had finally reached the decision, a grin flickering momentarily on the beautiful face. She had stormed into the museum administration’s office after learning that the job of Curator had being given to another man, not her. She had been promised the job after more than five years as the assistant and then some newcomer had taken that away from her…and just because he was a man. She had felt the rage boiling inside of her; she had been furious at the way she had been treated. Just another demonstration of how little she was valued by the men that ran the museum, how they could destroy her dreams, mess with her life…just like the two men that had destroyed her young life so long ago. The rage had stayed with her all through the day, smoldering, frustration eating at her, the visions of the two men that had at first destroyed her life coming back to haunt her. One night the shining axe had gone home with her and shortly after that, the two officers were dead.

She breathed deeply, shaking her head slightly at the thoughts. Her fingers finally reached for a key on top of the desk, opening the glass case, extracting the axe. She closed her eyes as her fingers caressed the handle, bringing the weapon to her face, words of endearment coming from her lips. An idea had started when she had seen the Detective in her office, an idea that filled her with wonder and incredible excitement, making her weak, feeling the adrenalin rushing through her veins.

“Soon…soon”, she whispered as the hand moved expertly and the axe whistle in the air.

“Soon”.

Lt. Josh Turner had been marked for death.

CHAPTER 18
 

Chicago Police Dept. Chicago, IL. February 7, 1995 1300 hours

By the time he got back to the office it was snowing hard and traffic was a mess with commuters heading home early, eager to get away from work before the storm came howling down on them. As soon as he came into the office, he was greeted by a red blinking line on his phone and he reached for it, wondering who had called. The strong voice of FBI agent Moyer reached him and he shook his head, hoping the man had something for him.

He dialed the number, returning the call, waiting as he listened to the ring. A secretary answered, telling him Moyer was momentarily out of the office, would return his call soon. He hang up, his mind full of thoughts about the murders. He realized that he was getting frustrated more and more, that his mind was not functioning like the well oiled machine that it usually was. The lack of information, any solid evidence, was frustrating to say the least and he knew his men were feeling the same way. Day after day with nothing to show and the trail getting colder by the minute. Except that his gut was telling him that the killer was not done yet…that he was just waiting.

The telephone rang and he jumped out of his reverie, reaching for it. It was Moyer’s secretary again, telling him he was back. Seconds later Moyer was on the line.

“I have something for you, Turner”, Moyer said softly. “I think is interesting, so I’ll run it by you and you tell me what you think.”

“All right…hit me”, said Turner, waggling his butt into his chair a little deeper, waiting now for Moyer.

“Your killer is young, probably late twenties, early thirties. Highly mobile as shown by the fact that he is able to follow his victims around and get to where they are easily. He’s employed and able to function in society pretty well, probably good personal skills, friendly, able to talk to people and get information. We know he drives a car, an SUV, fairly high priced if we believe the description of your witness”. He was silent for a moment and Turner could hear the rustle of papers.

“The crime scene photos tell me this killer is in a rage, so this is personal against cops. Something traumatic happened to him to get him started on the killings, probably shortly before the first one. This killer…this killer is extremely intelligent, with an orderly mind, able to act swiftly and probably on the spur of the moment as evidenced by the last two killings. There is a tremendous amount of controlled rage in the murders, which tells me that this killer is holding a grudge against some cop. I would say that it was probably the first one he killed, Dunbar…or maybe Moore. I’m inclined to believe it was Dunbar…unless it was the two of them that the killer was mad at, which is very possible, but Dunbar, he was the first one and that may have some meaning. Whatever happened between this killer and the victims, I’m sure that he considered Dunbar the main player. Another thing is that this killer planned the first two murders for a while, maybe ran the killings in his mind over and over until some precipitating event drove him to do the actual killings. We know…we know that he waited for Dunbar at his home, knew his schedule and therefore the killing was very well executed.” He paused again, clearing his throat, shuffling more papers. “Moore’s killing…we can surmise he too was followed and the killer waited for him, knowing that sooner or later he would have to come out of the bar”.

He cleared his throat loudly, continuing; “The last two killings, those were random…I’m sure of that. The hood up on the SUV, car parked on a corner, pretending some type of malfunction. The officers were not well known to each other, there is no connection between them except that they were assigned to each other just a few days before the killings. There is no indication that they knew Dunbar or Moore. To me that means that the killer chose them at random, that he saw…or made…the opportunity, and then killed them. It seems that the killer, once committed to killing, can not stop for long now. So I’ll bet that unless we catch him soon…the killings will go on, closer and closer together.” He stopped again, shuffling some more papers, clearing his throat before he continued.

“This is where it gets interesting Turner”, he said, continuing; “The choice of weapon…the axe. It bothers me. It’s not a common murder weapon as we know. Most axe murderers use one because it’s there, not because they bring one to the murder scene. This killer is bringing the axe with him, a special one, which tells me again that there is something personal about the killings. Our Mr. Douglas, from the FBI would say the axe is a signature for this particular killer, something very significant to him”.

Turner listened closely to the words, his mind running at full speed. In the small list of suspects that they had, there was no one that would fit that profile and he shook his head, sighing deeply. The task force had conducted thousands of interviews, had tracked down just about anybody that had any contact with the officers; old girlfriends, arrests made, people that might have a grudge against the officers…and the results for all that time spent was…nothing, one big, fat zero. This was the first murder investigation for him in which everything was in favor of the killer. Witnesses that were not sure of anything. Evidence with not much to offer. Four men dead and no real motive discovered. Turner realized that Moyer was still talking and he focused on his words again.

“I…know we don’t have much Turner…but I’ll keep working on this one…see what comes up”.

“Yeah…but listen. You keep saying he…about the killer” he said, finally asking what was in his mind foremost. “Are you sure this one is a…man? He felt stupid for asking the question, but he realized that something in his gut was telling him that this killer was different, that indeed, it was personal between this killer and the police officers. He didn’t know if all the killings were related, but he had the nagging suspicion that it had all started with Dunbar and the fact that Moore had been associated with Dunbar was another indication for him that maybe the motive for all these was revenge. Somewhere, sometime, those two officers had come in contact with the killer. Something had happened between them and that was why they were dead now. But…what? What the hell was the connection? He had researched the files of both officers himself, had combed through the information carefully, slowly…but besides the fact that they had been partners for a while many years back, there was nothing in the files to indicate to him that anything major had happened. The files contained the usual things that were expected of police officers, the usual complaints, but nothing that would jump at you. There had been complaints made, about police brutality, some sexual harassment by some women, concerning both cops, but they had found every person that had complained about Dunbar and Moore, had interviewed them at length and…nothing. The same with the arrests. people sent to prison on charges brought by the officers. The results had been the same…nothing there. He was going to have to get back to those records, comb through them inch by inch to see if there was something they had missed.