(2005) 'Whispers In the Wind' (18 page)
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Later on, he sat in his office, alone, wondering what the hell had happened in that room. He had given the samples of the oil and the carpets fibers to Holt who had given him a speculative look, and even now, was working on them. But he couldn’t get the damn room of his mind. Something evil was in there and even if he was not a religious man, he could not help but feel that it was real, that it was a part of who Mariska Mason was. He shuddered again, standing up, his mind rebelling at the thoughts running wild in his mind.
“Jesus H. Christ” he exploded, hands massaging his face. The last few hours had seemed like a roller coaster to him, everything coming in fast, too damn fast for him. Instead of the search clearing his mind about Mariska, it had clouded everything for him and now he was more confused than ever. He had not really found anything abnormal in the apartment and he was letting his mind spook him about a damn empty room The oil and the fibers would probably be common to a million households, not proving anything about the murders either. But then, if that was so, why was he so pissed at himself, why did the feeling in his gut keep getting worse and worse? He lit a cigarette, feeling the wild staccato of his heart against his ribs. He sighed deeply, sitting down again, controlling his emotions. His fingers massaged his temples as his mind kept racing, the thoughts coming in fast.
He was absorbed in his thinking when the strident ring of the phone on his desk jolted him. He cursed softly, reaching for the damn thing, only to hear the voice of the woman that he was thinking of as a killer, on the other end of the line.
“Hey…there”. The voice was soft, musical, with a promise of sex and love in it.
He swallowed hard, feeling the constrictions in his throat, trying his best to find his voice. When he did, it was rough and dry. “Hi…how are you?”
“Missing you…lover”.
He shook his head, feeling the beats of his heart increasing. Damn…but she can get to me’, he told himself angrily. She could make him forget that she was a suspect in the killing of four police officers, and she could make him believe, even now, that he was her lover…her man. He had never known a woman with that kind of control over him, irritated with himself for letting her get to him so damn easily. He shook himself of the trance he was in, listening to the words of endearment coming from her mouth and when the conversation was over, he had agreed to come to her place. He cursed himself again for being so weak, but something inside of him was pushing him to her. One way or the other he was going to find out what he needed from her. And if she was a killer…then let God have mercy on her. He stood up, making his way out, heading for her place. As he was leaving, he could hear the sound of the phone, ringing again. For one split second, he thought about going back in, taking the call, but he was in no mood for phone conversations and he let it go. At the other end of the line, in another office, Holt Lambert put the phone down, wondering where Turner could be. He had sounded impatient, wanting the test on the oil and the carpet fibers done as soon as possible, even tonight and now he was gone. He glanced at the paper in his hand, the preliminary report from both items. The carpet fibers and the dye used were identical to the ones found on the edge of the axe, as a well as the oil. Both were common household items, but it would be interesting to know where Turner had come into possession of the items. He lifted the phone again, not really feeling any urgency in the matter, but he wanted to do anything possible to locate Turner and give him the information. Maybe the boy is onto something, Lambert thought idly, lighting one of his cigars while the phone rang again. Getting no answer, he called dispatch, requesting they inform Turner of his call. That done, he turned his light off, closing the door softly after him, heading for the lab and another round of autopsies.
Mariska Mason’s Apartment Chicago February 12, 1995
8: 30 pm
She met him at the door, the smile on her face full of happiness, the light in her eyes bright, warm. For a moment Josh Turner forgot all about her being a suspect, about his feelings, enjoying the reception. She was in a happy mood, relaxed and talkative as she pushed the door closed behind them, taking his arm in hers, pushing her taut, warm body against him.
“Well…I’m glad you are here”, she said softly, opening her mouth to his kiss. He kissed her hungrily, feeling the velvety softness of her lips, the strength of her arms as she pulled him closer to her. She moaned softly, a small animal sound escaping from her lips, as she intensified the pressure of her arms, melting into him. The kiss lasted several seconds and when he let her go, she was flushed, the red color suffusing her face.
“Whoa…what was that all about? she asked, tilting her head to the side in order to look at him better. She was dressed in a black Nike running outfit, her long, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, the face void of any make up, but still as beautiful as ever.
He just looked at her, feeling the mixed emotions running wild in his chest. “Nothing…just that I missed you too”, he said quietly, knowing that it was a lie.
She fixed her eyes on him for a moment, saying: “I’m glad you are here…lover. I have a great surprise for you tonight/”
“Really…and what is that?” he asked softly, feeling his heartbeat go back to normal.
“Ha…you are going to have to wait for it. But now…I’m hungry.”
He smiled at her, thinking that she was always hungry. “Well…let’s go eat”.
“Food…is not what I’m hungry for”, she said, and her voice was husky again, warm and inviting. He smelled the woman scent emanating from her and he felt his manhood responding to her instantly, his heart starting to beat against his ribs again. She smiled then, taking his hand and pulling him after her. In seconds, they were in her bed, frantically pulling clothes off, like lovers who had not seen each other in a long time. He could feel the wild running of his heart hammering painfully against his ribs, adrenalin rushing through his veins, all thoughts of her being implicated in the murders now gone. ‘She is hungry’, he thought, as she quickly took her clothes off, jumping in the bed ahead of him, her breathing coming in raggedy, fast. “Come on…come on…lover”, she said, again and again, urging him to move faster. He kicked his shoes and jeans off, putting the pistol and the handcuffs on the night stand, coming to her, finding her wet, ready for him. Her hand took hold of his manhood, guiding him in easily, her strong arms taking hold of him, her legs closing on him. He closed his eyes as he entered her, feeling himself melting in her heat, her powerful legs closing behind him, holding him in a vise grip, drawing him into her. Cries of pleasure rang in the room as he slid into her, moving, slowly at first, and then increasing the tempo, until she was bouncing on the bed and her cries reverberated in the small confines of the room. He felt himself exploding, her nails digging deep into his back, joining him in an ecstasy of pleasure that knew no bounds. A short time later, when his raging heart was finally subdued, he rolled from her, glancing at her face. The eyes were closed, the face serene, a slight film of sweat on her face. She opened her eyes, rolling off the bed in one swift move, standing up, stretching like a hunting cat satiated for the moment. She stood naked in front of him, not bothering to cover her body with a robe, proud of the way she looked.
“Now what?, he asked, eyes taking in the incredible body, the proud breasts, the long tapered legs with the powerful muscles moving underneath the skin.
“Now…you stay put. I have a wonderful wine that I just bought”. With that, she whirled around, exiting the room. In a matter of minutes she was back, holding two wine glasses. She handed one to Turner, who took it, starting to sip the cold, red liquid. “Damn, but it is some bitter wine”, he thought as he sipped again. He shook his head at the taste again and sipped some more, deciding he didn’t like it very much.
“Where is…this surprise” he asked, feeling a slight numbness on his tongue as he sipped some more of the wine.
Too damn dry, he thought, attempting to put the glass down on the carpet floor. He raised his eyes to see her looking at him, a look of concentration etched deeply on her face, the eyes hard and cold now, no hint of love or passion in them.
“What…what…” he started saying, his tongue thick, the glass falling from his nerveless fingers, the red liquid staining the carpet below like a river of blood. And then it hit him, all the misgivings and his sense of something not right coming to the surface in one quick rush. But it was too late.
He heard the laugh coming from her, something dry and mirthless and he knew that he had been right about her all along. She was the killer and now, he was her prey.
He tried to raise his head, to look at her, but it was as though he didn’t have any control over his body, his mind unable to give commands any more. With a supreme effort, he glanced at her, trying his best to focus his eyes, listening to her laugh, her eyes cold and hateful now.
“You bitch…you drugged me…you bitch.”
She laughed again, stepping to him. “Bitch…yes I’m your bitch. And now…you are really mine”.
He willed his body to move with an incredible effort, wondering what the hell she had put in that wine, cursing himself for being so stupid. His eyes glanced at the pistol, close to him, close but so far and he pushed himself from the bed, grunting with the effort, feeling his body tumbling from the bed, his face smacking the floor hard. He heard the laugh again and then his eyes closed and darkness took him.
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Mariska Mason sat on the bed and sipped the rest of her wine slowly, eyes fixed on the body of the man laying on the floor of her bedroom and a small grin flickered on her face momentarily. It had been so easy, she thought briefly, the wine and the drug. While he was in bed, thinking that he was such a wonderful lover, she had gone in the kitchen, mixing the wine with the drug, Ketamine and now he would be out for about an hour. The drug, also known as ‘Special k’ by veterinarians, was a powerful tranquilizer and she had given him enough to put him out for a while. Now he was powerless in her hands and soon, very soon, he would be dead just like the others before him. She finished the wine and stood up, still naked, bending down and lifting his inert body to her shoulder, grunting with the effort. She turned around, walking out of the room, stopping in front of her ‘special room’ and pushing the door open. She went inside, in darkness, bending down and dropping Turner unceremoniously on the floor, under the horizontal bar. She walked out again, coming back in seconds, Turner’s handcuffs on one hand and a small wooden stool on the other. She bent down, lifting him boldly, the muscles on her arms and legs swelling up, moving easily under her skin. One cuff went around his right hand and in moments, Turner was hanging from the horizontal bar, his body slumped, the only thing holding him the handcuffs. She stood back, eying him coldly and then she turned the soft amber light on and sat down on the carpet floor, the wooden box in front of her, the ancient, Viking battle axe laying to her side. She was ready and soon, Lt. Josh Turner would be dead. She closed her eyes, reaching for the weapon, her fingers caressing the cold metal, waiting…waiting.
Mariska Mason’s Apartment Chicago
11:30 pm
He woke up to complete silence, his head pounding and his eyes hurting. His mouth was dry and the mere attempt to swallow was painful. He worked some saliva into his mouth, moving his tongue, forcing himself to swallow. He breathed hard and deep and shook his head slowly, opening his eyes to slits, feeling his temples throbbing. He wondered what kind of drug she had given him and the effects, knowing that he had not ingested that much of the wine. He shook his head again, slowly and closed his eyes hard, letting his senses fill him with whatever was going on in the room. Silence, deep and unnatural was all he was able to feel. When his head quit swimming, he took stock of himself, realizing that he was hanging from the horizontal bar in the room he had checked in the morning, his own handcuffs encircling his wrist. They hurt like hell and he tried to take the pressure of them by raising his body with his toes. He tried his best not to move suddenly, wanting to give himself time to shake the effects of the damn drug, eyes glancing at the naked figure seated on the carpet, several objects in front of her. The room was in semidarkness and he squinted his eyes, breathing deeply to clear the cobwebs from his head, knowing that every second was important to him. Not that he had much hope of getting out of the mess he was in alive….but if he had a chance, he wanted to be ready. He glanced in her direction again, wondering what the hell she was up to, catching the glint of a metallic object in her hand. She put the object down and was quiet again, just an ephemeral presence more felt than seen in the shadows of the room.
She sat motionless on the floor, unmindful of him, eyes closed like a person in a trance, until suddenly, she moved, coming to her feet in one swift, fluid move.
She came to him, reaching for his face and cupping his chin in her hand, fingers digging painfully in his cheeks. He kept his eyes closed, body slumped, trying not to react to the pain.
“Are you awake…lover”, she asked, voice rough, husky, her soft breath washing over him, mixed with the smell of sweat and her woman scent. She held him for a moment longer and then she let his face go, stepping away from him. When he opened his eyes again, she was still there, a look of pure evil shining in her eyes, the face etched in rage. He fixed his eyes on her, fascinated by the change in her demeanor and the raw emotions taking control of her.
“I know you can hear me…lover.” She walked away, returning to the spot under the light, bending over and picking something up from the floor. In the semidarkness of the room and with his head swimming, it was impossible for him to see everything she was doing and he cursed silently, long and hard. She turned around, facing him again, walking to him. For a long moment she just looked at him, face upturned to see him better, and then she started talking, her words almost a whisper in the confines of the room.