Cold Judgment (12 page)

CHAPTER 17

At last Debbie was asleep. Her arm was resting on his chest and Mac moved it very gently. He was surprised at how much it weighed. Debbie was small. The top of her head just fit beneath his chin and she couldn't tip the scales at much more than a hundred pounds, but when she was sleeping, her arm was dead weight.

Dead weight. That phrase brought up all sorts of gruesome images. Mac slid out of bed, slowly, so he wouldn't wake Debbie. There was no way he could go to sleep now. He had to decide what to do.

Mac froze with one foot on the floor as Debbie rolled over. She reached out toward his side of the bed. For a moment Mac thought she'd awaken, but she just sighed and wrapped her arms around his pillow. She was still sound asleep.

He inched his other leg out from under the covers, careful not to pull the blankets with him. He found his robe on the chair and slid his arms into the sleeves. His slippers were under the bed and he felt around in the dark until he located them. Then he tiptoed out of the room, holding them in his hand.

The kitchen floor was tiled. Mac knew how cold it could get in the winter.

He stopped in the hallway to pull on his slippers, first the left and then the right. He guessed that meant he was still left footed. When he'd been in third grade, Miss Wozniak had tested him. He'd held the pencil in his right hand, so he was right handed. He'd looked through the toy telescope with his right eye and that meant he was right eyed. He'd put on his jacket right sleeve first. That meant he was right armed. Then she had asked him to put on his gym shoes.

Mac had been tired of the tests by this time. He'd wanted to join the rest of the kids on the playground. He'd grabbed the sneaker that was nearest and put it on. It was the left.

“Richard Macklin? You're inconsistent!” She had frowned and written a note on his pink health record card. “It's a wonder you read as well as you do!”

Mac had decided to put on his left shoe first from then on. Miss Wozniak watched him for the whole year, especially when they got ready for recess or gym. Mac had been very careful always to put on the left first, in sneakers and boots and ice skates. Miss Wozniak had covered his little pink record card with her notes. Mac supposed it was still in his file, somewhere in the basement of Whitney Elementary School.

The thermostat was turned down for the night and Mac pushed it up a little. Reddy Kilowatt, the NSP cartoon character, advised homeowners to turn their heat down at least ten degrees at night. That worked just fine if you stayed in bed under the covers, but there was a cold draft out here in the hall.

The cold didn't usually bother Mac, but tonight he was shivering. A bowl of Debbie's chili would warm him up.

The chili was gone. Mac sighed as he remembered polishing off the last at the table. He had eaten three enormous bowls. Debbie's cooking was great. If he wasn't careful, he'd have to buy bigger clothes.

He switched on the light over the kitchen table. Some hot soup would do the trick. There was a collection of Cup O'Noodles in the bottom cupboard and Mac picked out a chicken flavor. He'd practically lived on this freeze-dried stuff before Debbie had moved in. It was quick and easy, and it filled him up. That had been his criteria for eating at home. There were also no dirty dishes, a definite plus.

Mac boiled water in the tea kettle and poured it into the white Styrofoam cup. While he was waiting the three minutes for it to do what it was supposed to do, he went to the refrigerator for a beer.

The top shelf was filled with bottles and cans. Mac grinned. He had kidded Debbie about buying the Newcastle Ale. He'd said he felt guilty drinking imported beer when so many good brands were made right here in Minnesota. Debbie had obviously taken him seriously. Now he had a choice between Hamm's, Grain Belt, Cold Spring, Kato, North Star, Old Milwaukee, and New Ulm. The whole top shelf was stocked with local brands.

Mac pulled out a Cold Spring Export and opened it. His soup was ready and he peeled off the lid. He looked at the list of ingredients as he stirred it, but he stopped reading abruptly when he came to xanthan gum. It was probably something perfectly ordinary, but he didn't want to lose his appetite.

The soup didn't taste as good as he remembered. Mac finished half of it and threw the rest in the garbage. Debbie's cooking had spoiled him for anything else.

He had delayed long enough. Mac pulled out the silverware drawer in his old-fashioned table and took out a notebook and pen. Before he could sleep tonight, he had to make a decision. He divided a blank page into four sections, one each for Doug, Jerry, Greg, and Father Marx. Under Doug's and Greg's he wrote
Accident/Suicide
. Jerry's and Father Marx's were labeled
Murder
.

Two out of four. Would Captain Meyers believe him if he voiced his suspicions? There was no evidence of foul play in Doug's death. And none in Greg's. The group knew that Greg was unlikely to burn his collection, but an investigation would reveal that Greg had a long-standing problem with fire. It was only natural to assume that Greg had set the fire himself, and there was no proof to the contrary.

That was the problem. No hard evidence. Jerry's death was obviously a murder, but nothing linked it to Father Marx's. Jerry was shot while jogging. A random killing. Father Marx was stabbed. The moment Captain Meyers heard about the smashed statue, he would suspect the murderer was some nut with a hard-on against the Catholic Church.

Mac knew the captain would at least listen to his theory of group murders. He might even believe that someone was killing the group off, one by one, for some crazy reason. But first he'd have to discount Mac's emotional involvement with the victims and his possible impaired judgment because of that involvement. He'd have to overlook the fact that there wasn't a shred of hard evidence, that all Mac had were hunches and suspicions. Assuming the captain didn't conclude that Mac was having another mental breakdown, what would he do?

Captain Meyers would ask for the names of the remaining members of the group. It was only logical that he'd assign police protection to each member until the killer was caught.

Mac flipped over the paper and frowned as he drew a line down the middle.

He had two choices. He could give the captain the names. Or he could refuse. What would happen if he gave out the names?

Kay would certainly suffer. If the news leaked out that the mayor's wife was in therapy, Charles would be dead at the polls.

How would it affect Nora? Mac stared down at the paper and sighed. Nora's gay life would be exposed, but Mac doubted it would ruin her career. Actresses were allowed some leeway by virtue of their profession. They were expected to be exotic. Nora would cringe at the publicity, but that was about it.

And Debbie? Of course she'd be upset, but her career wouldn't suffer. The real problem lay in Debbie's reaction to him. If he went behind her back and gave her name to the captain, she'd never be able to trust him again. She'd leave him. Debbie wouldn't live with a man she couldn't trust.

Trust was the big problem. If he went to the captain without the group's permission, they'd all suffer, one way or the other. The group would have to disband. Mutual trust was what kept them together, and it would be sacrificed in the interest of safety.

Mac drew a heavy
X
through the left side of the paper. He couldn't give the captain the names. What would happen when he refused?

The captain would be angry, of course. He'd probably accuse Mac of withholding evidence and he might even put him up on charges. That would be bad for him personally, but there was an even greater danger. The killer would be free to strike again. And again. How would he feel if Kay were killed because he'd refused to give her name to the captain? Or Nora? Or, God forbid, Debbie?

Mac shuddered. Suddenly he felt very exposed sitting in the circle of light at the table. Someone could be watching out there in the dark, planning a nice quiet way to kill him.

He reached up and found the light switch, plunging the kitchen into darkness. He listened alertly, cataloging every sound. The furnace kicked in. It was loud in the stillness. The roof creaked. Mac stood up cautiously and looked out the kitchen window. The snow was fresh and unbroken outside. No one was there. He was being paranoid.

Mac snapped on the light again. The killer always struck when the victim was alone. He would have to operate under that assumption or this constant vigilance would drive him up the wall.

Back to the paper. He couldn't give the captain the names of the surviving members. That much was clear. Would the captain assign him to the case anyway?

Not a chance. Mac sighed. He'd probably be on suspension pending investigation by the board. He could still work on the case on his own, but he'd have no direct access to police records or sources of information. His hands would be tied on the most critical case of his life.

He couldn't bring it up to the captain at all. Mac drew another
X
, this time through the right side of the page. There had to be something else he could do.

What would happen if they went to the captain in a group? Then the captain would have to do something. At least Kay, Nora, and Debbie would have police protection.

It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the best of the lot. Mac really doubted that he could talk them into it, but he'd bring it up in the morning. If they all agreed, there'd be no breach of trust.

He had the first option now, but Mac believed in being prepared. He still had to decide what to do if they refused to go to the captain.

Of course he'd try to protect them himself. That went without saying. And he would conduct a personal investigation on his own time. If he could discover the identity of the killer, there would be no need to bring the captain in until the very end.

It was three in the morning when he finally crawled into bed beside Debbie. He inched over and curled his body around her warm back. Debbie mumbled a word in her sleep. It sounded like
darling
. Mac smiled in the darkness and closed his eyes.

CHAPTER 18

Kay hung up the phone and went straight to the bottle of Baileys Irish Cream that was sitting out on the counter. Charles had suggested a nightcap when they'd gotten home from the concert last night. Even though it was barely nine in the morning, Kay poured a generous shot in her coffee. She needed something to steady her nerves.

Mac had called just after Charles had left for the office. The kids had gone with him to do some Christmas shopping downtown. In a way, Kay was glad she was alone. At least she didn't have to pretend that nothing was wrong.

She sat down at the kitchen table and gripped the mug with both hands. Trish had made it for her in ceramics class last year. It had a yellow smiling face on one side.

Ralph whined at her feet. He knew something was wrong. Kay tossed him the toast from her plate. The eggs had congealed and the sausage was cold and greasy. The thought of eating it made her gag.

“Here you go, boy.” Kay set the whole plate down on the floor. Ralph's tail thumped ecstatically against the table leg. At least someone was happy this morning.

Kay raised the mug to her lips and drank. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she didn't know how to stop them. The group would be here in thirty minutes, but for the first time, she didn't care about the mess. The breakfast dishes could stay piled in the sink. The unmade beds could wait. Poor Father Marx. What had he done to deserve such a violent death?

Ralph finished the last of the eggs and lay down at her feet, his head resting against her blue satin slipper. Kay picked him up and cuddled him. His little pink tongue came out to lick her cheek.

They could meet right here, in the kitchen. There was plenty of room at the table. There were only the four of them now. The thought made her start to cry again. Kay gave Ralph one more pat and got up resolutely. She'd try to stay busy until they came.

First she'd wipe off the table. There were crumbs from Trish's English muffin, and her jar of clover honey had left a sticky ring on the Formica. A capless bottle of Louisiana Hot Sauce sat by James's place. He refused to eat his eggs without it. A pile of fatty bacon pieces were rolled in his napkin. James had a disgusting habit of tearing the bacon apart and only eating the lean parts. Charles never left a mess when he ate, but his newspaper was in its usual untidy pile.

Kay tossed the whole napkin on the floor. It would keep Ralph busy for a while. She ran hot water in the sink and washed off the honey jar. Then she put the cap on the hot sauce and stuck it back in the cupboard. The newspaper went in the trash. She didn't feel like reading about world problems today.

Her eyes were puffy and it was hard to see as she wiped off the table. If she thought about Father Marx anymore, she'd never be able to make the coffee. At least Nora couldn't make any cracks about overactive imaginations this morning. She'd have to admit they were right. Four of them were dead and even Mac was nervous now.

Kay ran water in the pot and ground the coffee beans. Two of the filters were stuck together and she used her fingernail to separate them. She moved the dial on the basket to Strong and flicked on the switch. It seemed she was acting in slow motion. Even routine tasks took twice as much time as they usually did. There was no way she could make her appointments this afternoon. She was barely functioning on a minimal level.

At last the coffee was ready. Kay set out cups and saucers. She didn't have anything to serve with the coffee, but no one would feel like eating, anyway. She grabbed the bottle of Baileys and set it in the middle of the table. That was more like it. Maybe she wasn't the only one who felt the need for a drink.

 

 

“I'll drive you over there, Nora.” Elena took the car keys from Nora's shaking fingers. “It's no problem. Hope can take my dance class this morning.”

All Elena had to do was look at Nora to tell she was in no condition to drive. She moved like a sleepwalker as she took her cape from the hanger and slipped it on. Her eyes were red from crying, and her voice quavered as she gave Elena directions. Maybe the group meeting would help, but Elena doubted it. As she wound her way through the morning traffic on Hennepin, Elena began to plan out what to say if Nora couldn't go on tonight.

“They were right, Elena.” Nora turned toward her on the seat. “Kay said someone was killing us off and I laughed at her!”

“You're forgetting about the vandalism, Nora.” Elena deliberately kept her voice calm and emotionless. “Maybe the same person who smashed the statue came back to kill Father Marx. It could be some nut who hates the Catholic Church. He might not know anything about your group. The whole thing could be a total coincidence.”

“Four dead out of eight?” Nora's voice had a hysterical edge. “Do you know what the odds are on something like that, Elena? They're astronomical!”

“Easy, Nora. It's all right.” Elena pulled up behind the Toyota in the driveway and shut off the engine. “I'll wait for you right here.”

“Oh, don't be an asshole, Elena! Come inside where it's warm.”

Nora saw the hurt expression that crossed Elena's face and she reached out to hug her. “I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just so damned upset! Come inside with me. I'll feel a lot better if I know you're not freezing out here.”

“Well . . . if you're sure it's all right.” Elena got out of the car. “I don't want to intrude, Nora. Really I don't. I know your group meetings are private.”

Nora took Elena's arm and pulled her to the door. “No one'll mind, darling. Kay'll give you a cup of coffee and you can wait for me in the den. You might as well meet the group while there's still a couple of us left.”

 

 

“Absolutely not!” Kay set her coffee mug down so hard it rattled. “You know my position, Mac. I can't admit I'm in therapy!”

“At least let me try to get you a security aide, then. We can make up some story about a threat on your life.”

“I turned down a security aide when Charles took office three years ago. I told the press it was a waste of the taxpayers' money. There's no way I can accept one now.”

“How about you, Nora? We could leave Kay out of it and you and Debbie could go to the captain with me.”

“Count me out.” Nora frowned. “Elena and I can't afford to have our private lives exposed. Minneapolis is still provincial in a lot of ways. Parents would pull their kids out of our workshop.”

“But you'd be a lot safer with a security aide.”

Nora stuck a cigarette in her holder. Her hand was shaking so hard she had trouble lighting it.

“I can't live my life with a cop following me around. I'd go batty, Mac! Look at me. I'm a wreck already. And I've got an opening tonight!”

There was a crash from the living room and Mac jumped up. A second later Ralph raced into the room. There was a plastic Santa Claus in his mouth.

Mac went to check the living room. When he came back he was grinning. “Ralph must think Christmas is over, Kay. He's taking down the tree for you. All the ornaments are gone from the bottom branches.”

“Oh, Ralph! You scared me half to death!” Kay's laughter was very close to hysteria. She scooped up the little dog and held him tightly.

“We tried to train him, but it didn't work. Now we hang plastic ornaments on the bottom for him. Ralph takes them off and we put them back. It's turned into his favorite game.”

Mac took Debbie's hand. She had turned white when she'd heard the crash from the living room. Now the color was slowly returning to her face.

“You'll go to Captain Meyers with me, won't you, Debbie?”

“You know I'll do anything for you, but I don't see the point. I've already got my police protection.”

Nora ground out her cigarette in the ashtray. “I know what's going through your head, Mac. If you go to the captain without our permission, I'll never speak to you again!”

“If I don't tell the captain, you might not speak to anyone again.”

Nora shuddered. The coffee sloshed from her cup and her hands shook as she mopped it up with a napkin.

“There has to be another way, Mac.” Debra swallowed hard. “Isn't there anything we can do that doesn't involve the police?”

“We can make sure we're never alone. So far the killer's struck only when the victim is alone. That's about it, Debbie. If someone really wants to kill you, they can think up a million ways to do it.”

“You have to catch him, Mac!” Kay held Ralph so tightly, he whimpered in protest. “I . . . I can't stand it much longer. He's going to kill us all!”

“I'll stay on top of it, I promise.” Mac reached over to rescue Ralph. “Let's all calm down and use our heads. Try to think of anyone you know who'd want to kill off our group.”

Debra clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “Maybe it's like
The List of Adrian Messenger
. Without realizing it, we may know something about the killer that could hurt him if it got out. That could be the motive for . . . for getting rid of us.”

“Oh, my God!” Kay looked ready to faint. “I know who it is!”

“Easy, Kay.” Mac put his arm around her shoulders. “Just take it nice and slow. Deep breaths. Nice and easy, that's right.”

It took a full minute before Kay could speak. Tears of fright rolled down her cheeks. “It's the governor! He knows the party will suffer if anyone finds out I'm in therapy. He's got to kill all of us so nobody can talk!”

“Oh, forget it, Kay! You're flipping out again.” Nora slid her chair closer to Kay's and reached for her hand. “Be reasonable now. The governor's not a killer.”

“Yes, he is!” Kay's voice shook with terror. “He knew you wouldn't believe me. He counted on that!”

“I believe you, Kay.”

There was a long, tense moment as Kay stared into Mac's eyes. She swallowed hard.

“You do?”

“You bet I do! That's the first thing you learn when you're a cop. Everyone's a suspect—until you clear them. Let's see if we can find out where the governor was last night.”

“I'll call the paper.” Debra jumped up from her chair. “They'll know his schedule.”

Nora slid another cigarette into her holder and lit it. She laughed and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “A killer runs amok in high government circles, terrorizing a cop, a reporter, and an actress. Only the mayor's wife knows the truth.”

She patted Kay's hand. “All right, Kay. It sounds like a bad soap opera, but I'll try to keep an open mind.”

Debra came back to the kitchen, shaking her head. “The governor was in St. Cloud last night for a jazz festival at the college. He introduced Woody Herman and the New Thundering Herd. The car left the capitol at five and didn't get back until midnight.”

“I . . . I guess I was wrong.” Kay dropped her eyes and stared at the table. She was clearly embarrassed. “I'm sorry. In the back of my mind I knew it was crazy, but I just couldn't help it.”

Mac refilled Kay's coffee mug and handed it to her. “That's all right, Kay. Tell me if you have any more suspicions. I don't care how crazy they sound. We'll check everything out. It's the only way to be sure.”

Nora took a deep breath. “I think we should call Dr. Elias. I know it's wrong to bother him now, but he might be able to help.”

“It's too late.” Debra blinked back tears. “I tried to call him this morning, but the answering service said he was gone. He's paid up through December, but he told them to stop taking messages.”

“He could be in a hospital somewhere.” Kay's voice was a whisper. “Or maybe he's already dead. It's so awful!”

“That means we're really on our own.” Mac cleared his throat. “There's nobody else to help us, unless you reconsider. I still think our best bet is to go to the captain and level with him. He'll do his best to keep it under wraps.”

“But, Mac!” Kay looked up, suddenly alarmed. “Won't he suspect one of us?”

“I've got an airtight alibi, but it's slightly embarrassing.” Nora began to smile. “Elena and I went out for an early dinner and then we stopped at a bar downtown. I got so smashed I danced on the table.”

Even though she was still scared, Kay started to grin. She could guess what kind of bar it was and the type of dance that Nora had done.

“Trish and I made the rounds of the hospitals in the afternoon. Last night we all went to the
Messiah
. I didn't get home until after eleven.”

Debra looked worried. “What time was Father Marx killed? I was at Mac's house all afternoon by myself.”

“I checked on that this morning. The coroner says between six and seven.”

“That means I don't have an alibi!”

“Yes, you do.” Mac nodded. “Your car was parked on the street when the snowplow came through on the afternoon run. It was completely blocked in. I dug it out this morning.”

“Well! We're all in the clear!” Nora sighed extravagantly. “You were at work, right, Mac?”

“Nope. I signed out at four to go to the range. I was there an hour. Then I drove around running address checks until seven. I had plenty of time to stop by the church and kill Father Marx.”

“But you didn't!” Debra looked shocked. “We don't believe that for a second, Mac!”

“I didn't . . . but I could have.” Mac sighed. “Looks like I'm the only one without an alibi.”

“You're in the clear.” Nora grinned triumphantly. “The killer shot Jerry with a gun! We all know you can't shoot your gun!”