Head Shot (A Thriller): A Crime and Suspense Thriller (13 page)

Forty-One

Hank Campbell's bar stool sagged under the weight of his enormous body. 

He picked up the empty beer pitcher in front of him and pushed it forward, across the bar, to the narrow ledge, where empty glasses and pitchers were put as a sign that their users wished them to be refilled.  It was the fourth time Hank had filled his pitcher.

The bartender, picked up the remote control and turned it to Channel 6 for
Nation’s Most Wanted
.  It was a big favorite among the regulars, but Hank was especially fond of the show, and if anyone wanted to watch something else, they had to deal with Hank.  Needless to say,
Nation’s Most Wanted
was never interrupted.

He refilled Hank's pitcher and placed it in front of the big man. 

Hank filled his glass and idly scanned the bar, which ran down the length of the establishment, then broke off and opened up into a pool room where two tables were in regular use.

A jukebox across the room and a group of tables occupied the rest of the bar.

Hank briefly looked over the bar's occupants, he knew everyone and figured there wouldn't be any trouble tonight, a fact he in which he was disappointed.  His job as bouncer here was unofficial, he really just did it for free beer and the enjoyment of cracking some skulls from time to time.

Not only was it fun and therapeutic, but Koshak, the bartender, usually came down and bailed him out of jail.  After all, eyewitnesses always testified that Hank acted in self-defense, and if there were any court costs or fine levied against Hank, the bar picked up the tab.  Their investment was rewarded many times over as Hank had the ability to end a bar fight with one punch.

As the cold beer slid down his throat, Hank returned his gaze to the television set where the show would soon start.

The bartender walked back from the small sink where he was unenthusiastically cleaning glasses, and stood near Hank.

"Did you hear they found a body over by Matawba?  I guess there's going to be something on the show about it," he said to Hank.

Hank shook his head.  As usual, he hadn't heard the latest news, unless it had to do with where the deer herd was moving.

For the last few years,
Nation’s Most Wanted
had been Hank Campbell's favorite television show, but it had also been a source of frustration for the big man.

He loved to see true crime, loved to see what was actually going on in the world.  But it also frustrated him.  Because these scumbags were always in Los Angeles or New York, none of these big time criminals ever came to Rodgers Bay.  This was just a little town where everyone knew each other and spent most of their time bitching about the weather.

But now thanks to Koshak's comment, the tiny motor that was Hank Campbell's mind spluttered to life. 

He had sudden visions of finding this asshole and kicking the ever living shit out of him, then turning what was left of the body over to the cops.  Maybe there'd even be a reward in it.  The damn 4x4 could use some new tires, too. 

But just think, he, Hank Campbell, could finally show these big city hoods a thing or two.  Those pussies wouldn't stand a chance.

"Turn it up, " he said.

Forty-Two

"Ron, it's about to start!"

Jesus, Ron thought to himself, his wife should have been an opera singer.

Ron Sharpe steadied himself on the ladder.  He was determined to fix this damn flue and still not miss the opening credits for tonight's
Nation’s Most Wanted
.

His son was going to be on tonight's show, after all.

Ron had spent the entire day trying to fix the roof on the east end of the house, which began leaking onto the ceiling of the guest bedroom.  Dark brown water stains had appeared in the morning, probably due to last night's rain.

The job, from start to now nearly finish, had been a total pain in the ass.

First, he tore apart the garage to get to the step ladder that hadn't been used in two or three years.  Fishing poles, scrap lumber, paint cans and God knows what else were draped all over it.

Then, when he put the ladder up against the house, his foot slipped and went through one of the windows, which he'd had to board up immediately as the rain clouds from the day before were still lingering.

Once up on the roof, he saw that the flue was completely rusted through and would need a new chimney sleeve and hat.

He then drove all the way to the Millersburg hardware store and back only to discover that it was too short, at which point he drove all the way back.  The hardware store owner cut him a piece of steel tubing to put the hat on, making sure it extended far enough to cover the exposed flue.

Now, however, he was close to being finished.

He just had to lay the rubber flashing around the pipe, tack it down, and he'd be done. 

The job took another minute or two and Ron hurriedly collapsed the ladder, raced to the garage and flung it haphazardly on top of the small Sunfish sailboat buried beneath a tarp and a pile of firewood.

He locked the door to the garage, then raced to the main cabin.

"How much time do I have?" he asked Rose upon entering the cabin.

She glanced at the clock.

"A minute and a half."

She took her seat and glanced at the clock.  Seven fifty-nine.

Ron stood and walked over to the fireplace and jabbed at the logs burning slowly.  He debated about throwing another one on the fire, but the forecast said it would be a cool night, not too cold, so he left the fire alone.

He turned and sat next to Rose, picking up a cracker along with the drink she had made for him.  Their eyes met and they smiled, both excited at the prospect of seeing Mike on television.  They knew he was working very hard and was frustrated at his progress, but to them, this show was a big deal.

They were proud of their son.

Forty-Three

Nancy Bishop collapsed on the bed next to her lover.

"Oh that was great," said Lieutenant Benjamin Soergel.

"So was it worth getting Trimble to send you up here?" she asked.

"You reporters ask such stupid questions.” 

She laughed and reached for the remote control, which was permanently affixed to the night table.  Who the hell stole remote controls?  She shook her head.  What was the world was coming to?

The t.v. flickered on with an electric fuzziness as the picture slowly came to life.

"Our boy's picture is about to be broadcast to millions, Ben."

"It's just work, work, work, isn't it?"

"We'll screw again right after the show, okay?"

"You're so romantic, Nancy."

They lay back and watched the commercials, both of them stroking each other's skin.

"Was Mitchell pissed when he saw you there?" he asked.

"He didn't show it, but I'm sure he was."

Soergel smiled.

"He's got a good poker face, I'll give him that."

"It must piss him off royally, not knowing who's giving me this information."

"Trimble isn't too happy about it, either."

"Makes him look just as bad," she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Exactly," he said and they both laughed.

"Does Mitchell know you're up here?"

"Not yet.  I'll hook up with him tomorrow."

"I bet he'll be happy about that," she said.

"Tough shit."

"Does he need the help?"

"I'm not up here to help.  I'm up here to blame him if he screws up, or steal the glory if he succeeds.  We both know that."

"You're a piece of work, Benjamin Soergel," Nancy said.  She glanced back at the television.

“Show’s on,” she said.

Forty-Four

The first thing Ray Mitchell noticed about Rodgers Bay Police Chief Don Lenzen was his afro.

It reminded Ray of Arlo Guthrie at Woodstock.  But Ray was guessing that Chief Lenzen couldn't play the guitar or sing worth a damn.

Lenzen offered his hand which Ray took, then the short man led Mitchell on a quick tour of the Rodgers Bay police station which consisted of a few cubicles, a receptionist's desk, a switchboard, and several holding cells.  The short trip completed, they wound up back in Chief Lenzen's office, which smelled like stale beer.  Several fish were mounted on the walls.

"I take it you're a fisherman?" Ray asked.

"We all are up here, it's the law," Lenzen replied with a laugh. 

Try as he might, Ray just couldn't visualize the man seated before him on a fishing boat or even in the woods.  Lenzen looked like he should be answering phones at the library's Ready Reference desk.

"Do you fish?" the Chief asked.

"I try to get out when I can," said Ray, "but now that I've got a daughter, I really have no time. On the off chance that I can free up some time on a Saturday morning, I'll go rent a small boat and go after some northern pike or muskie for a couple of hours."

Lenzen whistled.

"Muskie are tough, they say you have to cast ten thousand times for each legal fish you catch."

"That sounds about right to me," said Ray.  He let the ensuing silence hang for just a bit, and Lenzen took it up.

"What can I do for you, can I call you Ray?" 

"Sure."

"Okay, and you can call me Don."

"Okay, Don."

Ray sat back in his chair and drank from the Styrofoam cup in his hands.

"Ferkovich may or may not be headed here.  I talked to his sister and she seemed to be unaware of his whereabouts."

"Seemed?"

Ray was surprised that Lenzen caught his hedge.

"Couldn't put my finger on it, but I felt like she was keeping something from me."

Lenzen vigorously shook his head.

"Probably just the protective instincts of an older sister, no matter if he is a killer, he's still her little brother."  Lenzen shook some sugar into his cup of coffee and stirred it with a swizzle stick.  "But I know Mary, and I can't believe she'd keep anything from us.  She's a good egg."

Ray pretended to consider that before moving on.

"I've been working with a profiler from the FBI and they've offered assistance, but for the most part, they've left the investigation up to me, as I  worked the first murders,” Ray said."

"That's fine by me,” Lenzen said, with what sounded to Ray like relief.  “We’re all here to help.  We just want to put this guy away."

"Tonight,
Nation’s Most Wanted
  will air the Ferkovich story, and we'll wait to see if that springs any leads,” Ray said.  “In the meantime, we're doing all we can."

"I've got all my deputies on alert,” Lenzen responded.  “We're ready to move if anything breaks."

The Rodgers Bay police chief leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

"Why would he come here, though, if he knows everyone would be watching Mary?  It doesn't seem to make sense."

“Ferkovich is a psychopath, and he may not be thinking logically,” Ray said.  “He has an urge, a drive to kill against which he is completely powerless."

Ray drank the rest of his coffee in a gulp.

"Getting caught may not be his biggest concern right now."

"Then what is?" Lenzen asked.

"Finding his next victim."

Forty-Five

Joe Ferkovich set the bowl of popcorn on his lap, and turned on the television.

A commercial was on, so he stretched his arms and itched at the adhesive that the fake beard and mustache had left.

His headache, which yesterday had grown to monumental proportions, was receding, leaving a gently throbbing pressure along the middle of his forehead.  It would have been gone completely if his search at the park had been successful, but no one came along that presented the right opportunity.

Joe settled for pulling out a newspaper clipping with a picture of Lisa Young.

Ferkovich popped the top on a warm beer and slumped further back into the cushions of the bench seat.

His time behind bars was helping him deal with the claustrophobia on the boat.  The minute he had started to feel closed in he thought back to his little cell that had been his home for those years, and he felt much better.  Shit, this was like a well-furnished condo compared to that hellhole.

He popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth, lifted his legs up and set them on top of the small table in front of him, and chomped contentedly.

He looked across at the picture of Lisa Young.

"What do you say we just stay home tonight and watch the tube, honey?" he said.

"If you want to do something else, speak now, or forever hold your peace," he said, holding a hand to his ear.  "Okay, it's settled, we'll hang out here."

Ferkovich took a long pull from the beer.

"I say we watch
Nation’s Most Wanted
.  I suppose you want to watch a sitcom or something like that, don't you?"

Joe was disappointed the photo didn’t respond.  He could almost imagine the young woman’s mouth moving. 

The commercial came to an end and the opening sequence of the true crime show began.

Ferkovich clapped his hands together and looked at the photograph.

"See, now that's the hallmark of a great relationship.  Compromise.  That's one of the reasons I love you so much."