Illusions of Death (20 page)

Chapter 38

Karlyn sat on the sofa with her ankle propped up on two pillows. An ice bag rested on top. As a runner, she knew the drill of rest, ice, and elevation from previous mishaps. She’d begged Nelda not to tell anyone when the diner owner drove her home, but Mitchell Warner had stopped by after work. He’d checked the ankle over and wrapped it in an Ace bandage. He’d taken Lucky home with him so she didn’t have to worry about getting up to let the dog out.

Dr. Warner showed up again a few minutes ago, bringing a coffee cake fresh out of his wife’s oven. Karlyn assured him she would keep off the ankle till tonight’s dinner party. He assured her that he and Resa would swing by to pick her up so she wouldn’t have to drive.

She sat with her laptop open, trying to make sense of her notes on Roy. She finally gave up and closed the file as her cell rang. Caller ID informed her that her agent was on the line.

“Hi, Alicia. Do you have a question about the outline I emailed you? I know it was shorter than usual.”

Karlyn habitually stuck to a forty page detailed synopsis for each novel, but this time it ran less than ten pages. She assumed Alicia wanted some info filled in before she gave Karlyn her feedback.

“You are a genius, darling. I don’t know who’s more excited about this book, Candi or me. I love that you have even more twists than you normally do. And the pace is lightning quick. Writing that screenplay has certainly tightened up your fiction writing. This may be a first, but I don’t have a single suggestion or change for you.”

“Wait. You said
no
changes? Excuse me, is this Alicia Lindon, my agent? Either someone has stolen her phone, or Alicia’s had a breakdown and gone off the deep end. If word gets out that you had no editorial comments, your career will be in ruins.”

“Very funny, Karlyn. I have more to talk about than this Matt proposal, but first I want to know how fast you can write it. I think the studio would be interested in this as a movie. It would translate better to screen than some of your previous work.”

“I agree. I did have a movie running through my head as I wrote the outline. I don’t want to sound overconfident, but I think I could have a first draft in six to eight weeks. With rewrites, maybe three months before you see it finished.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. The reason I asked is that Zev Bruner called. He raved about the screenplay you and Chris wrote. And he was even more excited that you found this unknown, Dakota Smith, to play Matt.”

“You saw the pictures. This guy is simply gorgeous. Rugged, calm, and talented to the max.”

“I agree. Zev thinks he’ll be a major star. He’s inked him to a three-deal picture as Matt—if you agree for anymore novels to be turned into movies—but he also wants him to do something different. He doesn’t want him typecast as Matt. He’d like to put him in another film between Matt outings to show Dakota’s depth.”

“So how does this involve me?”

“Zev wants you and Chris to come up with an original treatment for Dakota. Something totally away from action/adventure. He said the sky’s the limit. Big budget or small. Your choice of genre. I’ve already talked to Chris’s agent to see if he’s willing. He said Chris couldn’t wait to work with you again, especially since Scorsese has decided to put his project on the back burner for now. This would give you the opportunity to create something fresh between the two of you.”

“Working with Chris on another screenplay for Dakota would be a dream come true. In fact, I’ll see him and Warren tonight at my mother’s dinner party. They’re in town for the weekend. We’d already planned to get together and run through some ideas. Now that we’ll have Dakota in mind, that will help us narrow the field. Did Zev give you any idea on the timeline?”

Alicia laughed. “It’s Zev, darling. He wants it done a month before yesterday. All Hollywood producers are rush-rush. Realistically, if you had a solid screenplay in six months, the timing would be perfect. Dakota would have finished filming his first starring role as Matt. That would give him a short break while pre-production went on for the new film.”

“And editing and post-production would be happening on the Matt piece. That way they could scout the locations needed, have the wardrobe meetings, and begin casting the new film. Wow. That’s a lot to take in.”

Karlyn paused a moment. “Oh, shit! You want me to write my new Matt book
and
this screenplay at the same time? That’s insane! Not to mention we’re getting married next weekend. You’re still coming, I hope.”

Her agent chuckled. “I wouldn’t miss it. Oh, Karlyn, you’re golden now. You yourself said this Matt book would move quickly. Maybe you and Chris can come up with the storyline this weekend for the screenplay. Chris could take a first pass at it while you write your novel. It’s doable. I have faith in you, darling.”

Her phone beeped. She glanced and saw the low battery signal flashing. Great, her phone charger was upstairs. She better wrap up their conversation before the juice ran out.

“Okay, I’ll talk this over with Chris. Brainstorm. See what we come up with. I’ll get back to you first thing Monday morning with what we’ve decided.”

“That sounds lovely. Kisses to Logan. See you in person next Friday.”

Karlyn hung up and set her cell back on the coffee table. She wondered what she might be getting herself into, but a part of her was thrilled to have several irons in the fire. She adored Chris. She appreciated Zev Bruner’s organization and drive. She always worked best when under pressure.

A loud pounding disturbed her thoughts. She removed the ice bag from her bum ankle and hobbled to the door.

Brad waited on the porch. “I think your doorbell’s still on the fritz.” He handed her a cane. “I ran into Doc Warner. He said you’d sprained your ankle. I had this sitting in my closet. Thought it might come in handy.”

She saw her mother’s car pull up at the curb and waved.

Brad looked over his shoulder. “Looks like you’ll be in good hands with Martha. Stay off the ankle. You don’t want to limp at the wedding next week.”

“I plan to park myself on the sofa and write all day. Then go to Mother’s dinner party tonight. Would you like to come?”

He flashed a smile. “Thanks for the invite, but I’ve got tickets to the Braves tonight. An old friend came to Atlanta on business. I’m actually cutting out of work early to meet him for dinner and the game.”

Martha Campbell stepped onto the porch. “Hello, Brad.”

“Good morning, Martha. Sorry, I’ve got to run. I just dropped a cane off for Karlyn to use the next couple of days. Get better, Karlyn.”

Karlyn tested the cane as her mother came through the door. She liked the support it gave her. “I’ve got coffee cake if you’re in the mood.”

“One piece will do it for me. Nelda’s promised something rich and decadent for dessert tonight.”

Her mother stayed a few minutes and then made sure Karlyn was settled on the sofa with her laptop and ice bag before she left.

Karlyn thought of everything on her plate and decided the Roy book would have to go on hold indefinitely. Matt and Dakota called her muse instead. She opened her laptop up and began her new Matt Collins book.

“Martha, it was a wonderful dinner,” Mitchell Warner told the group. “But I’ve got a six-thirty tee time. Resa and I need to head home and get some shut eye. Karlyn, are you ready to go?”

Before she could answer, Chris spoke up. “Warren and I can run Karlyn home. I want to talk shop with her for a few minutes.”

Warren sighed. “I thought buying our weekend getaway place in Walton Springs would mean plenty of good food and company. With no thoughts of work.” He smiled at Nelda. “You must come to Atlanta and cater something for us, love. Those chicken and dumplings were to die for.”

Karlyn laughed. “And I don’t think any of us had trouble finding room for the double chocolate brownies.”

Chris brought her purse and cane. She hugged her mother, Nelda, Marge, and Anne goodbye, while Resa told her to call if she needed anything before Logan got back in town tomorrow night.

She got her first glimpse of the new SUV Chris purchased the week before. “I really like this. It makes me think I need to turn in my rental and buy something similar.”
Especially if we have children.
Thoughts of car seats and carpooling made her smile.

“If we’re going to spend some weekends at our new lake house, we needed something with a lot of room,” Warren explained. “My Porsche and Chris’s BMW convertible aren’t practical.”

Chris pulled out of her mother’s driveway and headed east.

“I think Anne monopolized the two of you tonight,” Karlyn told the pair. “We barely had a chance to talk.”

“She has some fabulous ideas how to furnish the cottage,” Warren said. “And she’s gotten in some pieces at the antique store that we’re looking at tomorrow.”

Chris chimed in, “That’s your department, Warren. Buy whatever you want for the new house. Tomorrow morning Karlyn and I need to work up a treatment for Dakota’s second film.” He looked in the rearview mirror. “So what are you thinking, Karlyn? Anything stand out?”

“I toyed with a few ideas this afternoon. Romantic comedy with mistaken identity seemed like a fun twist. Something like
While You Were Sleeping
.”

“What about a period piece?” Warren asked. “Dakota looks like a cowboy. He’s from a cowboy kind of state. Why not do something western?”

“Definitely no,” Chris disagreed. “Westerns are usually action-driven. Since Dakota’s turn as Matt is full of physical sequences, we need to steer away from that if we’re going to broaden Dakota’s appeal.” He paused. “Dystopian’s hot now.”

“No way,” she said. “I don’t know much about it. It’s really not my cup of tea. And with having to turn out a new Matt book while I’m working on this screenplay, I don’t have time to immerse myself in the genre and do research for it.”

“Then let’s stick with romantic comedy. Dakota’s got a wicked sense of humor. I’d like to see that come to life on screen.” Chris turned into her driveway. “Is nine too early to start?”

“Not at all,” she said. “I already have a coffee cake Resa baked. I’ll have the coffee on, so both of you come for breakfast.”

“Great. I’m hoping we can firm up our idea and knock out a short outline.” Chris looked at Warren. “I’d also like us to hike around the lake some. See our property.” He turned to Karlyn. “Marge assured me we have a dock area, so we’re thinking about buying a cigarette boat.”

“Sounds good.” Karlyn eased from the car. Chris jumped out from the driver’s seat and took her arm to help her walk up the front steps. She unlocked the door and punched in the alarm code. He kissed her cheek. She waved to Warren and watched them pull out.

She closed and locked the door and decided to gather her laptop from the den before heading upstairs. She didn’t want to have some terrific idea for either Matt or Dakota and have to manage coming back down the stairs for her computer. As she crossed the foyer she remembered she hadn’t set the alarm.

Karlyn backtracked toward the front door and the alarm keypad. A knock sounded at the door. Karlyn bet Chris already had an idea and had returned to put a bug in her ear to sleep on. She put her laptop on the entryway table and eased over to the door, happy that the cane gave her some relief. She threw the deadbolt and opened the door, ready to tease Chris, and found Brad Patterson standing on the porch instead.

Chapter 39

“I’ve been eating here since I was transferred to Atlanta,” Bill Rutherford told Logan as they entered the crowded Italian eatery.

A round-faced gentlemen in his late fifties greeted them, kissing Bill on both cheeks. “Mr. Bill, we have missed you.”

“Long hours with this Rainbow Killer case, Pietro. How’s Carmelita?”

Pietro kissed his fingers. “My angel is gone to Savannah for a week.”

“So the grandbaby finally arrived?”

“Yes. She’s a beauty.” The
maître d’
showed the men a picture of a chubby cheek baby with a headful of dark hair. They raved over his good looks, and then Pietro showed them to a corner table.

“I’ll bring the wine. You want the usual? And your friend?”

Logan shrugged. “I’ll have whatever he’s having, food and drink.”

“Then I bring bread and wine first. Don’t talk no business. You need to relax.”

Logan eased back against the black vinyl booth. It had been a long day, crammed full of exchanging information and tossing about theories. A glass of wine would help take the edge off the tension coiled in his body.

Pietro brought an overflowing breadbasket and wine bottle to the table. He uncorked it and admonished them to let it breathe for a few minutes.

As he left, Rutherford looked at him. “What are your career goals, Logan?”

“Considering I’ve just run for public office and now serve as police chief of Walton Springs, I think I’ve done pretty well for myself. Let me get some time in on that job, and then I’ll get back to you.”

“Don’t you miss the challenge of the job you did in Atlanta? Homicide squad at your age? Clearance rate of over eighty percent?”

He frowned. “Why are you asking, Bill?”

“Because I think you should come to work for the bureau.” He waved away Logan’s protest. “You have a fine mind. You see connections others miss. You—”

“Then why can’t I catch Roy?”

“Hell, we have some of the best minds working on Roy. He’s eluded us all. Still, you picked up on the break in the colors. It was subtle. Not much difference between indigo and violet. But I believe you’re onto something.”

“That’s one misstep on Roy’s part, Bill. It doesn’t mean that’ll be his downfall. It could mean something. It could mean nothing. He might be playing us. Wanting us to go off in some wild direction. Or more likely? We haven’t discovered the indigo-painted body yet.” He paused and decided to come clean. “Frankly, I don’t want or need to work for the FBI.”

“Is it your upcoming marriage? That holding you back?”

“No,” Logan said slowly, choosing his words carefully because he liked Bill Rutherford. “I like working and living in the Springs. Small town America is the backbone of this country. I want to raise a family there. With the bureau, I’d be stationed in some far off place which would switch every couple of years if my evaluations went well. Then I’d finally work myself up to a position in a major city like Chicago or L.A. I don’t want to be a nomad and drag my family around the country.”

He saw the wheels turning in the profiler’s head. “What if we hired you as a consultant? A freelancer. You could be based in Walton Springs.”

Logan shook his head firmly. “No. That would mean nonstop travel, to wherever the next killer struck. Worse, it would include climbing into the mind of some of the worst people on the planet. That’s not for me, Bill. Thanks, but no thanks.”

He took the bottle and poured each of them a generous glass. They talked of inconsequential things until the food arrived, and they dug into their lasagna and bowls of spaghetti and meatballs with gusto.

When they finished the meal, Logan returned to his car. On the spur of the moment, he decided to drive back to the Springs. He’d viewed Saturday’s agenda and didn’t see anything that was worth staying another night. He thought about returning to the hotel for his overnight bag.

But that meant fifteen minutes the other direction, parking and packing, then another fifteen back. The thought of touching Karlyn was a stronger lure. If he left now from this side of town, he could be home in a little more than half an hour.

He punched in Rick’s number and got his voicemail. “Hey, roomie. I’m heading back to the Springs. Would you throw my stuff in my bag and bring it with you? Nothing in there I can’t live without for a day or two. Thanks, buddy.”

He fiddled with the radio. Nothing but commercials, so he turned it off. He thought about telling Brad how someone named Nixon had run the workshop. His partner would get a kick out of that. Brad would have to come up with some new trivia that he hadn’t shared. Logan already had absorbed that Tricky Dick was a cursing Quaker who played a mean piano. And that Nixon’s daughter Julie married Ike’s grandson David.

Maybe if he could land a spot on
Who Wants to be a Millionaire
and have Brad as his lifeline, he might win enough to redo the kitchen and master bathroom.

As long as the category was presidents.

Presidents . . .

It hit him like a blinding light.

The pattern. Roy’s pattern. His victims all shared a name with that of a president. So simple. So easy. And yet so hard to detect when law enforcement factored in the usual parameters—gender, ethnicity, occupation, religion.

Logan wheeled off at the next exit and pulled onto the side of the road. He grabbed his phone and Googled
Presidents
. Clicked on the Wikipedia list that came up.

“Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Mon—” He froze. “That’s the pattern.”

Cyndee Washington, the Asian hooker, was first. Then architect Jerry Adams. Claudia Jefferson. Jorge Madison and Clyde Monroe. Not only was Roy killing people who shared a surname with a president—but he was doing it in chronological order.

He mentally ran through the first seven victims in the Rainbow Killing spree. Number six had been Jared Quincy. The sixth president was John Quincy Adams. A clever but subtle twist.

He continued down the list. Victim Eleven had been Beth Marie Sizemore. Once again, a slight variation. No President Sizemore had ever been sworn into office.

But Beth Marie’s maiden name had been Polk.

Logan stared at the list on his phone. The skip in sequence stood out. After Mario Taylor, Roy should’ve followed with indigo and a Pierce. Instead, he offed a painted Bucky Buchanan in violet.

Why hadn’t they already found the indigo body? It wasn’t like Roy to kill a victim who wouldn’t be discovered within twenty-four hours. Or if Roy had deliberately skipped Pierce for a reason, what was it?

“Oh, God!”

He dropped his phone. Frantically grabbed for it. Went to his favorites and listened to the ringing. “Pick up.
Pick up!”
He waited a moment. Shit! Voice mail.

Logan let the greeting play and then let his police training kick in. It even surprised him how calm he sounded.

“Karlyn, call me when you get this. I know you were going to your mom’s tonight, so I’ll try you there.”

He quickly scrolled and found Martha’s number as his stomach twisted in knots. “Hi, Martha, it’s Logan. Karlyn wasn’t answering her cell. I thought I’d try her at your place to see if she’s still there.”

“No, Logan. She left not too long ago with Chris and Warren when your parents left. Mitchell’s playing golf early tomorrow, so things broke up a little early. It’s just us old ladies left, sipping wine and gossiping.”

“Thanks. I’ll try her on her cell again. Maybe she was in the shower and missed my call.”

“Did you know she sprained her ankle while she was out jogging yesterday?”

“No. She didn’t tell me.” Because she wouldn’t have wanted me to worry. Skip out of the conference. Come home to her.

“I think it was starting to bother her some. Poor dear, I’m sure she took some aspirin and planned to go straight to bed. She may have turned her phone off in order to get some rest. She and Chris are working on something tomorrow for Dakota Smith.”

Logan’s hand tightened on the phone. “Thanks anyway, Martha. See you when I get home.” He hung up and redialed Karlyn’s cell. Again, voice mail came on.

All he could see was their marriage license application filled out, ready for them to submit this week. With her birth certificate as proof of identity.

Stating her name as Karlyn Pierce Campbell.

Karlyn was Roy’s next victim
.

And the Rainbow Killer had waited for Logan to leave town.

He jerked the car in gear and slammed his foot to the floorboard.