No Ordinary Killer (32 page)

“What would you say if I told you I paid some druggy
on the street five hundred dollars for that lady’s hand? I use the word
lady
loosely. I’m surprised you
recognized the wedding ring, although I was hoping you would. Did it almost
make you shit your pants when you saw it?”

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you. When I’m done, you’ll have a private
suite at the penitentiary of your choice. Well maybe not your choice. Your life
will be destroyed … just like you destroyed mine. You better get on the road,
cowboy. Time’s a wastin’”

The dial tone screamed. All three of them stared at
it, almost afraid to touch it. Dallas picked it up and pressed
end
. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Pete,
we need to borrow your Jeep.”

“Like hell. You heard him. Tell no one. Call no one.
Come alone.”

* * *

Darkness surrounded her. Megan fought the slamming
headache that nearly brought her to tears. Good God, she was in the trunk of a
car. Her skin itched everywhere it touched the blanket she was wrapped in. She
was allergic to wool, but that was the least of her worries. The car hit a
bump, then it seemed to be slowing down, then picked up speed again. Fear
filled her like never before.

She had done everything he had asked of her. The book
was finished and submitted to Jessica. He promised … she stopped for a moment.
What did he promise?
That he had
something special planned for her. That she would be more famous than she could
imagine.

Her thoughts froze. It suddenly became clear now. He
was going to use her as one of the victims in her book. Which one? Her
breathing increased.

Would she be left naked and hanging by the neck like
Ella Burquist in the Bannack Murder, or would she be displayed naked and spread
eagle on Samantha Brown’s grave site in Marysville like Sarah Betravek?
Did the killer save the last murder for me?
Would she be found naked, posed in a provocative position left for the first
visitors at the fire warden’s cabin at Garnet Ghost Town? Is that where the
killer was taking her right now?

Megan’s mind raced. Once she hit the send button to
Jessica, did the killer go out and bring that murder to life? Were
Malicious Intent
and
Physical Evidence
blueprints for murder?
God, what have I done?

No
, Megan told herself. This was not her
doing. There were thousands of books on the market involving murder. What made
her books more volatile than all the others?

She had a connection with the serial killer. He had
chosen the victim and manipulated what he wanted her to write. He had an agenda
and she had become a part of it. A comment she’d recently read about serial
killers rushed into Megan’s thoughts:
he
kills because he likes to kill.

If only she could … through the heavy fog in her
brain, she suddenly grasped her hands nor feet were bound. If he planned on
taking her to Garnet like she’d written in
Physical
Evidence
, then she was wrapped in only a blanket that was secured in place
with a rope. In the book, the victim was already dead and there was no fear of
her trying to escape. Megan wiggled and shifted the blanket, loosening the
restraints.

The pitch black confines of the trunk impeded her
efforts. With considerable efforts, Megan managed to free herself from the
restraints. Now she had to concentrate on escaping before he reached Garnet.
There was one problem here, she had no idea how long she’d been knocked out or
how long they’d been on the road.

Cold seeped in to the small space and she shivered.
Megan moved her palms over her legs and recognized the feel of fishnet
stockings held up with garters. The bra was nothing more than a push-up underwire.
Her beautiful new breasts were firmly held in place for display. She pulled the
blanket around her body and felt along the edge of the trunk. She found the
latch, but there seemed no way to force it to open.

Megan lay on her back and raised her knees and
pressed, trying to pop the trunk open. It didn’t budge. Again she felt around
in the dark space. She rested her palm across a cold piece of metal. Moving her
fingers across it like a blind person, she recognized the shape of a crowbar.
In the bleak trunk she felt a ray of hope.

The killer wouldn’t expect her to be awake and he
definitely wouldn’t anticipate she’d have a weapon. If she couldn’t get the
truck open, maybe with the element of surprise, she could hit him in the face
with the iron when he opened the truck. Either way, she had more of a chance
now than before.

Finding the notch of the trunk, Megan positioned the
curved edge of the crowbar into it and pulled down. Nothing happened. She
reversed the crowbar and wedged it into the slot.

The click sounded like music from heaven. The trunk
popped open, snapping it back so hard it hit the cars back window. He slammed
on the brakes, sending Megan into the bowels of the trunk. She scrambled back
to the edge and pulled herself out, grabbing the blanket as she rolled down the
ditch. She clumsily got to her feet and blindly ran across the tall grassy
field, toward a grove of trees. Her legs wobbled and she found her motor skills
performed as though she were drunk.

Rocks, dried grass and things she didn’t even
recognize tore, stabbed, and cut at her fishnet stocking feet. She didn’t know
where the killer was, her heart pounded in her head so loudly she heard nothing
else. As though writing a scene in one of her books, Megan dropped to the
ground. Standing and running she was a moving target, easily spotted. On the
ground, he wouldn’t so easily spot her in the tall grass. The black night was
in her favor.

Megan raised her head barely high enough to look in
the direction of the car. The lights were on and the car was still running. She
didn’t see the killer anywhere. Should she stay put and risk him finding her?
She couldn’t have run far. Maybe she should start crawling. The further away—

“Oh, Megan love. Where are you? You know you can’t
escape me. All I have to do is wait until the rising sun, and I’ll spot you in
minutes. Stand up and come back to the car now or you will pay dearly when I
catch you.”

Even if she thought he wouldn’t make her pay, she
couldn’t willingly go back to him. She knew what he was going to do to her.

“Come on, whore. We have a date with fate. There isn’t
a soul who knows you are here with me. No one cares if you never return. Do you
have any idea what this is going to do for your sales?”

His laughter caused Megan to freeze. She recognized
that laugh, but through her muddled, semi-drugged thoughts she just couldn’t
place it. The cold gripped her body and she shivered uncontrollably. Exhausted,
Megan fought to stay awake. She pulled the scratchy blanket tight.

“There you are. You’ve been a very naughty girl.”

The beam from the flashlight blinded her eyes.
Instinctively she closed them and pressed into the ground, as far from his
reach as she could get. “No, leave me alone,” she mumbled. He grabbed her right
arm and dragged her to the car on her back. She gripped the blanket tight with
her left hand; still the sticks, rocks and stubbled grass tore at her flesh.
She cried deep inside, but no tears formed.

He tossed her hard into the trunk and Megan cried out.

“Shut up, slut. You’re more trouble than you’re
worth.”

She attempted to see her killer, but she could barely
make out the edges of his face. The drug in her wine had far from worn off. She
lay still as he moved his palm up her leg, across her thigh, midriff, then
settled on her breasts.

“Lovely, Megan. You could stir a dead man to have an
erection. If it wasn’t so damn cold, I’d have you right now. That will give you
something to look forward to. I know how you like to fuck.”

“Dennis … is that you? Why?” The slam of the truck
caused Megan to cringe. He had roped her hands and feet tightly together, like
a young calf at a rodeo. How could she have managed to screw up the one good
chance she had to escape? He was going to kill her … and there was nothing she
could do to stop him.

* * *

Sleep deprivation did not help their situation. Dallas
figured Cooper had less sleep than she had in the past few days. She waited
while he set the cruise control. “You get sleepy open a window and let me know.
I’m hoping to stay awake.”

“You okay back there? I still don’t think your coming
was such a good idea. You should be in a hospital.”

“Bull. We need to give this case some attention and
now we have a window of three hours or more. We can’t waste this precious time.
When we get to Missoula I’ll have a fellow officer pick me up and we’ll figure
out a plan that won’t get your family or you killed.” Dallas rolled to her back
and stared at the Jeep ceiling. “Filling the wells on the floorboard was a
great idea. I don’t think I could have tolerated bouncing on that hump for over
three hours. That Pete is one clever kid. Having said that, let’s do some brain
storming. I’d like to discuss your cousin’s adoption.”

“That should have been the first thing in Weaver’s
file.”

“I read his file, and it said nothing about adoption.
Either the information was tampered with, or our Paul Weaver never disclosed
that fact from the beginning. That would lead me to question why.”

“Either way doesn’t make him a killer. There is no way
he’s the animal we’re looking for. You’re forgetting about the receipt at the
Missouri River Murder points at Weaver.”

“Smart, it takes suspicion off him. How does Weaver
like Arnott?”

“What?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, and don’t get me wrong,
I could care less one way or the other, but your partner is black or African
American. Don’t care what you call it. Is there anyone on the team that it
bothers?”

“No one treats Arnott differently because he’s black.
It’s a non-issue.”

“Think about it objectively, Cooper. Does Weaver make
any jokes or comments regarding race? Does he seem stand-offish where Arnott is
concerned?”

“Again, I’ve never noticed anything that would lead me
to suspect anyone has a problem with Arnott.”

“Okay, then how did your promotion affect Weaver and
Sparks?”

“That’s a totally different subject. It was wrong and
I told Captain how both Arnott and I felt about it. Both teams worked hard on
those cases and both teams deserved the recognition and promotion. I still
don’t understand it.”

“Captain didn’t give you an explanation?”

“No. Do you know something I don’t?”

Megan shook her head. “You know I couldn’t tell you if
I did. Come on, Cooper. Let’s go back and clarify a few questions I still have
about Weaver. His step-father was abusing him and when your dad found out he
beat the crap out of Paul’s dad. You dad struck a deal with Mr. Weaver; he had
to divorce his wife, Paul’s mother, and move back to Minnesota where his family
was from. If he did this then your dad wouldn’t file sexual abuse charges on
him. He gave up all rights to Paul.”

“That sums it up I guess.” Cooper listened and tried
imagining Paul as the killer they were looking for. Did Paul really want to
destroy him? What about Candy? Was she in danger, too?

“Could Paul be blaming you for losing his father?”
Dallas asked, interrupting his thoughts. “I know that sounds warped, but a kid
has to have someone to blame. Perpetrators of incest use threats, lies, and
manipulation to guarantee secrecy to ensure the acts continue. I’m sure Mr.
Weaver created ways to make sure Paul remained loyal to their family. His
father could have planted the seed that you were to blame.”

“What I remember of his dad makes my skin crawl. He
was demanding and yelled all the time. Everyone was nervous when he was around.
My mother and Aunt Linda were barely eleven months apart. They joked about
being twins and were in-touch with each other like Candy and me. My mother and
father argued about Paul’s dad. Dad told Candy and me to steer clear of him.”
Cooper hated reliving that time of his life.

 
“Some of the
most common problems Paul had to face because of this would include depression,
eating disorders, substance abuse, anxiety, or dissociative disorders such as
multiple personality disorder. Some survivors develop the symptoms of specific
personality disorders. Most common are those associated with hysteric,
borderline, narcissistic, avoidance, or dependent personalities.”

“Borderline, what the hell’s that?” Cooper thought
he’d heard it all and they were just conditions and words used to describe
serial killers. But now Dallas was talking about his cousin. Someone he cared
about. It was hard to even listen to.

“It pretty much means someone who has difficulties
maintaining a stable mood and self-image. It drives his need to kill to
establish control and dominance. A lot of times that’s why these perps engage
in necrophilia with the corpses of their victims. They no longer can judge or
make fun of his abilities. He’s totally in control and dominates the entire
act. He hates to be criticized.”