The FBI profile had even less information, White male in his twenties or thirties, highly intelligent, a loner, asexual, abusive parents ... He lusted for notoriety and probably had copies of all the newspaper reports of the girl's death. He was antisocial...
Frank decided to give Henry a call. He needed local knowledge. He knew that he could trust Henry. This case was a career breaker. Frank looked out his motel window. Two TV news trucks were parked outside. He would have to meet Henry somewhere private.
* * * *
The old man had a headache. He had such a rush from cutting on Pike he couldn't relax afterwards. He had called a couple of friends and they had gone drinking. They had closed the bar they had gone to, five full hours of beer and whiskey. The old man went to the office and rummaged in a desk until he found a bottle of aspirin.
When the old man got off work, he prepared for his next visit with Pike. He got to the basement and found Pike gone. His body was still there and he was breathing but his eye was vacant. The old man prodded and cut him. Pike's mind didn't come back. A zombie's body just dangled from the floor joists. The old man felt tears flow. It was nearly over. Pike had gone too fast. Next time...
* * * *
Henry was worried. He reviewed his case notes and the information he had gotten from Frank. In the back of his mind he knew that something was missing, or wrong, in the information. Pike Borland was missing. He had to fit in the equation somewhere, but how? What did Jenny's complaint about Makinen have to do with her death? The events didn't logically fit together, yet they must.
He walked over to the window and looked out into the night. He sensed a presence in the darkness. He had looked out this window and watched kids play. Three winters ago a moose had trotted across this yard and last spring a small bear had ambled into view. Tonight he could see nothing but he knew something black matching the darkness of the night was out there.
Then Henry realized his mistake. The killer wasn't logical. He might be legally sane but his thoughts followed an insane path. Henry needed more information. He would have Al stick with the news reporters around the school. Everything seemed to be linked with the school. Al would have to take notes on everything happening at the school. Al looked like a reporter. Reporters got different information than police. He would ask Frank to run background searches on everyone that had access to the school. He would start interviewing people in and around their homes.
Henry wished he knew more about the crazies. Maybe when he talked to Frank about the background searches, Frank could give him some ideas about how serial killers thought. There, he'd said it. Could this be the work of a serial killer?
* * * *
Kawalski burst into Shermon's office. His immediate ranting was stopped when he saw the subpoena on Shermon's desk. Shermon was talking on the phone. His hand was raised, silencing Kawalski. It took a few minutes for Joe to realize that Shermon was talking to the district's lawyer.
Shermon put the phone down. "The school board members also received subpoenas. Joe, they have a tape of you trying to put the moves on Waithe. My God, Joe. Twenty years after Nixon and you never thought about a tape recorder?"
"How was I suppose to know? It worked before... "
"Joe, go home. Pretend that everything is fine. If you have anything else going on, just stop it." When Shermon saw Joe starting to say something he continued, "Hold it. Don't tell me or anybody else anything, just quit whatever plans you have. I will be talking to the district's lawyer tomorrow. I'll call you then. Remember, nothing to anybody."
They continued talking for a short time before Kawalski left. Shermon decided that it was time to cut his losses and run. A little pressure on the school board and he would get a favorable recommendation. It would be easy enough to put everything on Kawalski. A few backdated letters in Kawalski's file, questioning his ability and judgment ... The embezzling had been done through Kawalski's secretary, Amy.
Kawalski was big, mean and dangerous. The only problem Shermon saw was timing his betrayal so Joe would be in jail before he found out he was set up. But then, that should be easy. After all, Joe was pretty stupid.
Shermon leaned back in his chair. Where to go next? The South. He'd had enough of the cold winters. Besides, the South was notorious for poor State monitoring of the schools. It would be easy to start his own fiefdom. Why had he waited this long here?
* * * *
_There is impatience in the hands as they reached for the next card. When they reach the deck, the hands hesitate. They had turned over the Hermit and the Moon. Would the next card be even worse? The card is flipped._
Eight staffs with green leaves sprouting from their sides fly across a green landscape.
_The hands relax. The light is extinguished._
CHAPTER 10: The Eight of Wands
Lori woke Saturday morning, head throbbing, body weak and limp. Her sodden nightgown stuck to her flesh. The sweat-stained garment would pull away from her body when she moved, immediately causing tremors of chills to travel to her throbbing head.
In the bathroom, Lori took two Tylenol. She turned the shower on hot. She stood shivering on the cold tile floor waiting for the steam to rise from the shower. After Lori felt the heat roll from the shower, she threw her sodden gown to the floor and stepped in. Under the hot spray, she leaned into the wall and waited for the streaming water to soak into her body.
As the Tylenol and hot water slowly worked on her throbbing head, Lori was able to think back over her night. She had twisted and rolled and turned until her bed covers had pulled loose. She had opened her eyes to watch the red digital clock change from one to two to three o'clock. She had drifted into a fretful sleep and would wake to sadness. Finally, when the sky started to turn pink, she had fallen into a sound sleep. When she woke, before she had moved, she remembered the essence of a dream, sadness and being all alone. She had moved and her head exploded in throbbing pain.
Lori took a bar of soap and slowly started to lather. As her hands traveled over her body, a face to the sadness appeared in her mind, James. It took Lori a while for her to realize her hands were doing more than washing her body as she soaked under the hot water. She left the shower more confused than when she entered.
Lori dressed, and made breakfast. She turned the Saturday morning cartoon shows on, anything to escape the sadness. Nothing worked. She thought about calling her father but didn't. She thought about shopping or calling friends. Finally, she got into her car to drive to her father's. Suddenly she realized, she had turned the wrong way on the road.
Lori knocked on James' door. She turned to watch him appear around the corner of the trailer. She saw the sad loneliness in his eyes that had kept her from sleep last night.
Lost in their despondency she said, "We need to talk."
She entered the trailer and saw the walls of the living room had been lined with old firebrick up to the height of about three feet. The unusual
sight of broken brick lining the inside of a room gave an eerie desolation to the trailer. The stark bareness of the room with the mismatched furniture broke down her last restraint. She started to cry. Wrapped in the misery that engulfed her, she felt an arm go around her. Behind the tears she couldn't stop, she felt herself being guided to the floor. Sitting there her back touching the cold bricks, she gave up trying to control her tears and buried her face into Jim's shoulder.