As though too weighted down by a massive forehead, Robinson’s brows slowly sank, settling close to his eyes. His arms rested on the desk top to brace his entire body from descending into a career-ending sinkhole. “You like giving me heartburn, Sam?”
“I like tripping up a killer who thinks he’s clever.” Sam opened the window and tossed sunflower seeds onto the sill. Two mourning doves landed on the sill and cooed. “Hey Tonto, Cochise. Hungry?”
“Nice, Sam. Thanks for the shit you dumped in my lap and now on my windowsill. Murphy is going to have my head on a platter.”
“Murphy’s going to love it.” Sam grabbed her cup of tea and sat down. They were lined up in front of Robinson’s desk like three delinquent students in a principal’s office. Jake had thought Sam had been on her feet for too long during her show-and-tell fiasco and insisted on getting her a cup of tea and sitting her down in a comfortable chair.
“There’s no love lost between Murphy and the mayor,” Frank reminded them. “With Revere being a huge contributor to Mayor Schuler’s campaign, Murphy will encourage us to stick it to him.”
“The mayor has obviously gotten ahead of the body found on the golf course. Other than a mention of the course you can’t find any report in the newspaper of Connor Revere even owning the golf course,” Jake said. He pointed a finger at Robinson’s notepad. “Maybe you should add Mayor Schuler’s name to your list.”
Robinson almost chuckled but then stopped. “That snake of a chief of staff he has isn’t above hiring someone to pressure Sam.” Robinson leaned back, a squeal of protest from his custom-made chair. “So how is the killer doing it? Any clue?”
“It isn’t possible to hypnotize someone to kill himself, is it?” Frank asked no one in particular.
“I asked Doctor Collier about it,” Sam said. When Robinson’s eyebrows lifted in question, Sam added, “He’s my therapist. Anyway, he said you can’t hypnotize anyone to do something harmful. It’s impossible. But he did say women were easier to manipulate than men. That might explain why all of the victims are women.”
“Were the women still clients of the clinic up until their death, Sam?” Jake asked.
“No. That’s the puzzling part. Marti started going when she found out she was pregnant because she was desperate to quit smoking. She was through with her hypnotherapy in the third or fourth month of her pregnancy. Savannah, her daughter, is nine months old, so it’s been over a year since Marti set foot in Morning Glory. Carly wanted to lose weight before her wedding and went through some weight loss program. Nina needed help with her gambling problem. Whether hypnosis was used in their programs or not, I don’t know, because neither of the good doctors called me.”
Jake cocked his head to study Sam in his typical FBI way. She felt she had just been dissected visually like a jigsaw puzzle, then put back together. “Did your attacker say anything to you?”
Sam paused and thought back to last night. She had made an effort at Benny’s to remember details, but things had been a little hazy. Now that her memory was clearer, she was remembering more. “Yes, he did. He said, ‘Keep your damn nose out of other people’s business or the next time I won’t be so gentle.’”
“You.” Robinson pointed a finger at Frank. “Keep an eye on your partner because I don’t like the look on his face.”
“I’m fine,” Jake said, even though the set of his jaw and the tense look in his eyes said different.
“I’ll pull you off this case, Jake, if I even suspect you’re out of line.” The captain turned back to Sam as he typed a detailed report on his keyboard. The links to the victims were too complex to rely on his memory. “Well, I think someone at that clinic was still seeing or even dating these ladies. Maybe they have blackmail pictures and they chose suicide over exposure.”
Sam was shaking her head even before he finished his thought. “Already posed that question to all the victims’ relatives.”
“They are the last to know,” Jake reminded her.
“You two,” Robinson pointed at Jake and Frank, “get over to that clinic and interview the two owners. If they aren’t in, chase them down. If we have to, send a car and bring them into our fine establishment. The women were patients, how long were they there, when was their last visit, what kind of treatments did they get, were drugs involved?” His beefy hand made a rolling motion through the air. “You know the drill. Get them, or at least Revere’s son, to go crying to his daddy. Then we’ll all sit back and watch Mayor Schuler’s head blow off.”
Sam smiled a little too gleefully.
“Don’t show your hand,” Robinson warned. “Don’t want to spook them, just let them know you are a little bit suspicious.”
Sam handed a pamphlet and several sheets of paper to Jake. “I didn’t think the bios on the pamphlet were enough so I did some computer searches on their two names. I printed out some additional background info.”
“Thanks, babe.” Jake opened the pamphlet to the two faces of their new suspects.
“And you.” Robinson pointed a finger at Sam. “Go home and get some rest. Stay out of sight.”
“Come on,” Sam protested.
“He’s right.” Jake folded the papers in half and stood. “There’s someone out there who’s probably waiting for you to make a move. Now go home.”
<><>
He sat near the window at Java the Hut watching the entrance to the Morning Glory Clinic. How many more bread crumbs did he have to drop before the dumb cops took a hint? Did he have to do their job for them? Obviously. He didn’t doubt for a moment that their well-connected families would get them out of trouble. That’s why he had an ace up his sleeve. He always was good at gambling. That’s how he made a lot of his extra pocket money. Of course, he had to be alone at a blackjack table and he had to make sure the pit boss wasn’t watching the table. He had no fear of the cameras. There were so few people manning them these days that it was easy to get away with just about anything. It wasn’t wise to sit at the high limit tables. That’s where they centered most of the surveillance. And he had to make sure he had a female dealer. They were the easiest to work his magic on. There were enough casinos in the area to spread himself around. Never hit the same place too often. Never look the same twice. Never flash around wads of cash. And never broadcast his talent. Once another player joined his table, he ceased his carnival act. For three years it had served him well financially. But he should be better off. He should be a multi-millionaire, living in a mansion. It should be his silver Mercedes parked in a reserved spot in the back of the building. It should be his fifteen room mansion on the shores of Lake Michigan with a pool in the backyard. He should have just shot them both but he wasn’t a violent man. At least in his mind he wasn’t a violent man.
He had tried a year ago to draw attention to them by making the dealer his first victim. But the dumb broad hung herself in an area where few people traveled so her body wasn’t found immediately. It was just as well. Made the game more enjoyable.
What’s this? He slowly straightened, lowered his cup of coffee. A dark sedan just pulled into the drive and headed to the turn-around. It may as well have CHPD emblazoned on the door. Well, well. Now things are finally getting interesting.
<><>
The sound perforated the air along the walking path. Sam stopped to listen. She remembered one time when she was small sitting on the floor in the kitchen. A black insect the size of a lightning bug had fallen over on its back. It had remained motionless, not struggling to right itself. Then she heard a click. The beetle jumped in the air. Another click and it landed on its feet. Click…click. As she stood on the path she wondered if those click beetles were around or were they extinct. The sun was setting as she continued her walk over a wooden bridge and deeper into the walking trail. Click…click. Could it be a locust? But locusts made a buzzing sound. Her gaze fell on a figure seated on a bench up ahead. She slowed her pace when she realized the sound was coming from his direction. Click…click. He was a shadow of a man, all black without any features. In his hand he held a small object. Click. A car key sprung from the side of the object. The key was narrow with a blunt end. With one finger he swung the key back into the slot. Click. He pressed something on the front of the key fob. Click. The key sprang out again. The faceless figure turned in her direction, but this time he was holding a bottle of water in his hand. He pointed the bottle at her. Click.
Sam jolted to a sitting position then grabbed her head. She didn’t know which was pounding louder, her head or her heart. A small whimper was oozing from the baby monitor. Sam dragged her body up from the couch and swung her legs over the side. The man in the coffee shop. What was it called? Java the Hut. He was playing with his key fob. Was it just something her brain decided to weave into a dream or did he factor into the case? Another whimper, this time developing into a plaintive wail.
Abby appeared next to the couch. “Lie back down, Samantha. I’ll take care of Dillon.”
Sam obeyed, grateful for a little more time to rest her body. She was on the couch in the living room where a fire crackled in the fireplace. The sun was bright and shone through the windows in the Florida room. Sam pulled the afghan up and thought about her dream. Click…click. Why else would her mind be so focused on that one sound? More importantly, why the walking trail? If the victims had all attended Morning Glory Clinic, shouldn’t she be seeing that building instead? There was a nature trail on the grounds of the clinic. But there were a number of walking trails in Chasen Heights. Then she remembered the last vision, with the man sitting on the bench. He had been studying his victims! He knew where they walked, shopped, probably knew their daily routines. Had the owners of Morning Glory or Collin Revere hired someone to keep an eye on their prey?
She heard the front door bell and was just ready to give up on napping when she heard the door open and Jackie’s voice cooing at Dillon whose crying had stopped abruptly at seeing his Aunt Jackie.
“Where is my girl? My poor baby.” Jackie maneuvered her way across the wood floors to the living room. “Oh my gawd!” Tears welled quickly and Jackie waved a hand in front of her face to try to dry her tears. “Sam, you poor thing.” Jackie tossed her coat on a chair, plopped on the couch and held Sam at arm’s length, studying all of the bruises.
“I didn’t think I looked that bad until you came in.”
“Who did this to you?” Jackie demanded. “Why did you go alone, in the dark, in that part of town? I should have been with you.”
“There were people there, well, in the basement. I left early.” Sam repeated the story about meeting with Forrest and Carrie, the attack in the parking lot, and her trip to Benny’s.
“Benny had you on his autopsy table? How creepy is that.” Jackie lifted stray hairs on Sam’s forehead and winced at the scrapes and cuts spreading from the adhesive strips. “Do the police have a suspect?”
“Jake has a short list of suspects.”
“Revere’s father owns that golf course where the other body was found, right?”
“Right. And I’ve pissed off the mayor, but what else is new.”
“I’d be worried about the Reveres. People with that kind of money can hire thugs to do their dirty work. Thugs who don’t care about roughing up a pregnant woman.” Jackie grabbed Sam’s hand and sandwiched it between hers. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I need newspapers from Reed University during the time those doctors attended. How are you at computer searches?”
“Honey, I’m like a bloodhound with claws.”