The Three Monkeys, a Carter A. Johnson & Kate Menke Thriller Page 17

  Minutes past noon, they pulled into a truck stop west of Columbus, Ohio. The place was busy and they parked off by themselves. After eating and fueling they turned south on Highway 23. The smells of death were obtrusive and neither man ate heartily. At Circleville, the van exited west on Highway 22. A few minutes and miles later Paul saw it. A decrepit brown tile building sat off the north side of the road. An old, two-story frame house sat between the road the old cow barn. They approached the building with caution. Paul stopped, opened the door and stood tall on the door sill. No farm houses or other buildings were visible. Huge, wood doors stood open at the north end of the building away from the blacktop road. Johnny drove the van into the dark, cavernous space and parked. Both men explored the abandoned building, selected their work area, and unloaded the ladders. Of necessity, the bodies would be staged inside the abandoned building instead of outside. They couldn't afford to wait until nightfall to emulate the previous outdoor staging. After carrying, lifting, and hanging each heavy corpse both men were spent.

  Three hours after arriving, the unburdened white van left the stench of death behind and drove north to Columbus. Using the same prepaid phone he'd used in Washington State, Paul called the local FBI office to report the location of two corpses. Before leaving Columbus, Paul deposited a thick packet of letters in a blue US mail box placed outside a shopping mall. Johnny pulled away from the collection box and Paul removed the blue nitrile gloves he'd worn to handle the envelopes.

  By the time they ate supper, the sky was dark and a promise of rain hung in the air. A weather report on a local news station predicted a major rainstorm bearing down on Indianapolis from the southwest. Paul wanted to be home before dawn, so he made the difficult decision to push on and drive eight hours throughout the night to St. Louis. He was mildly concerned about the storm moving east; they would likely meet it somewhere in western Indiana. Johnny would drive west to Indianapolis, then Paul would get behind the wheel and take them home. As if a knockout switch had been thrown, Paul instantly fell into an anxious sleep for three hours.

  As he drove in moderate traffic, Johnny said, "Grandpa." He reached over and shook the old man. "Grandpa, wake up."

  Paul pried his eyelids open and looked around in a daze. "Where are we?"

  "We passed through Indianapolis about fifteen minutes ago."

  Paul shook his head to clear the cobwebs circling his brain. "Stop at the next major gas station. We'll fill both tanks." He leaned back and closed his eyes momentarily but flipped them open when he felt himself drifting off again. He shook his head as he sat up straight and stared out the window at lighted billboards along the dark roadway. Recent events overtook him, and he felt older than he had at any time in his memory.

  At the roadside fuel station, lightning flashed at the distant western horizon. Muted thunder boomed ominously. The breeze cooled and whipped into gusting wind as it pushed debris swirling along the ground. Paul felt apprehensive as he climbed behind the steering wheel to meet the storm head on. A large container of coffee dropped into the cup holder beside him. In his exhausted condition, he knew he would need all of that and more.

  Fifteen minutes after fueling, the violent thunderstorm engulfed them. Huge raindrops splattered on the windshield and beat on the metal roof. The resulting noise was like being inside a metal garbage can as it rolled down a gravel road. The cracking of lightning was almost nonstop, and thunder and wind rattled the heavy van. Paul slowed to forty MPH and could barely see through the wind-driven torrential downpour. He leaned forward against the seatbelt staring intently through the deluge of water flooding the windshield; the wipers on high speed did little to dissipate the constant wall of windblown rain enveloping them. Paul vehemently cursed the idiot drivers stopped on the highway lanes with their emergency lights flashing. The fools didn't have enough sense to move to the shoulder before they parked dead still. He reached for the lukewarm coffee. Exhaustion was about to overtake him as his eyelids began to close more frequently.

  The van's speed gradually crept up to forty-five. Another fool was parked ahead in the left lane with the lights flashing. Paul jutted awake and moved to the right lane to pass. Suddenly a dark blob appeared immediately in front of the van under the flash of a lightning bolt. An idiot was parked next to the other car but no lights showed. Paul's eyes widened as the van swerved hard to the right but still hit the stopped car. The van jolted and slowed perceptively and the stopped car bounced forward several feet. The metallic crunching and scraping was proof positive he'd hit the right rear fender of the car blocking the lane. He screamed a vile curse at the idiot driver as the van skidded freely toward the edge of the shoulder and grass-covered ground beyond it.

  Johnny rose unsteadily from the floor in the back and knelt but stifled his questions. He hung on to the passenger seat as the van skidded and rocked violently. Paul's cursing and intense features made Johnny wonder if they were about to crash and burn like in the video games he loved to play.

  The van continued across the asphalt shoulder and onto soggy sod. Paul pumped the brakes as the van slid on knee-high, wet grass. He fought to maintain control as the van bucked and rocked over rough ground. Johnny murmured something indecipherable that Paul ignored. The headlights pierced the ebony gloom lit only by brief, bright lightning flashes. The van rocked from side to side as intermittent strong gusts of wind hit it. Paul's responding actions countered to keep it upright. He gently steered left toward the highway as he applied pressure to the fuel pedal. The van leaned so far to the right he was sure it would flip onto its side. He corrected the steering and as the wind abated the van settled back on all four wheels. Momentum carried it forward until the front wheels touched the paved shoulder. Their speed was almost nil as Paul fed the engine more fuel. The rear tires slogged through mud and grass and spun as they drove the van onto the pavement and into the driving lanes. Paul corrected the steering as the van overshot both lanes, slid and straightened on the opposite shoulder.

  Carefully, he corrected and steered into the left lane. He increased speed to twenty-five MPH and held it there. He shook uncontrollably as an adrenalin rush consumed him. While breathing slowly and deeply, he attempted to relax until the rush passed. He kept the low speed until the intensity of the storm dissipated twenty minutes later. Thunder and lightning flashes abated and the headlights pierced the gloom. A steady light rain fell with a barely noticeable breeze. He increased the volume on the radio. Hopefully, the noise would keep him awake across Illinois and into St. Louis. As a precaution, they would stop at the first gas station for more hot, black, coffee and a brief stretch.

  Staring through the lessening raindrops, Paul saw something shiny ahead near the middle of the road. The van moved partially to the right shoulder as he slowed. A painter's aluminum walk board lay in the road. It had obviously fallen from or blown off an open truck during the height of the storm. Paul pumped the brakes forcefully. "Johnny, open the back doors and toss those painter's tarps out onto the roadway. Quick, boy, go!" Paul grinned in the dim light from the dashboard as Johnny hustled to comply. No other cars were close behind them as the back doors flew open. One more piece of evidence against them was disposed of. In the anxiety of dealing with the storm, he'd forgotten about the cloths used to wrap the two corpses. A State road crew would clean up the soggy evidence and haul it to a landfill for them.

  Soon he and Johnny would be home and could fall into bed and rest properly. They could if the muted screams of Jewel and Dinesh could be forced from their minds long enough to shift into a deep slumber.

  Chapter Twelve

  They made love upon waking and then snuggled for twenty minutes, limbs entwined amongst the wrinkled sheets. Carter turned on the wall mounted TV. He kissed Kate and left the bed as a breaking news report flashed across the screen. An FBI spokesman announced the discovery of two bodies in a building west of Circleville, Ohio. The male and female appeared to be victims of the person known as the Three Monkeys Murderer. Carter rus
hed out of the bathroom to stand naked in front of the big screen TV. The camera zoomed in on a desolate brown structure with a high-peaked gable roof. Uniformed and plain clothes police personnel milled about under a light rain. A dozen cars were parked helter-skelter in the foreground. Several had flashing lights on the crossbars activated. The dilapidated building appeared to be an old barn surrounded by weeds and small saplings.

  Kate roused from the pillows and squatted at the foot of the mattress. Without leaving the TV screen Carter said, "In a few hours, I'll call Tom Masinelli to learn what he knows about this. It could be the real thing or another copycat killing."

  Carter waited while Tom Masinelli's assistant transferred the call.

  "Carter, how you doing, buddy?"

  "Great, but my call today is work related. I need inside information about those bodies found in Ohio this morning. Kate and I are still working the three deaths in Illinois dubbed the Three Monkeys Murders. The FBI spokesman on TV this morning theorized those might be connected to our case. Can you get me the details?"

  "Not right now. I'm sure the team is still scrambling to determine what they've got. But I know the agent who gave the press release this morning. I'll call him a little later and see what info is available; it may take the rest of the day for the lab crew to run tests and nail down the details. The names of the victims haven't even been released yet."

  "Thanks, Tom, I appreciate the help. Fox is regurgitating the few facts they know over and over again because nothing new has been released. I don't need to hear their speculations and assumptions. I need facts."

  "I'll call as soon as I know something but that might be tomorrow. And remember, pal, you didn't get it from me. I’m still working this case too you know."

  The old house creaked and groaned as strong wind gusts buffeted the mansion. At four in the afternoon, the sky was filled with dark, rapidly moving clouds as Paul woke. The first of two storm fronts had arrived that morning and passed on to the east. Large raindrops slapped against the windows as leaves and twigs from trees and bushes sailed through the air like giant, angry bugs. A second cold front arrived at St. Louis minutes earlier. Exhaustion had dogged Paul when they'd arrived, but he was still surprised he'd slept all day. He stood, stretched, put on slippers and a robe and walked to the bathroom. Tired or not, there was more work to do. He had a nagging feeling the van could quickly become an anchor around their necks. When they'd stopped for coffee earlier that morning, he was surprised by the damage to the front left corner of the van. The crumpled metal was barely an inch from the tire. During the drive across western Illinois, he'd made a tough but necessary decision. Tonight, they would move proactively ahead of the threat posed by the J&M investigators.

  Something else bothered him. When they'd arrived at seven-thirty that morning, Anastasia was already there. She was busy working in the kitchen and explained she needed to leave early, so she had arrived early. When asked what she had planned that was important enough to change her normal schedule, she answered vaguely and sounded almost combative. Her behavior was out of the ordinary and that bothered him. He couldn't remember the last time she'd shown up earlier than seven forty-five in the morning. She was a person of strong habits. What had changed? What was she up to? Had she been spying on them?

  Twenty minutes before closing time, Deline answered the office landline, then transferred the call from Tom Masinelli to Carter's office.

  "Afternoon, Tom. What have you got?"

  "Big news, pal. The identity of the victims will be released at a press conference starting in about fifteen minutes. The agency was searching for Jewel Bateman and Dinesh Maisuria since they disappeared from their home in Seattle. We thought sure they'd left the country but didn't know how. Now we know they ended up in a barn in Ohio."

  Carter hesitated. "Is the lab crew positive this crime fits with the first three killings?"

  Kate and Deline stepped into the office and sat at chairs in front of Carter's desk. Deline handed a glass of wine to Kate and set Carter's bourbon and ice on a coaster on his desk. He smiled and nodded his thanks.

  "Since the results of all the tests aren't final yet, no. But tentatively there is a ninety percent probability they're connected."

  "Bateman…she's that financial manager who embezzled a bunch of money out in Washington, right?"

  "That's her, more than a billion in fact. And the guy hung with her was her husband. She's See No Evil and he's Hear No Evil. The major differences so far are they were hung inside the building instead of outside like the three other victims, and the local office was notified. Look, I've got to go. I'll call with more info when it's available. Catch that press conference for more details."

  Carter dropped the receiver into the cradle on the desk as he raised his glass and nodded to the ladies. "The two bodies in Ohio are those embezzlers from Seattle who were reported missing a few days ago. Tom says early information indicates they're tied to the killings here."

  Kate stared at the ceiling. "I wonder how many more bodies will be found before this lunatic feels he has made his point."

  "The only suspect we have," Deline opined, "is Paul Peltier. I can dig deeper and see if there is anything else to learn about him? I’ve about run out of options."

  Carter glanced at both women dejectedly. "Might as well. We don't have anyone else to look at.” He clicked his TV to Fox News. "There's an FBI news release scheduled to begin shortly."

  The white van crossed the Mississippi River on Highway 64 East. The time was a few minutes past midnight. Johnny followed in his Mustang. Earlier, Johnny had filled the van's diesel fuel tanks plus two five gallon cans. When he returned, they'd loaded a pile of ancient scrap lumber and two old tires from the garage on top of the blankets from Bateman's home that were still in the van’s large cargo space. The fast-moving storm that blew into Illinois early that afternoon left the air cooler and smelling clean. Paul remembered the approximate location of an abandoned railroad bridge where a high-profile murder of a teenaged girl had occurred several years earlier. It was in a remote, desolate area, perfect for their need. At the time of the gruesome murder, he and Johnny had visited the site out of morbid curiosity. He hoped he could find it again. The old gravel and dirt road to the bridge hadn't been well maintained then, so it was sure to be in even worse shape several years later after many heavy rains and winter freezes. If its condition was much worse, the Mustang might get stuck.

  After searching for thirty minutes, Paul saw the gray outline of a steel girder bridge over the tops of weeds and brush highlighted by dim light from a quarter moon. They turned around and backtracked a hundred yards to a turnoff they'd missed earlier in the dark. The old railroad bed was now more of a trail than a road. Bushes and weeds crowded in on both sides as if trying to make the road and the bad memories disappear. Potholes had to be dodged or crossed slowly with care. The van stopped in front of a stout wood barricade at the bridge. A sign warned of dangerous conditions and denied access to all forms of vehicles as well as people. Railroad tracks remained on the bridge but had been removed from the roadway up to the end of the bridge.

  Johnny carefully maneuvered the Mustang around in the confined and graveled space and parked fifty feet away. He returned in the darkness, pierced by the faint glow of the moon, to help douse the interior of the van with diesel fuel. Paul left the glass half-way down in the driver's door. Before the entire ten gallons of diesel fuel was spread in the vehicle, the liquid began to seep out under the doors. Paul wiped his hands on an old towel, lit a torch made of twisted newspapers, and tossed it under the ends of the lumber. Flames quickly raced across the fuel soaked blankets and ate hungrily at the material above them. Johnny slammed both back doors shut. The men sprinted for the Mustang to make their escape before police cars or fire trucks could be dispatched. Johnny drove too fast when the car hit a stretch of mud and almost slid off the edge of the road. He backed up to get the front right tire back on the road and drove slower amid his grandfa
ther's stern admonishment. Eventually, flames from the inferno would be seen from a mile or more away. Any forensic evidence from the five victims hidden in cracks and crevices in the van would be destroyed by the all-consuming, intense heat generated by the flames.

  Paul hoped he was correct in thinking with the fire starved for air it would take at least ten minutes for the heat to build significantly to blow out the windshield and passenger side window. Then additional oxygen would create the inferno needed to reduce the van to unrecognizable scrap iron. They should have adequate time to be far away before emergency responders appeared fifteen to twenty minutes later. He wore a smug look as he gloated on how far ahead of the police and those private eyes he and Johnny had stayed from the beginning of their mission. The smug look faded as he faced the undeniable truth. The damned detectives were closing in on them or he wouldn't have felt it necessary to destroy the van. After crossing the river, Johnny stopped at a car wash to remove the clinging yellow mud from the Mustang.

  Laurel Atkins spoke in a rush when Kate answered her cell phone. "Kate, I wanted to give you a head’s up. Our station received a letter in the mail this morning from the nut who killed those people called the Three Monkeys. My editor is deciding whether to run it on the five o'clock news or check with the FBI first. Hopefully, he'll decide by lunch time."

  "Do you believe your station is the only one to receive that?"

  "No. There's a long list of every media outlet it was sent to plus the FBI and several Federal Senators. This guy is a real nutcase. Whoever penned this diatribe admitted to killing Estes, Barnstein, Bowers and those two people the FBI were searching for in Washington State…Bateman and…Maisuria."