The Three Monkeys, a Carter A. Johnson & Kate Menke Thriller Page 22

Paul glared at his grandson as he contained his fury. The boy had never defied or threatened him before. Was Johnny being turned against him? Surely Anastasia was behind this defection. He would watch her closely for additional signs of disloyalty.

  As they drove silently past the Gateway Arch on Highway 70 West, the detectives delved deeply into their thoughts. They passed the Edward Jones Stadium as Carter said, "The old bastard is intelligent; he's outsmarted us at every turn. He thinks and plans ahead like a master criminal. Each time I think we have him on the ropes he has an alibi and slips away. He pretends to be insulted by our suspicions, but I sense he's laughing at us and actually enjoys making us look like incompetent asses."

  Kate turned from gazing at the old, dilapidated red brick buildings near the riverfront. Most appeared to be abandoned. She laid her hand on Carter's thigh. "Our confrontation was not without merit. While in Johnny's room, I stole a pair of his undershorts from a dirty clothes hamper." She removed the washcloth from her purse and laid it on the floor. "We can definitely get a valid DNA sample from the residue in them. Then we can ask Captain Davis to compare the results of our DNA test with those her group ran on the running shoe and blood drops they recovered when Deline was assaulted."

  Carter nodded. "It won't be admissible evidence in a court trial because of the way you got it, but it will be proof of who the murderers are. If we know that, we, the FBI and local police can focus solely on the Peltiers and monitor their every move. You did great, partner."

  "Thank you. Now let's get those shorts to the testing lab. I keep having mental images of Johnny grinning and gasping as he deposits a load of semen in them." Kate shook her head and made a sour face. Carter moved to the right lane to pass a slow-moving car hogging the left lane. "Deline said she needed to leave early this afternoon. In the morning, I'll ask her to send a formal request to Peltier's attorney for a copy of that motel receipt. It likely may take at least a week, possibly two weeks to receive it if they procrastinate."

  He hummed a tune he couldn't remember the name of as he sat. After a full minute in front of his desk in his study, Paul felt he was not alone. Scanning the dimly lighted room outside of the glow cast by his desk lamp’s green shade, he saw Anastasia in the far corner. Was she actually working with her back to him or pretending to dust the furniture and heirlooms while she spied on him? Hadn't their confrontation yesterday taught her anything?

  "Anastasia, what are you doing in my office? You're spying on me again, aren't you? Paul rushed from his seat to tower over her as she cringed beside a table she'd been dusting.

  "No, Master Paul, this room is cleaned every other week on Wednesday. I do not spy on you, never. If you wish to be alone, I will leave and return later."

  She stepped forward to move around him. Paul's arms surged forward and his palms hit both of Anastasia's shoulders, driving her backward into a mahogany pedestal with a highly collectable Galle French Cameo vase displayed on it. The vase teetered then fell to the hardwood floor where it shattered into several large pieces.

  "Look at what you've done, you stupid cow!" he screamed. "That vase belonged to my mother and was worth at least eighteen thousand dollars." His right arm flashed forward and his fist delivered a powerful blow to her stomach with enough force to knock her against the table where her dust cloth lay. "You'll pay for that out of your wages!" he screamed at her. She retched and held both arms over her midsection as her knees bent, and she attempted to breathe deeply.

  After several seconds, she hurriedly knelt and picked up the pieces of the destroyed vase as he continued to deride her. Under his stern glare, she rose to a stooped posture and scurried from the room as he cursed a hateful diatribe behind her.

  Anastasia's fear of Paul had grown exponentially during the past nine months. His outbursts had become more frequent and violent. The past two months had turned into a crescendo of irrational accusations and violent confrontations. She feared leaving because his complaint could wreck her pending citizenship hearing. Until recently, he had never attacked her physically; now she lived in constant fear of how far his depraved actions would go. She recalled his recent times spent in the locked room in the basement and cringed at the possibilities of his actions. She recalled recently hearing a dog behind the door. What was that about? Then there were the recent times the men had been gone all night with no plausible explanation for their absence.

  Anastasia suffered through the workday and into the evening at home. Sleep that night was sporadic and interrupted by nightmares of Paul Peltier punishing her in the room in the mansion's basement. Did the room harbor instruments even more heinous than those he introduced as sex toys? Perhaps whips and tools to spread and position a body? But whose? To her knowledge, there had been no visitors recently other than the two detectives.

  The next day, she hashed and rehashed her situation until three in the afternoon. In the privacy afforded by the isolated butler's pantry, she used her cellphone to call J&M Investigations' office number. As she requested, the secretary transferred her call to Kate Menke.

  "Ms. Menke, this is Anastasia DuBois. Do you have time to speak with me this evening at your office? – Mr. Peltier's behavior has been very strange for the past nine months or more. I believe he is psychotic, and lately his condition has been worsening. – I have a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology from St. Louis University and will complete my master's degree at the end of this semester. Mr. Paul is showing classic symptoms of psychosis. – Ms. Menke, psychosis is a descriptive term encompassing impaired insight, delusions, and hallucinations. It is often the term given to noticeable deficits, often negative signs, in normal behavior and more commonly to diverse types of hallucinations or delusional beliefs, particularly with regard to the relation between self and others as in grandiosity and paranoia. –

  "Yes, I believe Mr. Peltier clearly fits those symptoms; but, of course, he would require evaluation by a licensed professional for a diagnosis to be conclusive. I am now fearful of him. Please make time for me to speak to you."

  Outside the pantry, Paul became red faced and agitated as he listened to the one-sided betrayal. In an uncontrollable rage, he flung the door open and charged into the room. "You ungrateful bitch!" he yelled. Anastasia received repeated punches before he wrestled away her cellphone and threw if forcefully onto the floor. He cursed her as he stomped the phone under his heel and saw the plastic shatter into a myriad of pieces and splinters.

  Terrified, Anastasia attempted to escape through the exit to the yard. Paul grabbed her left arm and flung her across the room to the counter under the white painted wall cabinets. In front of her, a knife caddy sat on the countertop. In a flash, she held a butcher knife in her right hand as she turned to face her attacker. "Do not strike me again. I warn you." Tears dribbled from her eyes.

  An evil smirk showed Paul's disdain as he furiously chopped at her wrist with the heel of his left palm. She lost her grip on the knife handle, and it clattered noisily on the black and white patterned linoleum floor. A powerful blow to Anastasia's temple stunned her; she staggered and almost collapsed. The landline phone rang in the background as he ignored it.

  In a mad rage, he pulled and pushed her to the basement door and dragged her down the limestone stairway. Anastasia fought valiantly but was subdued with his punches to her head and stomach. As he keyed the heavy wood door, she attempted to break his grasp and was flung painfully against the partition wall behind her. In his hell room, she was unceremoniously thrust into an open cell before the door was slammed shut and locked. The wall phone rang and he ignored its irritating sound. She finally noticed the steel cell she’d been confined in. Fear and revulsion attacked her stomach. Anastasia struggled against the bars and begged him to release her as he gave her a haughty, nasty stare. Her face and torso ached where she'd been pummeled by his fist.

  "Please, Master Paul, listen to me. You are sick. I have a degree in psychology and know you are suffering from psychosis. I beg you to check into a hospital for hel
p."

  Paul became livid and irrational and screamed at her. "Liar! Since when do you have a college degree? You foul lying bitch. You're nothing but a whore servant. This is the way you treat me after all I've done for you for all these years. You've been spying on me for years, you ungrateful bitch." He stuttered and his face turned crimson as saliva ran down his chin. "And now you claim I'm crazy. You will finally pay for your deceitful actions, you foul, sneaky bitch."

  "No, Mr. Peltier, I do not spy on you, never. Please stop this.” As she surveyed the room, the sight of the metal table with straps frightened her even more than her previous conjectures."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kate stood behind her desk, the buzzing phone receiver still in her hand. She’d heard Paul Peltier call Anastasia an ungrateful bitch and heard other noises as Anastasia grunted and cried out before there was a crashing sound and the phone connection went dead. She dialed Peltier's landline and let the phone ring ten times. When there was no answer, she ended the futile attempt.

  Trepidation set in as fear for Anastasia's safety consumed Kate. She dialed Carter's cell. He answered on the fourth ring. "Yeah, Kate?"

  "There may be a serious problem." She relayed the conversation with Anastasia and the interruption that ended the call. "I fear Anastasia is in danger. Are you still in Springfield?"

  "Just left…maybe five miles south of there, on Interstate 55 heading for St. Louis. I'm approximately ninety miles and a little over an hour and fifteen minutes away."

  Kate was silent for a short period. "I am going to Peltier's home to see what's going on. After I speak to her, I’ll call you with an update."

  "Be cautious, Kate. If we're right about him and his grandson being murderers, you could be in grave danger. Wait for me to get there and we'll approach them together."

  "If I wait more than an hour, it might be too late for Anastasia. I will be careful. I can leave in five minutes after I talk to Deline. Goodbye, Love, hurry."

  The line went dead as Carter blurted, "Kate! Don't do this, Kate!"

  The Escalade filled the only parking space close to the Peltier mansion. Kate dialed the landline again and waited while the phone rang twelve times.

  Apprehension became further engrained as she left the car and approached the house. She lifted the brass door knocker and slammed it down several times. The sound reverberated loudly. After the fourth series of knocks, she was about to call Captain Davis. Behind the doors, she finally heard movement.

  The door flung open and Paul Peltier stood before her seething with animosity and frustration. "Now what do you want?" His skin was red-tinted and his normally perfectly arranged hair was slightly disheveled.

  "Is Anastasia alright? I want to speak to her."

  "Go away! Of course, she's alright. She's busy. I don't pay her to stand and talk to investigators who are attempting to frame me for crimes I played no part in." He moved to close the door.

  Kate spoke loud and firm. "If you do not allow me to speak to her now, I’ll call the police for assistance. Now open the damned door and let me in so I can speak to her."

  Outraged, Paul cursed as he stepped aside. He followed Kate into the foyer where he said, "I believe Anastasia said she would be cleaning in the entertainment room in the basement. We can go there now." He pointed toward the far end of the foyer.

  "Wait," Kate hesitated, "I need to use the restroom before we meet with Anastasia."

  "You can use the facility downstairs next to the entertainment room."

  She was apprehensive and didn't like the sardonic smirk on Paul's face. Something wasn't right. He was behaving in a creepy manner that put her on guard. On a previous visit, she had seen a powder room off the main hallway past the stairs. She turned toward it. "I'll just be a few minutes," she said as she scurried away from Paul.

  "Stop! I didn't agree for you to go in there." The door shut before he reached it. The lock clicked before he pounded the door with his fists.

  Inside the restroom, Kate quickly phoned Carter. She turned both faucet handles on full force while she spoke furtively. "I am at Peltier's. Paul is acting very strange, and I have not seen Johnny."

  "Kate, get out of there and wait for me, or call the police."

  She ignored his warning. "My phone will be on so you can listen; do not say anything or make any loud noises he might hear. I love you, Goodbye." She put the phone in the pocket of the lightweight blue jacket and turned the faucets off. She relieved herself before flushing the toilet and washing her hands.

  Paul stood at the foot of the stairway leaning on the newel post impatiently waiting for Kate to rejoin him; he was clearly irritated.

  "Why are you here, and what do you want with Anastasia?" he snarled.

  "We were speaking earlier when I heard you curse her. What happened after that?"

  "Nothing happened. She was chastised and told to go back to work. I don't pay her to make personal calls on my time."

  "Where is Johnny?” Kate asked.

  "My grandson's whereabouts are none of your concern. Now do you wish to go downstairs and speak to Anastasia or leave?"

  "You seem in a big rush to have me go downstairs. Why? Something is wrong here, and I don’t trust you. What is downstairs that is so important for me to see, and what have you done with Anastasia?"

  "You're too inquisitive for your own good, bitch." Paul removed the .38 caliber revolver from the pocket of his suit jacket.

  "Does having a gun in your hand make you feel potent, like a real man, you old pervert?"

  Carter listened to the exchange. When he heard mention of a gun in Paul’s hand, he punched the Beemer up to one hundred twenty MPH. If he could manage to reach St. Louis without being stopped by the Highway Patrol, he would arrive in about forty-five minutes. He held his speed as best he could in the heavy weekday traffic. Several times, trucks passing other trucks on the two lanes going south necessitated his slowing to eighty and passing on the left shoulder. It was a hell of a bumpy ride and dangerous. He wondered how many irate drivers called the Highway Patrol headquarters to complain about the reddish-orange Beemer being driven by a madman.

  Paul's expression went from a severe frown to a diabolical grin. "Actually, this gun does make me feel strong and accords me complete control. It put me on equal standing with those adversaries I've killed and it has allowed me to win instead of being bested by younger, inferior thugs."

  Kate jousted verbally with Paul to kill time and give Carter a chance to reach her. "Killing someone only elevates you to a higher level in your sick mind. You’re a crazy old loon and should be in a mental ward where you can try to impress the other nuts."

  Paul's grin disappeared. "Don't say that or I'll shoot your knees and cause pain you can't even imagine." He noted Kate's hand slipping into her purse under the leather flap. He moved to her in two fast steps and extended the revolver to her head. "Move your hand away from the purse, take the strap off your shoulder and hand it to me. Now, bitch! Or I'll splatter your brains all over the wall."

  With his left hand, he took possession of the purse and stepped away from Kate. He moved to a long, narrow hall table and dumped the contents on the varnished surface. Rummaging inside the mostly empty purse, he smiled. He had Kate's Beretta in his hand when he extracted it from the leather bag. "I can't be as feeble-minded as you think I am, now can I? We're going to the basement, or I'll shoot you where you stand."

  "No," she calmly stated, "I am not leaving this room. You can shoot me if you want, but I am staying right here." She spoke loud enough to ensure Carter heard her.

  In a flash, Paul closed the distance to her. Kate raised her left arm defensively as his right arm cocked back. He overrode her arm forcefully and struck her left temple area with the revolver's heavy butt. Kate attempted to scream as her arms dropped to her side and she staggered. He bashed her head again and she collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  Carter heard the altercation as Kate fell, then there was silence. Muted shuffl
ing could barely be heard through the small speaker. He listened intently, but there was total silence. His phone only showed two bars for signal strength, and the battery needed to be charged. He fumbled around in the seat divider until he found the phone cord and plugged it in while the car raced ahead at close to one hundred MPH.

  While Paul was gone from the room, Anastasia studied the table with straps. Against the wall sat a bucket with numerous steel rods. With sudden mental awareness, she deduced what the table and rods were for and thought of the victims dubbed “The Three Monkeys.” She slumped against the cold, rough wall as she realized what punishment Paul was about to subject her to. Tears ran down both cheeks as she envisioned the pain she was about to endure.

  Paul grabbed the back of Kate's jacket and dragged her down the rough stone steps to the basement. Halfway down the curved stairway, both of her navy, slip-on shoes came loose and lay behind them. He removed his keys from his pants pocket with his right hand and held Kate with his left. Clumsily, he fumbled the key into the lock. The heavy door to the killing room swung open. Kate remained comatose while dragged across the floor to an empty cell. Anastasia gasped and cried out when she saw the new prisoner. Paul pulled Kate to the middle of the space and let her head drop a foot onto the concrete floor. He straightened, bent backwards to stretch, and took multiple deep breaths, winded from the afternoon exertion and the stress it induced. The steel cell door clanged shut before Paul locked it. The sharp metallic bang caused Kate to stir. He stared silently at Anastasia with renewed malice. "You caused this with your spying and meddling in my affairs."

  "Master Paul, you cannot do this thing. This woman will be missed. Please stop this foolishness before you get in serious trouble. It is not too late if you let me help you, please."