Illusions of Death Page 15

  She approached the square from the opposite direction and found a nearby parking spot. She stopped at the front desk.

  “I’d like to see Detective Warner.”

  The rotund sergeant manning the desk broke into a huge grin. “My stars alive! Karlyn Campbell in the flesh. My wife told me she saw you the other day. We love Matt Collins. Is it true they’re making a movie about him?”

  She appreciated running into grateful fans. “I finished the screenplay not too long ago.” She confided, “I can’t wait to see Matt on the screen myself.”

  “It’s nice to have you in the Springs, ma’am. Now let me call back for Detective Warner.”

  He dialed the extension. “Got Ms. Karlyn Campbell here, Detective. Uh-huh. Okay, will do.”

  Looking at Karlyn he said, “That was Detective Patterson, Detective Warner’s partner. He’s coming to get you.” He scribbled her name on a peel-off tag with a Sharpie and handed the visitor’s badge to her.

  “We’re a little more careful these days.” He chuckled. “Not that I expect the Springs to become a hotbed for terrorist activities in the near future.”

  She saw Brad approach.

  “Thanks, Sarge. Come on back, Karlyn. Logan’s tied up on a conference call with an FBI profiler that spoke to the task force yesterday.”

  Brad led her through a series of halls and settled her in a chair next to his desk.

  “Can I get you something? Bad coffee? A Coke?”

  “No, thanks. I guess you know why I’m here.”

  “Your ex breaking into your mom’s house was pretty ballsy.” He frowned. “Are you ready to file and go to court?”

  Karlyn hesitated at the mention of court. “Could you explain the process first?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Sure. In Georgia, we use the term Temporary Protective Order. The judge issues it after you make an appearance in court to ask for one. Mario wouldn’t be present for this. It states that a person is to refrain from particular acts and stay away from particular places.”

  “Such as?”

  “Your residence. Your place of employment. It would go into effect when it’s served on him. Puts him on notice.”

  “That’s it?”

  “No, it’s more complicated than that. The next step is an Order to Show Cause hearing. This time both of you would appear to explain why a permanent order should or shouldn’t be issued by the court. The law states this should be done within thirty days of issuing the original TPO, but we usually can get you in with the judge in half that time. In the meantime, the temp is in effect.”

  “So how does the judge decide how to rule?”

  Brad sipped on his coffee. “You present evidence at the hearing. Try to show sufficient cause. And if you get it, it’s in effect immediately. You also can renew it for an additional period of time. In some cases, it can become permanent.”

  “What if Mario violates it?”

  He grinned. “He would be in contempt of court. We’d slap his ass in jail. Charge him with a misdemeanor or felony, based upon the violation. He’d be sentenced to serve time and possibly pay a fine.”

  Brad leaned over and typed a few things into his computer. He clicked and then turned the screen toward her.

  “This is the eight page order you use to petition the court. You note that you’re past spouses and what acts of family violence he’s previously committed.

  “You share that as the petitioner, you have a reasonable fear of your own safety and that you feel it likely that Mario would commit violent acts against you in the future.”

  Brad finished his coffee and pushed the mug aside. “If you decide to file the papers, I’ll need his info—date of birth, Social, physical description, where he’s employed. That kind of thing.”

  She blew out a long breath. “That’s part of the problem. He’s an artist who blows through cash like water for chocolate. He’s here to squeeze me from money. This TPO wouldn’t apply. He has a temper, but he’s never been violent toward me.”

  He thought a moment. “We could file under Georgia law for a Stalking Protection Order. That lasts twelve months and can also be extended. Georgia defines stalking as following you or contacting you with the purpose of harassing and intimidating you. Contact includes in person, over the computer, by phone, mail, email.

  “If you got this—and Mario broke it, the state could put him away. They also give you notice of when he’s released if you give them a landline number.”

  Brad studied her. “Is this something you’d like to move forward on? I can get the paperwork started. We could grab a court date in the next day or two to file. Just say the word.”

  Karlyn fidgeted in the chair. “Can I think about it? I believe when Mario sees I won’t fork over any more money, he’ll leave town. He’s not the kind to rock that boat.”

  “I respect that, but I’ve seen this before. It’s smart to be safe. Not sorry. My advice is do it. The sooner, the better.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Door’s still closed. I’m not sure how much longer Logan’ll be on that call.” Brad laughed. “Knowing the Feebies, he’s been on hold the entire time.”

  She stood. “Have him call me, okay? And thanks for explaining everything to me so thoroughly.” She smiled. “Who knows? I may have to use you as a law enforcement reference for a future novel.”

  Karlyn returned to her car, restless. She thought she’d go over to the antique store and see the dining room set Logan had on hold. He’d mentioned needing to set up delivery of it. Maybe she could arrange that for him.

  She drove to the square. When she entered the shop, Anne Stockdale called out a greeting.

  “Hello, Karlyn. I’m on hold with a customer. Feel free to look around.”

  “Can you point me in the direction of Logan’s table and chairs?”

  Anne held a finger up. “Yes, I can get that for you in about a week’s time, Sandra.” She pointed to the far right of the store, so Karlyn made her way there as Anne continued her conversation.

  The table was a beautiful mahogany with eight matching chairs. Karlyn could easily picture it in the large dining room of the old Kinyon house. She ran a hand across the smooth wood, imagining it with a lace runner and fresh floral centerpiece.

  The bell rang, announcing the arrival of a new customer. A large man waddled in, wiping his flushed face with a handkerchief. He noticed Anne on the phone and began wandering around the store until he spotted Karlyn and headed her way.

  “You must be the little lady everyone’s talking about.” He thrust out a meaty hand. “Mayor Joe Vick. Don’t read books, but if I did, I’m sure I’d read one of yours.”

  She shook the offered hand. “Karlyn Campbell.”

  “Might I ask if you’re staying in town, seeing as to how you and Logan Warner are stepping out?”

  She blushed at the quaint description, still surprised how everyone seemed to know each other’s business in a small town. “I’m considering it.”

  Vick beamed at her. “I can’t say enough good things about the Springs. And if a strapping fellow like Logan isn’t enough of a temptation, think about the quiet and solitude of a small town. Perfect for a writer. I’m sure that’s why your father moved here.”

  Karlyn decided to change the topic. “Are you browsing or shopping?”

  Vick mopped his brow. “Got an anniversary coming up.” He gestured widely. “From the large to the small, there ain’t nothing here that wouldn’t please Mrs. Vick.”

  “Then let me suggest jewelry, Joe,” Anne smoothly interjected as she came their way. “I have a few new pieces. Come look in the case.”

  The mayor ambled over as Anne joined Karlyn by the dining set.

  “Isn’t this a beautiful table? The chairs have been reupholstered.
I love these rich colors.”

  “I do, too,” Karlyn agreed. “Logan was excited that this set was still available. Do you think I could set up delivery for him?”

  “Let’s check my calendar. We can also help Joe make a decision. If we don’t, he’ll be in here till his next anniversary.”

  Anne went to her office while Karlyn pointed out some items to the mayor. The store owner joined them and confirmed Wednesday.

  “I have a father and son who deliver for me. They can be there around one. I’m glad Logan bought the Kinyon place. That dining room is the perfect place to showcase this set.”

  Vick asked to see a bracelet. Karlyn looked in the display case. A locket caught her eye.

  “Anne, would you mind getting that locket on the end? I’d like to see it.”

  The owner retrieved both pieces. Vick agreed he couldn’t do better, so Anne began ringing up the sale. Karlyn studied the locket, turning it over and then opening the catch.

  “Twenty-four karat gold,” Anne told her as she gave Vick his credit card back and slip to sign. “Belonged to a relative of Margaret Mitchell. Supposedly the great author gave it to the girl on her sixteenth birthday. No provenance, but it’s a nice story all the same.”

  Karlyn nodded, thinking how she loved Gone with the Wind as a teenager and had read it several times.

  “I’ll take it.” She retrieved her credit card.

  Anne laughed. “You two are easy to please. I hope you come in more often.”

  The bell sounded. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  Karlyn cringed at the voice. She refused to turn and acknowledge her ex. He’d probably seen her car out front and guessed she was inside.

  Mario came closer and greeted the others. “This must be the lovely Mrs. Stockdale.” He looked around the store. “You have a treasure trove of items here. You could compete with the best stores in New York.”

  He offered a hand to Vick. “And you must be the mayor of this humble abode. Mario Taylor, sir.”

  The two men shook hands. Anne finished with the transaction and handed both Vick and Karlyn their packages.

  “Buying yourself a treat, my sweet? Or do you gift your lover with something new?”

  She saw Anne’s brows raise in interest. The mayor’s jaw simply hung open. Karlyn hated the gossip that would result from this encounter. She tamped down the anger that threatened to flare out of control and took a deep breath.

  Calmly, she faced her ex. “I will say this for the last time. We are divorced, Mario. Financially, I gave you much more than you deserved. You won’t get another dime from me. I never wish to see you again. Go back to New York. Find some sugar mama to take care of you.”

  Mario stepped toward her. His fingers latched onto her elbow. “I have seen your detective. I am ten times the man he is. You are blinded by infatuation now.” He smiled benignly at her. “I will wait. You will come to your senses. Then all will be well with us again.”

  The bell tinkled as Nelda Van Wormer bustled in. “Hey, Anne. Are you bringing your bacon spinach dip to bunco tonight?”

  Nelda froze as soon as the words left her mouth, and she took in the scene unfolding.

  Karlyn angrily jerked away. “When will you get it?” she said, her voice trembling with rage. She didn’t care if witnesses were present. She needed to get this off her chest.

  “You are a user. You took my money and self-esteem and God knows what else, but no more. Do you hear me? No more! I wish you’d drop dead so you’d stop pestering me.”

  Her fingers tightened around the sack she held. She pushed past her ex and hurried from the store.

  She unlocked the car door and sank into the seat, her whole body shaking.

  Then Karlyn laughed aloud. She’d certainly given the bunco group plenty to chew on tonight.

  Chapter 28

  Logan emerged from his conference call with the FBI profiler with a pad of scribbled notes and no idea where to pick up in the investigation. He tossed the legal pad on his desk and went to the break room to refill his coffee cup. The pot was empty. He leaned his hands against the counter, head down, and wondered what the hell he should do now.

  Brad entered with his empty mug. “Rutherford have anything enlightening to say?”

  “Rutherford refined the profile. After making me wait forever.”

  His partner grinned. “What did you expect? Bill Rutherford is like every federal agent. He hates locals. Locals hate the bureau. The Feebies milk us dry. Steal all the info from the legwork we’ve put into an investigation. Then a break in the case occurs. They catch the bad guy. They get all the credit. End of story.”

  Logan cracked his knuckles. “I don’t care who gets the credit. To get Roy off the streets and behind bars is what’s important. He’s in our town, Brad. Our town. He killed someone I’ve known since she was in diapers. And I haven’t been able to do a damn thing about it.”

  Brad added fresh coffee and programmed the coffeemaker. The drip began. The aroma filled the small break room.

  “So what’s the updated profile?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Still thirties, though he thinks more likely late thirties. With the possibility that Roy could be in his forties. Maybe.”

  “Hmm. Real certain there. I’ll bet he was at the head of his class at the academy. Rutherford. Not Roy.”

  “Still a white male who appears stable to outsiders. Educated, though not necessarily formally.”

  “As in college?”

  Logan nodded. “Rutherford’s on a new kick now. Thinks Roy might have military training. Said there’s a precision to his work that could indicate a military background.”

  “Great. I can see the headlines now.” He lifted his hands in the air to frame his imaginary copy. “Former Navy SEAL claims he’s Rainbow Killer. Grew up hating his mother.”

  Brad dropped his hands. “Or his sister. Or kindergarten teacher. Whatever. If he’s killing women, the Feebs always go Freudian and think he hated some woman at some time in his past. I don’t always buy that.” He stopped and poured a cup of coffee. “Besides, Roy has proven to be an equal opportunity killer. He kills indiscriminately. So it’s just not his mama he hated as a child. It was every man, woman, short, tall, fat, thin, left-handed, right-handed person he ran into.”

  Logan asked, “So who do you think Roy is? Or what causes him to do what he does?”

  Brad grew thoughtful. “I think he gets off on it. Period. He’s killed from every age and ethnicity. Every socioeconomic group. I think the freak enjoys torture. Or maybe he likes feeling superior to the police. When he’s finally caught—and I’m hoping it’s when and not if—he won’t have a thing to say. I believe Roy’s totally, one hundred percent apeshit nuts.”

  He paused. “That’s what scares the bejesus out of me. I’m afraid he’ll get off because he’s loco, plain and simple. And they’ll lock him away like they did Reagan’s attempted killer. You remember that guy from Dallas? John Hinckley. He gets out now on supervised visits for weeks at a time. They’re close to releasing the looney tune. A guy who tried to kill the fuckin’ President of the United States—free on the streets!”

  Brad looked Logan in the eye. “Promise me something.”

  Logan sensed the atmosphere in the room change. “What?”

  “That if we find Roy—you and me—that we’ll shoot him. No going to trial. No finding him insane. No putting him in some psychiatric facility. We remember all of the families of Roy’s victims. We take him out. No questions asked. You in?”

  He thought about the pain he still faced daily at losing the twins. At the empty hole Carson Miller left in his life. At how it tore his marriage apart. And thought of all those families shattered beyond repair, thanks to Roy.

  “I’m in.”

&nb
sp; Logan stood there a moment, not quite believing he’d agreed to execute a man instead of arrest him and bring him to trial. He was supposed to be one of the good guys. For law and order. For Pete’s sake, he was even running for chief of police.

  Yet if he confronted the Rainbow Killer face to face, Logan knew he would remember his promise to Brad.

  And keep it.

  If caught on his watch, this serial murderer would not get away.

  He returned to his desk and thumbed through his messages. Brad followed with coffee for them both.

  “Karlyn came by while you were tied up with Bill Rutherford.”

  Logan glanced up, his thoughts turning to Mario Taylor. “She okay?”

  “Yeah. She had a few questions about restraining orders against her ex. I walked her through things. It would be easier to get him on stalking laws.”

  He thought a moment. “I think you’re right. Did you convince her to file?”

  “She wanted to talk with you first. But she seemed pretty upset with the creep.”

  Logan’s desk phone rang. He picked it up. “Detective Warner.” He paused a moment. “Nelda, slow down. Okay. Just now? Got it.”

  He hung up. “Karlyn had it out with Mario Taylor in Anne Stockdale’s store a few minutes ago. Nelda witnessed the tail end of it.”

  “And?”

  “She wished him dead and stormed out.”

  Brad stood and lifted his jacket from the back of his chair. “Let’s go assess the situation.”

  They signed out. Logan instructed Brad to stop at the antique store first.

  “I want to hear Anne’s version of things before we confront anyone,” he explained. “Nelda said Anne heard the entire encounter.”

  They drove to the square and saw Mayor Vick outside the store, jabbering on his cell phone. He caught sight of them and quickly pocketed it.