The Devil's Water: Scenic City Murder Series #1 Page 10

  He walked across his office floor once more and answered it on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Yo.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Yo. Is this lieutenant Mclutcheon?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “This is Rico Savoy. I tried to call detective Varnell from vice but he ain’t around so I thought I’d try you.”

  “Yes, Mr. Savoy. What do you need?”

  “Well, last night one of my girls said she saw a dark blue Ford car driving around the boulevard several times. She thought the guy looked suspicious. He didn’t pick up anybody, knowmsayin? He was just trollin’.”

  “You think he’s our guy?” Clutch asked.

  “I don’t know. Know m sayin? I just thought ya’ll should be aware that he might be back.”

  “Was there anyone in the car with him? Flo, maybe?”

  “I don’t think so. My girl said he was alone. I just think ya’ll need to get somebody down here for a few days.”

  “I think so, too. I’ll have detective Wilder go down there for a few nights. If you see anything that looks suspicious, give me another call. Will you do that, Mr. Savoy?”

  “Yeah. It just ain’t safe around here no more. It ain’t safe for him either ‘cause if I see him, I’m gonna pop a cap in his ass.”

  “Please let the police handle this, Mr. Savoy. We’ll catch him and get Flo back to you safe and sound. I promise.”

  Clutch signed off and got back to his file work. He regretted promising Rico Savoy something that he couldn’t be sure about. Hell, Flo Jenson might be lying dead somewhere at that very moment. Still, he didn’t like the thought of one of Chattanooga’s most notorious pimps out popping caps in people’s asses. The last thing his town needed was a shootout on Rossville Boulevard.

  Five minutes later, Clutch was deep in his file cabinet pulling out old files when the phone rang again. “Dammit!” he cursed. He walked to the phone, once more, and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Hey, are you in a mood?” Tasha Yoder asked him.

  “Sorta. The phone has been ringing off the hook and I’m trying to get some work done.”

  “Sorry. I was just calling to let you in on my visit to the hospital. I can call back later.”

  “No, there’s no need.” Clutch said, moving around to his desk chair and taking a seat. “How did it go?”

  “Well, I talked mostly with her father. He gave me a little background on the family. It seems Carol moved up here from Alabama as a sort of homage to her dead grandmother.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Anyway, I think her folks have always been, to some degree, religious. After this happened to Carol, however, I think her mother has become somewhat of a nutcase. She’s very invested in the Bible right now. She’s reading a whole lot of Job.”

  “Job was an upright God fearing man who had to endure much sorrow. Okay. I follow that. It makes sense that she’s gone a little bat shit for the book of Job.” Clutch reasoned.

  “Yeah, I guess. So, Mr. Shipley told me that he was sure Carol didn’t know Gary.”

  “How is he so sure?”

  “Well, he says that Carol had never once mentioned Gary Berndt to him. Apparently, Carol and her father were pretty close.”

  “Okay. So that leaves us where? Right back at square one.” Clutch answered his own question. “Why did Gary Berndt pick Carol or Monica? Or for that matter Macy?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that.” Tasha responded. Sometimes, serial killers pick targets for reasons of convenience. Maybe he started scoping out Sun Apartments. Then, he began stalking those three women and found that they lived alone. It could’ve been just as simple as that.”

  “I suppose. Now it looks as if Berndt may be back.” Mclutcheon stated.

  “What do you mean?”

  Clutch told Tasha about his phone call with Rico Savoy.

  Tasha took it all in and let out an audible sigh. “Well, I wouldn’t think he’d be bold enough to go right back to Rossville Boulevard again. He has to know that folks are watching for him.”

  “Yeah, but you said yourself that he’s arrogant and thinks he’s so much brighter than the rest of us. Maybe it’ll bring him down. Remember Ted Bundy left teeth marks in that little girl’s buttocks. He never dreamed they would match his dental records to the bite marks. They caught the SOB and now we don’t have him to worry with anymore, right?”

  “Maybe.” Tasha answered. “Thing is, I also know when you make people aware of a serial killer, they see him on every street corner. They hear him coming into their houses at night. Fear makes people a little crazy sometimes.”

  “Yeah, the only crazy one is the bastard we’re trying to catch.” Clutch said.

  “No, Clutch. This guy is a sociopath. There’s a huge difference in that and crazy. Unfortunately, news outlets make that mistake all the time. Hollywood makes horror movies about serial killers with schizophrenia. Fact of the matter is, most folks with mental disorders aren’t violent at all. They live in lands of delusion and hallucination but most, when they take their medicine, are perfectly lovely people. It’s sad, really. That’s why the National Alliance of the Mentally Ill tries so hard to advocate for those people.”

  “Yeah, but it makes me feel better to call this asshole a fucking nutcase.” Clutch laughed. “I get your point, though.”

  “Good. Just don’t call him that around me.” Tasha answered.

  “Understood.”

  “Well, I’m gonna keep up with Mr. Shipley. I might run over and see Carol tomorrow or the next day. Maybe a miracle will occur and she’ll wake up. You never know.” Tasha said.

  “Hey, anything you hear…keep me posted.”

  “Will do.”

  CHAPTER 26

  The next morning, Tasha Yoder was standing in front of her bathroom mirror applying makeup. She’d already brushed her teeth but the bitter taste on the back of her palate wouldn’t go away. She knew that the reason for this was because of the half bottle of Patron tequila she’d knocked back the night before. Tasha had switched to the expensive stuff in hopes that it would make her drink less. So far, it wasn’t working very well. Tasha picked up the Listerine bottle, unscrewed the top and took a big gulp. She felt her gums burn and tingle as the mouthwash did its job. She spat the mouthwash into the sink and grabbed the hairbrush, running it through her bleached blonde hair. Suddenly, she thought of Betty Ford. Betty had been a real drunk. Instead of spitting the Listerine in the sink, Betty would’ve probably swallowed it. Tasha smiled at herself in the mirror. She knew she wasn’t that bad. She knew she would never be that bad. For one thing, she held a job. How many real drunks held jobs? Tasha felt that the number wouldn’t be very high. Tasha chose not to focus on the fact that she only worked part time and went in to her class hung over pretty often. She also chose not to think about the fact that she lost a very good job to alcohol. Instead, she felt that her dismissal from the FBI had just been a very low point in her life and anybody could have one of those. Once she was through brushing her hair, she tied it back in a rubber band and grabbed her car keys off the bathroom vanity. She had to be in class in a couple hours but she would be able to pay a visit to Carol Shipley beforehand.

  Almost a half hour had passed when Tasha pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. She got out of her car and locked up, glancing toward the sky and the gathering storm clouds. A gust of cold wind hit her as she made her way to the hospital lobby. She was certainly glad that she’d chosen warm clothes and a ponytail when she was getting ready earlier. As she entered the hospital, she noticed the same woman sitting behind the desk that she’d seen a few days before. The woman glanced up from her crossword puzzle and Tasha noted the same sour frown on her face. There was no “May I help you?”. There wasn’t even a pleasant facial expression of greeting. Tasha moved past her and to the gray steel doors of the elevator. Once she reached the third floor, the doors opened and she walked down the hallway toward
the ICU waiting room. Peering through the glass door, she saw a man she recognized. As the man turned toward the door, he saw Tasha and smiled. Once again, Tasha was floored by how handsome David Campbell was. She opened the door and walked in.

  “Hello, Mr. Campbell.” She said as she approached with a smile on her face.

  He held out his hand and she took it. “Please call me David.”

  Tasha noticed that David Campbell had a fresh haircut. It was very short and most of it was a steel gray. With his blue eyes, Tasha thought that he looked a little bit like Anderson Cooper. She noticed the brachial artery running through his bicep. God, he’s gorgeous she thought as she felt her face flush. “Shall I call you Tasha or Ms. Yoder?” he asked, smiling.

  “Oh please. Tasha will do.” She answered.

  “Well, let’s sit down.” He said, motioning her over to a chair.

  Tasha chose a leather chair which looked more suited for a home den than a hospital waiting room. David remained standing until she was comfortably put.

  “Can you tell me what’s going on?” she asked.

  “Well, the doctor is with her now. He’s talking with her dad. As far as I can tell, there hasn’t been a whole lot of change in her condition but she’s in there somewhere. We’ve got reason to believe that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, yesterday her heart rate picked up when she heard her father’s voice. The doctor believes she can recognize familiar voices. She just can’t wake up yet but it’s a start.”

  “Hey, that’s really good news.” Tasha commented, displaying a wide grin.

  “Absolutely. Dr. Limmel and I are both hoping that she might recover from this. She may not be exactly the same but all of us are praying for the best possible outcome.”

  “How is Dr. Limmel?”

  “Oh, he’s fine. He’s still a little upset about the story that came out in the paper. You know, the impotence story. He was afraid someone in the PD was trying to ruin him. I see where he’s coming from. Frankly, I was pissed myself.”

  “I really don’t believe that’s the case, David. We’re all in this together. All any of us want is to catch Berndt.”

  “Hank Gamblin doesn’t seem to care about anything other than his own career. He’s really just out for number one.” Campbell stated.

  “Oh, don’t get me going on Gamblin. I’ve already been burned by that prick. It almost caused me to abandon the case.”

  “Yeah. I remember the story about your past. That was a real shot below the belt.” David placed his hand on Tasha’s shoulder and gazed at her with his big blue eyes. They were almost the color of the water off the Cayman Islands and Tasha found herself getting lost in them. She continued staring at him until his baby blues focused on something going on behind her.

  “Mr. Shipley. What did the doctor have to say?” he asked. Tasha turned and saw Buck Shipley coming through the glass door of the waiting room. Shipley held up his hand and waved as an acknowledgement to Tasha and came to take a seat beside David. “Well, the doctor is impressed with Carol’s improvement. He believes that she has some awareness and he considers that a very positive sign. Her pulse is still speeding up when I talk around her. She’s in there. It’s just gonna take some time.”

  “That’s great news, Mr. Shipley. David had told me about her progress.” Tasha said.

  “Well, I need to go down and talk to the wife. She’s in the chapel. We’ll go down and have some breakfast in the cafeteria. Are you staying around David?” Mr. Shipley asked.

  “No. I need to get back to the morgue.” Campbell said, checking his watch.

  “Well, I need to run too.” Tasha stated. “I will be sure to tell Lieutenant Mclutcheon the good news.”

  All three of them stood up at the same time and Buck Shipley put his hand on David Campbell’s back. “I can’t tell you how grateful the wife and I are that you two have been checking in on Carol like this. Especially you David. It lets one know that you or your loved one aren’t just a case. You’re real people.”

  A tear came to the man’s eye which he quickly brushed away. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Mr. Shipley.” David said. “Dr. Limmel and I will keep up with Carol’s daily progress as things develop.”

  “I plan on doing the same, Mr. Shipley.” Tasha commented. “We are all interested in what happens to Carol.”

  For a moment, Tasha thought of Mrs. Shipley. “Tell your wife that we are all praying for Carol and her progress. The Lord’s will be done.” She said and hoped she wasn’t struck down by a lightning bolt.

  “Yes, ma’am. I know that my wife will be happy that you both came today.” Buck Shipley said. “I know you all have things to do. Do come back though. We need the both of you and you have become like family.”

  “We’ll be back, Buck.” David said. He glanced at Tasha and winked. “We’ll be your family since you need us.” He held out a well muscled arm to Tasha. She took it and they walked, arm in arm, out of the waiting room.

  CHAPTER 27

  It was a cold dreary day in downtown Chattanooga. Fall had come and, with it, gray gloomy weather. Hank Gamblin didn’t like fall and couldn’t imagine why anyone would. Everything around him was dying. He clutched his trench coat tightly around him to ward off the chill. Several raindrops fell from the heavens landing directly on the top of his head. It made his teeth chatter. He whispered and expletive under his breath and kept on walking. Not much further to the building which housed the local paper. He tried to imagine how warm it would be in his office. Hank had read about visualization and how the body could react to it. Suddenly, he felt his body relaxing a bit as he strolled through the rain. Unfortunately, a cold gust of wind brought him right back to reality and his teeth began chattering again. Fuck.

  As he reached the glass doors of the lobby, he felt a cold raindrop trickle down his temple. Wiping it away, he ran a hand across his hair and noted that it was soaking wet. Of course, the hair itself was tied neatly in a club at the back of his head. Hank Gamblin had always figured that his hairstyle was his signature. He shook the cold off his bones and made his way to his office. It was on the first floor all the way to the end of the long hallway. Hank glanced down and noticed the dark stained oak floors. The rich color gleamed because they’d just been waxed. Hank listened as the heels of his dress shoes clicked as he walked. Once he reached his office door, he dug in his pocket and produced a key. Sticking it into the lock, he twisted until the knob turned and the door gave way. Gamblin threw his satchel on the chair beside his desk and walked over to his thermostat. He turned it up, noticing that his ear lobes felt hot and numb. As he moved to take a seat at his desk, he saw a button on his phone that was flashing. Hank hit ‘play’ and waited for the message. In a second, he heard the voice of Floyd Banfield, his assignment editor. Banfield and Gamblin had worked together for a long time and had a rather stormy relationship. As Hank listened, he could feel the storm clouds begin to gather again. He felt his face flush as the message ended and picked up the phone to dial in house. Hank Gamblin was steaming mad. He punched in the numbers and sat still for a few seconds until a soft nasal toned voice came on the line. “Hello?”

  “Floyd, what the hell is going on here?” Hank said as his voice rose with each word.

  “Look. I knew you wouldn’t be happy with this assignment when I wanted you for it. It’s an article that needs to be written by a senior reporter. You were my choice.”

  “I don’t do personal interest stories about soldiers and missing limbs and the Afghan war, Floyd. I’m above that and you know it.”

  “This is a serious story about a hometown boy who barely survived an IED. I would think you’d have some friggin’ respect for the kid.” Floyd answered.

  “This has no bearing on my responsibility to country and honor and patriotism and all that horseshit, Floyd. This has to do with the fact that I don’t write fluff pieces that come out on Sundays and make little old women
misty eyed. I’m better than that and you fucking know it.” Hank yelled. There was complete silence on the phone for thirty seconds. “Are you still there?” Hank finally asked.

  “You’ll do the story. You may not like it but I’m your editor and I assign stories to reporters. That’s my job, Hank. By the way, you’re not the only show horse I have in my stable and I’d like you to remember that.”

  “Of all the fucking nerve! I have sold more papers than anybody who works under you. My stories are current and important. We broke sale records, for chrissakes, during the height of the Devil’s Water killings and aftermath.”

  “Are you suggesting the war in Afghanistan isn’t relevant?” Floyd asked flatly.

  “I am absolutely sick of being disrespected! I am a much higher caliber of reporter than anyone else we have. I have other job offers, you know.”

  “Well, you do what you have to do but I expect to see the article about the wounded soldier soon. Like, very soon.”

  Hank slammed the phone down in its cradle and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. He reached in, grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and pulled out his shot glass. He filled it with the bourbon and downed the shot in one gulp. For good measure, he repeated the procedure once more and then put the bourbon and shot glass back in the drawer. Goddammit, he was mad. Probably as mad as he’d ever been at Floyd Banfield and there had been quite a few occasions that he and Floyd didn’t see things eye to eye. All he had needed was one good reason to go to Seattle or Bangor or even Louisville. They had all expressed interest in him and he was sure they would treat him with more respect than that nasal sounding shithead, Floyd Banfield. Fucking prick he thought as he sat in his chair looking down at his Mont Blanc pen. He had to figure out what to do. He had considered the other job opportunities he had been offered and, right now, he imagined himself sitting in a first class seat on a one way flight to Louisville Kentucky. There, they would recognize his talents and reward him accordingly. Hank whirled around in his chair to face his computer table which was stationed behind his desk. He popped open his laptop and browsed his email. He was looking for a certain name and, when he found it, he hit the ‘enter’ button. Tom Lowery was the bigwig at the Louisville Courier. He was the one who had expressed extreme interest in Hank. He was the one who knew true talent when he saw it. Hank examined the email once more and made note of the telephone number with his Mont Blanc pen. Whirling back around to his desk, he picked up the receiver and dialed. What Hank Gamblin wanted was a meeting. He knew that Lowery would be happy to oblige. Hell, Lowery had been the one that suggested it. “Hello, Tom? It’s Hank Gamblin.” He said as he smiled a big wide shit eating grin.