CHAPTER 9: The Moon
Frank read over the forensic report from the crime lab. He knew that it was a preliminary report with more details coming later. He only got it this soon because the press had gotten ahold of the story of Jenny's death and they had been putting pressure on the state offices of the BCA. There had been large gaps in the report. He had called the coroner and the lab to try to fill in the holes. His biggest surprise had been the inclusion of a partial profile of the killer that had been requested from the FBI.
Frank waded through the techno talk slowly, listing the facts that he thought he could use. The estimated barbiturate and alcohol level in her body was enough to incapacitate her but not enough to render her completely unconscious. Since there was no trauma to her brain, it was felt she had been at least partially aware of what was happening when most of her blood was drained. There had been shearing marks on one of her ribs and a knife wound nicking her right lung. The pathologist felt that the killer had no medical skill and had used a set of heavy- duty shears, like metal snips, to cut open her rib cage. The killer had then removed, at least, her heart. To mask the removal of the heart he had cut her open with the chain saw. The pathologist believed this because she could find no cardiac tissue in the body. She had found trace tissues of all the other major organs except the heart in the body cavity. The pathologist had noted that a chain saw would shred tissue, carry some tissue in its teeth and throw pieces back into the wound when the chain came around again. No fiber analysis or analysis of the chain saw cut had been completed yet. There had been nothing of significance found under her fingernails and no semen had been found in or on her body.
The FBI profile had even less information, White male in his twenties or thirties, highly intelligent, a loner, asexual, abusive parents ... He lusted for notoriety and probably had copies of all the newspaper reports of the girl's death. He was antisocial...
Frank decided to give Henry a call. He needed local knowledge. He knew that he could trust Henry. This case was a career breaker. Frank looked out his motel window. Two TV news trucks were parked outside. He would have to meet Henry somewhere private.
* * * *
The old man had a headache. He had such a rush from cutting on Pike he couldn't relax afterwards. He had called a couple of friends and they had gone drinking. They had closed the bar they had gone to, five full hours of beer and whiskey. The old man went to the office and rummaged in a desk until he found a bottle of aspirin.
When the old man got off work, he prepared for his next visit with Pike. He got to the basement and found Pike gone. His body was still there and he was breathing but his eye was vacant. The old man prodded and cut him. Pike's mind didn't come back. A zombie's body just dangled from the floor joists. The old man felt tears flow. It was nearly over. Pike had gone too fast. Next time...
* * * *
Henry was worried. He reviewed his case notes and the information he had gotten from Frank. In the back of his mind he knew that something was missing, or wrong, in the information. Pike Borland was missing. He had to fit in the equation somewhere, but how? What did Jenny's complaint about Makinen have to do with her death? The events didn't logically fit together, yet they must.
He walked over to the window and looked out into the night. He sensed a presence in the darkness. He had looked out this window and watched kids play. Three winters ago a moose had trotted across this yard and last spring a small bear had ambled into view. Tonight he could see nothing but he knew something black matching the darkness of the night was out there.
Then Henry realized his mistake. The killer wasn't logical. He might be legally sane but his thoughts followed an insane path. Henry needed more information. He would have Al stick with the news reporters around the school. Everything seemed to be linked with the school. Al would have to take notes on everything happening at the school. Al looked like a reporter. Reporters got different information than police. He would ask Frank to run background searches on everyone that had access to the school. He would start interviewing people in and around their homes.
Henry wished he knew more about the crazies. Maybe when he talked to Frank about the background searches, Frank could give him some ideas about how serial killers thought. There, he'd said it. Could this be the work of a serial killer?
* * * *
Kawalski burst into Shermon's office. His immediate ranting was stopped when he saw the subpoena on Shermon's desk. Shermon was talking on the phone. His hand was raised, silencing Kawalski. It took a few minutes for Joe to realize that Shermon was talking to the district's lawyer.
Shermon put the phone down. 'The school board members also received subpoenas. Joe, they have a tape of you trying to put the moves on Waithe. My God, Joe. Twenty years after Nixon and you never thought about a tape recorder?'
'How was I suppose to know? It worked before... '
'Joe, go home. Pretend that everything is fine. If you have anything else going on, just stop it.' When Shermon saw Joe starting to say something he continued, 'Hold it. Don't tell me or anybody else anything, just quit whatever plans you have. I will be talking to the district's lawyer tomorrow. I'll call you then. Remember, nothing to anybody.'
They continued talking for a short time before Kawalski left. Shermon decided that it was time to cut his losses and run. A little pressure on the school board and he would get a favorable recommendation. It would be easy enough to put everything on Kawalski. A few backdated letters in Kawalski's file, questioning his ability and judgment ... The embezzling had been done through Kawalski's secretary, Amy.
Kawalski was big, mean and dangerous. The only problem Shermon saw was timing his betrayal so Joe would be in jail before he found out he was set up. But then, that should be easy. After all, Joe was pretty stupid.
Shermon leaned back in his chair. Where to go next? The South. He'd had enough of the cold winters. Besides, the South was notorious for poor State monitoring of the schools. It would be easy to start his own fiefdom. Why had he waited this long here?
* * * *
_There is impatience in the hands as they reached for the next card. When they reach the deck, the hands hesitate. They had turned over the Hermit and the Moon. Would the next card be even worse? The card is flipped._
Eight staffs with green leaves sprouting from their sides fly across a green landscape.
_The hands relax. The light is extinguished._
CHAPTER 10: The Eight of Wands
Lori woke Saturday morning, head throbbing, body weak and limp. Her sodden nightgown stuck to her flesh. The sweat-stained garment would pull away from her body when she moved, immediately causing tremors of chills to travel to her throbbing head.
In the bathroom, Lori took two Tylenol. She turned the shower on hot. She stood shivering on the cold tile floor waiting for the steam to rise from the shower. After Lori felt the heat roll from the shower, she threw her sodden gown to the floor and stepped in. Under the hot spray, she leaned into the wall and waited for the streaming water to soak into her body.
As the Tylenol and hot water slowly worked on her throbbing head, Lori was able to think back over her night. She had twisted and rolled and turned until her bed covers had pulled loose. She had opened her eyes to watch the red digital clock change from one to two to three o'clock. She had drifted into a fretful sleep and would wake to sadness. Finally, when the sky started to turn pink, she had fallen into a sound sleep. When she woke, before she had moved, she remembered the essence of a dream, sadness and being all alone. She had moved and her head exploded in throbbing pain.
Lori took a bar of soap and slowly started to lather. As her hands traveled over her body, a face to the
