Loose Ends (A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery) Page 9

  “You’re going to see a lot of similarities here, sugar. A serial killer is a person who murders three or more people over a period of more than thirty days, with a "cooling off" period between each murder,” Gracie said, “The motivation for killing is largely based on psychological gratification. But often a sexual element is involved with the killings. The murders may have been attempted or completed in a similar fashion and the victims may have had something in common.”

  “Okay, according to the FBI files – after that final missing girl, I haven’t been able to find any other missing children matching that description,” Mary said, “Does that mean he’s stopped?”

  “No, it could mean a number of things,” Gracie answered. “Could be he’s in jail, arrested for something totally different. Could be he’s dead. Could be he’s sick or injured and can’t physically continue to prey on his victims. Could be that he moved away.”

  Then again,” she continued. “It could be that the last one scared him and he got more careful. He’s probably still finding ways to feed his hunger – maybe pornography or abusive sex with an adult partner or he might have gotten better at hiding his crimes – but he’s still out there. Sugar, be careful, from what you’ve said, this predator is smart and skillful. And even twenty-four years later, he’s paranoid and is looking over his shoulder. If you trap that cougar, you make sure you got the means to put him down.”

  Mary shivered. Her gut told her that he was still out there.

  “Thanks, Gracie, this helps a lot,” Mary said.

  “Oh, anytime,” Gracie replied. “If you send me those cases, I’ll see if I just can’t put together a more detailed report for you – on my break time.”

  Mary chuckled, “Thanks, I owe you.”

  “Honey, I’ll remember that and when I need a ghostbuster, you’d best be on my doorstep in record time.”

  Mary laughed. “I’ll break all kinds of speeding records.”

  “Just don’t get caught!”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mary zipped off an email to Gracie with the case files attached and then reviewed her notes from her interview with Lisa. She meeting with the Ryersons in an hour and she wanted to be sure she had her facts straight.

  She was packing her information into her briefcase when Rosie burst into her office.

  “What did you do to your face?” Rosie asked.

  Mary’s hand went up to her cheek. “I thought I had covered it up pretty well,” Mary replied. “You still think it looks bad?”

  Rosie stopped in front of Mary and peered closely at her face. “Well, if someone didn’t know you...” she began.

  “So, if they thought I was born this way, they wouldn’t notice,” Mary said, “Thanks.”

  “Well, the idea behind make-up is to blend, not scoop it on like frosting,” Rosie replied. “What happened?”

  Mary shrugged. “No, big deal, I ran into the fort at Apple River.”

  “Well, of course you did,” she said, examining Mary’s face again. “Go to the bathroom and wash your face.”

  “But...”

  “No arguments,” she said, “Wash.”

  When Mary returned, Rosie was just re-entering the office with a large box in her hands.

  “What’s that?” Mary asked.

  “My emergency kit,” Rosie said.

  She placed the box on the desk and lifted the lid. Inside were smaller boxes of assorted make-up, hairspray, nail polish, some cartons of nylons and a collection of scarves.

  “What kind of emergencies?” Mary asked.

  “Fashion emergencies,” Rosie responded. “You should always be prepared.”

  In the bottom of the box Mary saw what she thought was a flesh-colored beach ball. She pulled it out and realized that it was a life-sized blow-up woman.

  “What in the world?” Mary asked.

  “My third husband bought that,” Rosie said.

  “Not for that!” she exclaimed at Mary’s shocked face. “We used it for the boutique I owned. It was a portable mannequin. Now I find that it’s handy for seeing if outfits work.”

  “You try your clothes on a dress up doll?” Mary teased.

  Rosie didn’t seem embarrassed at all.

  “One can never be lax in preparing one’s outward appearance,” Rosie admonished. “You are judged by how you present yourself. Now sit.”

  Mary obediently sat at her desk while Rosie applied makeup using a little white piece of foam to the tender area around Mary’s eye. “Ouch,” Mary said.

  “Don’t whine,” Rosie said, “Beauty hurts.”

  The door opened again and Stanley joined them. He walked over to Mary and winked.

  “So, Mary, the word on the street is that the Police Chief’s car was parked in front of your house all night,” Stanley teased, and then he really looked at her. “What did you do to your face, girlie?”

  “That’s right,” Rosie added. “I heard that too, that’s why I came over in the first place.

  “She ran into a fort, Stanley,” she added.

  “Well of course she did,” Stanley said without a pause. “Now about that Police Chief.”

  “When the Police Chief saw how I looked last night, he had the same reaction as you two. But, the bruise was fresher and obviously more colorful at the time,” she explained. “And I was not very steady on my feet.”

  “He helped me in my house and I passed out on the couch soon after,” she continued. “So, he stayed on the recliner all night – just watching out for me. It was nice.”

  “Wonder if he’d do the same for me?” Stanley smirked and elbowed Rosie.

  “Oh, Police Chief, I do believe I have a headache,” Stanley said in a high falsetto.

  “Well, if you talked to him like that, he’d probably arrest you for solicitation,” Mary said dryly.

  Rosie giggled. “Besides, a bruise like this could only improve your looks, Stanley.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” he replied, sneering at Rosie. “So, how come all of the sudden you’re not a nut case?”

  Mary chuckled. “Well, I was probably still in the ‘nut case’ category when he helped me into the house. But, by the time he left this morning, I think he was reconsidering his own sanity.”

  “What happened?” Rosie asked, standing back a little to see how Mary’s face looked.

  “He met Earl,” she laughed.

  “You mean, headless dead-guy, Earl?” Rosie asked.

  “Well, he didn’t actually see Earl,” Mary corrected, and then in a Boris Karloff accent added, “He heard Earl and saw the door open and close by itself.”

  Stanley chuckled and sat down on the edge of the desk. “Well, poor Police Chief Alden, that must’ve scared the crap out of him.”

  “He actually handled it very well,” Mary said, “Once he put his gun away. The only casualty was my cookie jar.”

  “Well, I never liked that cookie jar anyway,” Rosie said, turning Mary’s head to each side. “Mary, I think I’ve done it.”

  “Thanks, Rosie,” Mary said, “I really try to avoid scaring clients.”

  Mary turned to Stanley. “Okay, so how do you think I look?” she asked.

  “Can’t hardly see the bruise,” Stanley agreed.

  “Well, good,” Mary said, standing up and grabbing her purse. “Hey, lock up for me – okay?”

  She gave Rosie a hug. “Thanks again, I appreciate it.”

  She started to walk out the door, but stopped and turned back to Stanley, “No teasing the Chief about Earl. Promise?”

  Stanley sighed. “Yeah, I suppose. Spoilsport.”

  Mary grinned. “You don’t want me to end up in the hoosegow again – do you?”

  Stanley chuckled, “Get out of here.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  An hour later, Mary pulled up to the front of the Ryerson home and parked her car. Her first instinct was to meet with the Senator alone, to not only spare Susan from
the information about Renee’s pregnancy, but to also gage his reaction without his wife in the room. Unfortunately, she was not offered that choice.

  “We’ll meet with you together, Miss O’Reilly,” Senator Joseph Ryerson said, as he guided her to the parlor where she had met with Susan during their last meeting at their home. “I have nothing to hide from my wife. We have no secrets.”

  Ryerson was tall and handsome, even though his thick brown hair now had grey highlights, Mary could still see the boyish good looks that would have attracted Renee twenty-four years ago. She could also see intelligence in his eyes; this was not a man who was easily fooled. She’d have to see if he was as honest as he was intelligent.

  Mary watched him slide his arm comfortably around his wife as they sat on the couch together.

  Very smooth, she thought, but it’ll take more than that to convince me.

  She smiled politely and took the offered cup of tea. Then she leaned forward in her chair and waited until the right moment.

  The Senator had lifted his cup nearly to his mouth when she asked, “Were you aware that Renee Peterson was carrying your child when she was murdered?”

  The fine bone china slipped from his hand, crashed against the coffee table and broke. The Senator’s face was pale and he was visibly shaken.

  Well, if that’s acting, he’s good, Mary thought.

  Susan Ryerson had been able to lower her cup to the saucer, although her hand shook. She sat still for a few moments and then belatedly placed her hand on top of her husband’s. He automatically turned his hand over and squeezed. Susan’s hand stayed woodenly motionless.

  “How did you…,” he paused for a moment, closing his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was slightly hoarse, “Are you sure?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Did she get the chance to share that news with you, Senator?” Mary questioned.

  He shook his head, “No. No. I never knew…”

  “Mrs. Ryerson, did you by chance know of Renee’s pregnancy?”

  Susan pulled her hand away from her husband’s and clasped them together tightly. Her eyes narrowed and she said, “Do you think I would have hired you if I had known?”

  No, she wouldn’t have hired me, Mary thought. She would not have been willing to expose her husband’s position, their position, to public scandal.

  Susan turned to her husband. “How could you have been so stupid? She was only a child herself.”

  Joseph shook his head and turned to his wife. “I was foolish. I was careless. And I was enamored with the idea that a cute, young woman would be attracted to me.”

  Then he turned to Mary, “But I didn’t know about the...,” he paused, “...the baby. We were supposed to meet that night, but when I got there she was floating on top of the pool.”

  “Susan, you never answered my question. Did you know about the pregnancy?” Mary said, “I need you to answer me.”

  “No, I did not know that Renee Peterson was pregnant,” she said, “Although, as I mentioned to you earlier, I did suspect that my husband was having an affair with her.”

  Joseph looked surprised. “You knew?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I was your wife, didn’t you think I’d know?” she replied.

  The Senator looked down at the floor for a few moments. He lifted his head and sought his wife’s eyes. “I was so stupid,” he said, “Thank you for staying with me.”

  She hesitantly smiled back at him, “Well, you’ve made it worth it.”

  He reached over, took her hand and enveloped it in both of his. This time, the clasp was returned.

  “I love you, you know.”

  Susan smiled, her eyes tearing slightly. “Yes, I know.”

  Mary knew politicians were used to being in the public eye. She also knew politicians were used to putting up a good façade in the midst of turmoil. Could she believe the emotion she had just witnessed or was it merely for her benefit?

  “Senator, Susan, was there anyone else who might have spoken with Renee that evening?” she asked, “Anyone who might have learned her secret and thought she was a liability to your political future?”

  “Renee didn’t confide in the other members of my staff because she didn’t want to accidentally expose our relationship,” Joseph said, “She didn’t want to jeopardize my campaign.

  “Besides,” he added, “I don’t believe that anyone on my staff would have the ability to commit murder. They are all good people.”

  “Well, begging your pardon, Senator,” Mary said, “But one of those good people, either someone from your staff or one of your supporters, did murder Renee Peterson on the night of your party.”

  Joseph was taken aback for a moment. He nodded, “You’re right, of course, it’s just hard to believe.”

  “Can you tell me anything about Renee before she came to work for you?” Mary asked, “Anything about her family life or her previous work experience?”

  An hour later Mary had more data, but she knew she was no closer to finding Renee’s murderer than she was that morning. She hadn’t ruled out the senator, he had plenty of motive, especially if he had, indeed, known about the pregnancy. She hadn’t ruled out Susan either - she could have worked with her husband to murder Renee in order to clear the way for their political careers. No one was in the clear yet and Mary was not going to stop until she found out who killed Renee Peterson.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mary wondered if the Freeport Republic had issued a restraining order against her, but, she figured that if she hadn’t seen it, it didn’t exist. Ignorance is bliss. She took a deep breath and strolled through the newsroom with false bravado, tapped on Jerry’s glass wall and walked in.

  “Hi, Jerry,” she said, making herself comfortable in the chair in front of his desk.

  “What’cha want, O’Reilly?” he growled, his head studying the computer screen. “I’m on deadline.”

  Mary smiled. That was Jerry’s usual greeting, so perhaps he didn’t know about the warrant.

  “I need to talk to you about Renee Peterson,” she said, scooting the chair forward. Jerry didn’t budge.

  “Never heard of her,” was his curt reply.

  “Aw, come on, Jerry,” Mary said, “You worked with her on Senator Ryerson’s campaign. Remember?”

  Jerry looked up from the screen and at Mary.

  “The gal who drowned?” he asked. “Little Renee?”

  Mary nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “Sure, I remember her. Cute gal. She was from around here wasn’t she?” Jerry said, leaning back in his chair. “I always thought she had a crush on the Senator. Too bad about the drowning.”

  “So, do you think that she and the Senator,” Mary asked, lifting one eyebrow suggestively. “You know...”

  “Are you kidding?” Jerry asked. “Have you seen the doll he’s married to? No, didn’t happen. Besides, he wasn’t that kind of guy.”

  So much for reporter’s intuition, Mary thought.

  “So, what was your job during the campaign?” Mary asked.

  “Why are you asking so many questions?” Jerry asked, his beefy hands placed flat on his desk as he leaned towards her. “Is there some sleazy rag paying you money to dig something up on the Senator just before he goes for the big run?”

  “More like someone is paying me to make sure there’s nothing to dig up,” she said.

  “Oh, so you’re one of the good guys?”

  Mary smiled. “Always, Jerry. Always.”

  “Okay, well, then I’ll answer your question,” Jerry replied, sitting back in his chair. “I did all of the media stuff – press releases, setting up press conferences, schmoozing with the reporters – that kind of stuff.”

  “So, did you go to all of his press conferences?”

  Jerry shook his head. “No, I just set them up,” he said, “The Senator could handle the press when he was on the road. Besides, someone needed to handle
stuff at headquarters in case something came up.”

  “Do you remember the night Renee died?” Mary asked.

  Jerry paused for a moment, remembering back. “Yeah, I remember, although, I was a little buzzed,” he laughed regretfully. “Some people celebrate with champagne. For me...”

  He mimicked taking a drag and smiled. “It was my relaxant of choice.”

  Mary could not picture Jerry - slightly obese, fiftyish and balding – as a stoner. She shook her head to get rid of the mental image.

  “Okay, so you were flying a little,” Mary said, “What do you remember?”

  “I remember the Senator’s speech,” he said, “I remember Renee, Mike and me standing at the back of the ballroom, near the patio doors, giving the Senator the thumbs up on his speech.

  “Then Renee says she’s gonna take a walk,” he said, shaking his head. “You know, maybe if I hadn’t been high, I could have saved her.”

  “So, Renee goes outside,” Mary prompted.

  “Yeah, and I follow her out,” Jerry said, “We talk for a minute on the patio and then she walks out by the gardens and I go the other way, behind the garage to celebrate a little more.”

  “Did anyone celebrate with you?” Mary asked.