I Want to Play a Game the Game ContinuesChapter 8 Endgame
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Four hours had passed since Michelle's capture and the police computer technicians were still working on trying to access her files on the computers seized. Meanwhile Michelle herself was sitting in a cell waiting patiently to be interrogated and Officer Reynolds was having to explain himself to the commissioner:
"I know it was reckless sir, but I couldn't let her get away; not when we'd finally managed to track her down."
"And what about the seventeen good officers we lost today due to your inability to abort a mission when you have to."
"But she had to be stopped sir, I couldn't let anymore people be forced to play that woman's twisted games."
"And you were willing to let a lot of good officers, with families and friends, potentially live the rest of their lives as nothing more than sex crazed bimbos so that you could capture your target! Tell me why I shouldn't make you turn in your badge right now for this."
"Thirty five girls sir. Thirty five innocent girls with their whole lives ahead of them had their future taken away by that monster in there! That's how many victims it took for us to finally track her down and who knows how many dozens more would have suffered the same fate if we had let her go."
You still didn't have the right to risk other peoples'..."
"They all knew the risks before we entered that warehouse. I gave each and every one of those officers the choice to stand down if they wished and all were willing to potentially make that sacrifice."
"It still wasn't your call to make Officer, you let your emotions rule your head and now..."
"I let my emotions rule my head? You think so? Of course I let my fucking emotions rule my head! That bitch, that psychopath turned my wife into ... she made her..."
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to bring up your..."
"Can you even imagine what it's like to only be able visit your own wife during the visiting hours of a psychiatric clinic? To only be able to see her from the other side of a glass wall and not be allowed to touch her because all that she cares about is sex? To know that she will never truly be your wife again, but just some women that is desperate to fuck you or anybody that she can get her hands on? Do you have any idea how that feels? And you have the fucking nerve to tell me I may have let my emotions get the better of me."
The commissioner was about to reply when the another officer entered the office with a look of horror pasted all over his face. "Sirs, I hate to interrupt but we have a serious problem."
"What kind of problem? can't you see I'm busy here?"
"We can't access the hard drives from the computer's we confiscated from the warehouse."
"What about the woman?"
"She refuses to speak to anyone except Officer Reynolds sir?"
"Godammit!" The commissioner was becoming visually agitated by this point, "She can speak to anyone but him. Have you tried Johnson, Matthews, Rigby?"
"Yes sir, but she just closes up completely. She only wants Reynolds."
"You're gonna have to let me speak to her sir," declared Reynolds, "It's the only way she will talk."
"You will speak when spoken to Officer and not before. You are off the case and that is the final decision."
"You can't take me off the case! There could be somebody else out there, another victim maybe more."
"You are off the case Officer!"
"Give me ten minutes sir, just ten minutes to make her talk. There could be people's futures at stake here."
The commissioner was visibly agitated by this exchange. Officer Reynolds had demonstrated he lacked the mental disposition to handle this case and especially the suspect in custody, yet could possibly be the only person with the ability to get the information needed.
"I'm crazy for even considering this, but you've got ten minutes officer. If you've got nothing for us by then, you're off the case completely understand?"
"Perfectly sir. Thank you."
"Oh and Reynolds, you fuck this up and I will have your gun and badge before your ass even leaves the interview chair."
The discussion over, Officer Reynolds left the office and made his way to the interviewing rooms where the Barbiemaker was being held. She had been expecting him.
"Officer Reynolds, so nice to finally meet you one on one."
"Skip the pleasantries bitch, I am here to do my job and that is all. Just tell me the codes to access the computers."
"Ah but there's so much to talk about first," smiled the woman. "I haven't asked about how life is at home, how is your wife these days?"
Officer Reynolds fought to restrain himself, "We are not here to discuss that Miss..."
"Call me Michelle." filled in the woman in a tone that sounded more like an informal job interview than a response to a serious police investigation. "I thought you would have been pleased with my work, she had cheated on you a number of times after all..."
"What are the codes?"
"And I bet you've been tempted at least once or twice to ask the nurses at the ward to let you spend a few hours of 'quality time' alone with the new her haven't you?"
"The codes PLEASE!" spat Reynolds on the verge of losing all control. "I will not ask again."
"Oh but you will Derek, you need those codes from me much more than I need to give them to you. Me, I just want to play a game."
"You have played your last game bitch," Snapped Reynolds sensing an opportunity, "You're never going to see the light of day again."
Michelle just scoffed at the threats aimed at her, "Oh you couldn't be more wrong Derek my dear. I still have one final game to play, the biggest game to date." She paused just enough to watch the expression on his face fall before breaking into a smile and adding: "And you're the star."
Christopher Louis Phelps was being extraordinarily cautious. He had followed her to church that morning -- on foot -- after observing from a discreet distance her departure from the house. Her church was less than two blocks from her home, where, he now was certain, she lived alone. Well away from the church, he waited until, a little over an hour later, she emerged, spoke briefly to a few people, and walked home. At 2:30, he followed her when she left by car, drove to the center of the...
Phelps established to his own satisfaction that the girl worked regular hours and a five-day week. He learned her name, learned, as he had guessed, that she was a paralegal staff member at the law firm, and discovered, somewhat to his disappointment, that she was not a frequent habitue of the town's department stores or supermarkets in her daring costume of the previous week. He decided that his constant vigil was both unproductive and far too conspicuous. He settled on walk-bys past her...
Emma, dressed in cutoffs and a light blue jersey, left the house and drove away in her car. Phelps hastened on foot the half-block distance to the Chevy, and followed. The day was hot and humid, following on after the three long days of heavy rain, and the brief dash to his car had raised perspiration that dripped down Phelps' face as he started the engine. The ancient Chevy was stifling after its long wait in the sun. Phelps had no difficulty keeping Emma's car in sight as she drove the...
The telephone rang in Samuel Wicks' apartment. Sam, in bed but awake, grabbed the receiver. "Yeah." "Sam? Thiz' Lester." "Yeah, Sheriff?" "Sam, we got a dead girl. Out at Ain't There Lake. Not far from the highway, off of County Line Road. I need you to go out there, right away." Lester Mickelson was the Crandall County Sheriff. Sam Wicks, his chief deputy, was accustomed to getting the hard cases. The Sunday morning call was not that unusual. But was this a murder? Not too...
Only one car was parked in Heritage Realty's spacious lot --a slate-grey Land Rover. It was the first Land Rover Sam ever remembered seeing in Twin Rivers. The company was located in a handsome two-story detached brick building in the far-western section of Twin Rivers, near the new high school. Evidently, the entire spacious structure was Heritage Realty. The door was open. Inside, Sam saw no one in the front reception area, but he heard a man's voice down the hallway, and followed the...
Sam had spoken at length with Douglas Ferguson after the realtor had identified Emma's body. Ferguson told him where Emma had lived, gave him the names of several of her friends and associates, and suggested that Sam talk to Susan Hatfield especially -- identifying her as Emma's co-worker and closest friend. Ferguson asked for and received permission to call Susan himself, to break the news of Emma's death. Sam was happy that Deputy Fulcher had quickly and thoroughly checked out...
Lester had nobody, outside of Deputy Fulcher, to lend to Sam's effort to find Emma Majeski's murderer. Sam knew that even two officers working full-time on a single case strained the Sheriff's meager resources. After saying good-bye to Doug Ferguson, Sam had consulted a map, split up the thinly populated area around Ain't There Lake with Hugh Fulcher, and they both headed for the area in separate cars. Sam started with the service station on the main highway that bordered the turnoff...
George Wallace's trailer had its own entrance from the access road, but it was located quite close to the Hemphill doublewide from which Sam had just departed. Wallace, elderly, gray and extremely thin, was standing at the door waiting for him when Sam got out of his car. "'Evenin', Sheriff," the black man said. 'Saw you over to Artis' place. 'Figured you'd be by here next." "You know why I'm here?" "Yup. 'Nothin in the paper yet, I understand, but I heard about them...
On the way back to town, Sam used the cellular phone to call Butler Brown at his home, seeking an update on the coroner's findings. "I'm calling from the car, Butler. What can you tell me? Keep in mind that I don't want this to show up on WENC radio just yet." Sam's distrust of cellular phones was well-known within law enforcement circles. "Well, several things, Sam. First of all, the camera didn't do it. I've talked to Raleigh, and me 'n them concur that the bump on her head was...
"Good morning. I'm Samuel Wicks. I have an appointment with Charles Breckinridge and Susan Hatfield." "Yes, Mr. Wicks! Just follow me, please." Sam followed the dignified, splendidly dressed silver-haired woman through the spacious foyer and into the interior of the grand old mansion that now quartered Twin Rivers' finest law firm, Stevens, Breckinridge and Shelton. Sam wondered whether Messrs. Stevens and Shelton were just old dead guys with their names on the letterhead, or were they...
The lunch crowd was gathering at O'Grady's, a friendly restaurant and bar popular with young people in Twin Rivers. Sam though O'Grady's was pretty sophisticated, by East Carolina standards. It was a narrow storefront place with an impressive front-to-back carved oak bar. There were cloth-covered tables all about the stone-floored interior. There were Irish flags and other paraphernalia hanging from the rough brick interior walls that bordered a long row of wooden booths, built with tall...
Sam returned to the sheriff's office after three hours finding out that nobody at Stevens-Breckinridge, outside of Susan Hatfield, knew anything helpful about Emma Majeski's murder. The afternoon Journal-Herald carried a brief, but front-page, story captioned "Death of Twin Rivers Woman Unexplained". The story indeed explained little, beyond Emma Majeski's name, age and occupation, but Sam knew from the phone messages on his desk that the Journal-Herald and all its local electronic...
Christopher Louis Phelps had spent the past 48 hours in his hotel room. He had driven directly there from the wooded area where he had left Emma Majeski's body. Phelps had retained enough presence of mind, on Saturday, to park the old Chevy well-away from the hotel, on a side street just off the main business section downtown. There were no parking meters. He was confident no one would notice the car. But he had then walked straight to the hotel and into his room, and had not left the...
Phelps paid the cabbie and entered the busy Charlotte-Mecklinberg Airport. Leaving Twin Rivers at 3:30 a.m., he had exercised the utmost care in approaching the old Chevy on the deserted street, entering it, and driving immediately out of Twin Rivers by the most direct route. During the long drive to Charlotte, he planned, as carefully as he could, the means of deserting the car. He finally left it in a small suburban shopping mall on the far side of the city, keys in the ignition, doors...
Sam had given Hugh Fulcher the task of checking out service people who recently may have visited Emma Majeski's home. Using her checkbook record, Fulcher had located and interviewed three men -- a plumber, an electrician, and a chimney sweep -- each of whom acknowledged visiting Emma's home for service calls during the past four months. "Far as I can determine," Fulcher reported, "the plumber and the electrician got nothing to tell us. They're both solid citizens, and they don't come...
Sam knew that the special detail to which Madeleine had been assigned offered her no personal rewards beyond the County's penurious per diem and a couple of days proximity to the coastal waters. He decided his bachelor's bank account would easily support a special dinner at Lindsay's, Twin Rivers' finest restaurant. He worried that, not having warned Madeleine of his intention to spend freely, she might fail to dress for the occasion. But when he saw her emerge from the hotel elevator at...
Thursday morning, Sam discussed with Lester and Hugh Fulcher his belief that running the witness sketches in the newspaper or on television might be counterproductive. In addition to his fear that the drawings just weren't sufficiently definitive, Sam suggested that they might have the effect of scaring off the criminal. It was possible, Sam told them, that the suspect was unaware that he'd been seen by anyone who'd spoken to the police. Even a poor sketch, Sam thought, could spook the...
Sam and Hugh Fulcher organized an assault on hotels and motels in the area surrounding Twin Rivers. Although the city was small, the nearby ocean resort area and the intervening small towns with motel operations made the task a large one. Operating on the belief that their suspect might have considerable financial resources, Sam divided the long list of establishments with Hugh and directed the Deputy to begin with the largest and the most expensive of the hotels on his list. Key employees...
Sam was bone-tired, frustrated, and unhappy with the lack of progress. He still had no line on the mystery Chevy; only a fair-to-poor description of the suspect; little confidence that the suspect remained in the area, and few ideas about how to keep the investigation going. The film taken from Emma Majeski's cameras had been developed, and the photographs told him nothing. All three rolls of film were filled with nature shots, mostly birds. Emma's car had revealed no useful fingerprints...
Sam had no difficulty making it to Greensboro well in advance of lunch, having been able to force himself to postpone his departure from Twin Rivers only until 6:32 a.m., and stopping only for a hasty breakfast at a fast food restaurant just off the freeway. It was a bright, sunny day in Greensboro, perfect for the local Independence Day parade. Sam got caught by the lengthy parade, and it delayed his arrival at Madeleine's house despite his careful consultation of the Greensboro city map...
"I've decided to cook lunch at home," Madeleine said, as they finished their second round of coffee. "It'll take a little while, but with eight hours' drive, coming and going, I don't think you need to drive around Greensboro taking me to lunch." "You're so persuasive," Sam replied, "you ought to consider law school." "I hear you considered law school yourself," Madeleine answered. They had been happily engaged in getting better acquainted since Sam's arrival and...
Monday morning, before Sam could bring up the sting idea to Lester, the Sheriff called him into his office and told him the car had been found. "'Found it right outside Charlotte," Lester said. "Wiped clean and sitting in a suburban shopping center, keys in the ignition." "'Nothing at all to help identify our man?" "Not a goddamned Kleenex," Lester responded. "That fucker drove that rustbucket clear to Charlotte and left it sittin' out, hoping some kid would come along and...
Madeleine and the pizza delivery boy arrived at the same time, and Sam greeted both with enthusiasm. He had skipped dinner in order to share the pizza with her. Hugh Fulcher, who had not skipped dinner, was enjoying his second beer in Sam's living room. The long drive hadn't dimmed Madeleine's interest in the upcoming project, but she looked at Sam with surprise when he presented her with a Carta Blanca, a large slice of pizza, and two sheets of typed paper. "That's our schedule for...
Madeleine walked into the Best-Buy Supermarket, glanced up at the raised platform where the manager's office was situated, and caught a reassuring momentary glimpse of Hugh Fulcher. Grabbing a hand-held plastic basket, she moved slowly through the produce section, selecting an orange, an apple, and two bananas. Although she picked up only a few items, she systematically traversed each long aisle of the store, stopping frequently to study labels, or to glance at her fellow customers. The...
The next three days became a somewhat tedious rerun of the first day's fishing expedition. Following Sam's schedule, Madeleine varied the sequence of her visits to the small city's meager commercial establishments, continuing to make modest purchases of necessary and unnecessary items. Some of these, by prearrangement, were picked up periodically from her room by an auxiliary police officer, who returned them to the stores for refunds. As on the first day, Madeleine's beauty and her...
The drive to Jacksonville and the search for a honky-tonk hadn't taken much time, and when Sam and Madeleine made their selection and ordered their cheeseburgers in the dark, noisy juke joint not far from Camp Lejeune's main gate, they were a little disappointed to observe that the joint wasn't really jumpin'. Two beers later, however, things were definitely looking up. The juke box, formerly merely loud, seemed to have become deafening. The contingent of Marines on the premises had...
Christopher Louis Phelps had returned to Twin Rivers -- more or less. He had decided, as a precaution, to stay in a motel east of Twin Rivers, near the ocean in a small neighboring town that bordered the Marine base. He was close enough to Twin Rivers to visit it with convenience, and to visit the construction site of his future home to review progress. He felt somewhat safer, however, away from his original hotel. He missed the Hilton Riverside, however. His suite there had been somewhat...
Marshall Craig, the manager, hadn't noticed anyone following Madeleine, nor had the desk clerk. "This man came up from the marina," Sam insisted. "Did you notice anyone down there, earlier?" "No-o-o," Craig said, "but Mr. Phelps may have still been down there." "Mr. Phelps?" "Yes. He paid his bill a while ago and was preparing to move his boat from the marina." "Was he a guest of the hotel?" "He hasn't been, but he was a guest last month." "Last month? How old a guy...
Sam, crouched in the back of the van with camera at the ready, quickly became alarmed when Madeleine did not emerge from the lobby on schedule. It wasn't like her to play fast and loose with instructions. All week long, she had behaved in precisely the manner that he had asked, on every occasion. Picking up his hated cellular phone, he called her room. When there was no response, he called the manager. "Marsh, is Madeleine Deneau in the lobby?" After a quick look, Marshall Craig replied...
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