Acts Beyond Redemption Read online

  “Thank you so much.”

  The guard left hurriedly to find out. “Fucking dyke,” Sheila whispered to herself. They were all so damned easy to play.

  “Mike, have a beer, buddy.” Nigel Cantrell handed a large cold one to the agent. Then he shrugged out of his jacket and sat. The long flight was catching up with him, but he was not in as bad a shape as the big man sitting opposite. “When did you last sleep?”

  “Sleep? Ha! What the fuck is that? I don’t remember the last time I closed my eyes without seeing heads with no bodies, and a gaping bloody mouth where a tongue should be. Every fucking time I close my eyes I see them.”

  “Mike, I don’t know you, but I do know a man on the verge of a breakdown when I see one. I can get you something to help you sleep. You need it, if you have any hope of staying on this case. Do you hear me? You punched out the Deputy Director, for fuck’s sake. If you want this woman to pay for what she’s done, then you need to sleep around the clock and trust your team to handle this for the next twenty four hours.”

  “No, I’m fine. Just angry, is all.”

  “You’re not fine. I will contact your superior and have you forced to take a break. I don’t want to do that, but know this, I will if you don’t agree to it voluntarily.”

  The larger man stood and his chair fell backwards behind him. “You son-of-a-bitch, who the fuck do you think you are? Comin’ here with your fuckin’ great ideas. You don’t know me from shit. So keep your fuckin’ mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you!”

  Nigel Cantrell sat completely still and looked up at the screaming man. “Do you hear yourself, Mike? Do you hear what you are saying?”

  Mike Matheson seemed to hesitate for a split second. He looked around the dimly lit bar as if becoming aware of it for the first time, and then he folded in the middle like a crumpled tissue and sat heavily back down.

  The bartender and the bouncers warily resumed their positions by the bar.

  “What’s up with the big guy tonight?” the barman called across the room.

  Nigel Cantrell answered. “Caught his wife with someone else!”

  “Oh, that’ll do it. Poor bastard. He’s been in here a lot lately, more than usual. Poor bastard, none of ’em are worth it.”

  “Mike?” The smaller man lowered his voice. “I’m going to get you a good stiff drink and you and I will sit here and get ourselves stinking drunk. Can’t think of a better way to get to know what we’re both made of, can you?”

  Mike Matheson looked at the doctor with a little more respect. “Just a couple, I gotta get back.”

  “Not till Henry Weisman leaves, my friend. Not a good move seeing him again just now. Trish will make certain everything is handled fine. You have to trust your people, you know.”

  “Trish? Yeah … she’s a fine agent.”

  “She’s also a fine looking woman.”

  “Trish? I can’t say as I ever really looked. She’s just a good agent, you know.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Nigel Cantrell signalled the waitress and ordered a bottle of Southern Comfort and some ice. If he couldn’t do this any other way, he’d have to get Mike drunk and then slip him a sleeper.

  He excused himself on the pretext of needing to use the bathroom. He flipped open the cell phone, punched in the number and Trish answered the call. He explained the plan to her, organized the tablets to be removed from his bag and brought to the bar, and asked her to have a car and a couple of guys standing by; he’d need them after Mike was drunk and doped out enough. Locking him in a cell and keeping him out cold for twenty four hours would be the safest way to handle it.

  The doctor knew he couldn’t chance leaving the big agent to his own devices, not until he’d had some sleep.

  Trish hung up, relieved that Nigel Cantrell had taken control of the situation with her boss. Damn, this was all they needed. Mike was the guiding force in this investigation and she worried about handling it with him out of action. He’d never really given her a chance to prove herself. She was as dedicated as him and knew she was good- now seemed like a chance to show that.

  Hurriedly organizing the tablets the doctor asked for, she had them taken to the bar where Mike and the Doctor were drinking.

  Eddie Lewinski called across to her. “Trish, the prisoner wants to make a phone call!”

  “Shit! How long have we got?”

  “Five hours, give or take. We have to let her make a call. No way round it.”

  “Why now? Fuck it. Okay. You know the procedure. One call. That’s it, okay?”

  “Sure, sure, I know.” Lewinski sounded offended.

  Trish was about to apologize and then thought better of it. She was in charge; they’d better accept that right now.

  The prisoner was escorted to the visitors’ room and given access to the telephone. She spoke rapidly when she made the call, ending it with a laugh. Sheila/Eileen seemed relaxed, and not the least intimidated by her surroundings.

  She flicked a look around the room as she was escorted back towards the cells. She didn’t see that big agent anywhere, or Dr Cantrell. She looked forward to playing with him.

  The female agent glanced at her and Sheila gave her a satisfied smile; she looked at her watch and back at Trish Clayton, holding up three fingers, to indicate she was well aware of just how much longer they could hold her without charging her.

  Trish met the pale-eyed gaze. Had this woman really killed eighteen men? Eighteen able-bodied, healthy males? Trish shivered in spite of herself. The woman saw it and gave a small victorious smile.

  The call came from the bar and two uniformed police officers went to assist Dr Cantrell in getting a very doped out Mike Matheson into one of the holding cells. They took his tie, belt, and shoes, Cantrell insisted on it. The big man was placed on suicide watch until he was released from the cell. Nigel Cantrell was hopeful that sleeping around the clock would give Mike Matheson the brief respite he needed to continue leading the team.

  He was weary himself, and hungry. He’d made sure he sipped at only one drink while Mike got totally smashed.

  Trish Clayton came over to him. “How’s he doin’?”

  “Too early to tell. I think sleep will be a big benefit. He’s going to need counselling when this is over. A lot of it.”

  “Yeah. We all are pretty wound up in this case. I’ve never seen anything like it. I never want to see another victim in that condition ever again.”

  “Anything new?”

  “She made a call, said it was to her mother. I find it hard to believe she ever had one, she is so cold.”

  “I doubt she called her mother. Probably lawyered up. How much longer can we hold her?”

  The woman checked her watch. “Damn it … we only have about another hour. Probable cause just went out the window, with all that blood being hers and animal blood. What’s that about, do you suppose?”

  “I can’t be certain. I need to speak to the patrolman that stopped her and brought her in for questioning.”

  “The report said she was speeding. Way over the speed limit. He pulled her over and then saw all the blood.”

  “Hmm, and I’ll just bet the patrolmen sits in his car in the same spot every day.”

  “You mean she deliberately got herself pulled over?”

  “That’s precisely what I mean. Make no mistakes, Trish. Sheila, whoever she is, does nothing without a careful and detailed plan.”

  “Have you dealt with someone like this before?”

  “They are all different. That’s what makes it so hard to track them down. Occasionally they have had enough and get sloppy, make mistakes. It happens and then the net closes in on them. Like Dahmer and Gacy. Yet, statistically, female serial killers are quite rare, and she doesn’t fit ‘the Angel of Mercy’ profile.”

  “You were the only profiler that thought we were dealing with a female. Why? I mean, what made you think that, when the others insisted it was a man, or even two or more males?”

  “
Gut instinct, I guess, if I’m to be totally honest. Even we shrinks have those; plus the fact that the photographs were so clear and structured, with an added edge of drama having the victim sign off the message with their bloodied thumb print so we didn’t regard it as a hoax. To me it leaned towards either a gay male or a woman. At the time I was first called in the count was six males, all young, all good looking. Nothing about these guys was plain. It would take something different to lure these young men into a potentially deadly situation. I expostulated that to either being an attractive woman or a following; a family, like Manson.”

  “How the hell would someone her size overpower a male of the victims’ height and build?”

  “Overpower? No, I don’t think that was in the picture. I think perhaps she seduced them and enticed them into sexual acts, thereby allowing them to be tied up, for instance.”

  “Shit, yeah. That makes sense. Of course, poor bastards. I wonder how long she toyed with them before killing them. I mean she wouldn’t just have decapitated them, surely. Maybe she killed them first with poison or something.”

  “We need to find the bodies to be absolutely certain. The forensics on the heads alone isn’t absolutely conclusive. However, the amount of blood in the area of the head appears to indicate they were still alive when decapitated.”

  “Fuck! Oh, excuse me, Doc. I mean it’s just so sick.”

  “She’s counting on people thinking that, if she ever comes to trial. I need to speak to some colleagues of mine. She won’t be easy to deal with, and has already indicated she has read my work. She knows me intellectually; while I can only guess about her, and her motivations, until she talks … which I don’t think is likely, not with me anyway.”

  Chapter 4

  “Hey, Trish, someone here to see the prisoner!”

  “Thanks, Lewinski.”

  “I’m betting it’s not her mother,” said the psychologist.

  Trish threw him a ‘gee thanks for that’ smile and headed out to the charge desk.

  “Oh, shit,” she muttered under her breath as she recognized the man waiting impatiently on the other side. Abe Levine. The best of the best defence attorneys, and the most expensive. Obviously Sheila had plenty of money, or connections.

  “Counsellor Levine, nice to see you.”

  “I doubt that. Ms Clanton, isn’t it?”

  She knew damned well her knew her correct name. “That’s Clayton, actually, and it’s Agent Clayton.”

  “Forgive me, of course. Agent Clayton. I would like to see my client. Now.”

  “And who would that be, counsellor?”

  “Clever, Agent Clayton. Very clever. You know who I’m here for. Please have her brought to the interview room.”

  “I need you to be more specific, counsellor. We have more than one ‘she’ in the cells at the moment.”

  “Ms Harrington.”

  “Harrington? What would be her first name, counsellor?”

  “Her name is Sheila Harrington, as you well know.”

  Trish couldn’t resist the smile of victory. This man tried intimidation on her every time they met. Abe Levine was a killer in the courtroom, he rarely lost a case. His height and good looks won over the woman jurors, and his obvious Alpha male persona instilled respect in the males. A deadly combination.

  “Please follow Agent Lewinski into the interview room, counsellor. I will have, er, Ms Harrington,” she wrote the name down as she spoke, “with you shortly. I hardly need remind you of the rules.”

  “I’m certain I don’t need to remind you of the rules either. Complete privacy. Yes?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” He turned and headed towards the interview room three paces ahead of the young agent waiting to escort him there.

  Trish headed through the locked doors and along the long corridor that led to the cells. The guard was in deep conversation with the prisoner, and blushed when she saw her superior approach.

  “Do we have a problem, Jamieson?”

  “Uh, no, Ma’am, no problem.”

  “Good. Please escort this … person … to the second interview room. Remain outside the door. Understood?”

  The guard blushed again. The admonishment in the agent’s voice was clear. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Trish Clayton returned to her office and sent a junior officer in search of Nigel Cantrell. The temptation to listen in on the privileged conversation between client and attorney was huge, but she knew it was impossible, and ignored the impulse, wishing like hell that Mike Matheson was able to handle this. She dreaded facing him when he realized that their only suspect in these serial killings had lawyered up. Especially with this lawyer. Mike hated Levine, and it was entirely mutual.

  The magistrate would hear the submissions inside an hour and a half. Trish knew the chances of retaining custody were slim. They had nothing but circumstantial evidence to hold her on, plus an inadmissible recording of her solo conversation in the cells.

  It went exactly as she feared. The magistrate was sympathetic to the need to hold the woman; however the evidence they had was flimsy and circumstantial at best. He had no option but to release her.

  Trish’s frustration was turning to anger, rapidly.

  She made a couple of calls. They may not be able to hold this bitch, but they sure as hell could know where she was going. The tail was put on immediately. They had already wired the impounded vehicle. Not legal, but she deemed it necessary.

  Trish was disappointed when the suspect avoided her own car and was handed instead into the limousine Abe Levine insisted on using.

  The press hadn’t got hold of the story yet. She knew the lawyer would remedy that. He’d milk the notoriety of this and his version of wrongful arrest for all it was worth.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Trish slammed the door of her office just as Nigel Cantrell entered the outside area.

  Chapter 5

  The conversation in the limousine would have done them no good whatsoever.

  “If I’m going to represent you further in this matter, Ms Harrington, you need to be totally honest in your responses to my questions. Is that clearly understood?”

  The soft response came back. “Of course. I have nothing to hide.”

  “Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  “I said no. If you are to represent me you need to understand that I don’t like being disbelieved.” She was annoyed.

  The lawyer was unaccustomed to his clients taking the moral high ground. This woman was interesting, and very attractive. He was intrigued by her lack of nerves. She appeared to all intents to have enjoyed a pleasant Sunday outing, not locked up in a cell waiting to be charged with multiple homicides.

  “You refused to answer any questions, which was wise. Why did you choose that route?”

  “Being pulled over for speeding was bad enough. I’m no fool; you need to appreciate that up front, Mr Levine. I cut myself whilst skinning a deer; the cut was rather bad in fact. The vehicle was a mess, for it bled profusely, and that, together with the blood from the slaughtered deer, didn’t present an exactly appealing picture of innocence. The look on that young cop’s face was priceless. He offered to give me escort to the hospital when he first saw the blood. That was when he asked me to step out of the vehicle. The damned camera on the front seat didn’t help any, I suppose, to be fair. I use a Polaroid to take shots of the fresh kill before I detach the head. The hunters like to have the photographs immediately. The Polaroid does that admirably.”

  “Explain to me again what it is you do.”

  The woman frowned and shifted in her seat. “I run a hunting lodge, eight cabins as well as the main lodge on some of the best terrain in the country. It’s been in my family for generations. I hire each of the lodges out to parties of six at a time. They can be self-sufficient if they choose; often I don’t see the hunters at all. Only if they bag a deer and want the head preserved. The
y pay by credit card in advance, let me know their preferences for food, which is then stocked in their cabin. I also cater for alcohol they may require and have even been known to organize female company should it be paid for as well.”

  “Why haven’t I heard of your Lodge?”

  “Are you a hunter, counsellor?”

  “No.”

  “Then why would you anticipate hearing of my lodge? I doubt you mix in the same circles that I do. The hunting fraternity is an exclusive and tight-lipped community and I am very selective with my clientele.” She threw him a disdainful look, “When the deer season is over I have fishermen coming to the lodges to fish the large lakes on my land, and I have shooters as well during duck hunting season. My lodges are occupied year round and my bookings are full for at least the next eighteen months. I have some interesting guests.”

  “Like the one I got the call from?”

  The woman laughed. “Yes, one of my better known clients.”

  “You have some interesting … acquaintances, Ms Harrington. How many staff do you employ?”

  “It varies, season to season. When I am fully booked I have casual workers as well. I have a permanent housekeeping staff of twelve, one to each lodge plus four for the main homestead. And I have three cooks, two stable hands … then I have ground keepers and pool attendants and bar staff. Why? Were you thinking of staying?”

  “I only hunt two-legged animals, Ms Harrington. May I call you Sheila?”

  “No, you may not.”

  The man didn’t miss a beat, but continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Stable hands? You run horses?”

  “Yes, of course. The terrain is too rugged for vehicles. The hunters need mounts to get into the high country.”

  “Where were you heading when the police pulled you over?”

  “I had just dropped off two deer heads ready for transportation. The process takes a while and I was running behind with the delivery. The drive is long and I got away late. The heads had to be packed and sent out to the clients’ hotel. One is on its way to Australia, and one to Brazil. All this meant I would be very late getting back to the lodge to greet new arrivals, so I may well have been speeding.”