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ChapterSS
"I GOT A HOMICIDE HERE that fits the pattern of what you've been dealing with," McBride explained. "GSWs," McBride continued, "both of them. Gunshot wounds right between the eyes." He described the quick but grotesque deaths of Kathy and James Voskuhl, killed at their wedding at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. This time the killer hadn't even waited for the wedding to end. "What kind of weapon your guy use in Napa?" McBride asked. "Nine millimeter," I told him. "Same." I was reeling a little bit. Cleveland? A voice pounded inside me. What the hell was Red Beard doing in Ohio? We had just made the breakthrough, found out where he was casing his victims. Did he know that? If so- how? Cleveland was either a copycat killing, which was entirely possible, or this case had just broken wide open and could lead anywhere. "You have crime-scene photos there, McBride?" I asked. McBride grunted, "Yeah. Got them right in front of me. Nasty. Sexually explicit." "Can you get me a close-up of their hands?" "Okay, but why the hands? "What were they wearing, McBride?" I heard him shuffling through photos. "You mean rings?" "Good guess, Detective. Yeah." I was praying that it wasn't our guy. Cleveland… it would shatter everything that made me feel we were close to him. Was Red Beard taking his killing act across the country? A minute later, McBride confirmed exactly the thing I didn't want to hear. "There are no wedding bands." The bastard was on the move. We had a stakeout going where we thought he might show up, and he was two thousand miles away. He'd just murdered a couple at their reception in Ohio. Shit, shit, shit. "You said the bodies were found in a sexually explicit position?" I asked McBride with dismay. The Cleveland cop hesitated. He finally said, "The groom was shot sitting on the John. We found him there. Sitting up, legs open. The bride was shot in the stall, too, as she was coming in. There was enough of her brains on the inside of the door to confirm it. But when we found her, she was facedown. Uh, her face was stuffed between his legs." I was silent, forming the image in my mind, hating this cruel, inhuman bastard more every day. "You know… fellatio style," McBride finally managed. "There's a few things my investigators want to ask you." "Ask me yourself. I'm go
Chapter54
SIX-THIRTY THE NEXT MORNING, Raleigh and I were on our way to Cleveland, of all places. McBride met us at the plane. He wasn't how I had imagined him. He wasn't flabby, middle-aged, Irish Catholic. He was was intense, sharp boned, maybe thirty-eight, and black. "You're younger than I thought." He smiled at me. I smiled back. "And you're definitely less Irish." On the way into town, he brought us up to speed. "Groom's from Seattle. Had something to do with the music business. Worked with rock bands. Producer… marketing guy. Bride grew up here in Ohio. Shaker Heights. Father's a corporate attorney. Girl was cute, redhead, freckles, glasses." He pulled a manila envelope off the dashboard and tossed it over to me in the passenger seat. Inside were a series of glossy eight-by-elevens of the crime scene: stark, graphic, somewhat resembling old photos of gangland rub outs The groom was sitting in the stall with a surprised expression and the top of his head blown off. The bride was slumped over his lap, curled in a pool of blood, hers and his. The sight of the couple filled me with a cold dread. As long as the killer was in northern California, I felt we had him contained. Now he was on the loose. We grilled McBride about the venue- how the victims might have ended up in the men's room and what security was like at the Hall of Fame. Each answer I heard convinced me even more that it was our guy. What the hell was he doing here? We pulled off the highway at Lake Shore Boulevard. A modern skyline rose all around us. "There she is," McBride a
ChapterSS
IT WAS THE THIRD TIME in two weeks I had to go over a harrowing double-murder scene. McBride walked us up to the second floor and through an eerie, empty atrium devoid of pedestrian traffic to a men's room blocked off by crisscrossing yellow crime tape and cops. "Public bathroom," Raleigh said to me. "He's getting nastier each time." This time there were no bodies, no horrifying discoveries. The victims had long been transferred to the morgue. In their place were grim outlines of tape and chalk; gut-wrenching black-and-white crime photos were taped to the walls. I could see what had happened. How the groom had been killed first, his blood smeared on the wall behind the toilet. How Red Beard had waited, surprised the bride as she came in, then moved Kathy Voskuhl into the provocative position between her husband's legs. Defiled her. "How did they both end up here in the middle of their wedding?" Raleigh asked. McBride pointed to a crime-scene photo on the wall. "We found a smoked-down joint next to James Voskuhl. Figured he came here to cop a buzz. My guess is the bride came in to join him." "No one saw anything, though? They didn't leave the reception with anyone?" McBride shook his head. I felt the same smoldering anger I had felt twice before. I hated this killer. This savager of dreams. With each act I hated him more. The bastard was taunting us. Each murder scene was a statement. Each one more degrading. "What was security like that night?" I asked. McBride shrugged. "All exits except the main one were closed down. There was a guard at the front desk. Everyone from the wedding arrived at the same time. A couple of half assed guards floating, but generally at these affairs they like to keep a low profile." "I saw cameras all around," Raleigh pressed. "They must have some film." "That's what I'm hoping," said McBride. "I'll introduce you to Sharp, head of security. We can go over that now." Andrew Sharp was a trim, wiry man with a square chin and narrow, colorless lips. He looked scared. A day ago he had a fairly cushy job, but now the police and the FBI were all over him. Having to explain things to two outside cops from San Francisco didn't help matters. He brought us into his office, popped a Marlboro Light out of a pack, and looked at Raleigh. "I got a meeting with the executive director in about eight minutes." We didn't even bother to sit down. I asked, "Did your guards notice anyone unusual?" "Three hundred guests, madam detective. Everyone congregated in the entrance atrium. My staff doesn't usually get involved in a whole lot except to make sure no one with too much to drink gets too close to the exhibits." "What about how he got out, then?" Sharp wheeled around in his chair, pointing to a blowup of the museum layout. "Either the main entrance, here, where you came in, or one we left open off the back verandah. It leads down to the Lake Walk. There's a cafe there during the summer. Mostly it's blocked off, but the families wanted it open." "Two shots fired," I said. "No one heard anything?" "It was supposed to be a high-class crowd. You think they want my guards milling around? We keep two, three guys to make sure overzealous guests don't wander into restricted areas. I should have guards patrolling the corridors down by the rest rooms? What ya go