The Trinity Murders Page 10

  “Wait, the ME? How would Shakes have his name?” As Minnie said this, her fingers were flying across her keyboard. As she typed, her monitor began to resemble a computer virus as screens continued to pop up one after the other with information pertaining to Carl Magnusson. Family life, job history, reprimands. Anything Minnie wanted to get her hands on was at her disposal down to his voter registration.

  “Turns out Shakes crossed paths with him many times when he was a private detective. Since he’s been on the streets, he’s seen Magnusson buying both drugs and women over the years so he put him on the list. I have three names that Shakes gave me. With the evidence that went missing, I want to start with Carl and move on to the other two. Can you—”

  “Pull everything I can on one Carl Mitchell Magnusson? Already on it. It’s going to take me a little time to go through everything and dig out all the truffles. Do you want me to give you a call when I have something?”

  “I would love you if you would.”

  “Consider it done.” Minnie disconnected as her fingers moved faster across the keys than they ever had before.

  22

  Barely audible moans came from Mayfield before he ever opened his eyes. Once he did, they might as well have remained closed as all he saw was darkness. He would assume he was in a windowless, pitch black room if it weren’t for the feeling of canvas all around his head. He closed his eyes again, but not because it was pointless to have them open, but so he could try and visualize what he was feeling. No matter what, he figured out there was no action he could take. Being shrouded, he couldn’t determine if he was alone or not.

  Taking a deep breath, he could tell that he was in a high-back wooden chair. By feeling the armrest, he could tell that it was a thick hardwood. Probably oak or walnut. There was rope across his chest. There was rope across both wrists binding him to the armrests and rope across both ankles binding him to the legs. There was no give in any of his restraints. He heard no sounds of the outdoors, so he assumed he was inside. He felt sun on his left arm so he knew there was a window present and since it was past noon, he was facing north; not that it really mattered. None of it really mattered because he didn’t have an ounce of control concerning his situation. He was just trying to keep his mind churning so he didn’t panic.

  He didn’t hear any appliances running; no refrigerator, no electric hum of any kind. You never really notice all the sounds that surround you constantly until the power goes out. At that point, you can really hear silence and that was the sound Mayfield was hearing now. Some of the softer sounds could be muffled by his hood but he assumed he was in a basement.

  He started to fade out again and was soon unconscious for the second time in his life. He had no idea how long he was out this time, but he was woken by footsteps to his left. They sounded like they were coming down stairs so he figured he was in a basement. As his captor reached the bottom, the sound was that of heavy boots on concrete followed by the sound of a rusty door being opened. The floor beneath his feet was also concrete and the shoes made a hollow echo has they drew closer and the sound amplified. The scrape of wood across the floor alerted Mayfield that he was pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. He knew it was a man because of the heaviness of his footfalls.

  When he woke the first time, Mayfield had set some ground rules for himself. He wouldn’t give up any information no matter how much torture he had to endure; under no circumstance would he beg for his life or show any signs of fear; and he wouldn’t be the first to speak. He would sit and wait this guy out as long as he had to. The longer he could hold out, the better chance he had of being found. His only hopes right now were his ability to think quickly, endure what was about to come and Minnie Marlow.

  Before the silence had a chance to be broken, he passed out again.

  He was again woken by the sounds of someone descending the stairs outside the room. Either it was a second person or his original visitor got bored, left and was now returning. He came in and sat down. The absence of the familiar scrape of wood said it was the latter. Something began to gingerly play up and down Mayfield’s leg. Although he was wearing denim, a sharp point almost playfully poked him from time to time and he knew it was some sort of blade.

  The blade was pulled away and he stood up. “You have been a very busy boy.” As he said each of the last three words, he slapped Mayfield on top of the head with the flat part of the blade. With the last slap, he let the point trail down the back of his head and neck.

  He is momentarily disoriented. Clearly the heavy footfalls earlier were for Mayfield’s benefit. Now the man moved around the room with the stealth of a cat, and when the blade came down on his head he had no idea the man was behind him, and it was definitely a man’s voice; not Magnusson but maybe an accomplice. He thinks early to mid-forties. Although he was caught off guard, he didn’t show it nor did he speak or wince. He was going to hold out speaking as long as he could. In his experience he learned that when dealing with somebody that was not of sound mind, the best thing to do was remain quiet and let him hang himself. Usually when employing this technique, he had the upper hand and was in no danger, but he would have to improvise.

  “You’re not going to get out of this room alive.” This time he did flinch, ever so slightly. It was so minute that most people wouldn’t notice, but he was sure this man did. The first chink in the armor. The man was inches from his right ear. Mayfield had no idea how he got there so quietly.

  At that point, his chair was violently tossed backwards and Mayfield was laying on his back with the knife swiftly placed against his throat. Not hard to where he thought his life was in immediate danger, but a trickle of blood ran down the right side of his neck and back towards his ear. His captor definitely noticed the flinch.

  “No, that would be too easy and way too good for you. Don’t get me wrong, you’re gonna die in this room, but I need some answers first, and how quickly or slowly you move on to that great beyond will depend on how quickly you give me those answers.” He was right up close against Mayfield’s face and even through the shroud he could smell the man’s breath. It was that of beer and what had to be cabbage and it was starting to make him sick.

  In one motion the blade was pulled away and he was hauled back on his feet. How quickly or how slowly, those were the words he keyed in on. His pain tolerance was high and short of actual death, he could handle most anything. He thought there was still a chance. The blood from his neck had almost stopped but what was still seeping was now running down his chest.

  The blade was left resting across his lap as the heavy footfalls returned and the man left the room once again. His first thought was to shake it off him to the floor but he wasn’t about to give him or them the satisfaction. It was still possible he wasn’t the only one in the room. Without the hood he would be able to hear a second person breathing, but with it, he just wasn’t sure. If he were to die, he knew the weapon sitting in his lap would be the one to do him in. As the blood continued to drip down his chest and faint red blooms began to appear on his shirt, the one thing he wished was to get that damn knife off his lap.

  23

  Carl felt control was slowly returning to his life. Mayfield was secure and being taken care of. Most likely he hadn’t told anybody what he knew, but if he had they would know soon enough. He definitely hadn’t had a chance to talk with Trufant. The only wild card was Topper.

  He occupied himself with busy work around autopsy until he heard from Boggs. Part of that busy work was erasing all evidence of Mayfield. Once he was transferred from autopsy to the van, he was taken out of the body bag and the bag was returned to Carl. Belt tightening had made its way down to autopsy and they were keeping tighter inventory on everything, including body bags. He had completely washed it out with soap, hot water and some bleach and was now letting it dry, out of sight. He didn’t think it would really be an issue, and once the bag was used again it wouldn’t be, but Carl hadn’t lasted this long by being carless. He
was getting on in years and, although it worried him that he may not be around too much longer, he had passed on as much wisdom as he could. What they did with it now was up to them.

  There was nothing Carl could do about the car. Mayfield had two cars parked in the lot and he would love to get rid of one of them. A few years back, over a span of three nights, eight police cruisers were vandalized prompting the brass to put in a few cameras. They were mostly for show. The police station was manned 24 hours a day so the theory was if people saw the cameras, they would think somebody was inside monitoring them and move on. The cameras were recording though, and once Mayfield was determined to be missing, they would surely go back and review the tapes to trace his whereabouts. He thought about removing the tapes or erasing them, but after the socks went missing, anymore questions inside the precinct would increase the heat too much. Carl still believed he could move past this and continue his life as he always had. The two cars in the lot would cause questions but those questions would culminate in dead ends.

  He and Trufant had been friends for years and while he was a little worried when he told him he was going to try and bring Topper McMullen from the FBI in to help with the case, that worry was short lived because he knew that he kept everything as water tight as a ship. No matter how much planning he did though, an occasional leak would spring here or there and he would need to plug it. That was what he was doing now.

  Nothing Mayfield had with him was left behind. His keys, cell phone, minus sim card, and notebook were all included when Mayfield was transported to the farm. All of those would be buried with the body. If the authorities found the body, it wouldn’t matter if they also found his possessions and vice versa. At least by keeping things together there was only one thing authorities could find instead of two.

  Carl was just finishing up his mental checklist to make sure everything was done right when his cell phone rang. He was expecting to hear from Boggs that no information had passed Mayfield’s lips and that he was finally resting out back.

  “It’s about time,” said Carl.

  “Don’t snap at me,” returned Boggs.

  “Is it taken care of?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What do you mean not yet? It’s a simple task. It should have been done hours ago. The sooner this is taken care of the sooner we can breathe easier. Until that point, it’s a grenade that could go off at any time.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? This one is different. If all we wanted to do was take care of it, we could have done that hours ago, but we need to know what’s out there, you know that. He hasn’t spoken, he hasn’t shown fear, he’s had one small flinch which I seized on but then nothing, no crack. I need to wear him down and then it’ll be easy.”

  “Fine, just get it done.”

  “I will, but that doesn’t appear to be our only concern. I just heard from Randy and it’s a good thing you had him place those trackers because Paul Lamb’s information has just been accessed.”

  “Can he tell by who?”

  “I asked him the same thing. He said there are too many firewalls; all he can tell is that the information has been accessed, but since you gave him access to the mainframe there at PD he was able to tell that it wasn’t them. Do you think it could be the FBI?”

  “No. Topper is here working this case on his own. I think any FBI help would be outside of protocol and I can’t believe there is anybody helping him. After what happened with Topper at the FBI I can’t imagine he would reach out for help anyway. There’s no exposure with Paul Lamb, right?”

  “None, depending on the search, they shouldn’t even notice anything is off. They would have to research the address or really know their Dallas address grid to realize it’s in the middle of a state park. Most likely, it’s nothing. Maybe just a random search of SUV owners at another precinct, but with everything else that is going on now, I just felt we should discuss it.”

  “No, you did the right thing, no question, but it’s time to retire Paul Lamb and you need to dispose of the SUV.”

  “I’ve already got a hold of Jimmy in Louisiana. He has a transport leaving Dallas tomorrow and the SUV will be on it. I’ll start looking for a new ride tomorrow.”

  “Perfect, let me know when you’ve made some progress with the other problem. I think it’s time we had a word with Topper.”

  24

  Once Randy got off the phone with Boggs he knew what needed to be done. He had to finish with Linnie and dispose of her body. He was hoping for a little more time but he knew this was coming so he was able to deal with the disappointment quickly. Her final resting place was already picked out and prepared; all he had to do was finish things off.

  After that, he needed to lay low for awhile. He had planned to grab another girl right away, maybe the same night, but things had changed. This wasn’t the first time Randy had to lay low, but it was the first time it wasn’t his fault. His whole world almost came crashing down three years prior. It was only his second girl and he was on his way to dispose of her. He was proud of himself for finding a spot that was popular with bird watchers, and after some research found out that in about four weeks people would be out looking for the Upland Sandpiper.

  He thought everything was perfect on the night of the disposal. He had planned out each detail. All the lights worked on his van, he was obeying all traffic laws and he was relaxed. He realized a few mistakes when he pulled up to a sobriety check point. He planned out two different routes to get to his destination but he didn’t check for anything that could impede him. The other thing he learned was to never dispose of one of his girls on a Friday or Saturday night. There was too much happening on weekends, and from then on, he always finished up on a Wednesday.

  They weren’t checking IDs, just briefly chatting with each driver, and Randy would have gotten through it just fine but as soon as he saw the red and blue flashing lights he began to panic. Later, he was happy that he had the presence of mind not to turn around right there and start going in another direction. One of the cops would have definitely come after him. By the time it was his turn, he was sweating and he looked like a man who had a girl in the back of his van.

  The body was well concealed but it was no surprise that the officer didn’t believe him when he said he hadn’t been drinking. He was asked to step out of the car, walk a straight line and touch his nose with the index finger from both hands. Of course Randy had no problems doing this but they ran his information anyway. He knew the ID would stand up to a basic search and he had no problems there. He was thanked for his time and sent on his way.

  Instead of finishing what he set out to do, he went back home. He called Billy and said he needed a new set of papers and that he needed to arrange having the van picked up and sent to Jimmy Chop. He finished this disposal the next night in a different vehicle and it was a long time before he was able to live down his mistake. Whatever mistake happened this time, he was happy it wasn’t his.

  This time he would do things right. His whole life he had been the screw up and he was tired of living it down. He was ready to assume the roll of hero and the first thing he needed to do was call Billy.

  25

  He had an idea of where he could find Topper. Trufant mentioned that they split up for a few hours to work solo. He knew Topper would be trouble from the moment he heard about him, so he started doing his own profiling and realized that Topper was most likely at the nearby chess park. Without a car, that was the most likely place he could find him.

  As a born planner, Carl knew there might come a time where he needed to leave police headquarters without being recorded pulling out of the lot. He kept a van at a monthly permit parking garage around the corner from HQ, which was where he was headed now.

  Reaching down, his fingers closed around a magnetic box under the front bumper. He didn’t want to have keys to this vehicle on his main key ring, so he left a spare there. He wasn’t in any real danger of having this van stolen. It was an older nondesc
ript white van with rust in the corners. There was a hula girl suctioned to the dashboard that would sway as he drove. There were no windows in the van other than the windshield, driver and passenger windows. It had definitely seen better days. The odometer was getting ready to cross 150,000 miles but the engine was in tip-top shape.

  He fired up the van and exited the garage at a leisurely pace. He didn’t have much of plan and he wasn’t even sure he could find Topper, but he knew he needed to divide and conquer. Mayfield has been isolated and once he was able to isolate Topper, then that would effectively isolate Trufant too.

  He made a complete stop at the bottom of the ramp, put on his blinker and made a left hand turn out of the garage. Passing the front of the police station on his right, he made a salute which couldn’t be seen by anyone due to the limo-grade tint on the front windows. Two blocks down he made a right with the chess park about a quarter mile from the corner on his left.

  He rolled down his window and marveled at what a great day it was turning out to be. The temperatures were topping out in the low 90s, which for Texas was relatively cool, and people were out in full force. The park and its expanse of shade trees were being well utilized today.

  He slowed to a crawl looking for Topper among the players and spectators but couldn’t pick him out. As he was nearing the end of the park, he planned to make a u-turn and make one more pass when the stars aligned and he truly believed that fate was on his side. Just crossing the street up ahead was Topper and he appeared to be heading towards the diner across the street.

  Not wanting to cause too much attention, Carl gradually sped up his van and right before Topper was about to step up onto the sidewalk, Carl swerved and clipped him with the front corner on the passenger side of the van. Carl didn’t have time to admire the joke but found it funny that when the van struck Topper, it spun him like … a top. He hit the ground with a thud and lay motionless, face down, half in the gutter and half on the sidewalk. Carl jumped between the two front seats of the van and exited through the sliding door above where Topper now lay.