Part 17

Jessica LaKaisen smiled with satisfaction as she viewed 5 x 7 glossy photos of Jennifer Cochran’s body and apartment. Ben Macena had done well. It paid to use the best. The pictures went into an envelope along with the pictures of Tom Johnson after his untimely death. The doctor was glad that she had insisted on pictures of the victims from her "patients." Dropping a hint here and there to Peter during his "private sessions" would surely send the detective over the edge.

*He must be frustrated as Hell about now,* Jessica thought. The cops have to be chasing their tails trying to find a *modus operendi* for the killer. The numbers, notes and pictures would tie them all together as the work of a single killer, but the styles were so different.

*Oh, the advantages of working with violent, unrepentant slayers of men.* Dr. LaKaisen laughed out loud at her private joke. *By being a confidante to some the the city’s most dangerous criminals, I have my own endless supply of hired guns. I don’t even have to worry about them rejecting the hypnotic suggestions. They have killed before and will freely do so again.* Such a pity about Ketterling, and now Macena. They had served their purpose, however. Having Jaisen kill them and toss their bodies in the river after the murders was just a precaution. Violent men meeting violent deaths, so poetic.

The doctor frowned a moment. She didn’t look forward to having to dispose of Jaisen. He was such a wonderful and willing slave. . . so eager to repay her for getting him out of that murder charge. It had been almost too easy. . . an expert testimony that he was completely incompetent during the killing. . . a short year’s commitment at a maximum security mental facility. . . and a miracle break through. The Corrections Board had even assigned him to Dr. LaKaisen for post-commitment treatment. He belonged to her.

Sitting in the comfortable leather chair behind the desk, her reverie was interrupted by a buzzing. She pressed the intercom button and listened as Katie droned.

"The 101st precinct captain called. Peter Caine will not be in for his regular sessions. She said that they are sending him out of town on a case."

"What?" Jessica practically snarled, jerking forward in her chair. "When did they call?"

"A little over an hour ago."

"Why didn’t you let me know then, Katie?" Dr. LaKaisen snapped at the receptionist, her anger clearly showing.

"You said not to disturb you for an hour. I didn’t." There were times when Katie’s absolute lack of initiative drove Jessica to distraction. This was one of those times.

Dr. LaKaisen jabbed the intercom button, severing the connection between herself and the outer office. Selecting the outside line on her phone, the one that did not connect with any of the other phones in the office, the enraged psychiatrist dialed Peter Caine’s cell phone number.

"Caine," Peter’s voice answered. He sounded distracted.

"Dostoevsky," Jessica uttered the name of the author of Crime and Punishment then paused. "Tell me where you are."

***

TWO HOURS EARLIER--

Peter was in Captain Simms’ office again. . . and he was not a happy camper.

"Kermit is going to accompany you on a little rest and relaxation trip out of town. The two of you will head to a location known only to him and remain there until you receive word from me. I want no argument on this one, Caine. As long as you are in town, you are a captive audience for this lunatic. He will keep performing as long as he has that audience," the Captain spoke in a commanding tone. She was going to allow no resistance on this matter. They both knew that eventually the killer was going to go after Peter. She wanted him out of harm’s way.

"Captain, I can’t let Kermit get involved in this. He has people close to him, Marilyn and her family. I won’t let him be put in danger or put them in danger. I can handle myself. I’ll just leave alone." Peter looked at the floor as he spoke. He had caused too many deaths and too much pain already. The anger and hurt was building up inside him. He longed to scream at the killer, to challenge him to come out and face him. There had been no time, however, to even allow himself to come to terms with the murders. His whole world was a fighter jet, spinning out of control on a nose dive to destruction.

"Marilyn and her family are on their way out of the country as we speak," a familiar voice sounded behind Peter. He looked around to see a black suit and green sunglasses. "Seems they won a mystery prize trip for the whole family to Scotland for 10 days. Amazing how those things happen."

Peter had no doubt that Kermit had arranged the trip, but he still had a deep sense of dread at the thought of putting his friend at risk. He felt like a plague carrier that caused all of those around him to sicken and die while he himself felt no ill effects.

"How will the killer know that I’m gone? What’s to stop him from continuing to kill more and more people," Peter protested.

"I think Sandra Mason can expect an anonymous tip about the homicides and your mysterious disappearance from the city," Kermit told his friend. The computer expert sat on the corner of Captain Simms’ desk, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You two have all of this planned, don’t you? What about th Chief and Brodrick’s family and Mary Margaret and. . ."

"Peter, this is our best hope." Karen Simms watched her best homicide detective tear his own soul apart in front of them, sick with grief and guilt. "You and Kermit are to leave within the hour. The two of you will swing by your place and pick up a couple of changes of clothes and a toothbrush. Kermit is already packed. You have no choice in this matter, Peter. If you refuse, I’ll have you arrested for interfering with an ongoing investigation in the homicides and place you in custody. If I have to have Kermit take you out of here in cuffs, I will. Do you understand, Detective Caine?"

"Does this mean that I’m off the hook with the shrink?" Peter asked sardonically. He was ready to give in, but couldn’t cave without a fight.

"I will personally call her office and explain. I will, however, expect you to reschedule appointments as soon as you return. I don’t want any hidden after effect from this case to pop up in the future," the Captain insisted. "Now the two of you need to get on the road.

It was nearly an hour and a half before things settled down enough for her to make the call.

[end part 17]

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Part 18

Peter was dragging his heels about packing for the trip to the mysterious safe house. Kermit had told him where it was, but still insisted that the targeted cop not go alone. The subdued detective was arguing otherwise.

"Damn it. I won’t be in any danger, but you might," he pleaded with Kermit. "This guy is watching me, every step I make. This guy killed a girl because her sister had coffee with me. He stunned her and beat her to death. This guy is not afraid of getting bloody. He realizes that you left with me, he’s likely to kill your whole family and all your friends."

"Now you know better than that, Peter. My family is safely squirreled away looking at bagpipes in Scotland and I don’t have any friends that wouldn’t kill him first," Kermit responded, countering his arguments.

"Damn it, Kermit, I’m serious. I’m radioactive material. People die just from being around me!" Peter was beyond reason. The thought that anyone was injured because of him was totally unacceptable to him. The young cop could tell by Kermit’s expression that the ex-mercenary would not give an inch. He would not allow Peter to go alone.

Peter turned back to his packing with Kermit a few feet behind him. As he threw clothes and sundry items into the soft sided travel bag, Peter’s mind was whirling. The words Kermit spoke to him when the two started working together echoed in his memory.

*Sometimes people don’t know what is good for them. They let their emotions cloud their judgment and put themselves at risk unnecessarily. All they end up doing is getting hurt. There are times, my friend, when the best thing you can do for someone is lay one up alongside their head and let them have a couple hours of peace.*

Peter carefully positioned himself, then silently asked Kermit for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

"Kermit?" he questioned, trying to get a definite location on his friend without looking at him. He wasn’t sure he could do this if he had to face the computer wizard.

"Yeah, kid?"

Peter gathered himself and executed a perfect spin kick, his boot connecting soccer- style with the side of Kermit’s head. The man dropped to the floor like a five hundred dollar a night hooker’s dress. Caine got down on one knee beside his friend and gently touched his coworker’s temple. A faint red spot was growing brighter; a bruise would form soon. Peeling back Kermit’s eyelid, he checked for concussion. He hadn’t wanted to hit his friend that hard, but he knew he couldn’t be gentle. The only advantage that he’d had over the man on the floor was surprise. He would have never been allowed a second blow if the first had not incapacitated him.

Peter picked up Kermit, surprised at how solid his computer desk jockey friend was, and gently deposited him on the bed. He smiled momentarily to himself. Kermit would be mad as Hell when he woke up.

*The looney out there killing people might have some competition when he comes for me,* he thought.

Pulling his handcuffs out, Peter snapped one cuff on Kermit’s right wrist then fastened the other end to the metal bed frame. He unplugged the bedside phone and moved it to the dresser, well out of reach. Almost as an afterthought, Peter frisked Kermit and removed the unconscious man’s own handcuffs and keys.

"It’s better this way, Kermit," Peter spoke to the man on the bed. "By the time you get free, I will be long gone. You’ll have to let me go alone.

Kermit stirred, not yet ready to return to the land of light, but restless in his world of darkness. Peter hastily grabbed his bag and spare ammunition. He locked the door behind him as he left the apartment. The homicide cop mentally made a note to call the precinct and have someone come rescue Kermit. . . just as soon as he was safely away.

****

Peter was a hundred and ten miles out of the city when he phoned the precinct. Instead of calling the bullpen number, he dialed the number to Karen Simms’ private line. She was one of the few people that Kermit had let close to him. . . Peter would feel better if she was the one that rescued the overthrower-of-nations handcuffed to Peter’s bed. He didn’t think that Kermit would ever forgive him if he had uniforms do it.

Simms had demanded to know where he was going, but he refused to tell her, hanging up before she could get Blake to track the call. It was better if they didn’t know. Up ahead, Paul Blaisdell’s lake-side cabin came into view.

Peter had barely gotten his bags into the house when his cell phone rang. He almost ignored it, but decided that he might as well get the lecture from Simms over with.

"Caine," he answered curtly.

"Dostoevsky," the sultry voice on the other end of the line whispered, then paused before going on. "Tell me where you are."

[end part 18]

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