Six- thirty the next morning, Gebriel and I were on our way to Cleveland, of all places. Jude met us at the plane. He wasn't how I had imagined him. He wasn't flabby, middle-aged, Irish Catholic. He was intense, sharp boned, maybe thirty-eight, and black.
"You are younger than I though." He smiled at me.
I smiled back. " and you are 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 the rock bands. Producer. . . Marketing guy. Bride grew 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 reassembling old photos of gangland rundouts. 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 laps, she was raped and her vagina blown open, she was 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 Jude 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 hell was he doing here?
We pulled off the highway at lake shore Boulevard. A morsel skyline rose all around us. " there she is Jude announced.
From a distance, I saw the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame glinting up ahead like a jaggedly cut jewel. A twisted killer had struck in the city's most celebrated venue. By now he might already be back in San Francisco. Or Chicago? New York? Topeka? Planning another gruesome double murder. Or maybe he was on a hotel room across the square watching us arrive.
Red Beard could be anywhere.
It was the third time I two weeks o had to go over a harrowing double-murder scene.
Jude walked us yo 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," Gabriel said to me. "He's getting nastier each time."
This time there was no bodies, no horrifying discoveries. The victims had long been transferred to the morgue. In their place were grin outlines of tape and chalk; git-wrenching black-and-white crime photos were tape to the walls.
I could see what 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 Hannah Voskuhl into the provocative position between her husband's legs Defiled her.
"How did they both end up here in middle of their wedding?" Gebriel asked.
Jude pointed to a crime-scene photo on the wall, we found a smoked down joint next to Darlington 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?"
Jude shook his head.
I felt the same smoldering anger I had felt twice before. I hated this killer. The 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.
Jude 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-asses guards floating, but generally at these affairs they like to keep a low profile."
"I saw cameras all around," Gebriel presses. " they must have some film,"
"That's what I'm hoping," said Jude. "I will introduce 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 fair cushy job, but now the police and the FBI were all over him.
Having to explain things to outside cops from San Francisco didn't help matters. He brough is into his office, popped a Marlboro light out of a pack, and looked at Gabriel.
"I have a meeting with the executive director in about eight minutes."
We didn't even bother to sit down. I asked, did your guards noticed anyone unusual?"
Three hundred guest, 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 four fired?" I said, "No one heard anything?"
"It was supposed to be a high-class crowd? We keep two, three guys to make sure overzealous guests don't wander into restricted areas. I should have guards patrolling the corridors down the guest rooms? What ya gonna take, toilet paper?
"Security cameras?" Gebriel asked.
Sharp sighed. " We have got exhibition hall covered, of course. The main exits. . . A remote sweep of the main Hall. But nothing on the corridor where the shooting took place. Nothing in the crapper. Anyway, the police are scanning tape with members of each family as we speak. It would make it a helluva a lot easier if we knew who the hell we are looking for."
I reached my briefcase and took out a copy of bare-bone artist's sketch. It showed a thin face with a jutting chin, hair combed back, and lightly shaded goatee.
"Why don't we start with him.
He looked at me and nodded
Jude had to be back in the office for a press briefing on the investigation. I needed to figure out why the killer had come to Cleveland, and what, if any, connections there were to our murders back in San Francisco. The next step was to talk to the parent of the bride.