Deadly Ride Page 13

  I gave him my best skeptical look. “So you’re telling me all the dogs in the world met at a conference and decided not to like you.”

  “Yes, they did. They’re very smart.”

  “You’re so full of crap.”

  He grinned. “That, I am. Oh, and I forgot to tell you this but I did a background check on Sophronia Hucklebridge and Sebastiane Magg. They both have a criminal record. Sophronia is an activist who likes to get into fights with the police.”

  “So that’s why she was in your face so much.”

  “In both our faces. Accusing you of being in cahoots with the NSA.”

  “Well, maybe I am,” she quipped. “Maybe I’m a spy.”

  He chortled. “Yeah, right.”

  “I could be a spy! Planted here in Charleneland to keep an eye on average American families. To see what they’re all up to.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything going on at Charleneland that would attract the attention of any self-respecting spy agency,” he said. “Foreign or domestic.”

  “I could be a spy,” I muttered. “I could kick ass like Angelina Jolie.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you could. I can definitely see you kicking ass.”

  “If you don’t wipe that smirk off your face I’ll kick your ass next.”

  “In other news,” he said, his smirk intensifying, “Sebastiane Magg has been arrested once or twice for possession and driving under the influence.” He looked up from his notebook. “Narcotics, not alcohol.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “And Miss Magg has also been arrested for trying to break into a nuclear power plant. She told the arresting officer she wanted to experience firsthand what it felt like to be exposed to radiation. Like Quentin Tarantino in Planet Terror. That’s the movie where his private parts melt and fall off,” he explained.

  “Yuck. Gross.”

  “Sebastiane Magg seemed to like it.”

  “And was she? Exposed to radiation? It would explain her general weirdness.”

  “No, she and her ‘posse’ were caught scaling the fence. They never got anywhere near the reactor.”

  “She could have thrown Anny Reckitt from the ride, just to know what it would feel like to murder a person,” I said musingly.

  “She could have, but she would have had to crawl past Anscom Rider, Johann Warrilow, Morrison Burlet and Dom Mathie to do so. And crawl all the way back. Without anyone noticing. I think we can rule her out as a suspect.”

  “Or…” I said, suddenly getting a brainwave. “They all could have been in on it.”

  He gave me a skeptical frown. “All of them? What do you mean?”

  “They could have arranged this together. As a team. To try and get rid of Anny Reckitt.”

  “That seems highly unlikely. They would have had to know Doctor Reckitt would go on this ride, and they would have to have been waiting in line behind her, as a group, hoping they’d get to ride with her. I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “No, you’re probably right.” I heaved a deep sigh. “So let’s go talk to our last two suspects, shall we? And hope that this time we find our guy.”

  We headed in the direction of the Sapsucker Lodge again, where this time Morrison Burlet and Anscom Rider had promised Luitpold they’d be waiting.

  Luitpold himself was also waiting in the lobby when we arrived. “And? How are things going so far?” he asked when we walked in.

  “So far it looks like any of the visitors on that ride could have done it,” I said.

  “Though we pretty much ruled out the ones we’ve questioned so far,” Blane added. “We hope that the final two will prove the break in this case we’re looking for.”

  I explained to Luitpold how Mr. Mathie had felt someone moving past him in the dark, and that the most likely person to have done this was Morrison Burlet, as the teenager was seated directly in front of him.

  “Well, he’s in his room,” said Luitpold. “And so is the other guy. The CEO. They’re not happy about it, though. They were hoping to spend their day visiting Charleneland, not in their rooms waiting to be interviewed.”

  “We comped them all a ticket and their stay at the lodge,” I said. “I don’t see what they have to complain about.”

  “I think it’s the presence of the media,” said Luitpold. “They’ve descended upon Charleneland in droves. We just had to accommodate another crew, which puts media attendance at today’s concert at twelve networks. I don’t think Charlene has had so much attention in decades.”

  “Has the media tried to interview the suspects?” Blane asked.

  “They’ve been badgering us with requests and peppering me with questions,” said Luitpold, “but I haven’t given them anything. One girl volunteered for an interview, however. So she’s been talking to them.”

  “Oh, crap,” Blane muttered.

  “Don’t tell me. Sebastiane Magg?” I asked.

  “Yeah, a girl with purple hair and a lot of piercings?”

  “What did she tell them?”

  Luitpold grimaced. “That she figured the monsters had done it. That the Haunted Ride had come alive and that it had started fighting back against the humans. And that she and her posse were going to bring the fight to them—whatever that means.”

  “I think she wants to take the ride and fight the monsters,” I said.

  “Did she mention any of the other people on the ride?” Blane asked.

  “No, she didn’t. Just went on and on about the monsters.”

  “Well, at least there’s that,” I said.

  I didn’t want the press to harass the others until we figured out who the killer was. It was hard enough to conduct this investigation without the added aggravation of a bunch of annoying press mosquitos bugging us and the suspects.

  “Please keep the press off our backs,” I told Luitpold.

  “Don’t worry, Mia,” he said gravely. “I’ll take care of it.” And he stalked off in the direction of a news crew filming a live interview with a family of visitors.

  Blane and I hurried up the stairs. Morrison Burlet was staying in a room on the second floor with his girlfriend. We headed down the corridor and halted in front of his room. I exchanged a quick glance with Blane, who nodded, and I knocked.

  “Who is it?” a loud voice yelled from inside. It was a woman’s voice.

  “Police,” Blane yelled back. “Open up.”

  There was some stumbling inside, and a woman with an abundance of red-and-blue hair yanked open the door. She was round-faced and dressed in a dress easily two sizes too small for her abundant curves. “You the cops?” she asked.

  “We the cops,” Blane confirmed, not bothering to specify our roles.

  “Well, make it snappy,” she said, stepping aside to let us in. “We ain’t got all day. Morrison!” she bellowed with a surprisingly powerful voice. “Cops are here for you!”

  A lanky young man came shuffling out of the bathroom. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a canary yellow letter sweater. He had thick eyebrows, slicked-back black hair and a sullen expression on his spotty face. “Hey, dudes,” he said, giving us both a half-hearted attempt at a handshake. “Take a seat.” He gestured in the general direction of the bed, so Blane and I both took a seat on the bed, which was a mess of tangled sheets and clothes. The room smelled of sweet perfume, hairspray and sex.

  “Thanks. Mr. Morrison Burlet, I presume?” Blane asked.

  Morrison grabbed a seat and straddled it, then stared at us through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah, that’s me. Wassup, dudes?”

  The hairdryer was flicked on in the bathroom and the door was flung shut.

  Blane handed the picture of the Haunted Ride’s participants to the teenager and he took it with little interest. “Do you remember this moment, Morrison?” Blane asked.

  He scratched his scalp, the copious amounts of gel in his hair practically crackling. “Yeah, this is that ride. The one with the dead doctor? I heard all about it on the news. So how d
id she die, exactly?”

  “We think her harness was unfastened and she fell out,” I said.

  “Huh. That’s too weird, man. Poor chick. Nasty way to go.”

  “Yes, I can’t imagine it was pleasant,” Blane said. “Can you tell us what happened, Mr. Burlet?”

  He scratched some more, handing back the picture. “Sure. I got on—kinda pissed, since I just had a huge fight with Clorinda and we were supposed to take the ride together but she bailed on me and said she never wanted to see me again—and so the whole thing kinda went over my head.”

  “Because you were thinking about Clorinda?” I asked.

  “Yeah. We kinda broke up just before the ride.”

  “Why did she break up with you?” I asked.

  “She caught me talking to the waffle girl,” he said matter-of-factly, “and she didn’t like it.”

  “The waffle girl?” Blane asked.

  “Yeah, some hot chick selling waffles. I just told her how much I liked her waffles and Clorinda kinda exploded. She was all, like, I hate you, and, like, I never want to see you again you cheating piece of shit. And I was all, like, I just liked her waffles.” He shrugged. “So that whole thing was kinda on my mind when I took the ride. Frankly I don’t remember much of it. Just a lot of monsters and wind and water and shit. Went by in a blur.”

  “So you didn’t get out of your seat and crawl over to sit next to Doctor Reckitt?” I asked.

  Morrison gave me a blank look. “Get out of my seat? Why would I get out of my seat? I mean, even if I wasn’t strapped in like Tom Hanks in Apollo 13 I wasn’t going to risk my neck by crawling around. I’m not suicidal.”

  “Mr. Mathie, who was sitting right behind you, said someone clambered past him at some point. Right before the ride went into the Pit of Doom.”

  “Give me that picture again?” he asked, and Blane handed it to him. He studied it for a moment. “I didn’t do any crawling around, but the old geezer was right. Somebody did crawl past me. Bumped into me at some point as the car was lurching all over the place. No idea who it was. It was dark as shit in there. I wouldn’t have recognized Clorinda if she’d gotten in my face and told me she hated waffles, she hated me, and she hated lying, cheating bastards who like waffle girls. Which she did the moment I got off that stupid ride.” He threw the picture on the bed. “Man, but the makeup sex is amazing. It’s worth it just for that.” He grinned, the first time I’d seen him smile. “All day yesterday and all night and all day today. Just sex, man.”

  “Can we get back to the ride?” Blane, asked, a little annoyed.

  “Sure. Whaddya wanna know?”

  “Who was the person who bumped into you?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, it was dark as shit in there. But if I’d have to guess, I’d say the fat dude in front of me. He was, like, wiggling around all the time, as if he was nervous as shit, man. Even before the ride took off, he was sweating and wiggling and making me nervous.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t remember anything from the ride?” I asked.

  “The dude was right in front of me, reeking of sweat. How could I not notice him? I mean, show some self-respect. Spray some deo on those pits, man. Smother that shit in Axe. But rubbing that stink all over my face? Eww. Who does that?”

  I exchanged a quick look of excitement with Blane. This might be the clue we’d been looking for. “Are you saying the man in front of you—” I tapped the picture of Anscom Rider. “—was crawling all over you?”

  “Yeah, dude. I mean, when I think back I can still, like, smell that shit.”

  We didn’t detain Morrison for much longer. He had more makeup sex to get back to, after all. “What do you think?” I asked Blane the moment the door fell into its lock and we were out in the corridor again.

  “I think Anscom Rider is our guy,” he said. “Why else would he be sweating like that?”

  “Maybe because he was nervous about the ride?”

  “But why would he crawl over Morrison and Dom? He must be the killer.”

  “Well, let’s pay him a visit,” I said. “He’s right next door.”

  And he was. The CEO was staying in the room right next to Morrison’s.

  I tapped the door. “Mr. Rider? It’s the police. We’d like to have a word now.”

  “You’re getting the hang of this,” Blane whispered.

  “That’s what I get from hanging out with you. Your whole… policeness is starting to rub off on me.”

  “As long as it’s not my smelly pits that are rubbing off on you…”

  “Eww!” I cried, lightly punching his chest.

  “Don’t worry. I smother that shit in Axe every morning,” he said with a grin.

  “Mr. Rider?” I repeated, a little louder this time. “Please open the door.”

  Still there was no response.

  “Are you sure he’s in there?” Blane asked.

  “You heard Leo. He told them to stay put.”

  “Maybe he skedaddled,” Blane said, his smile vanishing.

  It was a possibility. If he was our killer, he wouldn’t hang around for us to find out. “I have a keycard,” I said, and produced it.

  “Step back,” Blane said, taking out his service weapon. “When I say Go, you open the door.” He banged the door with his fist. “Anscom Rider! Police! Go!”

  I jammed the card into the slot and Blane instantly shoved it open with his foot, then stormed in, his gun hand up and scanning the room.

  “Oh, God,” he cried five seconds later. “Mia! Call an ambulance!”

  I took out my phone and hurried inside. What I saw chilled the marrow in my bones. Anscom Rider was dangling from the ceiling fan, his face purple and his tongue wagging. Blane quickly picked up the chair the CEO had kicked away and mounted it, then heaved up the body of the heavyset man and quickly removed the bed sheet from around his neck, dumped him on the bed, and immediately started performing CPR.

  “This is Mia Rugg. I’m at the Sapsucker Lodge, Charleneland. Room thirty-two. A man has just tried to kill himself. Please hurry.”

  Chapter 24

  Blane and I watched the ambulance as it took away the CEO. Blane had saved his life, but just barely. If we’d arrived a few seconds later, he wouldn’t have made it.

  “Why take his life?” I asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? He must have known we were coming after him for the murder of Anny Reckitt,” Blane said. “He knew he wouldn’t get away with it so he preferred to take his own life over being arrested for murder.”

  “Or maybe this had something to do with that SEC investigation. Maybe he stood to lose the company he’d built and couldn’t bear it.”

  “I’ll know more when I question him,” Blane said.

  I turned to him. “You question him? I thought we were doing this together.”

  “As far as I’m concerned the investigation is over, Mia. I wanna thank you for your help, but this is a police matter now. Mr. Rider is going to be arrested, prosecuted and tried for murder. There’s nothing you can do now.”

  “But…”

  He gave me a big smile and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “I loved working with you. And I promise you that this isn’t the last you’ve seen of me. You’ve got dibs on me, remember, and I intend to make sure you get what you asked for.”

  And with these words, he stalked off in the direction of the ambulance, which was parked right in front of the Sapsucker Lodge. After a final wave, he hopped into the back of the vehicle and closed the door. The ambulance raced off with squealing tires and wailing siren and I watched it burn rubber as it disappeared around the bend of the circular drive.

  So we’d caught our killer. Great. Now all we needed was to find out why Mr. Rider had done it. What his motivation was. Too bad he was in a coma, and we’d have to wait until he regained consciousness. According to the medics that could take days, or even weeks. His next of kin had been notified, and would be flying in from San Francisco. It would come as a com
plete shock that their husband and father had tried to take his own life, and was a killer.

  I turned and strode off in the direction of the security compound. Like Blane said, my work was done. The police would take over from here. So it was back to business as usual for me. But as I walked along the road that led past the parking lot and back to the entrance of the park, in my mind I went over the six suspects again. Sophronia Hucklebridge had struck me as a young woman full of hate. A woman who held a grudge and was definitely capable of violence. Sebastiane Magg was addicted to drugs, and under the influence of narcotics people have been known to cause a lot of mayhem, usually to the detriment of themselves and others.

  Dom Mathie was a man who missed his wife. He’d come here to celebrate her memory. Of all the suspects, he was the only one I’d dismissed out of hand. And then there was Johann Warrilow, the corporate attorney who loved amusement parks. He seemed harmless and pleasant enough. And, finally, Morrison Burlet, the young man who’d gotten into a fight with his girlfriend over a waffle girl. Could he have murdered Anny Reckitt in a fit of rage? It was certainly possible. Because for some reason I still had my doubts that Anscom Rider was the killer. There was nothing that tied him to Anny Reckitt. Then again, there was nothing that tied any of the suspects to the murdered voice doctor.

  This whole thing was such a mystery. I just hoped we’d caught the right culprit, and Blane would be able to figure out why he’d done what he’d done.

  Chapter 25

  “Ooh, I’m so nervous!” Maya exclaimed for the umpteenth time while she shook her hands.

  We were in her dressing room in the arena, Maya, Marisa and me. A makeup artist had just finished doing Maya’s face and a hairdresser was finishing up with her hair. She looked like a genuine diva in her blue little dress and her gold pumps. She was doing her three o’clock concert, hoping some of the press would still be around to capture her performance.

  Most of the media folks had left following a press conference from the Sapsucker Police Department that they’d placed under arrest a suspect in the Anny Reckitt murder. It was a huge letdown for the ladies and gentlemen of the press, of course. They’d probably hoped the police would haul Charlene out of Charleneland and lock her up in jail. That would have been quite a scene. Instead they got an overweight CEO for a human cloning company. It just wasn’t the same.