Spicy And Short Stories Beautiful Spicy And Short Stories for Children, Horror, Humour, Religious, English Tales, Romance, Sci-Fi And Much More..

VIOLENT DEATH WAS no novelty to Sgt. James Peyton. He had seen farworse than a brunette with a bruise on her forehead and a slitthroat.

He felt as if he had just touched a live wire.

He wide-eyed the older detective. "Dad--"Lt. Lawrence Peyton raised a cautionary hand.

"Please, Jimmy." His voice dropped. "I wish I'd never told youabout him."

"But the MO--"

"Sh. The husband hears you, spreads the rumor he's back.... " Heglanced at the bedroom door as if he expected something to enterand devour them.

Lucy Welch's long hair spread out like a nun's veil on the graycarpet beneath her. Her brown eyes stared up at Jimmy.

She wore a red tube top and tight, black designer jeans. Howperfectly, colorwise, her top and lipstick coordinated with herthroat.

Jimmy hoped his necrophilic fantasies weren't too obvious. He mustmention that to Dr. Larsen tomorrow.

Jimmy Peyton was a fat little boy in a blond, blue-eyed hunkdisguise. He had fooled many women, since he always took off beforethe disguise slipped.

Lieutenant Peyton surveyed the huge, decadently ornate bedroom. Hewas a great, bloated version of his son with a cloud-gray crew cut."Judging by that crap on the dressing table, she liked spendingmoney."

"Or knew how to get some guy to spend it for her."

Lieutenant Peyton winked approvingly, which gave Jimmy a glow, thenturned his attention to the bed. "Black silk sheets. Now, what doesthat tell you?"

"I don't think you should jump to conclusions, Dad."

"You want to get to my rank, you'd better."

The glow faded.
* * *

The Welch living room was expensively furnished, spotlessly clean,and coldly neat. Jimmy couldn't wait to leave it.

George Welch had a thin, vinegary face and rust-colored hair,parted down the middle.

"I understand," said Lieutenant Peyton, "you were divorced?"

"Separated," said Welch as if he were about to have the lieutenantbeheaded. "We were happily married; but we were havingdifficulties, so we decided to spend some time apart."

"I see. So what happened tonight?"

"We were supposed to go to dinner and that play at the BirminghamTheater. I came by to get her; and I found her like that."

Jimmy noted Welch's granite formality. Indifference to his wife'sdeath? Shock? Or something else?

"Did you," asked Lieutenant Peyton, "notice anything unusual as youpulled up?"

Welch hesitated. "No."

"Sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay. Now, did your wife have any enemies?"

"Yes." Like he was a cat and the question was a nice, juicy mouse."She recently became friendly--just friendly--with a man named EricDimke. According to Lucy, he was used to getting his way withwomen; and when she turned him down, he didn't take it well."

"What did he do?"

"She wouldn't tell me. But I got the impression she was scared ofhim."

"You know where this guy lives?"

He gave them an address in Flat Rock.


"Think he's telling the truth?" asked Jimmy back in the car.

"Not completely. Maybe not at all. Not about that trial separation;that's for sure. Once she got her hands on his money and thathouse, that little bitch was through with him.

"And all you need to jump to conclusions about that is eyes."


The address was in a sparsely populated area.

They turned into a driveway, the headlights revealing a bedraggledOldsmobile parked so close to the road they almost rear-ended it.

They crossed what felt to Jimmy's ankles like a balding, unmowedlawn.

Lieutenant Peyton sidestepped something. "Look out for this junk."A lone streetlamp and the light from the house dimly illuminatingscattered auto innards.

"I don't believe it," said Jimmy.

"Believe what?"

"That a woman as well off as her would take up with anyone wholived here."

"Now who's jumping to conclusions?"
* * *

The big, black leather reclining chair was the only piece offurniture in that room that did not need reupholstering,distinctive in a room whose walls bore cheap prints of flowers,gleaming on an unshampooed rug; and as anyone who had known him tenminutes might have expected, Eric Dimke occupied it.

He was a great bronzed ape with a creamy white Elvis pompadour. Ashe leaned back, his unbuttoned shirt spread open, displaying hispectorals.

Only Jimmy seemed to notice the woman. She viewed the proceedingsas she had greeted the Peytons at the door: with dumb animalindifference through which muted anger only occasionally flickered.Blotches marred otherwise satisfactory features.

Lieutenant Peyton repeated Welch's accusations.

"He's full of it."

"Did you know Mrs. Welch?" asked the lieutenant.

"Sure I knew her. Lotsa guys knew her. She was hangin' around theFlat Top Bar--I dunno, five, six weeks before I got talkie' toher."

"What would a woman from Indian Village be doing in a bar aroundhere?"

Dimke shrugged. "I wouldn't go to no bars in Detroit after dark. Igot the idea she went to bars all over the place. I mean, she waslookin' for action. Or maybe she just didn't want to go to no barsaround where she lived 'cause she thought her old man might catchher."

"She was afraid of him?"

"I think she was. I got the idea he was this wimp she'd justmarried for his money; and I asked her why she didn't leave him;and she said, 'That's something I'd rather not go into'; and shegot this funny look in her eyes. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah. You got to know Mrs. Welch quite well, didn't you?"

Dimke's face went cold. "Like what do you mean?"

"Well, she told you about her marriage. She told you about otherbars she went to. Welch knew your name and address, which kind ofsuggests she did too. I mean, you can't blame us for--uh- jumpingto conclusions."

Jimmy flinched.

Another shrug. "So I let her talk to me. So I let her think I wascomin' on to her." He and Lieutenant Peyton studied each other. "Somaybe I was. Hey, I been married--what?--twelve years? I used to bereal big with the ladies. So I let some fine-lookin' chick makesome moves on me, show me I still got it. Even the most happilymarried man's gotta do that or he gets stale. Right, hoe?"

"I guess so."


They were precinct bound.

"What do you think of his story?" asked Jimmy.

"Story's fine. But did you notice Mrs. Dimke's wrists?" Jimmyvaguely recalled bruises.

"And the way she acted?"

"She acted bored."

"She acted scared. She was scared to let us see how scared she was,so she held herself in. There's plenty she could tell us, but sheknows what he'll do to her if she does."

"So it's between Welch and Dimke?"

"One thing's sure: it wasn't him."

"Him?"

Lieutenant Peyton grinned. "You know."


The lieutenant flipped on his office light. "The bloodstains showshe was killed in the bedroom. And there was no sign of a struggle,so it was evidently someone she trusted." He started going throughthe mail on his desk. "I mean, can you see anyone letting him getthat close--and in her bedroom yet?"

He glanced at one of the envelopes, started moving it to thebottom, then glanced at it again.

His face went blank.

"What's wrong, Dad?"

The old man struggled to smile. "Now, you got me doing it. Where'sthe letter opener?" He went through his top drawer, then the seconddrawers on each side, then the next, growing more frantic with eachdrawer. "Where the hell is the damn letter opener?"

"Dad." He grabbed the envelope and ripped off an edge.

Lieutenant Peyton snatched it back, clawed out the paper inside,shook it open, and read it.

He offered it to his son with a trembling hand, looking as if hewere going to vomit.

The hand-printed words flew up like fists: "Lucy Welch was myreturn performance. Mephistopheles."

Jimmy foggily heard his father: "First good hunch you had since yougot promoted out of uniform; and it had to be about him."


The bar was on the first level of the Renaissance Center. It was aslow night. The bartender and all but two of the patrons wereengrossed in a televised Tigers game.

The Peytons sat, hunched over drinks, in the dim red glow,remembering seven years ago. . . .


Lieutenant Peyton recalled a young blonde, nude on a morgue slab.Her face was like the wholesome farm girls on the cover of hisfolks' American Magazines, except for the lump on her head and thegash across her throat.

An officer read from a notebook: "Her name was Helen Dunn.Twenty-three years old. She was a barmaid." He named a bar nearWayne State University. "Her boss was emptying out some trash,right after opening up, when he found her body behind some cans."

"Had there been any trouble recently?"

"Nothing in particular; but you know how barmaids are."

"Yeah." He replaced the sheet, wondering how to say what he had tosay without revealing too much. He decided it was impossible. "Iwant this to have top priority. I want to know who works there, whodrinks there--everything."

"Something special about this, sir?"

"Maybe I just don't like to see twenty-three-year-old girls die."

He was not fooling the officer. He did not care.

The "something special" was a printed note now in his desk drawer:"Helen Dunn begins her beauty sleep tonight. It's going to be along one. Mephistopheles. . . ."

Anyone can write a note, blame a personal killing on a fictionalpsychopath. The police investigated the murder with more than usualdiligence, but spread no alarms.

Peyton dismissed the note as a blind a week and a half later, butspent the next two months going through his mail on the brink ofcardiac arrest.

He had just stopped fearing postal deliveries when the second notearrived: "I'm afraid Tracy Huggins won't have much time forstudying from now on. But that doesn't matter. She's never going tograduate. Mephistopheles."

He shut off his feelings and scoured the day's reports, then calledevery Huggins in the phone book.

He went home with no idea who Tracy Huggins was. . . .

The next morning, during coffee, someone tapped him on theshoulder.

It was another detective. "Weren't you the one who was looking forTracy Huggins?"

"Yes."

"Her folks just reported her missing. She hasn't been seen sinceleaving a late class at Wayne two nights ago."

Six days later, a deputy sheriff on horseback found her behind somebushes in Hines Park. . . .

Wayne State was on its guard. Patrols, curfews, inspection ofcredentials, hot lines to a special task force--there was no waythis character could strike again.

As long as he confined himself to WSU.

One April night, Debra Meredith, twenty-tour, divorced, went to asingles bar in Farmington. She left, according to witnesses, abouttwelve-fifteen.

She was found the next morning in the driver's seat of her car inan Oak Park shopping center. This time, the note was on her lap:"Debra Meredith was looking for action. She found it.Mephistopheles."

The investigation was soon statewide; but there were few leads, allfalse, by that early morning in June when a priest at theUniversity of Windsor found Julie McKinnon, of Toronto, in somebushes.

The Windsor police received a note the next day: "Julie McKinnonfelt so safe on this side of the water. Now she feels so sorry.Mephistopheles. . . ."

That was the end of it.

Until now.
* * *

The whitewashed walls of Dr. Whitney Larsen's office were decoratedwith framed degrees, including a Ph.D.; professional-lookingphotographs, taken by the doctor himself, of breathtakinglandscapes ("I won't shoot anything warmblooded, even with acamera"); and numerous paintings, portraits and abstracts andeverything in between, of dogs ("I like dogs. My dogs have lastedlonger, and pleased me more, than all my marriages").

Dr. Larsen's build resulted from another hobby: fine food. He wasnot fat yet; but it was a distinct possibility. He was a tall manwith black, curly, thinning hair. His hazel eyes studied JimmyPeyton, who haltingly detailed his fantasies about Lucy Welch.

The doctor realized he was expected to say something profound. "Wasshe good-looking--uh, as corpses go, that is?"

"Mrs. Welch had been an attractive woman in her lifetime."

Larsen chuckled. "Could it be, if you'd jumped her bones, thatreally would've shown Daddy?"

"I don't know."

Conversation stopped. Jimmy studied the plaques and pictures whileDr. Larsen studied him.

"Jimmy," said the doctor finally, "I get the feeling you're not allhere with me. Like there's something really bugging you; and allthis stuff about having the hots for a corpse is just your way ofsidestepping it."

He did not prod. He had learned the reluctant revelations wereoften the most significant, and that no patient was obliged to makethem.

"When we got back to headquarters, there was this envelope on myfather's desk. . . ."


"So now," said Dr. Larsen, "he's back; and you're going to deliverhim to daddy as a Father's Day present--" he glanced at his 1984calendar--"two months late."

"Not exactly."

"Then, what exactly?'

Jimmy laid a folded piece of paper on the desk. "This is the note."

Dr. Larsen's face soured. "Anyone ever tell you you watch too muchtelevision?" He read the note, his expression grim, then becamehaughty. "Ziss fellow iss obviously overzexed; but zen, aren't veall? Ven he vas a kinder, hiss mama locked him in ze closet ven shecaught him veering her undervear--hoo-ha!--undt ven he vas in dere,he seen papa t'rough da keyhole makin' nice-nice mit a floozie."Jimmy's expression was granite. "Seriously, if you don't alreadyknow as much as I could tell you about this guy--maybe, if youdon't know even more--I'd be worried about your future as a cop."

"Think he wants to get caught?"

"Hell, no. Anymore than you want to break your neck when you go onone of those super coasters at Cedar Point. I mean, besides hatingwomen--which, I hope to God, you've already figured out--he likesexcitement."

"But why did he stop for seven years, then go back to it?"

"One sure way to find out."

"What?"

"Have him make an appointment with me."


Judy Franklin was Lucy Welch's sister. Lieutenant Peyton could seea resemblance muddied by drink and fat. Her brown, boy-length hairwas flecked with gray. Her face was cosmetically embalmed.

She had a Georgia accent. "That wimp she married didn't kill her,that boyfriend did."

"We have them under observation, ma'am."

"You should have their rear ends in jail."

"Why?" Her body tightened with rage. "I mean, what makes yoususpect them?"

He took his notebook from a drawer, placed it open on the desk, andpoised a pen over it.

She relaxed a little. "I only met Welch once, back in 1977, whenLucy brought him home for a Fourth of July picnic. They weren'tmarried yet, think she just met him. Didn't like him then. Everytime I turned around, he was hangin' around her; or he wasn't faraway, watchin' her.

"And the way he watched her. I been in enough bars to know when aman watches you that way, you don't want no part of him.

"Couldn't understand what she seen in him till I found out he hadmoney." Some of his feeling about that must have shown in his face."Well, you didn't have to live on what was left of your daddy'spaycheck from his ladies and his drinking."

"So you met him only once; and you're basing a murder accusation onthat?"

"That and the letters she sent me. He was just like I thought hewas--jealous and clingy and all-around weird."

"Do you have any of these letters?"

"Not now I don't. I threw 'em out a long time ago."

Aren't you the sentimental bitch? "So all you have against Welch ishearsay? What about Dimke?"

She tensed again. "I suppose you'd say that was hearsay too,specially since she never said nothin' right out. But a sisterknows. You just go out there--he lives out in Flat Rock--and takea look at that wife of his. He coulda done that to her, he couldadone this to Lucy."

"Good point." He thought it best not to mention having already doneso and coming to the same conclusion, or seeking someone muchdeadlier than Welch or Dimke.

Or that he was now drawing an unflattering caricature of the mayorof Detroit.


Lieutenant Peyton was obviously uneasy the next few days. Hefinally told Jimmy why over lunch. "Remember the last time I wasafter this guy; and I came in one night, real nervous, and glancedover my shoulder like I thought someone was following me; and youand your mother wanted to know why?"

Jimmy searched his memory, then shook his head. "But now that youmention it, was someone following you?"

"Maybe. I don't know. That was after Tracy Huggins disappeared. Herfolks came to headquarters, raised hell. Said I should've told thepapers about that first note. Then, they would've known. Then, theycould've done something. Stuff like that.

"Heard they hung around the rest of the day, still pretty steamedup. Made me kind of paranoid."

"What did they do when her body was found?"

"I got a phone call the next day. They just said, 'Satisfied?' thenhung up. I could tell it was Huggins."

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Did she bring it all back?" The old man's brows twitched. "I'veseen her in the halls."

He was referring to Judy Franklin.


Jimmy brought Dr. Larsen up to date. From Judy Franklin's mouth tothe doctor's ear, the story was naturally mangled. But one pointsurvived. And finally someone saw its significance.


"She won't leave us alone," said Jimmy. "She won't let us do ourjob."

"Well," said Dr. Larsen, "she gave you information that, on theface of it, was worth checking out; and as far as she can see, youdidn't; and you won't explain why."

"The commissioner wants to keep a lid on it. He thinks this guymight be a copycat. Says he never heard of a psychopath starting upagain, years later, in the same area."

"Tell the commissioner for me that, if psychos obeyed rules, theywouldn't be psychos. Unless he had reasons he didn't want to talkabout."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. The point is you don't seem to be satisfied with knowingyou're doing the best you can. The victim's sister's got to see it.I mean, if you desperately need to have everybody approve of you,how the hell are you ever going to arrest anybody?" He glanced athis watch. "Which might be a good thing to think about until nextweek."

Jimmy counted out Dr. Larsen's fee. "I guess Mephistopheles hasbecome kind of our obsession."

"Then, my bet's on him."

"Why?"

"Obsessed people can't think straight. Try some relaxation when youget to your desk in the morning."

Jimmy hesitated as he laid a five-dollar bill on the pile. "Inoticed you became thoughtful when I told you what she said, likesomething'd occurred to you."

"You'll never give up trying to turn me into a consultant."

"Did something occur to you?"

"Okay. If I tell you, will you remember it was your idea?"

"Sure. "

"And this is the last time you ask me for advice?"

"Agreed. "

"Then here it is. . . ."


Jimmy went looking for a certain book of photographs, which hefound after two difficult days.

That night, he took the book to a certain bar. Helen Dunn's bossscanned the page in which Jimmy was interested and, withoutprompting, singled out the right man. "This guy. I know I seen himhangin' around here, botherin' Helen, not long before it happened."He scanned the rest of the page. "I recognize some of these otherpeople too; but if you're lookin' for someone who was botherin'her--this guy."

The rest were dead ends.

The Hugginses slammed the door at the mention of his name.

The owner of the singles bar stared at him. "Seven years ago! Ican't even remember who the hell was here last night."

Julie McKinnon's acquaintances were far away by now.

He was wasting time.

Time enough for Patti Bukowski to leave her East Detroit home andher husband of three years, Gil, because things were getting toocrazy. Time enough for her to move to a downtown Detroit apartmentbuilding to experience being answerable to no one.

She spent the first evening in Hart Plaza on the great, terracedstone structure that overlooked the darkness of the Detroit River.

She was too absorbed in the solitude and the glow of the Windsorskyline at sunset to notice him until he sat beside her.


Patti gave up two and a half weeks later, only partly because shemissed Gil.

She was afraid of a man who had seemed so nice at Hart Plaza.

Gil had suggested she wait until tomorrow; but what could be theharm of going home tonight?

"Patti."

She turned, feeling as if she had just stepped off a thousand-footcliff. "Oh. Hi."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"You're going back to him, aren't you?"

She looked for her car key. If she ignored him, he would mostlikely get the hint.

She did not see him reach into his pocket, take out a small chain,welded to a sinker and two slugs, and raise it over his head.

"Patti," he cooed.

"What!"

"Hold it right there." A figure emerged from the shadows, waving agun at the man. "Up against the car and spread the feet."

Jimmy Peyton showed her his credentials, read the suspect hisrights, and patted him down. He found a switchblade knife, on whichflecks of blood were later discovered, and an envelope addressed toLieutenant Peyton. (It contained a hand-printed note: "GilBukowski's waiting for his wife to come home. He'll have a longwait. Mephistopheles.")

"I know this guy," said Patti.

"So do we. George Welch."


"I decided," said Jimmy at his next session with Dr. Larsen, "I'dgotten as far as I could with Welch's yearbook; and if he wasreally killing them 'cause they rejected him, like you said, I'dbetter just shadow him till he made his next move." He shook hishead. "Dad must've asked seven years ago about guys they werehaving trouble with."

"Pretty girls don't comment on every guy who gets too persistent;there's just too many of them. And I doubt Welch's victims realizedhow sick he was."

"But how did you know it was him?"

Dr. Larsen's face soured. "I didn't know diddly. I just made somegood guesses.

"Like he lied about what he was doing at the scene of the crime,which I hear you cops have a way of considering suspicious. I mean,we're supposed to believe she was dressed the way you say she wasbecause she expected the kind of guy you say Welch was? Come now.

"And it would answer your father's question--you know, why wouldLucy Welch let Mephistopheles walk right up to her in her ownbedroom?--if until recently it'd been his bedroom too.

"But the closest I came to a brilliant deduction like WilliamPowell and Warner Oland and Basil Rathbone in all those old movieswas: seven years ago in June, the Mephistopheles murdersmysteriously stopped. One month later, Welch turns up at a Fourthof July party, engaged to Lucy. And no sooner does Lucy dump Welchthan Mephistopheles comes out of retirement and makes her his nextvictim. I mean, I wouldn't hang anybody on that; but it does bearchecking out.

"Now that I've answered your question, I've got one."

"Okay."

"Why were you so hung up on this guy?" Jimmy was still trying toformulate an answer when the doctor added, "In other words, howmuch of you do you see in him?"

He had a way of returning abruptly to the point.