Текст книги "Silent Justice"

Автор книги: Rayven T. Hill

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter 28

Wednesday, 3:51 p.m.

ADAM THORBURN huddled against the wall of his shack, annoyed at himself for being seen, and afraid of any consequences his exposure might bring. He wouldn’t be found in the swamp. They would never expect that, but it appeared they were still watching the neighborhood, and he wondered how long he would be safe.

It might be only a matter of time, and he shuddered at the thought of spending the rest of his life in prison. He would kill himself first. If they got too close, he would run as far as he could, but he would end it all before allowing himself to be captured.

He had no inclination to go out west. That was just something he’d thought of off the top of his head. He wasn’t even sure why he’d spoken to that nosy investigator. It didn’t serve him any purpose and might make matters worse, and he felt jittery because of the encounter.

He opened the bag of supplies he’d brought back from the house. Along with a package of cold meats and some fresh fruit, his mother had left a further supply of medication in the fridge beside a freshly roasted chicken. She had expected him, and he was pleased at least one person in the world cared about his well-being.

Adam was famished, and he devoured half of the chicken, topping it off with a bottle of water. It made him feel better, at least for now. He carefully wrapped the remaining food in the bag, tied the top to keep out visiting insects, and set it on a shelf built into the wall of the hut. He would need a constant supply of food to keep him going, and he wasn’t guaranteed where it would come from.

Though it was a warm day, he shivered in the heat, feeling anxious and uneasy, angry at the predicament he was in. He laid his head on a small pillow he’d brought from the house and covered up with the blanket. His mind was restless and his whole body trembled in fear.

He reached for his medications. He was taking them a little earlier than usual, but they always had a calming effect. He could use that right now. He worked a pill from each bottle, washed them down with water, and laid his head on the pillow. He was tired as well as afraid, and since he had little else to do, he decided to take a nap. Perhaps it would calm his nerves and bring him some peace of mind.

He was startled awake a few minutes later by the screech of an owl—a rare sound in the swamp. It reminded him of the mocking calls of the bullies at school, always teasing and torturing when all he wanted was to be left alone. The memories made him sad, and then angry. He blamed the bullies for the situation he was in now.

If his abusers had left him alone he wouldn’t be in such a miserable mess. His mental condition was one he couldn’t help; it wasn’t his fault, and he raised his head and roared in frustration and anger, tears rolling down his face.

He wiped the tears on his sleeve, rolled to his feet, and went outside the hut. His rosebush still flourished, but somehow he didn’t care about the roses anymore. At least, not right now.

Stooping down, he howled at the plant and leaned back as if expecting a response. He glared at the uncaring flower and then stood and straightened his back, his fists clenched, his eyes flared. He gazed at his surroundings a moment—at the decaying plants and the steaming bog—before striding away from the hut, heading out of the swamp.

He knew exactly where he was going. He crossed the field, plodding over clods of dirt, wading through waist-high weeds, and skirting around tangled bushes. The end of the steel mill property lay not far away and he followed its fence line to the street.

To his left, two blocks away, he could make out the house he’d grown up in. He stood and gazed in its direction a moment and then headed the opposite way. He took his time, careful not to be seen, and slipped around behind a plaza. The narrow lane was lined with employee parking on one side, putrid dumpsters and stacks of empty skids on the other.

His destination lay dead ahead, just past a big blue bin. He crept around, opened a metal service door, and peered inside. Skids of groceries filled the large room, ready to replenish the supermarket shelves. He crept in carefully, looking up and down each aisle. No one was about. The lazy slob was probably on an extended break.

Adam moved to a small table near the wall and selected exactly what he knew was there—a box cutter, razor sharp and deadly. That would do the job nicely. He held the tool in one hand, ducked down behind a barrel, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. Paul Patton came through the swinging doors from the main area of the supermarket, whistling a stupid tune. The guy who had bullied him for so long at school, constantly making fun of his condition, would bully him no more. Even at work, when Adam had tried to do his best to keep the parking lot free of carts, the man tortured him. Adam figured Paul had gotten the job here for that one purpose—to continue his constant harassment.

Adam licked his lips and waited until Paul turned his back, fiddling with something on a skid, and then he crept from his hiding place. He gripped the box cutter, holding it behind his back.

“Paul,” he said.

Paul grunted and turned around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Adam. “What’re you doing here, you lazy slob? Shouldn’t you be out there pushing buggies around?”

“I’ll never push a shopping cart again,” Adam said, bringing the knife from behind his back. He held it up and leered at the bully.

Paul stared back, never expecting the box cutter would slash across his face the way it did. Never expecting the second swing of Adam’s arm would slit his throat.

The victim’s eyes bulged as he stared at his murderer, blood soaking his shirt, and then he slowly slumped to the floor with a gurgling sound.

Adam chuckled, expertly tossed the knife onto the bench ten feet away, and then knelt beside the dying man. He watched Paul frantically gasp for air, the victim’s hands at his own throat in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. The bully’s eyes glazed over and he took his last breath.

In a few seconds, it was all over. It was too easy—for Paul. After all the years of mental anguish the bully had inflicted, Adam wished he could’ve made him suffer a little longer. But he didn’t have time. However unlikely, there was the danger someone might come into the back room. It didn’t matter all that much if he was seen. He was a wanted man anyway, and one more victim didn’t make any difference. But he might as well play it safe.

He stood and turned to go and then stopped; he had to do what was right. It wasn’t proper to leave Paul lying there. He stooped over the fresh corpse, grabbed it by the shirt with both hands, and dragged it to the door. He rolled it outside, then went back in and mopped up the blood with paper towels. He found an industrial-sized garbage bag on a shelf by the door, smiled, and took it outside.

He tussled and tugged, and finally, got the body inside the bag and tied the end securely. Then he crouched down, heaved the bag onto his shoulder, lugged it to the dumpster, and dropped it inside. It rolled and landed on the bottom of the bin with a satisfying thump.

Yes, he’d done what was right. He’d given the bully exactly what he deserved, and in the morning, he would be given a proper burial when he was carried away with the rest of the stinking garbage and dumped with the filth and stench into a putrid landfill.

Paul Patton would be where he belonged, at home for the rest of eternity.

Chapter 29

Wednesday, 5:26 p.m.

ANNIE BOOTED HER computer and pulled in her chair. It occurred to her, in order to find Adam Thorburn, it would help if she understood a little more about what they were up against. Her knowledge of schizophrenia was severely lacking.

Some online research brought her vast amounts of information on the disabling brain disorder. About one per cent of people have the illness, and symptoms such as hallucinations and delusions usually start between ages sixteen and thirty. That might explain why Adam’s illness was worsening, and he could expect a severe increase in symptoms in the future.

Adam’s mother, as well as his doctor, had mentioned his withdrawal from others and his difficulty holding a job. On occasion, he heard voices talking to him about a variety of subjects, sometimes ordering him to do things he wouldn’t normally do. That fit right in with Annie’s research, and apparently, Adam had succumbed to the demands of the voices and killed without conscience.

Hallucinations, usually involving seeing people or objects that aren’t there, are common, as is paranoia. Adam’s doctor stated Adam also experienced delusions of persecution, believing others were trying to harm him.

The frightening disorder is usually controlled by drugs, but in Adam’s case, the drugs weren’t having the desired effect. And though schizophrenics are usually no more violent than the average person, Adam also displayed sociopathic tendencies. That’s what made his actions so terrifying and unpredictable, leading to the vicious murders.

She would have to expect the unexpected if she were to have any chance of narrowing in on Adam Thorburn.

Annie printed out some of the most informative web pages, stapled them together, and tucked them into a folder. She would go over them more thoroughly later, but for now, she had a pretty good picture of Adam Thorburn’s illness.

She pushed back her chair, went into the kitchen, and looked through the window above the sink. Jake was kicking around a soccer ball with Matty and Kyle. Jake dove for the ball and rolled to his back, missing an expert shot into the net.

Her cell phone rang and she picked it out of a basket on the counter. She didn’t recognize the phone number.

“Mrs. Lincoln? Annie Lincoln?” came from the phone after she answered the call.

“Yes. This is she.”

There was a long pause, only the sound of breathing on the line. “Who is this, please?” she asked.

Another short pause, then a low voice spoke. “This is Adam Thorburn.”

Annie held her breath, unsure what to say. Finally, she asked, “Adam, where are you?”

“I can’t tell you that, but I’m somewhere where you’ll never find me.”

“We want to help you,” Annie said. It wasn’t really a lie, only partially. Locking him up would certainly help Adam, and others as well.

“I talked to your husband earlier,” Adam said. “He told me the same thing, but I don’t believe him.”

“Then why’re you calling?” Annie asked. “If you don’t believe my husband, why would you trust me?”

“I … I’m not sure.” Adam’s voice was weak, almost imperceptible. “I just want to be left alone and I thought maybe—”

“The police are never going to leave you alone. You killed two people and they won’t stop looking until they’ve found you.”

“Two people?” The voice on the line had a hint of desperation and disbelief. “What do you mean, two people? Mrs. White is the only one I know about and I don’t even remember that?”

“What about the janitor, Raymond Ronson?” Annie said. “You killed him at the school yesterday.”

Adam took a sharp breath. “Mr. Ronson?” He breathed heavily, quickly. “I killed Mr. Ronson too? Yesterday?”

Annie couldn’t be sure if the man feigned innocence, or if he actually didn’t know, but he seemed genuinely shocked to hear the news.

Adam continued, his voice pleading, “Why would I hurt Mr. Ronson? He was always kind to me.” He paused. “It’s the voices. Sometimes they tell me to do things, then later I forget they spoke to me. Then sometimes it all comes rushing back at once and I remember certain things, but only vaguely. This has been going on a long time. You have to believe me.”

“Why should I believe you, Adam?”

Adam’s voice took on a note of sadness. “You don’t have to. If only you understood, then you might. I have blackout periods where I do things I regret later. I can’t help it.”

Annie spoke soothingly. “Then give yourself up and get some help.”

“I … I can’t. They’ll lock me up.”

“Isn’t that better than killing more innocent people?”

“Perhaps,” Adam said, his voice a whisper. “Perhaps it is, but I don’t have the strength.”

“Think about your mother, Adam. Would she want you to continue killing people?”

“No, she wouldn’t, but she said I need to decide for myself. She told me to do what I think is best for me.”

“And what do you think is best for you, Adam?”

“You’re starting to sound like my shrink. Dr. Zalora used to ask me that a lot.”

“And what did you tell him?”

Adam gave a long sigh. “I’ve never been faced with this before. The things I did in the past were minor compared to what I’ve done now.”

“You must make a decision.” Annie spoke firmly, but carefully. “We can get you some real help.”

“There’s no help. I’ve tried everything.” He inhaled sharply and paused, then spoke low, in a hoarse voice. “I think I might’ve killed someone else today. It’s coming back to me now.”

Annie gasped. “Who?”

“I … I don’t remember. I only remember seeing blood. Lots of blood. And I had a knife in my hand. That’s all I know.”

“Who was it? Where did it happen? Think, Adam. Try to remember.”

Adam breathed heavily for a few moments, then, “That’s all I know.” He paused again, then whispered, “I don’t know who it was and I’m afraid.”

Annie thought quickly. If Adam was being honest, then he was afraid of what he’d become, afraid of the unknown, and fearful of what might happen to him. But if he’d killed again, it would only continue and possibly become more frequent until he was caught. She had to gain his trust. She spoke calmly and quietly. “Adam, if you tell me where you are right now, I’ll come to you. I’ll come alone and we can talk some more.”

Adam seemed to be considering her suggestion, his breathing slightly calmer now. “I wanted to give myself up before, but the voices wouldn’t let me.” He took a deep breath. “They told me to kill myself, and when I tried, they made me stop. They won’t go away until I do exactly what they want.”

“Trust me, Adam,” she whispered.

“I … I can’t,” he said. “I only called to ask you to leave me alone. To try to make you understand I can’t give myself up. I have too much at stake.”

“Other lives are at stake as well,” Annie said, in a last desperate attempt.

There was silence, then Adam said, “I have to go now. I’m calling from a phone booth so don’t bother trying to trace the call.”

“Wait. Adam,” Annie pleaded, but it was too late. There was a distinct click over the line as the killer disconnected.

She hung up thoughtfully. She’d done her best, but it was apparent to her he was never going to surrender of his own free will. She would have to notify Hank, but unfortunately, Adam had given no indication as to where he could be found.

She hurried to her desk and browsed the printouts again. Everything Adam had said fit precisely with the listed information, and was exactly as Dr. Zalora had said.

Adam was reaching out, and she felt she had failed in what might’ve been her only chance to stop a killer and save additional lives.

Chapter 30

Wednesday, 6:14 p.m.

HANK SLUMPED in his chair and stared at his desk, piled high with folders, reports, and work still vying for his attention. He felt exhausted from the long hours of interviews. Detective King had returned to the precinct some time ago, and between the two of them, they had talked to just about everyone Adam Thorburn knew. Some of Adam’s classmates had moved from the city, and there were a few they couldn’t track down, but he would locate them as soon as possible.

As expected, no one had seen Adam recently, and most of the people they visited took it seriously when he warned them to be vigilant until Adam was found. Hank didn’t want to attend another murder scene he could’ve avoided by spending a little more time on the job. He knew from past experience, it paid to be thorough. Sometimes leads came from the least obvious sources.

Earlier, he arranged to have more patrols around the Thorburn residence. Officers also staked out the backyard and the front of the house, staying watchful around the clock. The officers at the rear were hidden well. They would spend the long hours sequestered in the garage, staring through a small window. Hank didn’t envy them their task.

When his cell phone rang, he looked at the caller ID. It was Annie. He answered it and she told him she had some important information to share, and if he would be at the precinct for a while, she and Jake would be right over.

He assured her he would be there and hung up the phone.

Detective King wandered over and plopped into a chair, a coffee in one hand, a muffin in the other. “Thought I might call it a day,” he said. “Unless you have something urgent.”

Hank looked closely at King. “You have something more important to do?”

King shrugged, finished his coffee, and set the empty cup on the desk. “Not really. Just want to go home and put my feet up. It’s been a long day.”

“For both of us,” Hank said.

King disregarded Hank’s comment, downed the last bite of muffin, and stood. He waved a hand and strode away, calling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

Hank frowned, dropped King’s cup into the wastebasket, blew the crumbs off the edge of his desk, and turned back to his paperwork.

He was sorting through the notes he had made during his afternoon visits when he heard a familiar voice call.

“Hey, Uncle Hank.”

He pushed back his chair and swung toward the voice. “Hey, Matty,” he said.

The boy moved closer and gave Hank a fist bump. “Catch any bad guys lately?”

“Working on it. There’s no shortage of them out there and I’m doing my best to get my share.”

Annie and Jake were close behind Matty and they settled into guest chairs. Matty wandered across the precinct floor, probably looking for a friendly cop he could pester with questions.

“So what’s the important information you have for me?” Hank asked, looking back and forth between Jake and Annie.

Annie leaned forward. “I received a phone call from Adam Thorburn. On my cell phone.”

Hank’s mouth dropped open a moment, then he looked over his shoulder. Callaway was working late. He looked back at Annie. “You have your phone with you?” he asked, holding out a hand.

Annie removed her cell from her handbag and held it out.

“Let me see if we can find out where he called from,” Hank said, taking the phone.

“It’s the last inbound call,” Annie said. “From an unknown name. He said he was calling from a phone booth.”

“We’ll find out exactly where,” Hank said. He spun his chair around and wheeled over to Callaway’s desk. He handed Callaway the phone, explaining what he needed. “Can you find out where the call came from?”

“No problem, Hank,” Callaway said. He took the phone, sat forward and thumbed through it, then got to work at his keyboard. “Give me a few minutes.”

Hank wheeled back to his desk and looked at Annie. “How long ago did he call?”

“Just before I called you. I’m sure he didn’t stick around after that.”

“Nonetheless, it’ll tell us what neighborhood he’s hanging around,” Hank said. “Now, tell me about the call. Did you record it?”

“We only record calls to the landline,” Annie said. “I’m not exactly sure what he wanted. He seemed to be reaching out for help, but on the other hand, he adamantly refuses to surrender.”

Hank sat back, his brow furrowed in thought. “He’s a confused individual.”

“When I mentioned Raymond Ronson, he seemed genuinely surprised to hear about the murder. And upset. He said Mr. Ronson was always good to him.”

“At least that tells us he knew Ronson,” Hank said. “That’s something I was unsure of, and I believe Ronson was not a random target.”

“Here’s the disturbing news,” Annie said. “He told me he vaguely remembers another murder today. It came back to him while he was on the phone. He claims only to remember lots of blood and a knife.”

Hank leaned forward, his lips in a tight line. If what Adam had said was correct, that made three murders in three days. “He has no idea who the victim was?”

Annie shook her head. “He said he can’t remember.”

“There’ve been no reports of a murder anywhere in the city today,” Hank said. “Of course, that doesn’t mean much. A lot of murders go undiscovered for days, weeks sometimes.”

“He also mentioned his blackout spells and voices in his head.”

“Voices?”

“I did some research on schizophrenia,” Annie said. “That’s one of the symptoms. Voices telling you what to do. Adam said they don’t stop unless he does exactly what they tell him to. Paranoia and delusions of persecution are more symptoms, and Adam is experiencing them all.”

Hank nodded. “I know a bit about schizophrenia, but Adam’s a sociopath, and that’s what makes him dangerous.” He looked up as Callaway came over and handed him a sheet of paper.

“Call came from a phone booth at Mill and Remedy Road,” the technical whiz said. “I’ve dispatched a couple uniforms to the area, but don’t hold your breath.”

Hank took the paper and glanced at it. “Thanks, Callaway.”

“I believe there’s a plaza at Mill and Remedy,” Jake said. “I’ve been in the area a lot in the last couple of days.”

“That’s the plaza where Mortino’s is,” Hank said. “Where Adam works.”

“At least we know he’s still in the neighborhood,” Annie said.

Jake nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t think he has plans to leave.”

Hank dropped the sheet of paper on his desk, leaned back, and crossed his arms. “He’s targeting people he knows, so I agree with you, Jake. I don’t think he’ll leave the area as long as he continues to kill. Almost everyone he knows is from around here.”

“And you contacted them all?” Annie asked.

“Between King and me, everyone we could track down was notified and warned. Some have moved away, but we’ll eventually find them and give them a phone call.”

“In the meantime, I don’t think we have any other leads,” Annie said. “If Adam calls again, I’ll try once more to get him to surrender, but it’s unlikely.”

“We have cops everywhere,” Hank said. “But Thorburn is smart and he’s finding a way around us.” He shrugged. “But he can’t keep it up forever. If he returns home again, we’ll get him.”

“I’m sure we will,” Annie said and looked at Jake. “Shall we go?”

“I’ll find Matty,” Jake said. He wandered off and returned a minute later with the boy.

“See you later, Uncle Hank.”

Hank waved a hand and watched his friends leave the precinct before turning back to his desk. He had a few more things to take care of, then it would be time to call it quits for another day.

He arranged to have an unmarked police car wait in the plaza and watch the phone booth Thorburn had used. He assumed the killer would know the call could be traced and wouldn’t use the phone again, but he also knew even the smartest criminals slip up eventually.

Hank wanted to be ready when Thorburn made that fatal error.