Текст книги "The Gift of Death"

Автор книги: Sam Ripley

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

46

‘So what shall we do with you now?’ he said, looking down at the blindfolded man.

‘What the fuck is going on?’

‘You’re just about to find out, my friend. But please try and refrain from using foul language.’

‘You motherfucking fuck –‘

‘I’ve asked you politely. Now if you don’t try and –‘

‘Fuck you.’

‘Very well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

He grabbed one of his victim’s hands and smashed it into the vice.

‘Don’t you recognise this?’

‘What the –‘

‘It’s the very same piece of equipment you were about to use on that blind girl. Oh, and by the way how does it feel not to be able to see?’

There was no answer.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ He laughed to himself. ‘Of course, you’ll know all about that, as well.’

‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘I could ask you the same question. But I already know who you are. You see I’ve got the advantage.’

He turned the screws so that the vice clamped itself around a finger. He took out his scalpel and admired its sharp point.

‘I’m going to use a slightly more sophisticated instrument than you. But the pain will, I should think, be the same. Can you imagine it? The pain?’

The man started to thrash about on his chair.

‘Try and sit still, please.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I would have thought that was quite obvious.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m simply going to give you a taste of your own medicine, something I’ve been meaning to do for some time.’

‘You wouldn’t fucking dare.’

‘I don’t think you are in any position to argue, actually. But first I want you to feel a little more fear.’

He brought the scalpel closer to the man’s face and pressed its cold edge against his cheek.

‘Can you feel that? Can you feel how sharp it is? Can you imagine what it could do? How easy it would be to slice through your flesh? Your skin would be as soft as butter left out in the heat of the day.’

He traced the blade down the contours of the man’s face to his lips. A thin line of blood appeared across his cheek, a sinister red rainbow.

‘Open your mouth.’

He kept his lips together.

‘I said open your mouth.’

The man’s lips quivered like two fat worms exposed to sunlight. He slipped the scalpel into the man’s mouth.

‘Can you taste that? That’s the taste of your own blood. The taste of your fear. I suppose you thought it would always be you dealing it out. Well, how does it feel to take it? I bet you thought that you would never feel afraid, didn’t you? Didn’t you?’

I suppose you thought that you would never feel afraid, didn’t you? Didn’t you?’

The man in the chair nodded.

‘I’ve got to say that I find what you did despicable. Inhuman. So I’m going to do my duty and see if I can try and reform you. You know what they say? You have to be cruel to be kind.’

He took the scalpel out of the man’s mouth and checked the vice. He wouldn’t want any nasty accidents. And what about the blood? He could use those tissues. He took out a few and spread them around the vice.

‘Okay, here we go.’

The point of the scalpel entered the man’s finger just below the nail bed. A scream split the air.

‘Do you understand now?’ he said. ‘It’s not particularly nice, is it? You look ill, feverish. Do you feel sick? It’s the pain, you see. I gave the girl something for that, but I think I’ll let you endure it. It’ll be good for you.’

He pushed the scalpel downwards and then sideways, working the blade with an efficient manner. Just as the fingertip was nearly sliced off the man in the chair vomited over himself.

‘Now you’ve gotten yourself all dirty. I suppose it’s the evil in you coming out.’

With one final cut the tip of the finger fell forwards in a pool of blood. He was careful not to touch it, but picked it up with the end of his scalpel like one of those fancy canapés he’d seen at a buffet. He mopped up the blood with the tissues and then took a fresh one from the box and dropped the end of the finger into it. By his feet was a padded envelope. He scrunched up the tissue and then pushed it inside the package. On the front of the envelope was an address. Earlier that day he’d been to a Kinko’s downtown and typed the details into a computer, printed them off and taped them to the envelope. Everything was in order. That was his motto. If only everyone lived by it. Then the world wouldn’t be such a wicked place. There’d be no crime. No perversion. No filth. He was only trying to do his bit to clean things up. Yes, he truly was doing the Lord’s work on earth. He’d saved that sweet blind girl from this monster. Surely he’d be rewarded in Heaven for that.

He looked down at the pitiful creature in the chair, gobbits of vomit coagulating on his lap. This pathetic instrument of Lucifer. He had battled Satan and won. He was victorious.

He could easily kill him. But it would be too neat. Too simple. But Satan’s messenger had not suffered enough, not for all the terrible things he had done. He hadn’t experienced nearly enough fear. This guy needed to feel what it was like to be hunted. To find himself prey. Well, he had a plan in place.

‘I haven’t finished with you yet,’ he said. ‘Oh my Lord, no.’

As he peeled back the seal on the envelope and pressed down along its rim he looked at the name and address on the label. He smiled to himself, a wave of satisfaction surging within him. Sometimes it felt so great to be alive.

‘This is where the fun starts.’

47

Cassie tried to swallow, but her mouth felt like sandpaper. She was disoriented, dizzy. And any second she was going to be sick. She knew something awful had happened to her. It loomed at the back of her consciousness like a strangely-shaped shadow. But each time she tried to confront it – to try and identify it – the blackness descended.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

‘Cassie, it’s Kate. You’re in hospital, Cedars-Sinai. You’re going to be okay.’

‘I know something awful happened, but I can’t remember’. Her voice was nothing but a whisper. ‘What happened?’

‘We’ve got no idea. In fact, we thought you might be able to tell us.’

‘What do you mean?’

Kate took a deep breath and turned to face Josh. He moved a step closer towards the bed.

‘Well, we know that someone took you. In a cab,’ he said. ‘From your injuries it looks like you have suffered some kind of assault. You’ve got some cuts to your fingers, and a lesion and bruising on your shoulder. The medics say that someone administered some kind of drug, a painkiller.’

In that instant, she remembered being in a room. The pain of something crushing her finger. Then something slicing into it. There was the smell of oil. And then she recalled the feel of the man’s face.

‘It was Gleason.’

Kate and Josh both spoke at once.

‘What –‘

‘But that’s impossible.’

‘I felt his face. It was him. The square face, high forehead, it was the same face, but –‘

‘Are you sure?’ said Kate. ‘There are lots of men out there with the same facial structure.’

‘It wasn’t only that. It was his voice. It wasn’t quite the same as before, but I’d have known it anywhere.’

‘You’ve only just woken up from a traumatic experience,’ said Josh. ‘And what with the drugs –‘

‘Listen – it was him.’ She paused, trying to transfer the feel of his face into words. ‘Or almost him. I don’t know how to explain –‘

‘It’s okay, Cassie,’ said Kate, stroking her hair. ‘When you’re feeling better we can work on a facial reconstruction together. Okay?’ Cassie nodded. ‘But can you remember anything else we can work on now? Anything else about this guy?’

‘He took me into a carport. It smelt of cars, oil, something awful, decaying. I don’t know where we were. I nearly got away, under the door, but I was too slow. And he hit me with something, a chain I think, here –‘ As her bandaged fingers drifted up towards her shoulder she winced in pain. ‘He told me that he was the one who sent me that present. And that he wanted to make it a reality.’

‘So what happened then?’

‘Well, that’s when you guys came in.’

‘What?’ said Josh.

‘When I was rescued. I heard someone break into the building and a voice said something like drop the knife or I’ll blow your brains out. That was the cops, right?’

‘Cassie, it wasn’t us. We didn’t have a clue where you were. We thought you’d been taken to a house in Van Nuys, but it proved to be a –‘

‘But –‘

‘From what we can gather a nurse found you lying on a bench outside the hospital.’

‘I don’t understand. I thought –‘

‘So who was it?’

‘I asked if he was a cop and he said something like, “You could say that.’’ He was the one who gave me an injection for the pain. Said that he would look after me, take me to hospital.’

‘Shit, what the fuck is going on?’ said Josh under his breath. ‘Did he say anything else?’

‘I asked him if he was a doctor, but he said he wasn’t. He said he knew something about medicine. I asked his name, but he wouldn’t tell me. He told me that I’d start to feel sleepy from the drug he had given me, but not to worry. He told me I was safe. I believed him.’ Tears were streaming down her face. ‘But if it wasn’t the cops who came and rescued me then who –‘

‘We just don’t know,’ whispered Kate, gently wiping Cassie’s wet cheeks.

‘The guy you thought was a cop – did you manage to touch his face?’

‘No – sorry – I –‘

‘It’s fine, Cassie. Don’t worry. You’ve done amazingly well. Try and get some rest now. We’ll work on the image tomorrow. When you’re feeling better.’

‘No,’ said Cassie, wiping a tear from her face. ‘We’ll do it now.’

‘But –‘

‘The feel of his face is still fresh in my mind.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘I can’t bear you looking at me one second longer, thinking that I’m so distressed that I’ve finally gone crazy.’

‘No,’ said Kate. ‘You’re the least crazy person I know.’

48

‘The fun lies in not knowing, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘Not knowing just which one of your victims will turn on you. I suppose some will take the easy option of calling the cops. Which is fine in its own predictable kind of way. But then others will take it upon themselves to be – how shall I put it? – a bit more creative.’

The man raised his head slightly before it lolled back onto his chest.

‘I’m pleased to see that you agree,’ he continued. ‘Not that you are in much of a position to argue at the moment. Blindfolded, tied to a chair, deprived of a couple of fingertips, a whole load of vomit in your lap.’ He moved closer to him now and whispered in his ear. ‘But let me tell you what you’re experiencing is a church picnic compared to what you’ve got coming to you. I know you’re dying to hear more, but I think it’s best if I keep you guessing for the time being.

‘You don’t think I’m capable? Well, there’ve been a couple of unsolved murders recently. Raymond Cutler – heard of him? No. Well let me fill you in. Raymond seemed like a respectable family guy, except that he liked little girls. Into internet porn, really disgusting stuff. Want to know what I did? I cut off his penis and Raymond bled to death.

‘Need another example? I could tell you about Phil Vine, a drug dealer, who sold his shit to teens. I fed him a cocktail of drugs to die for – which is just what he did. And oh – I nearly forgot about Charles Garrison. Wife-beater. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about him. I smashed him over the head with a rock so hard his brains spewed out.

‘In each case it was an appropriate match of crime and punishment, don’t you agree? Almost like divine justice, if you will.

‘What was that? What am I going to do with you? You’d like a clue? Okay, let’s see. I’ve always wondered whether there is anyone out there like me. If there is anyone else who shares my dream.’

49

‘Do we know how it got here?’ asked Josh.

‘It seems like it was hand delivered to the front desk this morning at 5:37,’ said Lansing. ‘I spoke to Louisa Hammond, who took receipt of the parcel and logged it in. She describes the man as white, mid-thirties, square-jawed. Hammond can’t remember much else about him, but said that he was wearing a baseball cap. Hammond thought he was kind of quiet, but as it was early morning she didn’t think it was out of the ordinary.‘

‘Okay – Lansing, I want you to check the security cameras. As we know the time you should be able to get an image for us almost straight away. Send the sequence over to me just as soon as you’ve found it.’ He turned to Helen. She wasn’t looking good. Jesus, that was an understatement. She looked like death. But if she wanted to use work as a way of blocking out the painful realities of her future – or rather lack of it – who was he to argue. ‘Helen – is there any word from the forensics lab yet?’

‘They promised to get back to me within the hour. I told them it was a high priority so they’re doing everything they can.’

An image of the contents of the package flashed into his mind. Two fingertips surrounded by a halo of blood. Who did they belong to? And what connection did they have to the case? He felt blind, manipulated, a participant in a game in which he didn’t know the rules. Just like in the rest of his life. What a fucking mess he’d made of it all. Once, he’d been certain about what he wanted. He had his life with Kate. They planned a future together. He had loved her. It was a love that he could feel, something concrete, solid. Is that how he felt with Jules? He wasn’t sure. Fuck. But this was no time to think about that.

Just then his phone rang. It was Lansing.

‘It looks like I’ve got it,’ he said. ‘I’ve edited the shots down and I’m sending the file over to you now,’ he said.

Less than a second later Harper double-clicked on the icon on his screen. The image sequence – in grainy and black and white – showed a man holding a package walking into the office and up to the desk. He handed over the parcel to Hammond, who then entered the details into the log book, after which the man turned around and left. By the time Harper had watched it through, Lansing was standing by his desk.

‘Lansing, let’s get this up on the screen so everyone can see it.’ Harper stood up and addressed the room. ‘It looks like we’ve found the guy who dropped off the package this morning.’ He nodded towards Lansing, who tapped a key on his laptop and sent the media file to the computer linked to a thin screen in the centre of the investigations room. ‘I want you to study it carefully and see if anything jumps out at you.’

The fifteen-second sequence played itself out in front of the audience of investigators. Curtis was the first to speak.

‘I know we can’t see much of his face, because of the angle of the security camera, but I would say from the way his baseball cap is pulled low over his face that he’s definitely hiding something. There’s also something odd about the way he’s holding himself.’

‘Okay – Lansing – put it on repeat. And watch carefully. I agree, there’s something about the man’s posture that doesn’t seem right to me. Lansing, can you zoom in on the suspect’s face when he hands over the package?’

As Lansing pressed another sequence of keys the grainy image started to break up into pixels.

‘Is there any way of improving the quality?’ asked Harper.

‘Let me try and stream it through a program. Hold on. Here. This should do it.’

The sequence started again, but this time the images appeared sharper, more defined. The suspect walked into the office, and over to the desk. He started to lift up his right hand.

‘Okay, if you can focus in – ,’ said Harper. ‘Now.’

The lower potion of the man’s face came clearly into view.

‘Look at his mouth,’ said Holt. ‘Is he trying to say something?’

‘Could be. But I think he’s grimacing,’ said Curtis.

‘Exactly. Like he’s in pain,’ said Harper. ‘Lansing – shift the focus to his hands.’

Lansing moved the mouse on the laptop and tapped another key. The suspect’s gloved hand – his right one – came into focus.

‘He starts to lift his right hand – grimaces, stops – and then transfers the package to his left hand. He grimaces again.’

‘But that package can’t have weighed more than a few ounces,’ said Holt.

‘You don’t think –‘ said Curtis.

‘That he’s the owner of what was inside the envelope?’ said Lansing.

‘That’s exactly what I’m thinking,’ said Harper. He turned to Helen. ‘Get the lab on the line. Now. Even if they haven’t finished the DNA analysis they might be able to tell me -’

‘Whether the digits are from the right hand, left hand – ’said Curtis.

‘Helen,’ said Curtis. ‘Put Reeves on the speaker.’

Helen dialled the lab and informed Reeves, the forensics officer, that Harper wanted to talk to him about the fingertips.

‘I am right in saying that it’s possible to determine which hand those fingertips are from?’

‘One has to examine the shape of the fingers and the whorl pattern,’ he said. ‘You look at the direction of the flow of the apex ridges, the rotation of centrally circular ridges, the angles between the delta and the core and –‘

‘Sorry Reeves, all I need to know is which hand they are from.’

‘Let me look at the preliminary report. Yes, here we are.’ He went quiet for a few seconds. ‘What I can tell you at this stage is that one of the digits is from the right hand and the other is from the left.’

‘And the DNA analysis?’

‘It will be with you by close of play today.’

‘Thanks, Reeves. We’ll talk later.’

‘But why would this guy – whoever he is,’ said Helen, cutting the line, ‘deliver a package containing two of his own fingerprints to you?’

‘He could be a psycho, someone who’s read one of Cynthia Ross’s stories,’ said Lansing.

‘Or he could be being used like some kind of pawn in a sick game,’ said Curtis.

‘But if someone had done this to him why wouldn’t he just ask for help?’ said Harper. ‘After all, he was on our doorstep. He walked into here, into the Parker Center, for fuck’s sake.’ He paused. ‘But if he was compromised in some way? If someone had some information on him that he didn’t want us to know about? He could be being played with just as –‘

Just then his cell rang. It was Kate.

‘Sorry, I better take this.’ He turned his back to his team.

‘How’s Cassie?’

‘She’ll be fine. I left her at the hospital. She’s sleeping.’

‘Have you finished?’

She hesitated.

‘Do you have anything?’

‘Sure do,’ said Kate, her voice breaking. ‘And – it’s really weird.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll tell you when you get here. I’m at the beach house. In the dark room.’

‘What is it?’

‘You need to see something.’

‘Kate. What’s wrong?’

‘Our worst fears come true.’

50

Kate opened the door looking ashen-faced.

‘This way,’ she said, wiping the last traces of clay off her hands with a rag. ‘Follow me.’

Josh walked in silence towards the dark room.

‘I’ve just finished. It’s still wet, and a bit unpolished, but – well, you’ll see.’

The metal trough that ran down one side of the room was streaked with smears of clay. On one of the trestle tables lay a selection of disfigured heads, incomplete studies with grotesque profiles and distorted features.

‘As you can see I’m a bit out of practice,’ she said, gesturing towards the maquettes, ‘but with Cassie’s help I got there. But God knows, I hope she’s wrong. Maybe her brain is scrambled and she’s describing –‘

Josh looked towards one of the models on a stand, covered in a damp towel.

‘Kate – let me see.’

She walked towards the sculpture and slowly removed the cloth. A head, modelled from clay, stared out at them; a head with the same square jawline, the same high forehead as Gleason’s.

‘But it can’t be –‘ said Josh.

‘I know, I know.’

‘I never saw him in the flesh, but -‘

‘But it’s like a younger version of –‘

‘Gleason, yes.’

Josh walked over to the model, compelled by a horrific fascination for the man who had destroyed so many lives – even after death. He reached out and touched the maquette, the wet clay leaving a sticky imprint on his finger.

Both of them were thinking the same thing, but neither of them wanted to articulate their fears. Finally, Kate broke the silence.

‘I never met him, but it can only be him, right?’

‘Seems that way. Fuck, why didn’t we think about it?’

‘I know. But there’s no use punishing yourself. If someone is declared dead then obviously –‘

Josh’s cell rang. It was Lansing.

‘We’ve just got the DNA analysis back from Reeves.’

‘And?’

‘We’ve run a check with the national database. There were no direct hits, meaning that the guy has never been convicted of a serious crime, but the strange thing is that he –‘

‘Let me guess. Shares a significant amount of yDNA with none other than Robert Gleason.’

‘Yeah. How did you know?’

‘I can’t go into it now,’ said Josh. ‘But I want you to bring Roberta Gleason in for questioning. And I need you to pull out the report on the death of Ryan Gleason. He died in a car accident in April 2004. Body found in a canyon between Moreno Valley and Banning. Also – can you find out the names of men aged between 20 and 45 who were reported missing around the same date.’

‘What’s the deal?’

‘I’ll explain everything when I get back,’ said Josh, cutting the line.