A Gift for Dying

by M. J. Arlidge

  Now, safely back in his down-at-heel, rented home, the thought still made him shiver. How? How was she doing this? But the mirror held no answers, just warnings of discovery. One of his front teeth was damaged, but he could ride that out – it was just chipped and he seldom smiled anyway. There were scratches and marks on his right cheek too, but those could also be explained away – a domestic accident, the house cat, whatever. It was the large, livid bruise on his cheek – a legacy of that bitch Baines’s head butt – that would be harder to find an excuse for. He had already stolen some foundation from one of his housemates and though this had dulled the deep purple circle, it couldn’t hide it completely. Would people comment? Or would they avoid drawing attention to it? He had never been very popular – at home or at work – and this might play to his advantage now.

  The bruise, however, was not his only problem. The girl had seen him – she was probably giving chapter and verse to the cops right now. Were they drawing up an e-fit to circulate? A likeness of him? There was nothing for it, he would have to lose the goatee straight away. This would probably help, but was hardly a foolproof solution. He would just have to hope against hope that no one recognized him. The thought made him distinctly uneasy. This girl – whoever she was – had inserted herself into his story from day one. Initially she had been a suspect – he felt sure she was the fifteen-year-old arrestee whom the papers had mentioned in the aftermath of Jones’s death – but now what was she? Some kind of vigilante? Why had she turned up at the shack, attempting to save Baines? How could she predict his every move?

  For the first time since he’d started, he could feel the net tightening.

  109

  ‘What is the nature of your relationship with Kassie Wojcek?’

  Adam stared at Gabrielle, stunned by her persistence and hostility. He had been made to wait for over an hour in the freezing interview suite, not allowed to make phone calls, or even get a glass of water. And now he was being subjected to a lengthy, and hostile, interrogation.

  ‘We’ve been through this. She’s my patient.’

  ‘And tonight was what? Therapy in action?’

  ‘Look, you know that we thought Madelaine Baines was in danger –’

  ‘Because of Wojcek’s visions?’

  ‘I don’t call them that –’

  ‘But you were there because of her, right? Because she’d convinced you that Baines would be targeted?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was no point denying it – everything that had happened recently had been because of Kassie. Gabrielle digested this, then asked:

  ‘Were you involved in the murders of Jacob Jones, Rochelle Stevens –’

  ‘No!’

  ‘– and Madelaine Baines?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Yet you’re always around, aren’t you? You help get Kassie out of the Juvenile Detention Center and hours later Jacob Jones is abducted, murdered.’

  ‘I was doing my job –’

  ‘You break into Rochelle Stevens’ home together and hours later she is dead. Madelaine Baines is brutally murdered in a remote shack and there you are again …’

  ‘I’ve explained my involvement, given you an alibi for the nights Jacob Jones and Rochelle Stevens were targeted.’

  ‘At home with your wife, we know,’ Suarez said, shaking his head.

  ‘Look I’ve tried to play straight with you guys,’ Adam countered angrily, ‘but if you seriously want to go there, then I need a lawyer.’

  Gabrielle waved his objections aside, as if his indignation was of no importance.

  ‘Is Kassie Wojcek directing these murders? Did she plan them?’

  ‘No. I was there with her tonight. Fighting off the guy, trying to save Madelaine. I had to drag her out of the shack.’

  Gabrielle nodded, but seemed unimpressed.

  ‘Kassie’s got injuries,’ Adam continued hotly. ‘So have I for that matter. Look at these bruises, for God’s sake.’ He gestured to the deep purple marking around his neck. ‘You think I did this to myself?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but the fact remains that she knew all the victims.’

  ‘No, she didn’t.’

  ‘Jacob Jones prosecuted her. Rochelle Stevens counselled her. Madelaine Baines did outreach at her school – with kids like Kassie.’

  Adam didn’t respond, silenced by this new information.

  ‘Three people who intervened in her life – tried to discipline her, tried to help her – are now dead.’ Gabrielle continued. ‘You want to watch yourself, Dr Brandt. You might be next.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd.’

  ‘Last time we met, you intimated that you believed in Kassie’s “gift”.’

  ‘I did no such thing,’ Adam protested.

  ‘At the time, I thought you were cracked, but now I think she’s using you, involving you in her game. Maybe as cover, perhaps to shield her from us, perhaps just for the hell of it. I think you’re part of the puzzle.’

  ‘My only aim has been to help her.’

  ‘And what have you achieved? Three people are dead. And, in each case, Kassie Wojcek knew they were going to die. With Madelaine, she even took you to the kill site, because … what was it, Suarez?’

  ‘Because she’d heard some birds in a premonition,’ he offered dutifully.

  ‘Because she heard birds in a premonition,’ Gabrielle parroted. ‘A vision she had in your office, allegedly under hypnosis. Can’t you see what’s happening here?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Do you believe she’s psychic?’

  ‘No. No …’

  ‘Then what other explanation is there?’ Gabrielle leaned in. ‘Face it, Adam. She’s been playing you since day one.’

  110

  Kassie sat on the cold bench, taking in the obscene graffiti on the walls, the unpleasant stains beneath her feet. She had been in a police van before, after brawls and busts, but never on her own. Suddenly she felt vulnerable and scared.

  Nothing would happen to her here of course – it was just a short ride from CPD headquarters to the Juvenile Detention Center – it was what lay ahead that worried her. Her questioning had been unrelenting, Grey and Suarez taking it in turns to batter her with accusations. Grey in particular seemed determined to make her sweat, picking away at Kassie’s past misdemeanours, relentlessly going over dates and times, establishing a concrete connection to all three murder victims.

  Was it possible that they would charge her? Did they have enough? The thought made Kassie shiver. She was a fifteen-year-old girl, uneducated and naïve – what chance would she have against Grey and the law enforcement machine? They had promised her a lawyer, someone to make sure due process was followed, but Kassie needed to talk to someone who knew her, someone who cared. She had tried to call her mom, during a brief break in questioning. She promised herself that if her mother came to her aid now, she would spend the rest of her life working hard to be a model daughter. But Natalia’s cell phone had rung and rung and, as there were other people waiting to call their loved ones, Kassie had eventually been forced to give up.

  Kassie had never needed a word of sympathy, of support, as much as she did now. But her mother was gone and Adam … well, who knows what had happened to him? Suddenly Kassie felt utterly overwhelmed. All the misery, anger and sickness that had filled this wretched van over the years now assailed her, coating her in despair, robbing her of her resolve. She felt trapped, cornered, a prisoner in the system, at the mercy of the storm winds that continued to batter her. She would end her days surrounded by suspicion and reviled by all who knew her.

  As the van moved off, rumbling through the gates and out on to the darkened street, Kassie dropped her head into her hands and began to cry.

  111

  Adam hurried down the steps, scanning the street for a cab. His car was still in the police pound, but the city’s taxi drivers haunted this stretch of road, picking up the lawyers who went in and out of CPD headq
uarters in a never-ending carousel. He felt uneasy – Gabrielle’s assertions spinning round his brain, even as a residual loyalty to Kassie, even a sliver of belief, fought back. Troubled, distressed and exhausted, now Adam just wanted to be home.

  A cab sped by and he waved at it frantically, but it sailed serenely past. Cursing, he pulled his cell phone out and turned it on. The least he could do was tell Faith what had happened, reassure her, then call a cab. But as the phone came to life, it started buzzing feverishly. Looking down, he saw he had five voicemail messages.

  Alarmed, he hit playback. The first message was from Faith, but it was hard to hear her over the traffic. She appeared to be crying and was almost whispering her words. So he skipped to the next, then the next. All of them were garbled – now Adam’s heart was pounding – so he jumped straight to the final message. This was short, but more alarming still.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Adam. So, sorry for everything. I love you …’

  Dropping the phone, Adam started to run.

  ‘Faith?’

  His cry echoed round the empty hallway. He had made it home in under ten minutes, hailing a cab on South Giles Avenue, throwing money at the startled cabbie as they pulled up outside their row house.

  ‘Faith, are you home?’

  His voice sounded strained and desperate. There was no response, so he marched into the kitchen. The radio was playing, as it had been this morning, but there was no sign of his wife.

  ‘Faith?’

  He ran down the hallway to the studio. But it too was deserted, swathed in darkness. The sight made him shiver – this place which had been so special to Faith now seemed lonely and lifeless. Turning on his heel, he hurried into their bedroom, but this too was empty.

  Swiftly, he crossed the landing towards the home phone, intending to call Christine. Perhaps Faith had taken refuge with her mom? But, as he did so, he noticed something. The door to the nursery was closed, a thin strip of light creeping out from underneath it. Suddenly Adam felt short of breath. Faith had not set foot in there since …

  ‘Faith?’

  He grasped the handle. It turned easily and the door swung open. To his surprise, the floor was covered in baby clothes – the baby clothes he’d hidden in the loft – all neatly laid out as if ready to wear.

  Confused, terrified, Adam took another step forward, then suddenly stopped in his tracks. He remained frozen for a second, unable to process the sight in front of him, even as he let out an ear-splitting cry. Faith had entered the nursery and her limp body now hung from the high beam, twisting slowly back and forth.

  Book Three

  * * *

  112

  The street was busy, bodies constantly buffeting her. Her right foot had been stamped on, a stray elbow had connected with her ribs, but Kassie barely noticed. She had to keep going. She had to find him.

  A week ago, she would not have been able to keep up this pace. Her experience at Lake Calumet had taken its toll – her throat and lungs had been damaged by the smoke and she’d suffered mild concussion as a result of the blow to her head. She’d felt utterly washed out as she slotted back into the routine at the Juvenile Detention Center. Guilt over her failure to save Madelaine and deep sadness at Faith’s needless death mingled with a sickening certainty that she would become the scapegoat for the brutal murders. But a day passed without her being charged, and on the eve of her second full day of custody, she had suddenly been released.

  This unexpected development had revived her, and though she’d returned to an empty house, she nevertheless sensed a change in the tide. Her possessions were still at Adam’s, so she’d had to use the spare key, hidden beneath a plant pot for emergencies, but having entered and dug out the few remaining dollars she had to her name, she’d made a dash to the grocery store. She blew forty dollars there and then and having eaten too much and drunk a six-pack of beers, she’d crashed out, enjoying her first decent night’s sleep in weeks. When she awoke the next morning, she felt refreshed. The question was what, if anything, should she do next?

  Initially, she’d wondered if it would be safer to do nothing, to concentrate on her own predicament and yet … he was still out there. This simple fact haunted her. Briefly, she’d had a hold on him, but he’d shrugged her off and escaped. Thanks to her, Chicago was still at his mercy. So, despite her reservations, despite the gnawing fear growing inside her, she’d decided to act.

  Sidestepping a young businessman who was heading directly for her, Kassie came to a halt outside a large laundromat. She had already visited a diner, a hardware store and a nail salon on this street and was beginning to feel dispirited, but she pushed inside nevertheless. Immediately, eight pairs of eyes swivelled towards her, the bored customers wresting their attention away from the hypnotic cycle of the washing machines. Kassie met their gaze, flitting swiftly from one to the next, barely pausing to take in the details. A heart attack, a brain haemorrhage, a drowning, a workplace accident, another heart attack … Kassie stumbled slightly as these visceral images punched into her, but she managed to maintain her composure, until the last person present had been checked. They were looking at her strangely – why was this girl hanging around in the doorway, staring at them? – so, turning, she retreated. There was no point drawing attention to herself – there was nothing for her here.

  On she went, pounding the street, her eyes examining the shoppers and workers who hurried past. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the killer’s choice of victim, except the neighbourhood they all lived in. So Kassie had decided to start her search here, haunting West Town’s coffee shops, sandwich bars, restaurants, parks and cinemas, hoping to winkle out the killer by seeking out his next victim. She knew it was a hopeless task – thousands of people passed through this neighbourhood every day – but she had to try.

  She’d trekked down West Grand Avenue, up West Chicago Avenue, through the Ukrainian Village, as far east as Noble Square, as far west as North Sacramento Boulevard. She had investigated most of the popular community spaces, scrutinizing the visitors at the Talcott Museum and the Met West Community Garden, even causing a stir among the suspicious parishioners at St Columbkille’s church, who’d taken exception to her invasive presence. The irony was not lost on Kassie. She had run from her visions most of her life, but now she actively sought them out, drowning daily in a hideous kaleidoscope of death. And all to no avail. The identity of the killer’s next victim remained as opaque as ever.

  Dodging a gaggle of chattering women, Kassie paused to catch her breath, leaning her head against the window of a dog-grooming store. As she did so, she caught sight of a young female jogger in the reflection, bending down to tie up her laces on the opposite side of the road. No doubt the other undercover officer – whom she’d labelled ‘skater boy’ because of his failed attempt at youth wear – was also close by. They, and others like them, had been on her tail ever since she’d been released from the Detention Center. Clearly she was not out of the woods yet.

  Their presence did not disturb Kassie, however. In fact, she was glad of it. Time was running out and if she was to stumble on to the killer’s trail, unmask him even in the short time she had left, then she would need their help.

  Today of all days, she welcomed their dogged presence.

  113

  ‘How sure are you?’

  Hoskins’ question was blunt and to the point.

  ‘Ninety-nine per cent,’ Gabrielle replied tightly. ‘We just need the evidence …’

  ‘You just need the evidence.’

  His response dripped with sarcasm. Superintendent Hoskins didn’t often put in an appearance on the eighth floor, but when he did, he made his presence felt.

  ‘Kassie Wojcek is linked to all the victims,’ Gabrielle continued unabashed. ‘She was seen stalking them just before their deaths.’

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  ‘And now she’s spending her days in West Town, scoping the shops, diners, community centres. Which fits, becaus
e all the victims –’

  ‘Lived in West Town. I’ve read your reports, Gabrielle. I also read the newspapers. In fact, I brought a few of them with me, in case you haven’t had a chance to look at them …’

  He tossed a tabloid on to the desk, reading the headline aloud:

  ‘ “Reign of terror. Chicago Butcher continues to elude authorities …” ’

  Another tabloid landed on top of the first:

  ‘ “Inferno at Lake Calumet. The TRUE story …” ’

  Then the Tribune:

  ‘ “CPD clutching at straws in triple homicide …” ’

  Beneath the banner headline was a snatched photo of Gabrielle looking stressed. Reporters and photographers continued to lurk outside CPD headquarters, hoping to discover snippets of information or, at the very least, evidence of police incompetence. An intrepid snapper had even stationed himself outside Gabrielle’s house – leading to a furious row between her and Dwayne this morning. He was increasingly worried about the toll the case was taking on her and the family in general. Gabrielle agreed with him completely – this was affecting everyone – yet there was no question of her walking away now.

  ‘Twenty-four hours and we’ll have this thing wrapped up,’ she replied, as confidently as she could.

  Hoskins raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Absolutely. We have an eight-man undercover unit shadowing her every move. She will lead us to her next victim. And when she does …’

  Hoskins was still looking sceptical.

  ‘Trust me, the day after tomorrow, the headlines are going to look a lot better.’

  ‘When you have no idea who her accomplice is? If she even has an accomplice,’ Hoskins countered.