Murderous Twins

by Edward Kendrick

  He tossed his cases in the passenger seat, started the car, and pulled onto the street. He had one more stop to make. Mr. Spencer, a client he’d worked with before, had recently purchased a condo in a complex in the Hale neighborhood. He wanted Gary to redecorate it.

  On the drive over, Gary called Steve to let him know he might be late getting home. “Mr. Spencer is a nice man but he does like to talk, and talk, and, well you get the picture,” he said with a laugh.

  “Lucky you. Okay. I’ll have dinner waiting. Love you.”

  “Love you back,” Gary replied.

  The complex had visitor parking on one side, with tall greenery separating it from the building next door. Gary found an open spot, gathered up what he needed, and walked around to the front of the building.

  As he’d figured, it was well after seven by the time he was able to get away. But it was worth it. He had a contract to redecorate the condo, and knew precisely what Mr. Spencer wanted done, down to types of plants he wanted on the balcony—a service Gary offered only to his favorite clients.

  At Mr. Spencer’s suggestion, “Because it’s dark out,” he went down to the side entrance, which led directly to the visitor’s lot. He’d just opened the door and stepped into the recessed alcove when a man appeared in front of him.

  “Nice night, isn’t it, Father?” the man said.

  Since he was in the shadows, it took Gary a moment to realize who he was. “What are you…?” he started to say.

  “Shut up, Father,” Lloyd replied as he slammed his fist into Gary’s gut.

  Gary doubled over, gasping for breath. Pain assailed him when he was hit again, this time on the back of his shoulder. He crumpled to the ground before passing out from more pain as Lloyd kicked him in his ribs.

  Chapter 8

  Steve paced the living room, phone in hand. He’d been trying to call Gary for the last hour, with no success. “What did you do, turn you phone off during your meeting and forget to turn it on again?” he grumbled. “Sure, you said you’d be late but it’s almost nine, damn it.”

  He was about to try again when his phone chimed. Without checking to see who it was, because he was certain it was his husband, he answered. “It’s about time. I was beginning to get worried.”

  “Steve, it’s Owen. We got him. But…” He paused. “But Gary’s in the hospital.”

  Steve felt as if his heart had dropped into his shoes as he asked, “How bad? Which hospital? I’m on my way.” He was already at the front door as he spoke.

  “Rose Medical,” Owen replied. “I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. He’s going to live, Steve. He’ll be hurting for a while, but he will live. If it wasn’t for one of the maintenance men who works for the complex, things would have been much worse. He happened on the scene, grabbed the guy, and took him down, which isn’t surprising since the man’s a good six-three and over two-fifty.”

  “Who?” Steve asked as he pulled out of the driveway, the phone still plastered to one ear while he drove with his other hand.

  “I presume you mean the perp. He’s not talking, but his driver’s license, which by the way is from Illinois and out of date, says he’s one Lloyd Thomas.”

  “Lloyd Ayers,” Steve muttered in reply. “He lives across the street from us, with his twin brother.”

  “Steve, put your phone away and pay attention to your driving,” Owen replied. “I’ll give you all the details when I see you at the hospital.”

  By the time he arrived there, Steve had managed to get his emotions under control. They ramped up again when he walked up to the admitting desk and asked where he could find Gary Drake-Cooke.

  The woman looked at him, asking, “Who are you?”

  “His husband, God damn it. What room is he in?”

  “Your name, sir?” she replied calmly.

  “Steven Cooke. Lady, will you just answer my question.”

  She checked her computer. “You’re on the list the police gave us. He’s in the ICU, room 205.” She’d barely gotten the words out before Steve was racing to the elevator.

  He stepped out on the third floor, striding over to the nurses’ station. “Where’s room 205?”

  One of the nurses asked who he was before saying, “I’ll take you down there. I will warn you, you can only be in the room for five minutes and he’s not conscious.”

  “But he will be?” Steve asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

  “Yes. He’d heavily medicated at the moment, due to his injuries.”

  As he followed her down a hallway, he asked, “What kind of injuries?”

  “A fractured scapula, two fractured ribs, extensive bruising to his abdomen. Luckily, there are no internal injuries.” She opened the door to 205. “Don’t be shocked by all the tubes and wires. It’s normal.”

  Despite what she said, Steve felt the blood drain from his face as he gazed at his husband. Crossing to the bed, he carefully touched Gary’s hand. “You look like hell,” he whispered. He didn’t get a reply, but then he wasn’t expecting one.

  “Why isn’t his shoulder in a cast?” Steve asked.

  “The scapula wasn’t broken, so the immobilizer sling is all he needs. He’ll be in it until the fracture heals, to keep him from moving his shoulder.”

  “He’s going to hate that.” Steve knew it was an inane thing to say at the moment, but it was also the truth.

  She smiled. “Most patients do, but it’s necessary.”

  Steve leaned over to kiss Gary’s forehead. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

  The nurse led the way back to the waiting area when they left Gary’s room. “You’re welcome to stay here, although the sleeping accommodations—” she gestured toward a sofa, “—are less than optimal. If you want to go home, we’ll call you the moment he’s alert.”

  “I promised him I’d be here, and I will be,” Steve replied, crossing to one of the chairs along the wall. He wanted to be in the room, beside his husband, but knew that for the moment the waiting room was the closest he’d get. He glanced at a woman sitting a few chairs away. She looked as upset as he felt. He went over, sitting beside her. “Is whoever you’re here for going to…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

  She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, her cheeks tear-streaked. “My son. He’s only fifteen. They say someone shot him as they drove by where he was standing. He’s not a gang member. He’s just an innocent kid. He’s…” She began to cry. “So many machines it takes to keep him alive. All because some bastard thought he was someone else, or didn’t like the color of his skin, or…”

  Steve carefully took her hand, expecting her to pull away. Instead, she buried her face against his shoulder, sobbing. He wanted to tell her it would be all right but he had no idea if it would be. At least I know Gary will live while she’s sitting here praying her son will.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said when her sobs abated, looking at him.

  “For what? For needing to let a little of what you’re feeling out? I understand completely. Feel free to rant, if you need to, or cry some more, or well, whatever you have to do if it helps.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile was teary as she asked, “Will whoever you’re here for be okay?”

  “So they tell me. I’ll believe it when I hear it from him.” He was about to say more when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Owen standing there. The detective gestured toward the sofa then went to sit.

  Steve joined him. “What happened, exactly,” he asked.

  “As best we know at the moment, Gray had been visiting a client in the building where he was attacked,” Owen replied. “We found the man’s name on the calendar on Gary’s phone and talked to him. He said he suggested Gary use the side entrance because it leads to the visitor’s parking lot and it was dark out. Mr. Thomas…” He stopped, saying, “You said his last name was Ayers.”

  “I’m presuming it is. I did some checking up on him, and his brother, because—”
He smiled softly. “Gary got a bug in his ear about them, because they’re so reclusive which he thought was strange. I figured I’d see what I could find out.” He went on to tell Owen the gist of the information he’d collected.

  “At least now we have an address for him,” Owen said when Steve finished. “Back to what I was telling you. Apparently, as soon as Gary stepped out of the building, he was attacked. The door is set in an alcove, giving Lloyd Thomas, or Ayers, the perfect cover without anyone seeing him. The maintenance man opened it, saw what was happening, and intervened before Ayers could finish the job. The one thing he heard was something like, ‘You deserve this, Father, for what you did to me.’ That was before he pulled Ayers off Gary and knocked him out. Then he called 911.”

  “Thank God he was there.” Steve shuddered, envisioning what would have happened if the man hadn’t been. “So Lloyd Ayers is the serial killer?” he asked.

  “We believe so. Despite the variance from his usual attack sites, the method was the same. Ayers had a pair of brass knuckles on one hand. He was wearing a plastic raincoat. Okay, that’s something we don’t know that he did in the previous attacks, but it makes sense.”

  Steve frowned. “How did he get there? He doesn’t own a car.”

  “Does his brother?”

  “Yes. Do you think he knows what Lloyd was doing?” Steve was appalled by that idea.

  “I won’t know until I’ve talked with him,” Owen replied. “Of course if he did, I’m sure he won’t admit it. Lloyd Ayers might have used his brother’s car, he might have rented one, or even stolen one. I don’t think he just happened to be in the right place at the right time to attack Gary. He had to have followed him.”

  “Because Gary fit the profile, which was pretty obviously choosing men who looked like Lloyd’s father, from what the maintenance man overheard. Gary said that Jim Waters’s wife had teased him and Jim about how they could almost be brothers since they looked at least superficially alike.”

  “And like the other men who Ayers attacked. You’re probably right.”

  “What happens next?” Steve asked, although he had a pretty good idea of the answer.

  “Ayers gets a bail hearing. If he has a good lawyer, bail might be granted, although given the seriousness of the charges that’s unlikely. Then he’ll be arraigned and have a chance enter a plea. After that he’ll go to trial.”

  “There’s enough evidence for that? Okay, never mind. He was caught in the act, and as soon as Gary’s able to be questioned I’m sure he’ll confirm exactly what happened.”

  “I’ll interview him tomorrow,” Owen said. “Right now, I’m going to have a talk with Lloyd Ayers’s brother. Are you going to be all right?”

  Steve smiled wanly. “I will be, once Gary wakes up and I can talk to him.”

  Owen nodded, standing. “I presume you’re staying here until that happens. Get some sleep, if you can. You’ll need it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Owen left and Steve went over to the woman he’d been talking with, suggesting she take the sofa and try to sleep. She accepted his suggestion gratefully. He sat in one of the chairs, got up to get another one which he used as a leg-rest, leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes.

  * * * *

  Blaine shot awake when he heard the doorbell ring. For a second he wondered why he wasn’t in bed. Then he realized he must have fallen asleep on the sofa while waiting for Lloyd to get home. Groggily, he went to open the front door.

  A man was standing there. He introduced himself as Detective Owen Kemp of the Denver Police Department, showing his identification, then said, “Mr. Blaine Ayers?”

  Blaine nodded. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, sir. I’d like to ask you some questions about your brother.”

  “Brother?” Blaine shook his head, keeping his expression neutral other than showing a bit of surprise at the detective’s words. “I don’t have a brother.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. You have a twin who looks exactly like you. One Lloyd Ayers, although the ID he had on him said his name was Lloyd Thomas.”

  “I’ve never met a Lloyd Thomas.” Blaine tried to smile. “If he really does look like me, I’d love to meet him.”

  “Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to come inside so we can talk.”

  “I do mind. Whatever’s going on, I have nothing to do with it. It’s late, I’d like to get to bed. I have to work tomorrow. So, please…” He started to close the door.

  “I’m afraid I must insist,” the detective replied, placing one hand on the edge of the door. “We can talk here, or you can come down to the station with me and we’ll talk there.”

  Blaine’s shoulders slumped in feigned resignation and he stepped aside. If they caught Lloyd…Goddamn him. I’m going to have to admit he is my brother.

  “Please make yourself at home,” Blaine said sarcastically when they were in the living room. Detective Kemp sat in one of the armchairs, Blaine settled on the sofa, then smiled guiltily. “All right, I lied. Lloyd is my brother, my twin.” He frowned suddenly, trying to seem panic-stricken. “Has he been in an accident? Is that why you’re here? Where is he? What hospital? I need to go see him. How badly hurt is he?”

  “No, he hasn’t been in an accident,” the detective replied. “He was arrested tonight for attempted murder. He will also be charged in the murders of at least seven other men.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Blaine said, looking horrified. “Lloyd? No way. Okay, he can be a bit wild. I’ll admit that. I think it’s because of the way he grew up. But murder? No.”

  “From the way you phrased that, it sounds as if the two of you didn’t grow up together.”

  He probably knows we didn’t, so I’d better tell him the truth—at least my version. And hope to hell Lloyd has asked for an attorney rather than spilling everything.

  “Our mother died when we were born. My father didn’t feel capable of bring up both of us, so he put Lloyd up for adoption when he was only a few weeks old.” Blaine sighed, staring at the floor. “I didn’t know anything about what had happened until maybe three and a half years ago. Lloyd located me, in Chicago, and then got in touch with me. Well, perhaps located isn’t the right word. Someone saw him, thought he was me, and he took things from there when she told him my name.”

  Detective Kemp was taking notes. Now, he said, “You had no indication that he was killing men who resembled your father?”

  “Good lord no!” Blaine stared directly at him. “He might be my brother, my twin, but if I’d known that I would have gotten in touch with the police immediately. I don’t condone violence of any kind, and I definitely don’t approve of killing someone.” He stiffened, as if what the detective had said suddenly got through to him. “These men he supposedly killed looked like Dad?”

  “The witness who stopped his attack on the latest victim overheard him saying, ‘You deserve this, Father,’ or something to that effect. At the moment, since your brother isn’t talking to us, we can only presume his motive was misplaced revenge on your father, using his victims as surrogates for his hatred.”

  “Oh my God. That’s so hard to believe. I mean that he’d go off the deep end like that. Yes, he was angry that Dad had deserted him the way he did. But this…” Blaine shook his head, watching the detective to make certain he was buying his story. If the guy Lloyd attacked was the man he was fixated on…“Who was the victim?”

  “If you mean tonight, his name is Gary Drake-Cooke. He and his husband live across the street from you.”

  “Damn. I’ve seen them around.” He paused, as if thinking, before saying, “All right, yeah, one of them did bear a passing resemblance to Dad, but no one would have mistaken him for my father if they saw them together.”

  “Apparently you brother did,” the detective replied.

  I’m going to kill you, Lloyd. You idiot. You promised. Now what do I do? Hope to hell he keeps his mouth shut about me? He�
�d better. He will. He has to. We’re twins. Twins don’t betray each other.

  “Can I…? Am I allowed to visit him in jail?” Blaine asked.

  “Not at the moment. He has to be incarcerated for ten days, and then you’ll need to be added to his approved visitors list.”

  “But I’m his brother.”

  “I’m sorry. There are no exceptions,” Detective Kemp told him. “I have another question for you. Does your brother own a car?”

  “No. He uses mine when necessary. Otherwise, he takes the bus, or walks.”

  “Are you aware his driver’s license is no longer valid?”

  Blaine shook his head. “I didn’t know that. He told me he’d gotten a new one. Of course I never asked him to prove it. After all, why would he lie to me?” Blaine’s mouth tightened as he stared down at his hands. “But then, from what you’ve told me, he has been lying to me, hasn’t he? How could I have been so blind?”

  “Serial killers, and that’s what he is, can be very manipulative and charismatic.”

  No kidding. We have to be. “I suppose so,” Blaine said aloud.

  “Will you give me permission to search your house, especially his room?” the detective asked.

  “Absolutely not,” Blaine replied tightly.

  “I can get a warrant.”

  “You’re going to have to. I don’t care what he did…All right, not the best way to put it, because if he did kill all those men it’s horrible. This is my house. I won’t willingly let you and your people tear it apart looking for some kind of proof that Lloyd is what you say.”

  “We don’t…” the detective started to say, and then shrugged as he got to his feet. “I’ll be back in the morning with the warrant. Thank you for talking the time to talk with me.”

  “I’d say you’re welcome,” Blaine replied dourly. “Given the circumstances, that would be a lie.”