by Amy Cross
I take a deep breath as I try to work out how to find this guy. Unfortunately, my mind seems to have reached a dead-end, and I'm not sure I can come up with anything in time. Then again, I guess I could always hit the maps again.
"Give me something to go on," Carver says after a moment. "Where do we start looking?"
Still staring at the photo, I try to work out how the guy might slip up. No-one's perfect; everyone makes mistakes, and this guy has to have done something wrong that'll allow us to track him down. Somewhere out there, there's a trail, or a clue, or something that'll point us in the right direction. Right now, however, I can't work it out.
"Sir," another detective calls out from across the room, "there's a call for you!"
"I'm kinda busy right now," Carver replies.
"It's a woman named Susan Pierce," the detective continues. "She says she just saw a photo of John Benson and John Sutter on the news, and... Well, she thinks he might be her husband too."
John
"Come on," I mutter, waiting for Leonard to pick up the damn phone as I drive through the night. "Answer, you pig-fucking asshole. What the hell else have you got to do with your time?"
Up ahead, I can just about make out a single light from the office at our facility. I've always told Leonard to keep the lights off at night, so that no-one can spot the place from a distance, but of course the idiot has chosen to ignore my orders yet again. Speeding up, I aim straight for the metal gate that blocks the entrance, and as I drop the phone onto the passenger seat, I figure that rather than stopping and opening the gate, I might as well just smash my way through. It's not like there's any need to keep the place secure, not now that the whole damn operation is crashing down.
"Fucking bastards!" I shout as I accelerate and aim straight for the gate.
As soon as I hit the metal, the car jolts and instead of ripping the gate open, I end up getting part of it snagged around the front of the vehicle. I immediately hit the brakes as the car bounces across the rough yard with a large section of the gate trailing behind and beneath, and after a moment I hear a loud popping sound as one of the tires bursts. The car almost flips before settling down with a heavy bump.
"What the fuck was that?" I shout, scrambling out of the car and looking down to see that some kind of metal spike is embedded in the tire. I turn to look at the office, just as a figure emerges carrying a shotgun. For a fraction of a second, I'm ready to scream at him, before I realize that he's aiming the shotgun directly at me. "Leonard -" I start to say, before ducking behind the car just as a shot rings out, blowing the car window apart in a hail of glass.
He fires again, this time hitting the side of the car.
"It's me!" I scream, cowering behind the door. "Leonard, it's me! It's John! For God's sake, put that thing down!"
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he shouts.
Getting to my feet, I hurry around the car before grabbing the shotgun from Leonard's hands and throwing it to the ground. I'm damn near ready to teach this asshole a lesson, but fortunately I'm able to restrain myself.
"What is that?" I shout, pointing down at the spikes embedded in the car's tires.
"It's a defense system," he replies, his panicked face barely visible in the moonlight. "You told me years ago to set something up in case anyone ever tried to break through the gate, so I installed a kind of modified cattle grid to, you know, slow people down and... stuff like that."
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, kicking the side of the car before turning to walk over to the office. "Jesus fucking Christ, Leonard, it's like you just don't think!"
"You told me to do it!" he complains.
"Well, you did it wrong!" I shout.
"What the hell's going on here?" he asks, hurrying after me. "Are we in trouble?"
"Why didn't you answer your phone?" I reply, turning to him. "I tried to call you!"
"I was asleep!"
"And you didn't hear it ringing?"
"I had it turned off. I didn't know you were gonna try to call!"
"Of course you didn't know I was going to call!" I scream. "That's the whole point of a cellphone! You don't have to book a fucking appointment to get in touch with someone! What kind of moron are you?"
"What's going on?" he replies, clearly worried. "John, are we in trouble? Are they onto us?"
"Onto us?" I reply. "No, of course they're not fucking onto us. They're onto me, but I can fix that soon enough, I just..." Taking a deep breath, I can't help but once again imagine Claire sitting in some police station somewhere, singing like a canary. Then again, I guess it doesn't matter so much, and it might even be of benefit if she leads them on a wild goose chase for a while. I can just get a new identity, make a few changes, take some cash, and start again somewhere far away. The only danger is that I might panic, but as long as I keep my shit together, everything's going to be okay.
I just need to calm down.
Just as I start to feel as if I've got the situation under control, however, I remember the tracking device on my old car. If Claire has the logs from that damn thing, she might be able to help them find this place.
"John," Leonard continues after a moment, "do we need to close things down? Is it time to get the bags from the safe and just call it a day?"
"Of course not," I spit, before realizing that he might be right. "Maybe. I don't fucking know, okay? I need time to think. This has all come as something of a surprise, and I need to take a moment and come up with a new plan." I pause as thoughts flood into my mind. "It was always set up like this," I add eventually. "From the very beginning, I designed this entire operation to be disposable. I hoped the day would never come, but I knew it probably would. Then again, it would definitely be a shame to cut and run too soon. The situation might be salvageable, but we need time, and time is the one thing that's running out."
"Man," he replies, "maybe... I don't know, I think this is a sign."
"A sign?" I reply, staring at him. "A sign from who? About what?"
"You know, a sign from God or something -"
"God?" I shout, unable to believe the bullshit I'm hearing. "Are you fucking serious? We spend twenty-five years running a fucking identity farm, selling and killing people for money, keeping whole barns full of men and women with broken backs so they can't get away, and now you think that God, in his infinite wisdom, has decided to pipe up and help us decide when enough is enough?"
"Fuck this," he replies, pushing past me and heading toward the office.
"No!" I shout, grabbing the shotgun and aiming it at the back of his head. I pull the trigger, but the only sound is an empty click. As he turns to look at me, I realize that he fired two shots earlier, so the damn thing must be empty now.
"You fucking asshole," he says, before turning and running to the office.
"Come back!" I call after him. "I didn't mean it!"
Realizing that he undoubtedly has more weapons in there, I race after him. I can't afford to let him get to another gun, but fortunately I'm a little faster than him and as he gets through the door I'm able to grab him by the waist and drag him down onto the floor. He tries to fight me off, but I raise the unloaded shotgun and then slam the butt down several times against his face; I finally feel the side of his skull crack, and although he's still alive, I climb off and head over to the window. Peering out at the yard, I take a moment to catch my breath and regather my composure.
Behind me, Leonard writhes in agony, clutching his head and trying to speak.
"Hang on," I mutter. "I'll come and finish you in a moment."
He lets out a scream.
"If it's any consolation," I say finally, turning on the lights before looking down at his bloodied face, "I was going to kill you anyway. The only question was how I'd do it, and whether I'd spare you the pain of knowing what was coming."
He tries to shout at me, but it appears that I might have broken his jaw.
"I couldn't let you ride off with half the money, could I?" I continue, start
ing to calm down after the exertion of the past few minutes. "I mean, Jesus Christ, Leonard, how naive are you? I was the brains behind this whole operation, wasn't I? It was my idea, my set-up, my organization." I pause for a moment as those words sink in. "I was the brains," I whisper. "I built an empire based on a great idea, and yet I was never able to boast of my achievements. Instead, I had to fucking scurry through the shadows and keep my brilliance hidden, telling people I was some kind of pathetic insurance salesman. What kind of a sick world do we live in, where a man can achieve such greatness but he can't appreciate the applause of the masses?"
As he tries to get up, Leonard lets out a scream of pain. There's blood flowing from his mouth, and he looks as if he should just give up and die as soon as possible.
Stepping past him, I head to the cabinet where all the paperwork has been filed. I hate the idea of destroying all the records from this place, but at the same time, I know that one day someone's bound to stumble upon the facility, and I can't risk anything falling into the wrong hands. I've burned so many places and people in recent days, and now isn't the time to lose heart: I need to start one final fire, and then I can drive away and never look back.
Opening the safe, I pull out the bags of cash that Leonard and I have been building up over the years. There's easily fifty million dollars here, which is more than enough for me to start a new life somewhere else, somewhere out of the way. Hell, if I can find a way to get the money into a legitimate new business, I might finally be able to build an empire that I can dare show to the world. Then, and only then, I might actually get the praise that I so richly deserve, while this moldering pit of filth can be left to rot.
I can be respectable.
I can be legitimate.
I can be a real family man, and maybe finally I can relax.
But first, I need to finish Leonard off and torch the couple of hundred men who are currently chained in the shed.
Katherine Shaw
"How's the leg?" I ask, taking a seat next to Claire's hospital bed.
She stares at me with suspicion in her eyes, and it's clear that she doesn't trust me at all. On the way over here, I was able to access Claire's social networking profiles and get an idea of her background; I saw photos of her hanging out with friends and playing sports, and she generally came across as a very ordinary girl; now she's sitting in a hospital gown, with heavy padding around one leg, and her eyes are red with tears.
"Where's the other guy?" she replies eventually.
"Detective Carver is following another lead," I tell her, choosing each word carefully, "and I'm -"
"Have you found him yet?"
"Your father?"
"Don't call him that," she spits. "I don't want to think that there's any of him in me."
"We're working on it," I say after a moment, "but -"
"But he's out there," she continues, becoming visibly more agitated as she looks over at the door. "He could just show up here and come into the room and finish what he started. You don't know what he's like. He's smart and he can trick his way in! His face is bland as fuck, he's one of those guys who just sinks into the background! He doesn't look like a serial killer! He'll find a way to get to me!"
"No," I say firmly. "We have so many police stationed in this hospital right now, there's absolutely no way he can get anywhere near you. Anyway, I doubt he'd even try. He's probably long gone by now, Claire. I'm sure he's trying to escape, but that's something we're not going to let happen, okay? I need some information from you, but we're going to catch him before -"
Pausing, I realize that I should try to keep things as vague as possible.
She stares at me. "Before what?"
"Never mind," I reply, opening my notebook. A bunch of folded map print-outs tumble out, and it takes me a moment to stuff them back in.
"What are those?" Claire asks.
"Just a hobby," I reply.
"So did you pull my Mom's body out of the wreckage yet?"
"I'm not sure if -"
"Do I need to identify her?" she continues, with tears in her eyes. "Do I need to, like, walk into a room where they'll take a sheet off her face and ask me if it's her or not?"
"I don't think that'll be necessary," I reply.
"They'll use dental records?"
I nod.
"So her teeth won't have been destroyed?" She pauses. "It's weird to think of her all burned up like that, and then someone opens her mouth and checks her teeth. Will they still be white?"
I try to think of something to say, but everything just feels so pointless. It's not often that I'm affected by a case like this, but Claire Sutter has really got to me.
"Is it true that he had another family?" she asks eventually. "I heard some of the nurses talking, and they said he had this whole other family with, like, another wife and other kids. I saw on the news about this house that was burned down the other day, and the guy looked a lot like my Dad..." She pauses, as if the word 'Dad' tastes like poison. "He looked like him," she adds, correcting herself. "I joked about it at the time, but now..." Tears are starting to trickle down her cheeks, and I can see that she's in danger of cracking up. "He's a murderer, isn't he?" she asks. "He killed my Mom, and he killed those people, and he tried to kill me..."
"This is why we need to catch him," I reply.
"What if you don't?" she asks. "What if he gets away?"
"We're going to do our best to make sure that he doesn't have that chance."
"But what if he does?" she continues. "What if he's smarter and luckier than you, and he manages to slip away so that you never manage to find him? What if he just blends in with everyone else, like some kind of blank face in the crowd?"
"We have to work very hard to make sure he doesn't get away," I reply after a moment. "That's why I'm here -"
"You're not very good at this," she says. "At being reassuring, I mean. No offense, but you suck."
I pause.
"Sorry," she adds. "That other guy was better." She wipes the tears away. "I feel like everyone's waiting for me to turn into some kind of wreck," she continues after a moment, "but I have to stay strong, right? At least until you've caught him. I can turn into a sobbing mess later, but right now I need to stay calm." She pauses. "I was thinking," she adds, "that maybe you could use me as bait."
"I don't think we're going to need to do anything like that," I tell her.
"I can do it," she continues. "If it means that you catch that asshole, I can totally do it. I'll break down and become a wreck later, but right now, I want to catch him. I want to see his face as he's cuffed and led away, and then I want to be there when he's fucking executed, so you have to let me be, like, some kind of bait. He wants me dead, right, so why don't we offer him the chance?"
"It doesn't work like that," I reply.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't think he'd come back and try to kill you."
"Of course he would."
I shake my head.
"You think he can't even be bothered to try? Am I so unimportant to him that he can't even be bothered to finish me off?"
"I think he's probably focused on trying to get away," I continue. "From the little we've learned of your father, we've built up an approximation of his character, and I personally believe that his actions are motivated by survival. He knows that you're with us now, and he knows you'll tell us what you can, so there's no real benefit, from his point of view, even if he manages to get to you." I pause for a moment. "In fact," I add, "he might try to use the situation to his advantage."
"But he hates me," she replies, her bottom lip trembling as more tears trickle down her face.
"No," I tell her, "I don't think he does. I think he's just a very clinical man who's able to focus on his own needs."
"Then why are you sitting here with me?" she continues. "Why aren't you out there looking for him?"
"I think he's left the city," I reply. "I think he's gone to a place that we're never going to find if w
e just start looking randomly, and I also think we don't have long if we're going to catch him. That's why I want to ask you if there's anything he's ever said or done that made you suspicious, or anything that you can think of that might help us. Even if it's a tiny detail that seems totally insignificant, it might fit with something else we've got. I know you must be tired, but I have to ask you to think back to anything he might have said."
She stares at me.
"Anything at all," I continue.
Her trembling lips seem poised to say something, but at first she seems to be a little hesitant. "Leonard," she says eventually.
"Leonard?"
"I heard him arguing with someone on the phone a couple of times," she says cautiously. "Someone named Leonard. The first time was about five years ago, and then I heard him again recently, using the same name when he was talking in his office. He sounded angry, like he was pissed off at something that this Leonard guy was telling him. He was really ranting."
"What about the name Albert?" I ask. "Did you ever hear that name being used?"
"I don't know."
"Or Manuel?"
"Maybe," she replies. "I'm not sure about those two, but definitely Leonard. I don't know who he is or anything like that, but I think this guy Leonard is involved in it somehow. He seemed to be, like, the main guy my Dad was talking to on the phone all the time." She pauses. "Does that help?"
"It might do," I reply, closing the notebook. It's clear that Claire, for all her keenness to assist in the investigation, knows very little about her father's hidden life. If my suspicions are correct, she's soon going to have to deal with the horror of learning the truth, and if we capture the guy alive, she'll also have to endure years of media coverage as the trial gets underway. There's no way she's going to be able to hide from all of this.