by Blake Pierce
In the center of the warehouse, a person was hanging by a rope from a rafter. The rope was tied around their neck and the body hung limply, facing away from them.
A suicide, O’Malley thought. The crazy bastard killed himself.
He took another glance around the place, seeing that the other three men with him were doing the same. When it was obvious that they were alone—with the exception of the hanging man that O’Malley hoped to God was indeed Howard Randall—he eased up.
“Chief, you there?” he asked.
He heard Connelly reply in his earpiece, surprisingly crisp. “Yeah. You in?”
“We are,” he said, walking to the hanging body. “There’s a body. Apparent suicide, hanging by a rope from a steel rafter.”
“Is it him?” Connelly asked, clearly excited. “Is it Randall?”
O’Malley approached the body. It was hanging at last ten feet over his head. By the time O’Malley had time to wonder how the man got up to that rafter, he saw the face.
It was smiling.
It had also been drawn on in red magic marker. The “head” was an old burlap sack. The drawn face leered down at him, as if in on the joke.
A small sign was hanging around its neck. It was made of cardboard and the words had been printed in the same red marker that had drawn the face. It read: FOOLED YA! HEY, HOW’S MY CAT?
“Fuck!” O’Malley yelled.
“What is it?” Connelly asked.
“He’s messing with us,” he said. “It’s a dummy. He hung a dummy to tease us. There’s a note. It references a cat. And it looks like…yeah, it looks like the sign is tied to the dummy with that same black elastic material that was wrapped around the brick and the cat at Black’s place.”
“It was a set-up,” Connelly said.
“Seems that way.”
“I want you to go over to that apartment complex and grill the hell out of both of the people that called. If they give you the slightest bit of trouble, arrest them and bring them in. I’ll deal with making up charges myself if I have to!”
“Yes, sir,” O’Malley said.
Frustrated, he holstered his gun and stared back up at the dummy. It was dressed in a back T-shirt and a pair of pants. He was pretty sure that when they cut it down, they’d find it stuffed with straw or old newspapers. It still gazed down lifelessly, giving its red smile.
O’Malley knew it was immature, but he couldn’t help himself. He showed the dummy his middle finger as he headed out back to fill in Mitcham.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Avery had excused herself almost right away after Connelly had ended the call with O’Malley and his team. She’d gone straight for the restroom and locked herself in a stall. She sat on the toilet with the lid down, using it as nothing more than her own private office, wanting to think this through without Connelly badgering her with questions and theories.
The sign on the dummy clearly implies that the man who threw the cat, the brick, and the note through my window is one and the same. And according to the note he tossed through my window, he’s interested in coming after me. The note said, “I can’t wait to see you again.”
But there’s no solid link between Kirsten Grierson’s killer and the notes or the dummy. It could be two separate individuals and we’re just desperate to link them up. It sure would make things easier. And it would make things easier still if the person behind it all just happened to be Howard Randall.
She went over what she knew of Kirsten Grierson’s case and the two notes in her head. She looked for a link but there was none to be had—mainly because there wasn’t enough information to go on in regards to the identity of the man who placed the dummy and tossed the cat through her window.
Sadly, she was sure that the dummy ruse that had so badly fooled the force was going to be pinned to Howard. And that would give the city all the more reason to demand that he be caught. She supposed she understood the need to blame as much as possible on Howard but if they were wrong on this, they were making a huge mistake that would not be able to be undone.
When she had her head clear, she walked back to Connelly’s office. He had managed to swerve his anger of being made a fool of from the person who left the dummy to those who had made the call from the apartment complex. Currently, O’Malley’s task force was harassing them, asking why they would have made such a false claim.
When she walked into his office, Connelly looked up at her from behind his desk. There was fury in his eyes but she also saw some fear there as well. She tried putting herself in his shoes, wondering what it might be like to not be able to put his city at ease when a madman was on the loose and a recently escaped serial killer might be behind it all. She pitied him a little.
“So what do you make of the scene at the warehouse?” Connelly asked her.
“I think it was deliberate,” she answered. “I don’t think the killer was ever there. It was a fool’s errand, plain and simple. The killer is laughing at us…having fun.”
Connelly scrolled through his phone, pulled something up, and handed it to her. She saw a picture from the warehouse, sent by O’Malley. It was a picture of the hanging dummy from the front. A red smile pointed dumbly down. The sign around its neck could clearly be seen.
FOOLED YA! HEY, HOW’S MY CAT?
Perhaps it was just the way her mind worked—or that she had been working with Connelly long enough now to know what he was looking for.
“It’s the same handwriting as the note stuck to the cat,” she said. “It’s the same guy.”
“Howard Randall,” Connelly said with stubborn assuredness.
“Not necessarily,” Avery said. “With all due respect, sir, I’m growing more and more certain that Howard Randall did not kill Kirsten Grierson.”
She saw that he wanted to explode, to chew her out. But he remained calm and, instead, said: “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not on this case, now isn’t it?”
“I guess it is,” she snapped back. She nearly gave him a bit of advice, a thought that had dropped into her head when she saw the picture of the dummy and the note. But out of her own interest (and, if she was being honest, just a little bit of spite), she kept it to herself. She’d look into it on her own when she got back home.
“Did you need anything else from me?” she asked, almost under her breath.
“No. We’re good for now.”
The tension and animosity between them was thick. She could feel it in the room like some weird humidity. Without another word, she turned for the door and left. Outside his office, she took a deep shuddering breath and ran through her options. She looked at her watch and saw that it was 2:25.
I wonder how hard it would be for me to get to that empty warehouse without being seen.
It was a tempting thought but she was pretty sure the trip wouldn’t even be worth the risk. That led her to the thought she’d had while standing in Connelly’s office.
The handwriting on the letter on the cat and the sign on the dummy was a match. Is there any way to get a sample of Howard’s handwriting?
For right now, she figured this was the most productive thing she could start working toward. And it would have to start back at Ramirez’s place, where she had the materials on Howard Randall’s case.
First, though, she needed to get back to Rose—and that meant sneaking back into her apartment building.
But given everything else she had been through in the last six hours or so, that didn’t seem like such a difficult task.
***
Knowing that there would be no food in Ramirez’s apartment and that Rose herself rarely kept much food in her apartment, Avery stopped by a deli and picked up a few sandwiches for dinner. She caught a cab to the deli but elected to walk the final six blocks to Rose’s apartment. Taking a slight detour and coming up behind the building would be much easier than directing a cab to do so. She also figured that anyone who was running surveillance on Rose’s place might see the cab and become suspicious. Lord
only knew what sort of insane instructions Connelly was giving the officers he tasked with keeping an eye on her.
Not that she resented the choice to keep them under surveillance. A dead cat through a window was bad enough…but when a desperate and anxious media was also involved, she knew things could get dangerous.
It was 3:10 when she came up behind Rose’s apartment building from two blocks away. She considered calling to let Rose know she’d be up soon. With everything that was going on, she wanted Rose to be aware of every noise outside of her door. Rose didn’t scare easily, but she did tend to make mountains out of molehills. All things considered, Avery thought Rose was handling things exceptionally well.
As she came to the back lot of Rose’s building, Avery pulled out her phone, juggling the bag of sandwiches into her other hand. There were only three cars and a city maintenance truck parked in the rear, along with a big blue dumpster for the building and a small pile of cardboard ready for the recycle bin.
No news vans or suspicious cars—which meant no one had figured out this location yet.
Avery scrolled to Rose’s number.
Before she pressed it, she caught the shape coming out from behind the blue dumpster. With both hands occupied, she was dearly defenseless.
She dropped the bag of sandwiches but by the time she could get her arm up, it was too late. The shape—which, she now saw clearly, was a man in a hoodie—threw one hand over her mouth while the other caught her free hand and pulled her forward. She tried fighting away and nearly had her arm free, when the man surprised her by sweeping her feet and taking her to the ground.
She managed to keep her head from striking the pavement, but the wind went rushing out of her. Her phone went clattering to the pavement. She heard it, but only distantly. The man had worked fast and continued to do so even now. He locked an arm around her head, her chin caught in the crook of his elbow. He quickly hauled her to a thin space between the building and the back of the blue dumpster.
As she started to collect her wind again, she fumbled for her sidearm but was unable to get to it. The man had her wedged between his right knee and the wall of the building, her back pressed hard to the brick.
His hand pressed hard against her mouth, making it even harder to breathe. Her instincts and training started to kick in. She calmed herself, knowing that fighting hard against her assailant when down and on her back could only make matters worse. Going calm would at least allow her to get a better understanding of the situation.
If he hasn’t killed me yet, he doesn’t want to. He wants something else. So stop fighting…calm down.
That was easier said than done.
Especially when the man pulled his hood from his head to reveal himself.
She found herself looking eye to eye with Howard Randall.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Panic tried clawing its way back up but she pushed it down—not too hard given the utter shock she felt in that moment.
“That’s a good girl, Avery,” Howard said.
Their noses were practically touching and when he looked into her eyes there was almost a sort of loving gaze there.
“Sorry I had to be so sneaky,” he said. “And rough. But I think you can understand why I had to. Now…before I remove my hand from your mouth and my knee from your chest, I want to ask you two questions. First…are you afraid that I’m going to kill you right now?”
She was surprised to find that she could answer no without any reservation. She shook her head slowly.
“That’s right,” he said. “And do you think I might rape you?”
Again, she shook her head. The idea of Howard Randall having any sort of sexual interest in anyone was strange to her given what she knew.
“Good,” he said. “Now…I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth. If you scream, I won’t kill you. I will, however, take care of the two cops watching over you. And then I’ll kill your daughter. Do you believe me?”
She thought it was a little crude of him to say such a thing. She didn’t think he had the physical prowess to take out two cops. But the thought of his hands on her daughter—even his eyes on her—unnerved her. So she had no real choice but to nod.
“Good,” he said with a smile.
He removed his hand at once. Her jaw eased up as she instantly asked: “What do you want?”
“I want the police off of my back,” he said. “You’re a smart girl, Avery. I’m sure you’ve already figured out that I had nothing to do with the murder of that girl. Am I right?”
She nodded. “Yes. But I seem to be the only one.”
“So work harder. Convince them.”
“Just get out of the city,” she said. She realized that he had not yet released his knee from her chest. Apparently, he didn’t quite trust her.
Or maybe he does, she thought. I could call this in. Or, when he lets me go, I could shoot out one of his knees, cuff him, and call Connelly. So why’s he here? Maybe…
But he told her before she could connect the thought.
“I was on my way out,” he said. “I truly was. But…well, this new murder is something of a bizarre turn. You’re not on the case, right?”
“How did you know?”
“I know because your police friends are terribly predictable. They’re trying to pin it on me. And I know there’s no way in hell they’d attach you to it. Although, from what I’m seeing, the media is trying to do just that with every ounce of power they have.”
“But you—”
“No time for small talk,” Howard said. “Listen. I did not kill that girl. And I sure as hell did not throw a dead cat through your window—though that was an inspired move on someone’s part. It’s too crude for me. And what the killer did to that girl with the nail gun…that was uncalled for. It cheapens the act. It makes it a theatrical gimmick rather than a simple death.”
“That’s the only reason you’re here?” Avery asked. “That’s the only reason you risked your neck to have a minute of conversation with me?”
“Of course not,” he said. “Since your insipid police force refuses to see this murder for what it is, I figured it’s my duty to help…since you did always resort to coming to me for help when a case got the better of you. I’m here to help, Detective. I’m here to save you if you need saving.”
“You know who did it?” she asked.
Howard only shrugged and smiled. “It could just be a ghost. Someone you can’t touch, perhaps. And it looks to be a ghost that would like to haunt me as well.”
“Your riddles won’t fly right now,” Avery said.
“My riddles are all you’ll get,” he said. “And you damn well better appreciate them.”
“Go to hell.”
Howard applied a bit more pressure to his knee, crushing her tighter against the brick wall. She bit back a slight cry of pain.
“Now, now,” Howard said. “Let’s not be an ungrateful bitch. I’m going now, Avery. I’m trusting you. Also, I’m sure you’ll understand, but I have to do this…”
Something shifted at her back and then his hand was at her mouth again. But not just his hand. There was a harsh, sharp smell. Something chemical. Alcohol and something else. On a cloth. She couldn’t breathe…couldn’t…
Chloroform…
Avery’s heart surged with adrenaline and hatred as Howard slowly got up off of her. The moment he did, she tried to scramble to her feet but the chloroform was doing its job. She instantly fell against the side of the dumpster. Her hands tried to raise the gun but, instead, dropped it to the ground.
The last thing she saw before she blacked out against the side of the building was the murky shape of Howard Randall making his way casually across the parking lot.
***
When she opened her eyes, she felt the small headache behind her eyes right away. Slowly, the events of the afternoon came to her in a haze. As she recalled it all, she was more embarrassed than anything. She had been unable to stop him but she still fel
t as if she had simply let Howard go.
As she got to her feet, her back ached a bit from where he had planted his knee. It almost made her feel as if he was still there. For all she knew, he might be.
Did he jump me just to give me that clue? That riddle?
Or did he jump me because the police pressure is getting to him? Is he scared?
Both of those felt right, and she supposed it was a bit of both. Still, neither option did anything to make her feel any better in that moment. Still collecting her wits, she picked up the bag of sandwiches and her cell phone from the ground. She checked the time and figured she’d been knocked out for roughly twenty minutes, suggesting he’d only given her a slight dose of the chemical.
She waited until she was steady on her feet before she called Rose down to open the back door for her. And even then, she still felt shaken—not quite herself.
Even as she walked inside the building two minutes later with Rose at her side, Avery found herself looking over her shoulder, sure that Howard Randall was spying on her from somewhere close by.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They ate an early dinner, Avery not able to swallow much of her sandwich due to the nerves that still seemed to be chaotic over the scare she’d had behind the dumpster. While they ate, she told Rose what had happened, but only because she knew she’d have to tell Connelly. She doubted it would do any good in convincing him and she also knew she would catch hell for letting him go. She figured she could stretch the truth a bit in that area, though.
“Mom, this isn’t safe,” Rose said after Avery had described the events behind her building. “He knew where you were. He was following you. It’s all getting out of hand.”
While Rose was overdramatizing things a bit, Avery thought she wasn’t too far from the truth. Her attention was being pulled between this new killer—presumably the man who had left the dummy note and tossed the dead cat—and trying to redirect the police away from Howard Randall. And she was having to do it all without the aid of the A1.