“At a guess, because he’s feels stressed by the investigation. I think he was very careful until Millie came along and he decided to take a bigger risk for a bigger thrill. He got away with it and, when he did, he needed to escalate the kill cycle to get more of a thrill. Vicky is probably a further escalation; a riskier victim, a shorter time frame… he’s spiralling out of control.” Gordon explained.
“We’re still combing through property records to see if we can find this industrial shed you mentioned, but the problem is that going through official channels is taking a while. And let’s be honest, if that’s his kill room it’s probably not going to be under his own name.” Jones commented.
Gordon sighed, knowing his old partner was right.
“The only upside we have is that he isn’t likely to kill her straight away. His killing ritual requires time spent with the victim.”
“Yeah, until we close in and then all bets are off.” Jones declared wryly. Again, Gordon knew he was right.
“Has the car for the two I killed been impounded yet?”
“They’ve barely found the bodies yet. I think they’re still working the scene.”
“Okay. It’ll be a long shot but get Weller down there and have her access the GPS system to see if there’s anywhere out of the way in the travel history.”
“Do you know what kind of vehicle they were driving?” Jones wanted to know.
“No, but it’s probably a black SUV… or maybe a sedan.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to bring Derek in with what we’ve got so far.” Gordon informed him, starting towards the door while he was speaking. He wrenched it open and stepped out… to be brought to an astonished halt when a muscular figure unexpectedly darted forward and lunged at him. It grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the phone and yanked hard, twisting viciously and sending shooting pains up his arm, which made Gordon gasp aloud. His phone tumbled the to the ground and the figure - a man Gordon now recognized from one of the personnel dossiers in the filing cabinet - drew back his other fist and struck Gordon full in the face. Gordon, caught off guard by the sudden, violent assault, tumbled back into Harold’s office and landed hard on the floor; knocking the air from his lungs and jarring his injured shoulder.
He heard the man stamping down on something and could only imagine he was destroying the dropped phone – presumably to ensure he couldn’t call out to the person at the other end for help. Recovering slightly, Gordon reached to draw his gun… but he was already too late, the beefy thug was on him, striking his face twice in quick succession. Gordon was instantly stunned by the speed and ferocity of the blows, but the moment he felt the man’s hands around his neck he forced himself back to semi-alertness. His throat burning as the choking grip on his neck cut off the flow of air, he reached into his pocket and found the knife. He opened it and plunged the blade forcefully into his assailant’s side. The pressure loosened immediately and Gordon drew in a desperate lungful of air, gasping loudly as he did so. He twisted the blade as his attacker tried to withdraw and then wrenched it free. Seizing the advantage, Gordon shifted upward to punch him viciously in the throat, forcing his assailant to recoil backwards, his hands unsure which injury they should reach for first: his closed throat or bleeding side.
Gordon rolled to his side and started to stand up, feeling blood in his mouth and loosened teeth. As he shifted painfully, he heard footsteps in the corridor outside and quickly drew his weapon, taking aim at the doorway. The first attacker was coughing and spluttering, kicking with his feet in a desperate attempt to crawl backwards into the corridor; the second person approaching them slowed their movement and Gordon listened carefully for any indication they were drawing a weapon. He didn’t hear anything but didn’t dare assume the person encroaching on his position was unarmed.
“Derek? Are you in there?” A gruff voice called out from the corridor. Gordon looked at Derek and nodded, signalling his approval for the other man to speak.
“Yeah.” Derek replied.
“Just come out; you don’t have to get hurt too. Just let us deal with the detective and your father says whatever you’ve done can be worked out.” The voice reasoned.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then your father will be very disappointed.” He replied ominously.
The crawling man, seemingly having regained his ability to breathe – though it sounded like air being sucked through a bent reed - had slowly progressed to a point where he was lying partially in the corridor and, perhaps feeling safer knowing his partner was close at hand, was now reaching down towards his hip. Although the movements were subtle, Gordon easily detected them and, with a shake of his head, levelled his gun threateningly at his groin. The wounded man ceased all movement, save for raising his hands in surrender.
“Do you know what Harold is doing to the women he takes?” Gordon now demanded of his unseen partner. “Are you willing to let that happen to more young women?”
“I don’t care.” The voice responded. As he suspected he would, it sounded a little closer than it had before and Gordon glanced at the drywall, roughly imagining where he would be standing.
“You don’t care?”
“All I’m interested in is the paycheck at the end of the week. What the boss does in his own time isn’t my problem.”
“He’s a murderer! How can you not care about that?”
“For all I know, they’re into it at the start but just can’t handle the drugs.”
“You’ve never seen what goes on, have you? How about I show you some of his home movies and see if that changes your mind?”
“Like I said, what the boss does in his own time isn’t my problem. I get paid to take care of loose ends and right now that includes you and his kid. So, how about you throw down that gun and give me whatever it is you found, then maybe the boss won’t have me kill you?”
Gordon scoffed.
“You really think I’m going to buy that?”
“Not particularly.” The man responded indifferently… then he swung out low and took aim towards Gordon, who fired several quick shots as he darted to the right, moving himself from the line of fire and forcing his would-be killer to abandon his attack with naught but a blindly fired shot that hit the frame of the window at the back of the room. Gordon shifted his weapon and fired several shots into the wall, firing along at a lower angle in the hope of hitting his antagonist through it. He heard a yelp of pain as his final shot passed through the drywall but couldn’t be sure whether it was the yelp of someone critically wounded or merely winged.
“Still alive out there?” Gordon taunted.
The man said nothing. It didn’t prove anything, so Gordon kept his weapon trained on the doorway, his finger ready to pull the trigger. Despite the throbbing pain in his head where he had been struck, he was focused, waiting for any indication that one or possibly both of his adversaries were about to attack again. Gordon moved ever so slightly, shifting to the left and lowering his body so he could make quick glances through the bullet holes. He saw nothing, his own distance from the punctures in the wall and the small size meaning he could at only see there was light on the other side. This, however, did inform him that the man had moved.
The original attacker still lay in the doorway, but Gordon was certain he would have taken the opportunity to draw his weapon. Cautiously and exposing as little of himself as possible, Gordon peeked out to verify his supposition and recoiled back immediately as a salvo of bullets were launched at him. He dived low to the ground, feet towards the door, just in case his idea to fire through the wall was replicated by his other aggressor. Derek had already gone prone as close to the opposite wall as possible, and he twitched in fear with every loud gunshot, but Gordon couldn’t worry about him at that moment. He rolled onto his back and aimed at the doorway, expecting the second attacker to push through into the room, but he didn’t. Gordon waited for a few seconds and then took aim at the legs of the man in the
doorway; he fired four shots, putting two rounds into each leg and drawing a strangled, pained scream from his throat.
“Get… me… out!” He managed to utter. After a few moments, his legs disappeared from view, leaving a blood trail on the carpet that led into the hallway. He was dragged out to the right, so Gordon repeated his attack from earlier; emptying his magazine into the wall in a pattern he hoped would have the best chance of hitting his opponent. This time he heard the sound he had been listening for: a heavy thump as something hit the ground. It seemed possible that the attacker he’d briefly engaged in conversation was now dead, but Gordon didn’t want to take the chance. After awkwardly retrieving the spare magazine from the back of his belt, he quickly reloaded his weapon, then rose to his feet.
“Oh God, oh jeez…” Someone was muttering outside. The voice was vaguely muffled and there were the sounds of something trying to move, a struggling that seemed futile.
“Is your friend dead out there?” Gordon questioned.
There wasn’t a definite response, just more panicked grunting and sounds of failed movement. Gordon approached the door frame then quickly peeked out, looking to see if either of his opponents were waiting for him. In the fraction of a glance that he took, Gordon saw the bloodied legs of the man he’d fought in the doorway initially and the body of his companion on top of his torso. He was contriving to manoeuvre himself so that he could dislodge the corpse, but was failing abysmally. Gordon quickly rounded the corner, pulled the gun from the injured man’s hands and tossed it down the hallway. He tried to see where his partner’s weapon was, but was unable to do so, and instead focused on looking at the wound. It seemed Gordon had shot through the wall and punched through the rear of his head, leaving a gory wound and a spurt of blood which had painted the opposite wall. As there was little doubt he was dead, Gordon decided to concentrate on the adversary still alive.
“I’m going to move the body off you; if you make a move I don’t like then I’ll put two in your chest and be done with you. Co-operate and maybe I’ll see you get to the hospital before you bleed out. Do you understand?”
The man said something but it wasn’t loud or clear enough to be heard. Gordon stepped onto his leg wound heavily, drawing a pain-filled scream from beneath the body.
“I get it! I get it! I understand!” He yelled frantically. Gordon stepped off the wound and moved closer in order to brace his foot on the corpse’s side and give it a hefty shove, rolling it off behind the injured thug. As he tumbled backward, his gun clattered to the floor and, for a second, Gordon suspected the man he had wounded would reach for it. Instead he made no attempt to do so, leaving Gordon free to kick the weapon back and away from both of them. He aimed at his chest and looked at him coldly.
“Do you know where Harold’s taken the new girl?” Gordon asked him.
“Hospital.” The man said weakly.
“That’s not how this works. Answers first and, possibly, hospital later.”
“I think… I think you hit an artery.” The man whimpered. Gordon glanced down at his bloodied, wounded legs and shook his head.
“Not enough blood, though it probably isn’t a good idea to wait too long to seek treatment. So, for the last time, do you know where Harold has taken his newest victim?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”
“You think so, or you know so?” Gordon asked calmly, stepping again on the man’s wounded leg and causing him to yelp loudly in pain.
“I know so! I know so!”
“Give me an address!” Gordon roared at him, applying more pressure to the wound. Hastily, the man called out an address, followed by brief but precise directions which roads Gordon would need to take in order to get there.
“He’s planning on killing her tonight. You’ve pissed him off and he’s trying to get things back under his control again.” The unintentional informant told Gordon.
“Is she still alive right now?”
“She was when I saw her last. Mister Leland wanted to spend some time with her before he finished her off.”
Gordon felt a cold sensation pass through his body. The only thing he took comfort in was that there might still be a chance to save the girl. He looked down and searched for his phone, but remembered it had been crushed. The screen was cracked and, after he stooped to retrieve it, it wouldn’t turn on.
“Damn it.” Gordon muttered. He stood and turned back into the office, finding Derek sitting in the corner. “Phone!” He demanded shortly.
Derek reached into his pocket and retrieved it, tossing it across the room. Gordon caught it and tapped the screen. Nothing happened so he pressed the button on the side, but again, nothing happened.
“Is there something special to turn it on?” He asked, thinking it might have some kind of biometric lock.
“No, there’s just the little button on the side.” Derek informed him. He stood up and approached, taking his phone back and trying, but failing, to turn it on. “The battery must be dead.” Derek concluded apologetically.
“Great.” Gordon commented. He went into the corridor and searched the two thugs but found they didn’t have phones either.
“Mister Leland didn’t want us to be tracked.” The beefed-up thug painfully confirmed. Changing his plan, Gordon went down the corridor and retrieved one of the guns. Returning to Derek, he handed it off.
“You’re going to find the landline and call Jones. Do you remember his number?”
Derek nodded.
“Give him the directions and let him know that Harold’s going to kill the girl tonight. Keep the evidence secure and don’t let that piece of filth out there do anything. If he moves, shoot him.”
“I’ve never… I couldn’t kill him.”
“Just shoot him in an arm or leg; you don’t have to kill him just make him think twice about trying something.” Gordon hurriedly explained.
“Can he call the paramedics?” The heavy pleaded.
“Tell Jones to send some help for him, we might be able to get a statement from him if he’s still alive.”
“O-Okay.” Derek said, holding the gun awkwardly and looking nervous. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try and stop Harold from killing the girl. You can tell Jones I’m already enroute.” Gordon responded. He stepped back into the corridor and quickly rifled the corpse and the wounded thug. He found that their spare ammunition magazines would fit and fire safely from his own weapon, so he looted them. Gordon started quickly towards the exit of the house, hurrying down the stairs and charging towards the door. As the cold air hit his painful face, Gordon silently prayed he wasn’t already too late.
Chapter Thirteen
Gordon drove quickly and aggressively. He did his best to stay below the speed limit within the city limits, but as he left Carlson Flats, he accelerated. He kept his eyes peeled for the signs and road numbers he had been given, hoping the thug hadn’t lied and hoping too that if it turned out he was going to the wrong place Weller or Jones had found something that would lead them to the girl. As he drove the sky was split asunder by a great roll of thunder and a stabbing crackle of lightning. It seemed the North American Monsoon had a sense of the dramatic; great droplets of rain began to fall, spattering the road, the desert and Gordon’s car. The downpour was sudden and violent and Gordon felt the slickness of the road begin to affect his vehicle.
He thought about what had happened so far, particularly about the loss he’d endured only that morning, and, save for the fact that future lives would be saved by his involvement, would have wished he’d never been offered the case. Isabelle would still be alive, that much was certain, but on the flip side, the death of Millie and all those other women he had found evidence of in Harold’s stash, and perhaps more that he hadn’t recorded, would have gone unsolved and unnoticed. The price for this discovery had been high and emotionally painful. In addition, Gordon couldn’t be sure he was going to survive the coming encounter, Harold would undoubtedly be acco
mpanied by two or more of his goons, but a young girl’s life was in his hands - another Millie - and he was left with no option but to try. Determinedly, he pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. Strangely, the more miles he put behind him the clearer the image of Isabelle’s face as she lay dying became in his mind; until he felt as though she was making the journey with him in spirit. Harold had killed an entire family - mother and daughter - and had probably utterly destroyed many more families. Gordon found it hard to fully convince himself that Harold should be taken alive and allowed to live out the rest of his days in a prison cell. By the time he was almost at his destination, passing by a number of large, unused buildings, Gordon couldn’t have said one way or the other whether he was going to kill Harold outright or not. It would be the act of a vigilante and, to some, he’d be no better than a murderer. As Gordon pulled up outside a chained fence, he realized he’d be okay with that.
The location the injured, muscle-bound heavy had described was that of an unused packing facility, and as Gordon looked at the building ahead, through the sheets of rain dropping from the sky, he thought it was pretty accurate. The main structure was a large, concrete construction with few windows and a number of metal shutter doors for loading and unloading. Precisely what had been transported out of there he couldn’t be sure, but the remnants of a sign indicated something called Lightspeed Parcelling. Apparently, they hadn’t gone fast enough to stop themselves from going out of business Gordon mused as he inspected the rest of the lot. There were a pair of black SUVs parked beside a large - but still smaller than the main building - single story structure. It featured no windows, but had a large, garage style door at one end and a smaller, standard door about midway. Derek had described it as an industrial shed, so it seemed more likely Harold would be in the smaller of the two buildings, but the lot size was quite large and there might possibly have been another shed style structure somewhere else. There weren’t many options, however, so Gordon exited his vehicle and approached the gate, flashlight in hand.
His Twisted Smile Page 20