Download Murder

by Patrick Logan

  “No can do. I don’t have that kind of scratch lying around. Just bought a new computer set-up for the ol’ homestead. Wish I could help you out, but…”

  Drake groaned in frustration.

  Not only do I have to meet with him, but now I’m going to have to make a stop along the way.

  “Alright, thanks anyway,” he said as he stood.

  “You just got here—where’re you going?”

  “Out for a bit.”

  Drake’s phone buzzed and he answered it.

  “Drake here.”

  “It’s Chase. We just got finished talking to Charlotte’s husband. He was… he was destroyed…”

  Drake remembered how much he hated that part of the job, how hard it was for him to tell a loved one that their husband or father was never coming home.

  “You alright?” he asked.

  “I’ll be fine. But get this, it looks as if Charlotte was abducted outside a bookstore.”

  Drake was leaning down and reaching for the top drawer of his desk when she said this, and he stopped.

  “Really? Any video?”

  “Haven’t had a chance to review the tapes yet. They’re on the way back to Dunbar to take a look. And Agent Stitts is getting a record of all the books that Charlotte has bought in the last few months, going to have Dunbar run that, too, cross-referenced with Melissa and Tanya’s purchases. Anything on your end?”

  Drake pulled the bottle of Johnny Red out of the desk and poured himself three-fingers. He downed half of it in one sip.

  “Yeah, got another story—Red Smile Part II.”

  Chase was incredulous.

  “What? What’d it say?”

  Drake finished his drink and closed his eyes.

  “Just that there was another body found at the same scene as the first. You’re in it again, too, and the narrative doesn’t mince words when it describes that the killer returned to the scene of the first murders to leave another body. Shit, it’s like this person is predicting the goddamn future. Are we really that predictable?”

  “Maybe—procedure is pretty standardized. What about the end?”

  “Just like the first. Stops abruptly, no real ending, no clues as to who or where the next victim is going to be. But there’s no THE END—the killer isn’t done yet. What the fuck is his endgame, anyway?”

  Chase stayed silent long enough that Drake had enough time to pour another drink.

  “Get it over here as soon as you can,” Chase said at last. “Did Screech manage to find out anything about the author?”

  Drake lifted his eyes and stared at Screech who was looking at him with a queer expression on his narrow face.

  “No, nothing. He tried, but says that L. Wiley is like a ghost.”

  Another pause.

  “Keep on digging, use any contacts that you have. We’ve got to find this guy before he kills again. I gotta go, I have a press conference to prepare for. Once this drops, we are going to be overwhelmed with tips again.”

  Drake nodded to himself.

  “Good luck,” he said, then hung up the phone before uttering the next phrase that popped into his head: are you sure, Chase? Things can get dicey if I go meet him again.

  Drake finished the rest of his drink and then headed to the door, leaving a stunned looking Screech standing in his office.

  “Can you look after the place for a while? Have to do this Special Consultant shit.”

  Screech said nothing, but Drake took this as an affirmative.

  He was nearly out of Triple D when he turned back.

  “Oh, and find Meathead’s yacht for him, will you? We’re going to need the cash—I don’t care what kind of ‘cargo’ he has stashed on it.”

  CHAPTER 34

  It was strange for Chase to be standing at the podium again, speaking with the media who had hastily arranged themselves with only minutes’ notice. She kept peeking over her shoulder, expecting to see Rhodes’s bespectacled face staring back, his cheeks slowly turning a darker shade of red.

  But it was only Chase up there today, and she felt oddly comfortable. Agent Stitts and Detective Yasiv were standing in the crowd off to one side, ready to come forward if called upon, but Chase thought it more prudent to be alone in front of the media and discuss how women should protect themselves.

  Show them a face of a proud, confident woman.

  “Good afternoon, New York. My name is Sergeant Chase Adams, and I’ve asked the media to congregate outside 62nd precinct so that I can make the public aware of some distressing news: over the past few days, there have been three murders on the outskirts of our city. Three young women were ruthlessly murdered and the suspect is still at large. At this time, we are not releasing the names of the victims or any details about the horrible crimes that were inflicted upon them.”

  Chase looked down at the paper on the podium with the rest of the speech that she had written, but while it had sounded fine when she was writing it down, it sounded trite and robotic now.

  She quickly scanned the paper for what to say next. One of the audience members took this as a pause intended for questions and piped up.

  “Are there any leads? Any suspects? Why were the women murdered?”

  Chase held up a hand and lifted her head.

  “I stand here today not only as a police sergeant, but as a woman,” she said, deviating from her script. It was best to sound genuine, to say how she really felt. She could deal with the consequences, if any, from higher ups later. “Ask a group of men if they’ve been afraid, really afraid, of being assaulted in the past month and one, maybe two hands might go up. Ask a group of women? All of them will raise their hands. Now this isn’t a gender comment, a political outcry or even a motto; this is just reality. And the new reality is that women are currently being hunted. We will catch the person responsible, this is my promise to all of New York. But in the meantime, women should be cautious. Don’t walk alone at night, don’t accept rides from strangers. In fact—” Chase bit the inside of her lip and for some reason, her eyes drifted to Agent Stitts’s. He had a slightly startled expression on his face.

  Instincts…

  “—don’t be afraid to be a bitch. This goes for all women; if you’re in a situation that makes you uncomfortable, or someone is offering to help you with your bags or your car, don’t be afraid to tell them flat out that you don’t want their help.”

  Chase gripped the sides of the wooden podium and leaned into the mic.

  “Don’t be afraid to be a bitch,” she repeated, her eyes skipping across the floating heads of the media.

  Their reaction was confused, at best. Some of the men were looking up at her with dumbfounded looks on their faces, while the women seemed to be smirking at her.

  Chase used this to her advantage and quickly said, “be safe, New York,” before turning back toward the police station behind her.

  This incited the crowd and she heard them shout out questions like sport slogans for a moment before they melded into one incomprehensible cacophony.

  Chase moved quickly, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow with the lump in her throat.

  Did I really just say that? Did I just—

  Agent Stitts sidled up beside her, matching her step for step.

  “Wow,” he whispered, “that was interesting.”

  Chase felt her face flush, and was about to answer when Detective Yasiv appeared on her left.

  “Did I just tell the women of New York to be bitches?” she asked as she grabbed the metal door handle and pulled it wide. Before either Yasiv or Stitts could answer, she said, “Yeah, I think I did. I really think I did.”

  What in god’s name was I thinking?

  CHAPTER 35

  Drake wasn’t sure how Raul knew that he had arrived at Ken’s condo, but before he even made it to the door, he saw the man’s hunched form appear in the lobby.

  Drake raised his fist to knock on the door, but Raul saw the gesture and came to him with the security guard i
n tow. They opened the door, and he stepped inside.

  It was strange coming here, as even though he had a light buzz from the scotch he had drunk at Triple D which made things familiar, it was early.

  The sun was still out.

  And everything just seemed so damn shiny in the lobby.

  “I’m here to see Ken,” he said sharply.

  Raul moved in front of him.

  “Ken isn’t here.”

  For some reason this surprised Drake, and for a moment he thought that Raul was lying. But it made sense; after all, Ken was partner at the law firm Smith, Smith and Jackson, and was in the middle of a mayoral race.

  Why would he be home on a Friday afternoon?

  “I need to speak to him.”

  Raul looked him up and down. Even though the security guard at his side appeared nervous, his eyes darting from Raul to Drake and back again, Raul’s demeanor, as always, was implacable.

  “He’s not here.”

  Drake frowned, no longer bothering to disguise his discomfort in the man’s presence.

  “You said that already. Is he at his office? I’ll visit him there.”

  Raul shook his head.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Drake’s frown deepened.

  “I didn’t ask you if you thought it was a good idea,” he snapped back. With that, Drake turned to leave, except he didn’t make it very far. Raul’s hand came down on his forearm. Even through his jacket, the man’s grip was tight, iron-like.

  Drake turned back around and violently shook Raul’s hand off.

  “Don’t touch me,” he hissed, glaring at the little man before him. If the security guard had been nervous before, he was now sweating bullets.

  “Why don’t you just—” the guard began, but stopped speaking when Drake took an aggressive step forward.

  “Don’t touch me again,” he warned, aiming a finger at Raul’s chest.

  Adrenaline flowed through Drake, and he felt his body primed to act, the fight impulse coursing through his veins.

  But Raul dissolved this notion by smiling.

  “My apologies, Damien. Please, come up to the penthouse. I’ll call Ken and see if he can come meet you.”

  Even though his mouth was smiling, his eyes weren’t.

  You weird little fucking man, Drake thought. What the hell is your deal?

  “Is that fine?”

  Drake nodded.

  “Fine.”

  The security guard exhaled audibly and Drake shot him a look.

  “I’ll just go back to my desk,” he said, mostly to himself.

  Raul, the creepy smile still on his face, turned and started toward the elevator.

  Drake, adrenaline surging, followed.

  ~

  “Ken said he can meet you in twenty minutes. Would you like a drink while you wait?”

  Drake checked his watch. It was nearly one in the afternoon now.

  “Make it a double,” he said. The way that Raul had switched from aggressive in the lobby to downright obedient upstairs, subservient, even, only added to the discomfort he felt in the pit of his stomach.

  He didn’t feel like waiting for a minute, let alone twenty, especially not in the company of Raul.

  The man returned with a heavy glass of Johnny Blue, and Drake took a sip.

  It was like liquid honey cascading down his throat, and in that moment, a sort of bliss came over him and he forgot all about the creepy manservant, about the dead women with the blood on their lips, the books documenting their deaths.

  Why can’t life just be like this all the time? Just sheer enjoyment that doesn’t involve sleeping with your dead partner’s wife?

  Drake shook his head and put the drink down on the table more forcefully than he had intended.

  The mirage was gone.

  A pinging noise from inside his jacket, which he had refused to remove despite Raul insisting, drew his attention.

  Brow furrowed, he pulled out the e-reader and turned it on.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  There was a third cover beside the other two now.

  Red Smile Part III.

  Drake swallowed hard, opened the file and started to read.

  CHAPTER 36

  “Goddammit!”

  Colin threw up his hands as he stared at his computer screen.

  The entire monitor had gone blue.

  His eyes bulged.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  He had been in the middle of a chapter, just wrapping up what was to be his masterpiece, the one that would finally put him and his family in the black.

  The one that would finally get Ryanne off his back.

  And now this.

  “What did you say, daddy?” Colby asked from the other room.

  “Nothing,” Colin replied. “Just keep watching your cartoons.”

  Colin tried jamming CTRL-ALT-DEL, but nothing happened. Eventually he held his finger down on the power button.

  He counted to three in his head and then turned the computer back on. It took longer than usual to start up, and when an image finally appeared on screen, he was surprised when the Windows logo and the words “Welcome to your new computer” floated by.

  “What the fuck?”

  Colin jammed the “Next” button in the right-hand corner and the image flicked to another welcome screen, one that asked him to name his computer.

  His heart was pounding in his chest now.

  “This can’t be happening.”

  He pressed ESC a half-dozen times, but an error message popped up, stating that he had to enter a time zone.

  It can’t all be gone… it can’t… the hard drive couldn’t have been completely erased. That’s impossible.

  He turned the computer off and on a second time, but was met again with the Welcome to Windows screen.

  Colin could feel his chest tightening, his breath coming in bursts.

  I was… I was nearly done with the series, let alone the book. It can’t be gone… it can’t! Not after all the work I’ve put into it!

  Sweat started to bead on his forehead, and Colin felt his limbs go numb. He tried to stand, but feared that he might collapse to the Parquet floor and remained seated.

  The front door suddenly opened, and Ryanne burst through. She too was sweating, despite the cold air that she brought in with her from outside.

  Wearing a purple, low cut top and tight black workout pants, she stormed into the entrance, scowling at the girls’ shoes that were strewn across the floor. She kicked them to one side and then pulled the yoga mat from beneath an arm and then tossed that to the ground.

  She looked up, the glower still etched on her lips.

  “What’s your problem?”

  Colin’s face, which he assumed was as white as the snow outside, went blank. He barely recognized the woman before him.

  She looked the same—same long brown hair, pulled up into a ponytail, same striking eyes—but there was something different deep down. Ryanne had taken their money problems to a whole other level.

  Colin felt bile rising in his throat as the image of the landlord, his back to him, the gray hair on his shoulders standing up like dryer lint, flooded his mind.

  “M—m—my computer,” Colin stammered. “It just broke.”

  Ryanne stormed over to him, and up close he realized that while she smelled strongly like sweat, there was something else underlying the funk. Something muskier.

  “Did you try restarting it?” she asked.

  “Of course I did.”

  Ryanne leaned over and held down the power button anyway. When she pressed it a second, the Welcome screen appeared.

  “See? It’s like a brand-new computer?”

  Ryanne shrugged and leaned away from the table.

  “You lose any work?”

  Colin gaped.

  “Did I lose any work? Seriously? I lost everything! Everything was on there. All of my books.”

/>   Ryanne shrugged again, and Colin felt his blood pressure reaching dangerous levels.

  “Should have backed it up. I told you to back it up.”

  “Thanks, Ryanne. Thanks for the fucking tip. I should have backed things up, but I didn’t. And now it’s all gone.”

  To make things worse, Colin would be damned if he didn’t detect a hint of pleasure in his wife’s voice.

  Nonplussed, Ryanne turned her back to Colin and then made her way into the other room to where the girls were sitting watching TV.

  “Turn this crap off. I want to watch the news.”

  Neither girl looked up.

  “Colby! Juliette! I said, turn this off!”

  “Ryanne,” Colin said almost absently. “I need to get my files back. I have a book to publish.”

  Ryanne’s posture stiffened, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she reached down and swatted Colby in the back of the head.

  “Ow!” Colby cried. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Answer me next time I speak to you!”

  Colin’s legs finally felt strong enough to stand, and he did.

  “Ryanne, leave them alone,” he ordered. “They haven’t eaten yet. I’ve been trying to get my computer to work.”

  Ryanne spun around, eyes blazing.

  “You want your computer fixed? Huh? You want me to get it fixed?”

  Colin recoiled from the unexpected anger in his wife’s face and voice.

  “Yeah, I want—”

  She smiled.

  “Oh, I can get it fixed; Gary can fix it. He’s good with computers.”

  And there it was again, the image of the man who had just had sex with his wife, his back to him, pulling his white underwear up to his waist.

  He thought he was going to be sick.

  “Well? You want me to get him to fix it or what?” Ryanne demanded, her smile growing.

  Colin hated her in that moment. He hated her, and he wanted to hurt her.

  Badly.

  Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that she had planned this whole thing.

  Either way, he was trapped, and Ryanne knew it.

  He opened his eyes, and realized that his wife looked watery.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Please get it fixed.”