“No shit? Wow. Um, I guess you could try that ATM on the corner. You can see the front entrance pretty good from there.”
“Thanks.”
Stefan left and went back to the front counter. “I need a key to Gio Adami’s room.”
“I can’t give out keys to people’s rooms.”
“He’s an agent with the FBI, like me, and if you don’t give me a damn key, I am going to arrest you.”
“For what?”
“For being a fucking incompetent douchebag. Now give me a key.”
The guy mumbled something and then reached into a bag and pulled out a plastic card the size of a credit card. He ran it through a scanner and handed the card to Stefan. “Room 112.”
As he hurried to the room, Stefan placed a call to the Bureau and Gio’s assistant, asking for the video feed from the ATM on the corner. His assistant, a girl named Crystal, said she would get it for him right away. But “right away” could mean in an hour, or it could mean in a month if the bank wouldn’t respond to anything but a subpoena.
Stefan found room 112 and slid the card through the lock. The red light switched to green, and he opened the door. The room had been cleaned, the bed made, and the towels changed. He first went into the bathroom and looked around the toilet. He opened the lid to the tank and looked inside then searched the rest of the bathroom. Without any idea what he was looking for, everyplace was a hiding place.
He checked cupboards and drawers, underneath the bed, and in the closet. Gio’s gym bag lay in a corner, and Stefan went through it. There wasn’t anything of interest other than a laminated baseball card of some rookie Stefan had never heard of. He tossed it back into the bag.
He rose and looked over the room. There was nothing there. The ATM might’ve been his only shot. Just in case, he tried Gio’s phone again, and it went straight to voicemail. Stefan left the room and the hotel.
He sat in his car for a minute and thought about what to do next. If Gio really was gone, he should put out a “Be On the Look Out” call for him. But without a vehicle description, it would just be Gio’s face plastered in a few key spots, a message sent to patrol cars, and TSA would be put on alert. He decided to do it anyway.
Stefan sighed and went back to Gio’s room after putting in the BOLO call. He would wait here, maybe run and grab something to eat really quickly, and hope Gio came back. He lay down on the bed and flipped on the television.
41
The next flight for California didn’t leave for half an hour and then took three hours to get there, which meant Sarah wouldn’t land in Los Angeles until eight in the evening. By then, it might be too late.
She sat in the terminal and tried to occupy her mind. This man, whoever he was, was just that: a man. He wasn’t some devil, as she’d believed at the start of this case. He was a man who was, in the end, destroying himself—because the good part of him couldn’t tolerate the bad. She knew that now. And if he wanted to destroy himself, the quickest way was to get caught. He left something behind that would lead to him; she just had to find it.
Sarah watched a family seated across from her. The mother was busy with two young kids while the father played on his phone. One of the children, a young girl, ran up to her and said, “Hi.” Sarah smiled, and the child ran off before she could reply.
The girls were maybe six and eight, the same age difference she and her sister Star had been. The memories that flooded her mind were as painful as anything the “gift” imposed. Star had died at the hands of a maniac because he wanted to find Sarah. Sarah knew Star had crossed over to wherever it was people crossed over to, and she knew that Star had found her peace, but it didn’t help Sarah feel any less guilty about her sister’s death.
Sarah pictured them as young kids playing in the fields near their childhood home. They had horses, cows, ducks, pigs and chickens to keep them company. Never did they feel alone, not until Sarah began displaying curious behavior and the other kids didn’t want to play with her. But Star never left her side.
“You can go play,” Sarah had said to her once when the other kids refused to let Sarah join them.
“No, you’re my sister. Sisters always stick together.”
The boarding call was announced, and Sarah’s eyes opened though she hadn’t been aware they were closed. Sarah checked the time on her phone: half an hour had passed. She glanced around and didn’t see the family anymore. After stretching from side to side, she rose and boarded the plane.
She felt the initial anxiety again—fluttering in her gut and heat in her face. She asked the stewardess for some water, and the stewardess said she couldn’t bring it out until they were at cruising altitude.
Sarah texted Stefan before turning off her phone, letting him know she was three hours away. A man sat down next to her. He kept glancing at her legs, and she tried to ignore him by looking out the window.
“You live in LA?” he said to Sarah.
“No, just visiting.”
“I live there. There and Miami. I got homes in both places.” He paused, as though she was supposed to say something. When Sarah didn’t, he went on. “I’m a real estate developer. Not a bad gig, considering. What do you do?”
“I work at a bookstore.”
“Oh,” he said, trying not to act condescending. “So, you like it? ’Cause I’m always looking for salesgirls if you don’t.”
She smiled. “Does that line work on anybody?”
“What line? I’m serious. My girls make six figures every year. If you’re interested, we can talk some more.”
Sarah eyed him a moment then reached over and touched his hand. She saw his home: a condo overlooking the city. A woman sat on the sofa, and he stood up and went to a bar in the corner to mix them drinks. Out of a chrome jar, he removed a small white pill, crushed it on a plate, and dumped the powder into one of the drinks before serving it to the woman.
“No thanks,” she said. “I would prefer not to be raped.”
Sarah turned back to the window, and the man didn’t say anything. This was always one of the hardest aspects of what she could do. Here was a man committing acts of great evil, but she didn’t know if she could do anything to stop him. Sure, she could go to law enforcement, and if she made up an excuse about how she knew he was drugging and raping women, they might believe her, but it wouldn’t matter. Because the same day, she might see another man who killed a homeless person, or another who molested his daughter, or another who stole from his business partner, and another that beat his wife. She might see all these things, and she would have neither the time nor the energy to stop them all. The fact was, more than anything, she was an observer.
Still, she couldn’t just let him get away with it. She turned and touched him again, a slow wave of pain rising in her belly as she leaned toward his ear. “You need to turn yourself in to the police. If you don’t, they’ll come for you, and it’ll be much worse. You’re on their radar now. If you walked in and turned yourself in, they would take it easier on you.” She paused, getting an impression of him sitting in a pew, wearing a suit with a Bible in hand, rocking gently back and forth as he prayed. “God wants you to turn yourself in. To alleviate the burden you’ve been carrying for so long.”
The man’s lip started quivering, and he turned away, his eyes filling with tears. “I can’t stop,” he whispered.
“God has given you a way to stop. When we land, go to the nearest police station and tell them what you’ve done. You will feel like a new man.”
Sarah turned away from him. She pulled out a napkin from her pocket and dabbed at the blood on her lip. The plane zipped along the runway and then lifted into the air.
42
The darkness was there whether his eyes were open or not: a pure, complete lack of light. It was also cold, and Gio felt goose bumps on his skin. His head was throbbing, and his neck shot slivers of pain down his back. He tried to lift his hands, but they could only come up about three inches and wouldn’t separate. They
were tied together. He tilted his body one way then another, trying to feel the area surrounding him, but all he felt was the cold on his back.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” a voice said from the dark.
Gio’s heart pounded. He took a deep breath to calm himself. If he was going to make it out of here, he had to keep his cool and keep this man talking. “What’d you hit me with?” Gio said. “Feels like my head split open.”
“A sap. Just an old sap. Who knew they work so well?”
Gio took a breath. “Do you know who I am?”
“Oh, yes, I know exactly who you are, Special Agent Adami.”
Shit, Gio thought. He knew Gio was FBI, and he didn’t care. “What am I doing here?”
“You are taking part in a glorious work, Agent Adami.”
“Call me Gio. What work?”
“You’re going to be transformed. Into something you can’t even fathom. Something that will live on in the hearts of the people long after both of us are dead: you’re going to be turned into perfection.” A light flashed on. It was so bright it blinded Gio, and he slammed his eyes shut and turned his head away.
Slowly, as his eyes adjusted, he opened them. He was on a metal table and his wrists were bound with plastic ties. The light focused on a radius of about three feet, and he could see linoleum underneath the table but nothing else.
“I have to say,” the voice from the darkness began, “that I was only interested in you at first. You have a beauty to you. A darkness in your eyes that my soul recognized as kin. I have a feeling you and I are not that different.”
Gio said nothing. He tugged his wrists apart, testing the strength of the ties. They were far too strong to break. His legs were bound as well, and he tested them. They were as strong and tight as the ones on his wrist.
“But I’m not as interested in you anymore,” the voice said.
“Why not?”
“Because I read about you. I read about the Blood Dahlia case, and I found the most interesting story about it.”
No, Gio thought.
“You brought in a psychic to help you with that case. Tell me honestly, did she work? I mean, did she speak to the dead?”
“No. It was a scam. He was ratted out by his mother, and we made the stuff about a psychic up to protect her.”
He chuckled. “That is a panicked lie if I’ve ever heard one. Do you care for this psychic? I’m afraid I have plans for her.”
“She has nothing to do with you.”
“She has everything to do with me. She’s proof that there’s life after death. To speak with her, to probe her mind… it must be glorious.”
The shadow came into view.
“Leave her alone,” Gio said.
“Shh. You need your strength.”
Gio heard the clink of metal on metal and knew the man was laying out tools.
“Soon,” he said, “we’ll get to work.”
43
The first thing Sarah saw when she stepped off the plane was Stefan. He was pacing back and forth, his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor. Sarah went to him, and he looked up and grinned.
“Despite me asking you not come… I’m glad to see you again.”
She blushed and didn’t know what to say. The truth was, she was glad to see him, too. “Did you find anything at his hotel?”
He nodded. “A video from the ATM on the corner. I’ve got it ready to go on my laptop in the car.”
They hurried out of the terminal. Stefan was telling her how he had waited several hours after she’d called, and when Gio didn’t check in, he called in a missing agent report. Every officer and federal agent in the city was on the lookout for him. Sarah got the impression that he was trying to calm her, but she couldn’t be calm. She had seen what was waiting for Gio.
The car, a black sedan, waited out on the curb. They got in, and Stefan pulled down the laptop from the dash and played a video. It was grainy and black and white. Sarah could barely make out what was happening. But she did see a man who looked like Gio get out of his car and open a back door. Right behind him, someone slid out of a van, hit him in the head with something, and then lifted him into the van. The door slid shut, and the van pulled away.
Sarah felt as though she might throw up. “He has him.”
“We got some techs on the video to clear up the license plate. Every cop in the state is looking for him. We’ll find him.”
She shook her head. “No, you can’t. But I can. Take me to the hotel.”
“There’s nothing there. I think we should—”
“Please take me to the hotel.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Sarah didn’t speak as they drove. Stefan told her stories about people who had gone missing and then were found, but she didn’t really pay attention. She tried to focus her mind like a laser on one thought: Gio.
They arrived at the hotel. Sarah sat quietly for a moment before stepping out of the car. She crossed the parking lot to Gio’s car. The door was closed now, but when he had been taken it was open. Sarah closed her eyes and laid her hand on the car.
She saw him get out of the car and go to the backseat. He was reaching in when the man hit him on the back of the head. Sarah could see him. He didn’t cover his face. Tall and lean, white. He was strong, too—strong enough to lift Gio into the van. When he opened the doors, Sarah saw something flutter out of the car. A slip of paper. She wasn’t sure if the man noticed, but if he did, he did nothing about it. He shoved Gio in and slid the van door closed before leaving.
Sarah opened her mind and had to lean against the car. Her strength had left her and was replaced with pain. She spit. A glob of blood spattered on the pavement. Straightening, she scanned the pavement and underneath the car that had taken the van’s spot. Near the rear wheel was a bit of paper. She picked it up and looked at it as Stefan approached her.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” she said. “Look at this.”
He took it, and a smile spread on his lips.
44
Top Shelf Storage sat in a large lot in Burbank. Stefan drove and Sarah sat in the passenger seat again, running her fingers along the receipt they’d found in the parking lot. The paper had once been held by him, and she’d hoped she could get something from it, but nothing came.
They parked out in front, and the owner was already there. Stefan had sent a local sheriff’s deputy to pick him up and bring him there when he protested that it was too late, and they were closed. The man wore a coat though it was easily seventy degrees, and he looked agitated and annoyed. He stood with his arms folded as they got out of the car and walked over.
“Don’t know why this couldn’t wait till morning,” the owner said.
Stefan handed him the receipt. “This man rented a storage unit here. I need access to it.”
“You have a warrant?”
“Don’t need one. Exigent circumstances. Now open the damn door.”
The man’s brow furrowed. He looked at Sarah as though for help and then back to Stefan. “Fine, be an asshole.” He looked at the receipt. “Over here.”
They followed him as he opened the gate and turned off the security alarm. He didn’t look back as he led them through the rows of storage units with orange entrances that looked like garage doors. He stopped before one halfway up an aisle and unlocked it.
“There.”
“Whose unit is this?” Stefan said.
“I’d have to check on the computer in the office.” Stefan didn’t move, and the man sighed. “Fine.”
As he stomped off, Stefan lifted the door, and both of them stared.
The unit contained what looked like painting equipment—brushes and cans, rollers, palettes and mixers, blank canvases, frames. Several finished paintings were leaned against the wall. Stefan stepped inside the unit. Sarah could tell he didn’t want to touch anything before forensics got there, so he just stared at it all.
“Look at this,” he said.
<
br /> She joined him. He was staring at a painting leaned against the far wall. The man in it stared back at them. He looked like a king, with a fancy coat and jewels, but he was too modern to be a king.
Sarah stepped forward, having to maneuver around supplies, and then slowly reached up. The moment her fingertips touched the paint, she curled over and groaned.
A woman was screaming. She lay on her stomach on a bed, and a man sat on her back and slashed her. He cut her so deeply her spine was exposed. And then when she stopped moving he took a tube and plunged it into one of her wounds, blood cascading down the tube into a bucket. Sarah could see his face—it was the same man who had taken Gio.
Stefan had his arms around her, making sure she didn’t hit the floor. “What happened?”
“He uses blood for these paintings. He drains them of blood and mixes it with his paint.”
Stefan looked up at the painting.
“That’s…” she gasped, “that’s what the video is. It’s not some random child rapist, Stefan. He thinks he’s making art.”
Stefan held her up. “You’re bleeding.”
Sarah took out a napkin and went to dab at her nose, but the napkin came away dry. She felt tickling on her cheek and touched it. Pulling away, she could see blood on her fingertips. It was coming out of her eyes.
“You need a hospital.”
She stared at the blood. It looked black in the dim lighting. “I’ll be fine.”
The owner stormed into the unit with a slip of paper. He shoved it at Stefan, and Sarah could see it, too. It was a name, an address, a phone number, and email. But Sarah just kept reading the name: OLIVER HADRIAN FARKAS.
The precinct was buzzing with activity though it was nearly midnight. Stefan had brought her to a local LAPD police station, and she sat in the detective’s bureau. Stefan spoke with them and a couple of other agents from the FBI.
Murder 42 - A Thriller (Sarah King Mysteries Book 2) Page 16