“So nice of you to finally join us.” A hand came out of the shadows behind Aunt Lindy to press the end of a gun barrel to her head. “If you would be so kind as to drop your gun and slide it this way.”
Aunt Lindy contorted her face, trying to stop Michael. He knew what she was trying to tell him. Shoot him. Let her die. Stop him from killing again, because if Michael gave up his gun, they were both going to die.
Michael dropped the gun to the floor and kicked it toward the man’s shape in the shadows. He’d have to find another way.
Tears edged out of Aunt Lindy’s eyes and trickled down her wrinkled cheeks.
The man reached down and picked up the gun, but Michael still couldn’t see his face.
“Please shut the door behind you. We wouldn’t want anyone to happen by and be privy to our private affairs, now, would we?”
“Who are you?” The man’s voice sounded familiar and strange at the same time.
“Don’t you know? I’m the hero destroyer.” The man laughed and stepped out of the shadows into the light.
33
“Dr. Colson?” Michael stared at the man who emerged from the shadows.
The man laughed. “You do well to sound surprised. But no, not Dr. Colson. The doctor was a timid little man. He could never have accomplished any of the things I’ve achieved under the guise of his good name. Regretfully enough, it was Philip Colson’s time to pass on a number of years ago.”
Michael couldn’t spare any worry for whatever had happened to the real Dr. Colson. “What do you want with us?” he demanded.
“Only everything.” The man ran a slender finger encased in a latex glove down the gun barrel and then across Aunt Lindy’s temple. She jerked away from his touch. “Your aunt was not an easy subject. If my appearance hadn’t been so unexpected, I do believe she might have shot me.” The man’s smile chilled Michael’s blood. “It’s so much nicer when there’s a bit of challenge.”
Michael stared at the man’s face while he frantically tried to come up with a plan to get the gun pointed away from Aunt Lindy’s head. He took a tiny step back and bumped against the straight chair that moments ago must have been jammed under the doorknob.
“Sit down, if you like.” The man motioned toward the chair with his free hand. “I’m sure you have more questions you would like answered. How did I get in? Why am I doing this? How many people have I ushered out of life? The questions vary somewhat, but I do like giving my people the chance to ask. It somehow helps for them to realize they aren’t alone in this great game of death.”
Michael felt the back of the chair behind him, but no way was he going to sit down. He had to stay on his feet to have any chance of taking out the man. The man’s lips turned up at the corners as he waited for Michael to say something. To play his games. Michael didn’t want to give him that satisfaction, but he needed time.
“So how did you get in? My aunt assured me all the doors were locked.” Michael kept his eyes on the man. It was better not to look at Aunt Lindy. He needed to stay as cold-blooded as the murderer to have a chance against him.
“Doors all locked. Windows intact. Breaking windows is entirely too messy, and if one is not extremely careful, one can get cut. It has never seemed wise to leave any of my own blood at a murder scene. That pesky DNA, you know.” Again the chilling smile. “The fact is, I was already in. Attics in old houses like this are so cozy, don’t you think? One doesn’t even have to be particularly quiet, because those who live in old houses pay scant attention to the odd squeak and creak above their heads.”
“How long have you been here?” Michael felt sick, thinking the man might have been right over his head the night before and he hadn’t even known.
“Only a few days. In and out, of course. Dr. Colson is attending an educational seminar at the Hilton in Eagleton. He’s the keynote speaker there later today. I think his topic is going to be how unexpected events in life can be a threat to one’s health. He is considering presenting a case study about how even saving someone’s life, perhaps a stranger’s, can be extremely stressful to our regular routine. Dr. Colson is a much sought-after speaker.” The man looked too smug. “He has such great insight about life-and-death matters.”
Michael’s hands wanted to curl into fists, but he forced them to stay relaxed. Buck would be on the way. He just had to keep the man talking. “What is your real name then?”
“My birth name was Carl Corley. Not that names matter. I’ve often found the need to shed a name much the way a snake sheds its skin when it begins to feel uncomfortable. As a matter of fact, the kind couple who adopted me when I was ten changed my name to David.”
The man hesitated a moment with a bit of a perplexed look, then went on. “At least, I think it was David. Definitely something biblical. I suggested Judas, but the dear woman who wanted to be my mother explained that wouldn’t be appropriate. Later I agreed. Judas felt much too much remorse. At any rate, they had hopes that shedding my first name would help me forget my tragic past.”
“What tragic past?” Michael tried to sound interested.
“A couple of months before the nice Brysons took me in, my father executed my mother. I was his witness. As best I recall, he was upset because the milk had gone sour in the refrigerator. And then, since there was no milk for our cereal, he decided to eliminate our need for food. He shot me as well, but his aim was a bit off. The bullet only creased the side of my head.”
The man swept his finger across the side of his forehead. He was obviously enjoying recounting his story. “I had the presence of mind to lie quite still on the kitchen floor. While it wasn’t a life-threatening wound, it was messy. My blood spilled out on my mother’s just-mopped floor. Along with hers. Blood congeals very quickly. Did you know that?” The man peered over at Michael. “But of course, you did. Policemen see congealed blood all the time. But somehow, it’s different when it’s your own.”
“You didn’t die.”
“Many have wished they could rewrite that portion of my story, but alas, I did not die. I was very convincing however. My father thought it so. He even sounded somewhat contrite. From his muttering, I think he planned to kill himself too but lacked the courage to put the gun to his head. So the sorrowful man went to the source of all his courage or comfort. The bottle. Have you ever had to find courage in a bottle?”
When Michael didn’t answer, he answered for him. “I’d guess not. You’re a man with an ample supply of courage, aren’t you? Even now your mind is racing to figure out how to make a courageous rescue.” The man made a sound that could have been a laugh. “I regret to tell you how futile that is. I always win. As I did that long ago day when my father thought to kill his own seed. Don’t you want to know what happened next?”
“The police came and rescued you?”
Michael could use some reinforcements to come to their rescue now. He studied the man’s hand holding the gun, but it showed no sign of weakness. Aunt Lindy sat very still with her eyes closed. Michael hoped she was praying. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Aunt Lindy’s cat lurking in the dark hallway leading away from the foyer. Grimalkin was crouched low, creeping closer as though stalking a mouse. If only Buck was there instead.
“Hardly.” The man seemed amused. “I waited until his head fell over on the table. Then I crept over and eased the gun from under his hand. Regrettably, the movement roused him and he grabbed me. Fortunately, I already had the gun and pressed it into his stomach and pulled the trigger. He fell on top of me and suffered badly for several moments, which I thought only proper given what he’d done to my dear mother. Under him, soaked in his blood, I felt the life go out of him. I’ve tried to re-create that feeling many times since, but perhaps the first is always the best. Do you agree, Michael? Was your first killing best?”
“I’ve never had to kill anyone.” Michael listened intently for the sound of Buck’s car gliding toward the house. Surely Sally Jo had paged him by now. He would be on the way, but
would he be soon enough?
“Had to?” The man touched his lower lip with his tongue. “You mean got to, don’t you?”
When Michael stared at him without saying anything, the man laughed again. “Oh, that’s right. You’re in the ‘keep them alive’ corner. Save a life a day and all your troubles will go away. Didn’t work out quite like that this time, did it, Michael?”
“Not quite.” Michael tried to visualize what might be beside the door behind him. He needed a weapon. Buck might not show up in time.
“Is my story boring you, Michael? You appear somewhat distracted.”
“It’s been a long day.”
“Yes, I suppose it has. And I can’t expect all my people to be as enraptured with my story as that cute little reporter. Kim something, wasn’t it?” Corley shifted on his feet a bit to lean against the wall with the gun still pressed against Aunt Lindy’s head. “She took copious notes. I think the poor child really believed I was turning myself in to her and giving her an exclusive that would make her famous. Such an enthusiastic thing. Her life energy practically exploded out of her. The young are always the most fun.”
“You’re a monster.” Michael couldn’t stop the words.
“A monster?” The man smiled, not upset in the least. “I like that. But if you are tired of my story, we can get on with it. I do need to prepare for my speech later today.”
“Dr. Colson’s speech.” Michael had to keep the man talking. “By the way, what happened to the real Dr. Colson?”
“A laboratory fire in which I, his faithful lab assistant, sadly died. My body, alas, was burned beyond recognition. The two of us looked a great deal alike. People were always asking if we were brothers, and since the scholarly Dr. Colson was so wrapped up in his research on the human brain that he never had time for the social aspects of life, it was quite easy to step into his shoes. The surviving Dr. Colson was so distraught by the fire and the loss of his valued assistant and all his research notes that he went into seclusion for a year. By the time he was up to taking patients again, I doubt you could have found anyone who remembered exactly what the good doctor looked like.”
“How long ago was that?” How much time had gone by since he left the jail?
“A bit over ten years, and the last few years, things have been quite dull, you know. It’s just too easy with all these willing candidates for my own brand of research coming into the hospital each day. Remember? The poor man whose appendectomy went bad? I never had to go hunting. Even sweet little Hope, your first victim, showed up on my doorstep, begging to be part of the greater plan. Took some of the fun away. That is, until you came to call.”
“How’s that?” Michael estimated it would take three steps to reach Corley, more than ample time for the man to pull the trigger of the gun he had against Aunt Lindy’s temple.
“The perfect crime. Although since no one has ever suspected me, I suppose all of them have been perfect. But this one brought the fun back. And now you’ve come to save your aunt just as I knew you would. It makes the ideal ending. You shoot her and then yourself. Keanes are no more on Keane Street in Keane County.”
“Nobody will ever believe I would shoot Aunt Lindy.” Michael looked down at Aunt Lindy. Her eyes were open now. Not exactly scared. More regretful.
“It will be a shock to the citizens of Hidden Springs, but the evidence will convince them. They’ll be saying you can never tell about people. By tomorrow afternoon, they’ll all be remembering odd things you did that should have alerted them to your psychotic state. And can’t you just imagine our detective Whitt’s smug face as he stamps ‘closed’ on his file?”
“And will it be over? Closed?”
“You mean will I stop? What do you think?” Again the monstrous smile. “Your episode will be closed. At least almost.”
“Almost?”
The monster’s face took on a look of fake pity. “There’s the lovely Alexandria in Washington, DC.”
The words hit Michael like a blow and he staggered back, bumping against the chair behind him and scooting it to the side. He grabbed its back to steady himself.
Corley was still talking. “You needn’t worry. No one will ever connect her death with you, because you will have already met your untimely end. I haven’t decided completely how the last scene will play out. Perhaps a stalker. Beautiful women often must deal with unwanted admirers, especially high-profile women like our Alexandria. I was fortunate to track her down on the internet. She is quite striking.”
Michael took a step toward Corley, then stopped. He tamped down on his rage so he could think. He had to find a way.
“There’s nothing you can do, Michael.” The man shook his head slightly. “Nobody has ever been able to stop me. Nobody.”
Michael shot a look at Aunt Lindy. Anger had pushed out the panic in her eyes too. He had to try something. He slid the chair in front of him and gripped the back again as though he still needed support.
“But enough of this,” Corley said. “You seem to have heard all you can bear at any rate. Let’s get things all tidied up before anybody comes to call.”
As if on cue, footsteps sounded on the porch. “Malinda, it’s me, Alex.” She knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”
The monster’s eyes lit up like a child seeing an unexpected gift under the Christmas tree. “She must have heard me calling,” he whispered.
“Run,” Michael shouted but he knew she wouldn’t.
“What’s going on, Michael?” Alex called back. The doorknob was turning.
Aunt Lindy shot a look at the door, then at Michael before her head drooped forward as though in a faint. With a yowl, Grimalkin shot out of the shadows and attacked Corley’s leg. The man kicked to dislodge the cat, but Grimalkin must have dug in her claws. The cat yowled again and hung on. Corley let out a yelp and reached down toward the cat. When he did, his other hand holding the gun shifted a bit to the side so that when Aunt Lindy jerked her head up, it butted the gun away from her.
With the chair as a shield, Michael charged Corley. The gun went off, the bullet shattering the side window next to the door. The cat jerked away from Corley and retreated into the hall as Aunt Lindy rocked to the side and crashed to the floor. Michael hurled the chair at the man.
When the chair banged into Corley’s chest, he stumbled backward against the wall. He brought the gun up. With a smile, he pointed the gun at Aunt Lindy, helpless on the floor, as Michael sprang toward him.
The gun popped again. Michael didn’t know whether he’d hit the man’s arm in time to ruin his aim or not. He didn’t look. He kept his eyes on the monster’s face as he tackled him and knocked him to the floor. Corley scrambled away, but Michael grabbed him. Corley was stronger than Michael expected. The two of them rolled first one way on the floor and then another, the gun between them. Slowly, Corley edged the gun barrel toward Michael’s chest.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Buck was coming in no holds barred, but he was still minutes away. Too far. Michael had to be the one to stop Corley. Now.
Michael slackened his hold on the man and fell away from him. Corley’s face lit up, thinking he’d won, but Michael slammed his knee into the man’s solar plexus. Corley gasped for breath. Michael didn’t give him time to recover. With a burst of energy fueled by desperation, Michael threw his weight on Corley to hold him down while he banged the man’s hand against the floor until he finally dropped the gun. Michael grabbed the gun and shoved it up under the monster’s chin.
The overhead light came on. That had to mean Alex was okay and hadn’t been hit by Corley’s shot that shattered the glass beside the door.
“If you don’t pull the trigger, you’ll wish you had.” Corley smiled up at Michael even while still panting for breath.
Michael pushed the tip of the gun even harder against the man’s skin until his head tipped back.
But it didn’t keep Corley from talking. “Go ahead. Pull the trigger. You want to. You’re not that differen
t from me.”
“Michael.” Alex spoke behind him. “Think about what you’re doing.”
“That’s right, Michael. Think,” Corley said. “The powers that be will decide I’m mentally unstable. They’ll put me away, but in a couple of years I’ll convince them I’m totally recovered. I won’t even need medication. So there’ll be nothing to fog my memory. I can’t see you changing your name, even if it did become as uncomfortable as an outgrown skin.”
Aunt Lindy was making desperate noises, but Michael dared not look around at her. So he had no idea if she was advising him to shoot or not shoot. He wasn’t even sure if Corley wanted him to shoot or not. The man had a detached expression, as if nothing that was happening mattered at all to him.
“You’ll wish you had,” Corley said. “Isn’t that what our friend Jackson said? You’ll wish you had let him jump. And wasn’t he right?”
“I’m through playing your games.” Michael kept the gun under the man’s chin as he eased his body off him. He could still shoot if Corley made a wrong move.
“Death is the only way to end the game, Michael.”
Buck burst through the door behind them, his gun drawn.
“I hope you didn’t leave your handcuffs at home this time, Buck,” Michael said without taking his eyes off the monster in front of him.
34
While Buck handcuffed Corley and read him his rights, Michael and Alex righted Aunt Lindy’s chair and cut the nylon ropes binding her wrists to the chair posts. Michael reached for the tape over her mouth, but she held up her hand to stop him. With a determined look, she grabbed a corner of the tape and yanked it off. Tears sprang to her eyes and then she was smiling. Grimalkin came back out of the hallway to wind around her legs.
“. . . Anything you say can and will be used against you.” Buck’s voice went on in the background.
“I don’t have anything to hide,” Corley said. “I stopped by to see if Miss Keane would speak to me about her nephew rescuing a man who turned out to be a murderer when I heard sounds of a scuffle inside. By the time I was able to force open the door, he had her bound and was holding a gun to her head.” The man pointed at Michael. “He appears to be mentally unstable.”
Murder Comes by Mail Page 26