by Alex Barclay
Everyone was looking at her.
‘What do you want me to do?’ said Ren.
‘I want you to shut the fuck up,’ said Duke. ‘I need to think.’
Ren looked around the room. What can I do? What is open to me? That won’t get someone harmed.
Nothing … yet.
There was a small cardboard box on the table beside Duke. ‘I got a box of ringing cell phones here,’ he said. ‘People beginning to wonder where your asses are at! Unfortunately, y’all are always letting your people down, aren’t you? Got called away on a case, found a suspect, chased a robber, got held hostage …’ He looked around, laughed a crazy laugh. ‘Being “unavailable” doesn’t really set off any alarm bells in your people’s lives.’ He paused. ‘Ms Ren Bryce, I’m going to have you come my way slowly, place your keys, and both your weapons in this box at my feet, and your cell phone right here in this box. Then you stand by the wall there, to my left, where I can see you. No false moves, no true ones.’ He picked up her phone right away. ‘Now, let me have a look at this …’
Janine shifted on her feet. Duke yanked her close to him.
Ren locked eyes with her.
Stay as strong as you always are. You can do this.
Ren looked over at Gary, Robbie and Everett. They looked at her with unreadable expressions.
How do we get out of this?
Ren started looking around the room again.
What is at my disposal?
‘Agent Bryce!’ said Duke, ‘you’ve got mail! Neiman Marcus wants to introduce you to a sneak preview of spring’s new line.’ He paused. ‘Dear Misters Neiman and Marcus, thank you for your kind email, but I’m not going to even make it through fall, and even if I did, there’ll be no spring in my step.’ He laughed. ‘Agent Dettling,’ he said, ‘we hoped you enjoyed your stay at the Hay-Adams Hotel in Washington, D.C., Detective Truax – this is from your personal account – “CJ” whoever that is, had a great night Saturday, has been thinking about you ever since. Agent King, you need to renew your subscription to the New Yorker.’ He paused. ‘Jesus, how much time do you people spend reading this bullshit every day? Beep, beep, beep, you got mail! You got a whole pile of bullshit is what you got. Aren’t you supposed to be fighting crime?’
The Hay-Adams Hotel … where have I come across that recently? Where? Written down somewhere. Gold letters. Sylvie Ross! Child forensic interviewer! Her sleek, stylish pencil with the gold writing. Hay-Adams Hotel, D.C. Gary being stand-offish, abandoning her abruptly in the bullpen. Oh God. Gary is having an affair with Sylvie Ross. Sylvie fucking Ross.
She looked at him, unable to hide her flinch.
Of course, you have no idea what I just realized. In the middle of all this …
She looked back at Duke Rawlins.
Why are you here?
There was another beep.
‘Janine Hooks,’ said Joe. ‘Thank you for your donation! To some beat-up dogs!’
He turned to Ren, his voice ice-cold. ‘Now – here’s a question for you: where the hell is Joe Lucchesi? I’m not fucking around.’
Joe Lucchesi has clearly gone off your radar. Thank God.
‘I don’t think you’re fucking around,’ said Ren. ‘But Joe Lucchesi has left Denver.’
‘You lying bitch.’
‘I’m not lying,’ said Ren. ‘You can sit here looking for information I don’t have or you can go out and try to find him yourself.’
‘Oh, if Joe thinks his little lady is in trouble, he’ll come looking for her,’ said Duke.
‘He’s a cop, I’m an agent,’ said Ren. ‘He doesn’t see me as a lil lady who needs to be rescued.’
‘He might want to keep you alive to fuck you again, though,’ said Duke.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
‘I did not—’ She trailed off. ‘Right now, Joe Lucchesi is non-contactable. Check my phone. See his Automatic Reply: he will not be answering his emails. It’s there, black and white. His phone is diverted. You know all this. You are here because of this. You’ve lost him. You want to draw him back.’
Duke was barely hiding his rage.
‘And Joe Lucchesi’s priority is not me,’ said Ren. ‘His priority is his family.’
Duke laughed. ‘Well, I can at least reassure him that one member of his family is safe.’
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Ren’s heart plunged. She saw Grace’s little face.
But as long as I can keep you here, Duke Rawlins, in the same room as me, Grace Lucchesi is absolutely safe.
Then she thought of Joe Lucchesi’s own words: Duke Rawlins will always have an accomplice.
65
Duke Rawlins, his arm still around Janine’s narrow waist, was now pulling her tight to him, her back against his stomach, the back of her head against his chest.
‘She’s the sweetest one here, isn’t she?’ said Duke. ‘I knew you’d run to her.’ He turned to Janine. ‘She must think you’re a little fragile.’ He picked up her skinny wrist, let it drop.
Janine was staring ahead, jaw clenched, rock solid, no reaction.
Go ahead, Rawlins, underestimate her, see what happens.
‘Let the women go,’ said Everett. ‘Show some mercy.’
Duke looked at him. ‘Mercy? There was no mercy for me! My whole life.’ He reached out his arm. ‘No mercy for me, and that makes me? Merciless. Mercy. Less.’
‘You don’t need to—’
‘Just shut the fuck up or I’ll kill both these women. I like doing that, remember? Why would I let the females go? They’re what I love to do.
‘You!’ he said, stabbing the gun into Janine’s ribs. ‘You take all these phones apart, you take out the SIM cards, batteries, everything. I’m watching you – don’t do anything stupid. I’m going to keep yours, Ren Bryce, so your savior can come get you. Text him,’ he said, handing her the phone, ‘write very simply in your regular way – nothing fancy, nothing weird – to come to Safe Streets. Then show me.’
Ren wrote: Come to Safe Streets.
She handed it to Duke.
‘Add something else,’ said Duke. ‘You really think that’s enough? You dumb bitch. Write: “important development”.’
She did as he asked. He hit Send.
‘I’ll wait as long as that takes,’ he said. ‘Of course, he might be more anxious to respond this time round, seeing that he fucked up with his wife. Or maybe he won’t show at all … seeing that he fucked up with his wife.’
Janine did as Rawlins asked, dismantling the phones, filling the box with their parts.
‘Thank you kindly,’ said Duke. ‘See, I can do things kindly. I can. How many women have you raped and murdered?’ he said, mimicking a whining female voice. ‘Answer: I have lost track.’ He ran his forearm under his nose, wiped away sweat. ‘Why have you lost track? Why? How could that possibly be?’ He raised his arm and looked around the room. ‘I have lost track in the same way I lost track of …’
Ren looked at him. I know what you’re thinking: lost track of the number of times you were violated.
I need to provoke you. I need you to come for me, and let Janine go. She’ll know what to do. If you lunge, she drops, the weapons are within her reach.
‘You are no different to your mother,’ said Ren. ‘An addict who hurts other people to soothe their own pain.’
He didn’t move an inch. ‘That’s bullshit. That is bull shit.’
‘At least your mother was just addicted to disappearing into her own little screwed-up world. You’re addicted to raping and killing your way out of it. What do you think your mother went through as a child that her pain went so deep?’
‘What that bitch went through?’ said Duke, his pitch rising. ‘I don’t care, as long as it was as close to hell as it could possibly be.’
I know why. And I understand how you could think that way.
Duke was sweating.
The temperature was stifling.
Six
people in a small space. No AC.
‘I took her away, Mama Rawlins,’ said Duke. He laughed. ‘Mama! Fuck. Me. I took her and I put her in a box: DANGER! KEEP OUT! There was a hole in it I made her watch through, so she could see the effect she had on me. I used to sing her Dainty’s song. Dainty never even knew I’d disappear off to where I kept Mama.’ He held out his arms. ‘I raped that hooker right in front of her face, saw her beady eyes looking out, killed her there too, burned her flesh to hide her wounds. Win-Win was her name. And I swear to God, no truer name for what I was doing. Win fucking win. Oh, Mama knew what she’d done; she knew what she’d done to me. I left that night to get rid of that buy-by-the-hour hooker corpse, and Wanda Rawlins got away. Bye-bye! I’d been doing so well. I was very angry that Kurt found her. Very angry with him. But he didn’t know who the fuck she was. He was thinking about boning that blonde. Got there first!’ He laughed.
‘Positions of trust, that’s what it’s called, right? That was what my mama was in, right? That’s what you guys are in …’
A shiver went up Ren’s spine. The profile. The obsession with positions of trust. This is his red-hot danger zone.
‘Where was the trust in my life?’ said Duke. ‘Who could I trust if I couldn’t trust my own mama?’
He turned to Gary. ‘I see you, “supervising” all this, making streets safe, I see all of you, and I’m thinking “When was I ever safe?”’ He raised his gun. ‘Where were the safe streets for me to walk?’ He laughed. ‘You’re not safe. You are not safe.’
He fired twice. The first bullet hit Robbie, a clean shot to the head. The second hit Everett. Ren could see his hair lift into the air, then blood spraying, then he was slumped behind Robbie.
Robbie’s lifeless eyes stared ahead. The side of his head was destroyed.
Next in line, spattered with his colleagues’ blood, staring down a barrel, was Gary Dettling.
66
No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Robbie, Everett … no, no, no, no, no. That’s not how it works! You give chances! You give people chances. You … wait. You fucking wait. You let us save people! You fucking psycho! You fucking psychopath.
No. No. No. No. No. NO.
Agent down. Agent down. Agent down. Agents down. Agents down.
Janine was ghostly, her lip quivering, her body limp, but her eyes were set, dark, glued to the opposite wall.
Duke was now pointing the gun at Gary, staring him down. Gary was staring right back, unmoving, waiting, calm, accepting.
‘I thought you were merciless!’ said Ren, drawing Duke on herself.
Gary has a wife. Gary has a daughter.
‘You just shot two men,’ said Ren. ‘Dead in an instant, no suffering. Don’t you want people to suffer? Where’s the suffering in an instant death?’
Duke blinked. Seconds passed.
He lowered the gun a fraction, moved it to the right, fired, ripping a chunk from Gary’s left triceps. The blood spattered up against Ren’s right side; she could feel the warm spray on her face.
Jesus Christ.
Gary cried out in pain, only briefly, then buried it.
Ren’s fingers shook as she wiped Gary’s blood from her face.
I’m next. Jesus Christ. No. Don’t. Please don’t. Don’t.
Duke, instead, had pulled Janine back tight against him, and his gun was pressed into her ribs.
Oh, no. No.
Ren was immediately seeing row after row of crime scene photos and everyone was dead, and this time they had the faces of her friends.
No! No! No!
Imagine an abandoned Safe Streets …
Jesus Christ. What hell are we in? Stop. Stop. Stop.
Think. Think. Think.
Think. Think. Think.
Get out of this room. We need to get out of this room.
Duke Rawlins’ nickname as a child was Pukey Dukey. It tormented him. That’s what Shaun Lucchesi said. Throw up. It will rattle him.
‘Please!’ said Ren. ‘Please can we move into another room? I can’t … I … don’t feel well. The smell of … everything … I think I’m going to be—’
‘You shut the fuck up,’ said Duke. ‘Just shut the fuck up.’
‘I’m going to be—’
‘—raped in front of your boss is what you’re going to be.’
Ren fell to her knees in front of Duke, and threw up, splashing his boots. Silver spots danced in front of her eyes.
Ugh.
‘You fucking disgusting piece of shit,’ said Duke. He jumped out of the way, staggered back, kicking out, catching her in the jaw. Ren cried out, fell onto her side, curled into a ball.
‘Get the fuck up,’ he said.
She stood up, slowly.
My jaw. The pain …
Duke was now pressing the gun into Janine’s temple.
‘You,’ he said to Ren, ‘walk, carefully, slowly toward the door. I’ve got your friend, don’t be dumb.’
Ren moved toward the door, glancing back at Gary.
Oh fuck. No.
His face was gray, his arm soaked with blood, his head limp on his neck.
When Duke Rawlins saw Gary’s face, he lit up. ‘I’m gonna leave you here, leave you to go slowly.’
Ren stopped. ‘Please let me help him,’ she said. ‘You will need him if you want to get away from here. He’s in charge. He’ll get—’
‘Who says I want to get away from here?’ said Duke. ‘Who says this is not my blaze of fucking glory?’
‘You do want to get away,’ said Ren. You have to want to get away. ‘You do need someone. You’ve always needed someone. Gary will get you whatever you want.’
‘Now, why would he do that?’ said Duke. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘In exchange for his life, Gary would do anything,’ said Ren.
Gary managed a weak nod.
Jesus, please don’t die. Jesus. This is not happening. Someone tell me this is not fucking real.
‘And what about you?’ said Duke, turning to Ren. ‘What would you do?’ His eyes glowed in the darkest, deadest way.
Ren’s heart pounded. Me? What would I do?
His hand was on his belt buckle.
Her stomach turned.
I’d like to see you try.
‘Move,’ he said. ‘Move.’
Ren walked through the offices out into the hallway, Duke behind her, gripping Janine.
‘In there,’ said Duke, pointing into the conference room.
Ren opened the door into a room that was filled with everything there was to know about Duke Rawlins and his life, and his victims, and theirs.
His eyes widened. ‘This is pretty obsessive,’ he said.
That’s what he says …
He cuffed Janine to the radiator. Ren expected to be next.
‘You’re coming with me,’ he said. ‘Via the ladies’ room.’
What? Why?’
She glanced down at Janine. They locked eyes. It was too much.
At least if he’s with me, Janine is safe.
‘Move,’ said Rawlins. ‘Now.’ He rattled his belt buckle.
He shoved Ren down the hallway ahead of him. As she walked, she did a mental inventory of every room in Safe Streets, scanning their contents from memory, wondering what a man like Duke Rawlins would use to rape her: he always used whatever was to hand.
I am deciding what object I will be raped with.
Her stomach tightened.
Choose the source of your wildest pain. This is all so wrong.
Duke pushed the door open and shoved her into the ladies’ room.
He planted her at the sink in front of the mirror, stood behind her. She could smell his skin, shower gel, laundry detergent, mouthwash, nothing as filthy or stinking as it should be. She gripped the edges of the sink. She stared, not at him in the mirror, but at herself.
How many times have I looked at this face? And hated who I saw? And was disappointed, and was guilty, and felt ruined, nothing, useless, a fa
ilure?
She felt a surge of strength.
Bring it on, psycho. Bring it on. I will fucking kill you. I am more than you think I am. I am more than I think I am.
She got a flashback to the previous year, to the teenage boy, the rapist who had fought her, brought her to the ground until Denver PD detectives had burst in.
Not this time. I’m stronger. Fitter. Murderous.
‘You have all the power,’ said Ren.
Duke tilted his head.
‘You don’t need to rape me to prove that,’ said Ren.
‘Maybe that’s not why I want to rape you …’ he said, running his hand up her stomach.
What the fuck?
‘You think I’m a monster, don’t you?’ he said. ‘You think I’m a monster.’
Ren didn’t reply.
‘Little Miss Perfect’s never sinned,’ he said. He grabbed a thick fistful of her hair, pulled it taut, brought fresh tears to her eyes, then slammed her head into the mirror, cracking it, yanking her back again, slamming her head in again.
‘So, you can face yourself, no shame – right?’ he said.
The skin was split above Ren’s eyebrow. She watched the blood stream down the left side of her face.
Seven years’ bad luck. One night down …
‘Can you?’ said Ren. ‘Can you face yourself?’
Duke looked up at his distorted reflection in the broken glass. For a wild moment, uprooted from reality, Ren was expecting humanity. All she saw were eyes that were black, blank, terrifying. Dead in one way, alive in another.
She felt a slow shiver roll from the base of her spine to the top of her head.
This man is the devil incarnate.
I’m not going to make it out of here.
67
Ren’s heart was pounding.
Where are you, Joe? Did you get my text? You had to have realized it wouldn’t take us this long to get back. Maybe the tower, the steps, the lighthouse – it was all too much. It was another lifetime, a bigger nightmare, an overwhelming one.
Duke started unbuttoning her shirt.
No, no, no.
She squirmed under his hands. ‘No. Don’t.’
He laughed, opened the buttons even slower. When he was down to the third one, her cell phone beeped.