Flicking the pork-scented debris back into the pot, he noted the security monitor. Not much traffic outside. Most nights the only thing that came up on the monitors was a stray cat or a group of feral dogs hunting stray cats. If it weren't for the autoshop techs next door drinking at the shop after hours, there wouldn't be any traffic on the monitors at all. But he stayed vigilante in checking them.
He had this place wired up. Cameras covered all angles outside. Front, back, and both sides were covered; he could see all around the warehouse. Motion sensors covered three-hundred-sixty degrees of the property also.
Lowering the head back into the pot—it needed a little more time—he opened a drawer and found his laptop, pulling it out. Edward wanted to watch his favorite movie. He placed it on the table next to Crystal's torso. He turned it on; a window popped up and asked for a password. He entered: S-C-R-E-A-M-F-O-R-M-E, and hit the return key. Granted access to the laptop, he opened a program to view movies. He found the file he wanted and he pushed Play. The viewing and listening experience was better with headphones but he forgot them at home. The volume on the laptop was good enough.
Before the killing room appeared on the laptop's screen, screaming poured out of the speakers. The screamer's name was Camila Rosenstein. Inside the warehouse, she was Edward's first kill in the new killing room; Camila was such a good screamer—one of the best.
Over an hour she lasted. This movie was his all-time favorite movie. It was one of the few movies he got a bit creative in making her scream, like cutting off her eyelids and putting saw dust in her eyes. There were other movies he watched regularly, but he watched this one at least two or three times a week. He never tired of it.
By the time the movie finished, he thought Kristy's skull was ready. After he fished it from the water with the spoon, water dripped into the pot, and white bone glistened. Her half-shrunken eyeballs were completely gone. The ears were gone. The skin and scalp were gone. Facial muscles were gone. All the teeth remained.
Once it had time to cool down a little, he controlled it by the top part of the spine that poke out of the bottom of the skull. Through the empty eye sockets, he saw part of the brain. He hooked a finger in an empty eye socket. He pulled the top part of the spine from the skull itself; a portion of the brain stuck to the top of the spine.
As he tossed the spine into the trash, he saw movement in the security monitor—two cars. He placed the skull back in the water and watched the cars park out front. When he saw who exited the first car, he became so elated; he exited his killing room, eager to go meet her.
Chapter Thirteen
Director Of Depravity
AS SOON AS I parked behind her car, she got and pointed at the old warehouse across the street; then she got into mine.
With bulging eyes, she said, "Rose, that's it right there, the warehouse. He's in there I bet."
Old and dirty, the warehouse's front bay door was open a foot from the ground. Glancing down the side streets, I half expected to see homeless people ambling about, but no foot traffic anywhere.
The plan—the one that I just pulled out of my ass—was just to scope things out and return tomorrow, during daylight. But first, to have a look around and maybe learn something. Like, the layout inside. Does he actually run a legitimate business in there? Are there more guys in there?
Kathleen pulled out her phone. "I wanted to show you earlier, but didn't know how receptive you'd be but anyway, look, this is what that bastard did to my babies. Look at these pictures."
They weren't pictures of babies that she gave birth to; they were of a dog. Really just lumps of bloodied meat.
He did this? Dogs were my favorite animal. I would hurt him just for doing that to her dog.
Intel was required. If pedophiles were a cautious and a paranoid bunch, I expected this director of depravity to be twice as paranoid. If Edward was here and using it to make his movies, assumed the use of electronic surveillance—like cameras.
Under the door, there were no lights on inside; I couldn't see much. Maybe the back of a car? It did not look like a truck. But that was all I could make out.
She glowered at the pictures on her phone. "I would like to cut his fucking balls off for this!"
"I going to make a call." I needed to let Henry know what I was doing.
Kathleen said, ”Okay."
I stepped out of the car, closed the door, and pulled out a burner. My brother didn't pick up so I left a message. "Hey, Henry, I'm checking in. Barry did indeed have a snuff film on his laptop. It was horrible! A woman was tortured then murdered on film. Barry says he didn't make the movie. I believe him. He says there are more movies and he only did the editing. Some guy named Edward Rawlings is the movie maker. I've tracked Edward to a warehouse. I'm pretty sure Edward's inside right now. I'll call you in a few minutes to let you know what I find out. Bye!" Ending the call, I put the burner back in my pocket, and got back in the car.
Kathleen stared at me; her mouth twisted slightly. "Who was that?" Fear rattled in her voice like loose phlegm.
"A cop I know. He might be interested in talking to Edward."
Shaking her head, she frowned. "No you know where the warehouse is now, maybe we should just leave now? I'm getting scared."
I just got here, I wanted to see more. This scene was new to me. In case something happened, I needed Kathleen to stay a little longer. "Kathleen, I believe Edward might be a criminal."
"What? Really?"
"I'm not really sure. I got a tip that he hurts women."
Kathleen frowned. "Really? He hurts women? Oh fuck!"
"That's the tip I got. I need to check him out before he hurts others."
"That's even more reason to leave! We are women and he's going ot hurt us! Edward will be so pissed if he sees us here? We need to leave now!"
For every job I’ve done, I've been patient. In fact, I like the ritual of planning a hit. Taking my time was important. However, staring at the warehouse, I wanted to rush in there and kick some ass. A woman might be in there right now, begging for him to stop.
My brother told me that helping others or protecting others had nothing to do with helping or protecting others. It had everything to do self-gratification. You only helped others because it made you feel good; like giving a hungry child a juicy cheeseburger or helping your sexual partner climax made any human being good. Regardless of the reason the need to go inside and stop this maniac overwhelmed me.
The pitch in Kathleen's voice had risen an octave. Edward really had her spooked. Most people would be after seeing what he does to dogs. But not me, I didn't care if he mutilated dogs or tortured women—Edward did not frighten me.
Taking a quick look inside wouldn't hurt anybody. The door was literally open, just asking for someone to enter. "Well, first I'm going to have a quick look around. Here." I handed her my phone. "Answer it when my cop friend, Henry, calls back. Or you can make an emergency call if you need to."
I hoped that potentially getting a call from a cop might ease her nerves. But it didn't. She grabbed my arm, her eyes widening. "No, Rose, come on, let's just leave and go get a drink."
All I wanted was a quick look inside. "Kathleen, I promise I'll be careful. A quick look around, that's all. You just stay here. I'll be right back."
Her eyes did not stop begging me not leave. Consoling people, not my forte. My profession was contract killing, and more recently, monster killing. "Kathleen, I'm here. The warehouse is just across the street. After that, we can go to the nearest bar and have some drinks on me!"
Kathleen smiled at the idea of drinks. "Okay, please hurry!"
"I will! Leave the engine running, keep the doors locked and don't leave the car. Just wait for me here."
Her shoulders inched forward. "Please be careful, Rose. I don't like being out here by myself."
"I will!" Winking at her, I shook her hand. Perhaps in her mind we were already buddies. I didn't have many friends and Kathleen seemed cool enough. I kind of
liked the idea.
Before I exited my car, I pulled a folding knife from a pocket on the thigh of my pants; I handed it to her. "Here you go."
Kathleen accepted the knife with a smile, her demeanor easing. "Thank you."
Upon Shutting the door, I took a deep breath, letting it out as if it had cleansed me of any self-doubt. Without further hesitation I crossed the street.
Chapter Fourteen
Alcohol and juicy burger
AS I CROSSED THE street, I took a moment to gaze down the desolate street.
Cones of light hovered above every street corner. The nearest streetlight shone on the front and side of the warehouse. A sidewalk stretched along the side. Foot-tall grass grew along the sidewalk like green cowlicks.
Along the side of the warehouse itself, I spotted three tall windows; I walked to the middle of the street to get a better angle. Only darkness, no lights were on.
To get a look inside, I needed something to stand on; the windows were over six feet from the ground. On the other side of the street, next to another warehouse, a pile of trash presented me an option.
The sign on the warehouse read: Beto's Collision and Repair. Once I crossed over to get a better look, an old wooden ladder caught my eye. It would work, but it was located in between the security fence and Beto's warehouse. Barbed wire was attached to the top of the fence. Too much work to get at it.
Turning to the trash pile, I picked through it, tossing an old half-rotted tire. Towards the bottom, I found a part of a pallet; I dug it out and dragged it over to the other side of the street.
Under the first window, I leaned it against the warehouse, and climbed. I made out a car inside, but I couldn't ascertain any more than that due to the window being so damn dirty. Jumping down, grabbing my makeshift ladder, I moved over to the second window. Set it against the warehouse, and climbed again. But I did not see anything, because it had been boarded up from the inside. It appeared that the wood, covering the window, was painted black. The third window the same.
If I wanted to see inside, I needed to enter the warehouse. I threw the half-pallet to the side and walked to the front of the warehouse. Kathleen's white face hovered in the front passenger window.
She waved at me. The way she looked at me made me wonder if she and I could be friends. The number of my female friends was less than the number of fingers I had on either hand.
I had days where I yearned to be normal. Have a regular life with babies and besties. But then I sobered up. Having a normal life made my stomach churn. Being a mother, unimaginable to me. Not that I didn't like babies and children; I loved my niece and nephew. Just knowing a human being depended on me for survival did not compute in my brain. Too much pressure for me.
Having a best friend to gossip with and tell all my secrets to, had its merits. I admit it. But I was a realist. Most women were idiots. Only worried about getting a man, and the current makeup trends, and how other people saw them while wearing Jimmy Choo or Prada. As if the opinion of other human beings meant anything. Maybe that's why I couldn't handle talking to, or even being around, most women. Men, barely any better.
Of course Kathleen and I just met, but she had an inner strength within. Edward was the enemy, the killer of her dogs; she followed him to a warehouse at night—ballsy move. Drinks with her wouldn't be bad. I waved back at her.
Before I went in, I wanted to ask her to call Henry, but it seemed silly. I had this. Just a quick peek around the place; we'd be out of here soon enough—on our way to a bar.
Laying down on my back, I rolled under the bay door, and entered the warehouse. Standing up, I allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I stood at the end of a dark, four-door sedan.
Pulling out a lighter from my back pocket, I flicked it until it lit. Not a smoker, but I liked to have a lighter on my person. A while back, I watched a crime show about a woman who had been abducted and thrown in the trunk of a car. Being a smoker, she always kept a lighter in her pocket. When she pulled it from her pocket, she used it to burn the duct tape that bound her wrists, and broke free. Able to see the trunk's contents via the the lighter's flame, she found a tire iron under the spare tire. When her abductor opened the trunk, she struck him with the tire iron then ran to a convenience store and called the cops. Ever since seeing that show, I tried to have a lighter in my pocket when away from home.
The warehouse appeared to be eighty feet long and fifty feet across, looking way bigger on the inside than it did from the outside. Machinery littered the place. Moving forward, I realized the machinery was old, and had not been used in years. Perhaps a few decades.
By the second, my vision improved. Once I arrived to the back, I saw some stairs leading up to the second floor office that protruded from the back wall. Two poles held up the other side of the office. Which gave it a 70's feel. The outside wall of the office had windows, but I saw no light on. Strange if he were in there. Was he sleeping in there? Sure was quiet in here. On the end, a small AC unit stuck out and had been turned on. Under the office, a couple of tables set up against the back wall.
I turned back towards the front. Maybe he left his car here and went somewhere nearby, or he was just asleep up there on a cot. If up there, he could stay up there; I was not that eager to meet him quite yet. I'd be back tomorrow and search everything.
My belly growled, and I figured an entire side of beef might satiate me. I should have eaten another burrito earlier. Kathleen and I could go to a bar that served food. The burrito didn't sound good anymore.
Real quick, I wanted to check the tables. Slowly, I moved over to them, eyeing a few hand tools scattered across the surfaces. There's nothing here; I'll come back tomorrow to check the office. Then I spotted something interesting. Against the right wall, near the corner, a weight-lifting bench with a bar and a shit load of weight-lifting metal plates.
Cool to the touch, I counted them. Seven plates on each side of the bar. Forty-five pounds each. Fourteen plates, plus the forty-five pound bar, added up to 675 pounds. No way had anybody lifted that much weight in here. It had to be a way to store the weights, to get them off the floor.
Satisfied with what I saw, it was time to get the hell out of here. Time to have something to eat, like a cheese burger, and a drink. I turned to leave, but it was too late.
In the warehouse, light was scarce, but I saw something, a silhouette. A man appeared in the darkness—a massive man. How did a man his size get so close to me without making any noise?
"Hi Kathleen's friend." An anvil (perhaps a fist) connected with my jaw and I laid down on the floor like it was nap time at an old-folks home.
Moving in and out of consciousness, I floated in the darkness of the warehouse. Without using my legs it felt strange. As I floated up the stairs, I remembered something: I forgot to give Henry the address to the warehouse when I left him the voice mail.
Chapter Fifteen
The neighbor
OVER TIME, HENRY LEARNED to listen to his gut, and it scream at him: Caitlyn's murder was personal.
Which meant mistakes were made. Even no evidence told them something. Except for her phone, nothing was missing from her purse or apartment, and no one forced their way inside; there were no defensive wounds on her body—she knew her killer.
Dennis mentioned that Caitlyn worked for a company called Hydro Technologies in Missouri City—approximately half an hour away. Most likely she got off work at five P.M. and drove to the grocery store; then, based off the timestamp on the HEB receipt they found in her purse, bought three different kinds of cheeses, crackers, and two bottles of wine at 5:42 P.M..
An empty plate and one wine glass were in the sink. She ate alone. But a guy friend could have eaten before coming over. Or brought his own food. But no fast-food wrappers were left in the trash. For now he had to assume she ate alone.
In the morning the first place to go would be Caitlyn's office. Water-cooler gossip always turned out to be a great source of useful information.
Happy that he had something in his belly, Henry nodded and said, "Yep."
They walked to Janice's apartment.
When they arrived, Henry knocked. Thirty-seconds later, the door opened, and a young woman, in her mid-twenties, smiled up at them.
Light brown stringy hair fell down, past her shoulders. With skin white as a wedding dress, she was rail thin and stood five foot even. Bags under her soft blue eyes told him she had trouble sleeping. But that was most Americans.
Henry noted something. Even though it was late, she was fully dressed. It would only be weird if she needed to get up early to go to work in the morning.
They held their badges out. "I am Investigator Mason, and this is my partner Investigator Creed," Mitch said, pointing at Henry.
“How can I help you?" she asked, her eyes darting back and forth between them.
"Someone was murdered, here in your apartment complex."
"Oh my God. That's awful."
"Ma'am, we are going around asking the tenants questions. May we come inside?"
As her face lit up, she stepped aside. "Of course, come on in."
Entrance into her apartment was too easy, Henry thought. No questions from her. Most people had at least a couple of questions before letting cops inside their homes. Questions like: Who died? and How did she die?
Once they were inside, the apartment was bright, cheery, and inviting, and very clean. The apartment had the same layout as Caitlyn's. Henry caught a whiff of coffee and wanted a cup. She must have read his mind, because she offered them coffee. And they accepted.
Two six-foot lamps plus the light from the kitchen illuminated the room nicely. Lying on a dining table, a grey laptop. Maybe a Hewlet Packard. Computers and cell phones told everything about a person these days; he wished he had Caitlyn's computer and cell phone, they'd be a great help.
Killing Room Page 7