The Helper cd-2

by David Jackson

  The recorded clips are brief — just enough to capture the moment each victim orally signed their death warrants — and they are on a loop. Each time they repeat, the volume level increases. Doyle finds himself rotating slowly on the spot, his gaze skipping from screen to screen as the words overlap and the sound builds. This is how he did it, he thinks. This is how he infiltrated lives. He’s the ultimate voyeur. He sees all, hears all. You don’t even need your own computer. You just have to know someone who does. That’s why Lorna Bonnow and Sean Hanrahan and even Mrs Sachs weren’t safe.

  Incredible.

  While Doyle tries to absorb all this, tries to cope with the enormity of it all, the volume from all the computer speakers continues to mount, the calls for execution being hammered into him, until all he wants to do is put his hands to his ears to drown out the cacophony.

  And then it stops. The computer screens turn to black again. All the dead withdraw into oblivion. The only face remaining is Gonzo’s.

  Doyle says, ‘Why would Everett be interested in these people? What were they to him?’

  ‘Everett was mad as a hatter. The only thing he wanted to do was kill people while telling himself he was doing them a service. I gave him that opportunity. I just called him up, the same way I called you. Told him I knew all about what he’d done to his mother and those girls. He was terrified at first. I think he believed I was God or the Devil or something. I used some fancy words — told him I would help him to pursue his calling, or something like that — and he jumped at the chance.’

  ‘So,’ Doyle says, ‘this is what you’ve been doing with your life. Spying on people, searching for victims to feed to your pet serial killer.’

  Gonzo shrugs. ‘Beats television. Have you seen the crap they put out there these days? Having said that, most of what you guys get up to is pretty damned dull, you know. Sorry to be insulting, Cal, but what you do behind closed doors doesn’t exactly light any fires, you know what I mean? Except, that is, when you talked about Mrs Sachs.’

  Doyle decides not to join in with Gonzo’s laughter at his own joke.

  ‘So why bother? If it didn’t look like I was going to be one of your precious victims, why bother with watching me?’

  ‘Why? Because you were valuable in a different way.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You were a cop. A detective, no less. That meant I could get you involved. That’s why I found Everett a victim in your precinct. It’s why I got him to write your phone number on Cindy Mellish’s wrist. I thought the message would eventually get back to you, even if you weren’t initially assigned to the case.’

  ‘Still doesn’t explain why you picked me. I’m sure you’ve found lots of detectives on your little box of tricks. You could have picked any one of them.’

  ‘True. But not all of them know Lonnie Adelman.’

  It takes a second for Doyle to realize what Gonzo is telling him.

  ‘The diary.’

  ‘Yes, the diary. Who else were you going to take that laptop to but your computer expert buddy Lonnie? That was my way in. I knew Lonnie would pass the computer on to me. The plan was I would contact you directly after that. I wasn’t even sure it would be face to face. I thought maybe a quick phone call, using my fake voice. That’s why I used my real voice when I first called you at home. ’Course, what I didn’t expect was that Lonnie would actually bring you into my room to introduce you. Jeez, that was a panic moment. I couldn’t use that ridiculous voice in front of him, and I couldn’t use my normal voice in front of you. Luckily, Lonnie didn’t hang around long enough to hear me speak.’

  It strikes Doyle that it was mighty convenient that Cindy Mellish kept something in her diary that linked her to Vasey. But then he gets a follow-up strike that is even more of a haymaker.

  ‘You altered the diary, didn’t you? Vasey was telling the truth. He never met Cindy Mellish.’

  ‘Well done, Cal. You’re learning. I’d told you the diary was important, so I had to give you something. What better than a clue to a future victim?’

  Doyle has to struggle to prevent a sense of admiration creeping into his thoughts. It’s hard not to marvel at the sheer ingenuity of all this, let alone the technical wizardry. He has to remind himself just how evil and twisted this bespectacled clown actually is.

  ‘So then we met, and you got a taste for putting yourself so close to the investigation. You just couldn’t keep away after that.’

  ‘Yeah, that was fun. Being right next to you, with you having no idea what I was doing. It got kind of addictive. Meant I had to stick with the stupid voice, though.’

  Another thought occurs to Doyle. ‘I got a phone call from the helper. When you and I were sitting in my car that time.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus, Cal. Now you’re letting yourself down again. You ever heard of speed-dialing? A simple press of a button on the phone in my pocket, that’s all. You weren’t taking calls from me at the time, so I knew you wouldn’t answer it. And even if you changed your mind, all I had to do was hang up again.’

  ‘Yeah, well you can wipe the smug smile off your face, Gonzo. You ain’t so perfect. You killed the wrong girl, remember?’

  Annoyance flares in Gonzo’s eyes, and he raises his voice. ‘I didn’t kill anyone. Everett did it. The mistake was his. I gave him all the data he needed. I told him where she ordered her pizzas. I told him about her love for Harleys. I even told him what time she ran her bath, so that all he had to do was turn up and push her in the darn thing.’

  ‘Your data was insufficient, and not for the first time either. It’s why you were so surprised when I couldn’t find Cindy Mellish’s computer in her bedroom. You didn’t think to check it after you got all the information you needed on her, and so you didn’t know her mother had moved it. Same applies to Tabitha Peyton. You told Everett she was the only one who lived in that apartment. You told him that because you were relying on information you got before Tabitha’s computer broke down. Admit it, Gonzo. You’re not perfect, and neither is your system. You fucked up.’

  ‘NO!’

  There’s an expression on Gonzo’s face that Doyle has seen many times before on others. It’s the look of fear and desperation that stems from not being in control. Technology is what gives Gonzo his power. He has nothing else. No looks, no physical strength, no charisma. He’s the kind of guy who would have been bullied mercilessly in his childhood. He would have been the butt of all the jokes, the victim of all the pranks. With his computers he has a way to get back at the world. Tell him it’s flawed and you might as well be belittling his manhood.

  And then, slowly, Gonzo regains his composure. He re-affixes his malformed smile and wags a warning finger at Doyle.

  ‘Very good, Cal. You almost had me there with your feeble attempt at psychological manipulation. Can you take it as well as you dish it out? How about if I remind you of your part in all this? The things you knew and chose to keep to yourself? The mistakes you made in not reading all the clues I gave you? You don’t get to walk away from this, Cal. There’s blood on your hands.’

  ‘I can live with the choices I made.’

  ‘Can you? Really? Maybe I did make a mistake with Tabitha. There, I said it. But you know what? You know what the funniest thing of all is? You fixed it for me. It was you, Cal. You delivered her right to my door. I didn’t have to lift a finger. Don’t you think that’s priceless?’

  Doyle’s gun is at his side now, but he can feel his fingers tightening around it. He so wants to start blasting away at the cackling maniac in front of him. It wouldn’t solve anything, but boy would it make him feel good.

  Gonzo continues to revel. ‘All I had to do was call Everett to come get her. I told him how to break into the apartment building and I told him about this red-headed nerdy kid she was staying with. We never met, you see. To him I was merely a voice on the phone, just like I was with you. Before I went down to the basement I called him again. I told him this was his big chance to go in and take the g
irl. He wasn’t supposed to attack me, the moron. Although I suppose he did make me look more innocent.’

  Doyle realizes now why Tabitha was abducted rather than drowned in the apartment upstairs. It wasn’t simply a case of Gonzo or the killer making a statement; it was to prevent the police from crawling all over this building and looking into Gonzo as a possible suspect. It was all about keeping him out of the picture — something with which Doyle was only too happy to comply.

  ‘You know why I did that?’

  Gonzo appears confused. ‘Did what?’

  ‘Brought Tabitha to you. You know why? Because I trusted you, Gonzo. Maybe you’re not used to that, people trusting you. But that’s what it was. Sure, I made a mistake. A huge mistake. It’s something I’ll regret for as long as I live. But given the same circumstances again, I’d do exactly the same thing. Sometimes you have to accept people for what they appear to be. Otherwise, you’d never trust anyone. You’d never love anyone. Your life would stay empty. I don’t want to live that way.’

  Gonzo pushes his tongue into his cheek while he mulls this over. When he responds, he seems almost human again.

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s not always so easy.’

  He doesn’t elaborate, but Doyle can tell there’s a lifetime of bad experiences behind those words.

  ‘Nobody’s saying it is. You said this was all about trying to help people. So maybe I can help you. Maybe-’

  ‘No, Cal! Don’t even go there, all right? This isn’t an AA meeting. I don’t need your pity.’

  ‘I was just trying to-’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you were trying to do. Don’t patronize me, okay?’

  ‘All right,’ says Doyle. ‘Level playing field. Man to man. Explain this to me.’

  ‘Explain what?’

  ‘Why you did this. What’s this really about, Gonzo? With all that intelligence you got up there, why did you choose to do this instead of using it to really help people?’

  ‘Why did I choose to go to the dark side, you mean?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘I did it. . to prove a point.’

  ‘The point being?’

  ‘The point being that the NYPD is even more short-sighted than I am. The point being, Detective, that they can’t even see past their own fucking noses when it comes to solving crime. So what if I can’t do a mile-and-a-half run? So what if I have bad eyes and asthma? Where do brains figure into all this? Doesn’t that count for anything?’

  Doyle’s eyes widen. ‘You applied? To the PD?’

  ‘Yes I applied. Didn’t even get as far as the Police Academy doors. I tried to tell them what a mistake they were making. I told them how valuable I could be to them. But would they listen? No. All they were interested in was turning lunks like you into assholes in uniform.’

  ‘Gonzo, you work for the NYPD. They need the kind of expertise only people like you can give them.’

  ‘I’M NOT A COP! I wanted to be a cop. I wanted to make detective. I wanted to show the world that there’s more than one way to catch criminals. And if the NYPD had let me, I would have become the best damn cop this city has ever seen. Their mistake, Cal. Big, big mistake.’

  For a moment Doyle is dumbfounded. A sulk. That’s what this is. On a grand scale. A child lashing out after one too many rejections. An ‘I’ll show you’ gesture of the worst kind.

  ‘So do you think you’ve made your point?’

  ‘Oh, I think so, don’t you? Look at how you floundered when you didn’t have me to help you. You needed me, Cal. You needed my information. Without me you were nothing. Those murders would still be taking place now if it wasn’t for me. You didn’t solve those murders at all. It was me. Jesus, the rest of the NYPD didn’t even know they were connected — that’s how dumb they are. That’s why they should have accepted me, Cal. Their loss.’

  Acceptance. That’s the crux of it. A sad and lonely misfit craving some kind of acceptance. And then the deadly ramifications when he doesn’t get it.

  ‘It wasn’t the right way to do it, Gonzo. There are better ways. You could have told us about Everett from day one. And we would have looked up to you for that.’

  ‘Sure you would. Or maybe you would have taken all the credit and then locked me up for computer crime. I know how you guys work. You don’t want to be made to look stupid by some kid fresh out of college. Well now I’ve shown you. I’m not a jerk. I can do things you can’t. Now you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But nobody else does, Gonzo. This bomb you dropped has limited impact. Was it worth it?’

  Gonzo laughs, but there’s no humor there. Instead, he sounds almost weary.

  ‘Yet again, you disappoint me, Cal. It doesn’t matter what they know. I was doing it for me, not them. I was proving the point to myself.’

  ‘And now that you’ve done that, what’s next? Where do you go from here?’

  ‘What’s next? I told you a million times, buddy. It’s all about helping. Now it’s my turn.’

  Gonzo raises his arm so that it comes into shot on the monitor. In his hand he is carrying a Glock pistol.

  Doyle levels his own sidearm, and feels foolish when he realizes he’s drawing down on a computer.

  ‘What are you doing, Gonzo? Where did you get the gun?’

  ‘I work at 1PP, Cal. The building is full of these things. Somewhere there’s an embarrassed cop who still hasn’t admitted losing his weapon.’

  ‘Put it down, Gonzo. It doesn’t have to be like this.’

  ‘It does, Cal. You know it does.’

  Around Doyle, all the monitors come on again. All showing the same image of Gonzo lifting the gun and pressing its muzzle to his temple.

  ‘Gonzo!’

  For the last time, Gonzo slips back into his high-pitched geek voice.

  ‘So long, Detective. I enjoyed working with you.’

  The explosion, blasting out from every computer speaker in the room, is deafening.

  On the monitors, the side of Gonzo’s head erupts. His eyes cross as a geyser of blood spurts from his skull, and then he slumps forward, out of sight.

  Then, one by one, the monitors go back to sleep. One by one, the lights on the computer towers blink and die. The whirring fans wind down and their noise fades.

  All is silent.

  On his way out of the room, something catches Doyle’s eye. It’s taped to the inside of the door. A little memento. He takes it down and slips it into his pocket.

  And then he leaves.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Three days later. Doyle at home, enjoying the peace and tranquility. Enjoying life with his family.

  Tucked up in bed, Amy asks, ‘You catch any bad guys today, Daddy?’

  Doyle strokes her forehead, pushing strands of hair off her face. ‘Not today, hon. Today was pretty slow.’

  ‘Then tomorrow you’ll have to catch lots more. Hundreds of them. Or maybe even dozens.’

  Doyle smiles. ‘I guess I will. It’s gonna be a busy day.’

  ‘I’m gonna be busy too. I hafta draw two pictures for Miss Olefski.’

  ‘Mrs Lefty?’

  ‘No, Daddy! Miss Olefski. My teacher.’

  ‘Oh! I thought you said Mrs Lefty. Like maybe she has only one hand. And the other arm has a big crab claw at the end of it. And she has a big hump on her back. And one of her eyes has a-’

  ‘Daddy, stop it!’ says Amy, even though she can’t stop giggling. ‘I’m gonna tell Miss Olefski what you said about her.’

  Doyle puts his hand to his mouth as though he’s terrified at the prospect. ‘Oh, no. Please don’t do that.’

  ‘All right, I won’t. I’m not a tattle-snail, are I?’

  ‘No you’re not a tattle-snail.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Hey, I got something for you.’

  ‘You have? What is it?’

  ‘It’s been in my pocket for days. I keep meaning to give it to you. Here. .’

  He slips his hand into his pocket and takes out the object he found taped
to Gonzo’s apartment door. It’s the button. The one with ‘Captain Awesome’ written on it. The one he pinned on Gonzo.

  He says, ‘Shall I put it back in your shiny box?’

  ‘You don’t have to. You can keep it if you want.’

  ‘Can I? I’d like that. Thank you. It means a lot to me.’

  ‘That’s okay. Can you turn out the light now? I’m tired.’

  Doyle gives her a goodnight kiss and then switches off the light. As he leaves, he closes his fingers tightly around the button, then drops it back into his pocket.

  In the living room, Rachel is at the computer again, working on her photographs. As he strolls over to her, music starts playing over the computer speakers.

  ‘Why Does It Always Rain On Me?’ by Travis.

  Doyle stops in his tracks. Rachel turns to face him.

  ‘What’s the matter? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

  A ghost? Yeah, something like that.

  ‘What? No. It was just. . the music. Took me by surprise. After me asking about it the other day.’

  ‘Actually, that’s what made me dig it out. I haven’t listened to this in ages. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No.’ Although he does mind. He could happily live the rest of his life without ever hearing this song again.

  Doyle steps closer to Rachel. Standing behind her, he looks at what she’s working at on the computer. He sees the same image he saw a couple of weeks back: the old black man sitting on the stoop of his apartment building.

  ‘Whatcha doing?’ he asks.

  ‘A local magazine saw my photo. They want to use it on their cover. Only they don’t want any product placement.’

  Doyle leans closer. ‘What product placement?’

  Rachel grabs the mouse and makes a few clicks. Another window opens alongside the first. The same man on the stoop again.

  ‘Spot the difference,’ says Rachel.

  He sees it then. In the original photograph, there’s a can of Dr Pepper on the step at the man’s feet. In the new image, it’s gone. Not a trace of it ever being there.