“Know what it opens?”
“No.”
“Would you believe it opens a padlock that used to hang on the door of Barton’s stable but is probably now in an evidence box in state police custody?”
Damn.
“That one was a freebie,” Cobb said. “I don’t need it. There are plenty more of these little bombs hidden in and around your home waiting to go off. Hey, for all you know, I rented a storage locker under your name and stuffed it full of dead bodies.”
Jason closed his eyes.
“Look,” Cobb continued, “you’re screwed here. You’re the one who killed Barton while I sat helplessly by, as you admitted on national television. You’re the one with evidence against you just waiting for someone to point the cops to it. And I’d tell them that I’m starting to remember things about the night I was abducted, how there might have been two men. I’m sure you heard the same things I did on the news over the last few months—speculation that Crackerjack might have worked with a partner.”
Jason had indeed heard rumblings about that. Some wondered how Crackerjack kept overpowering healthy men if he was working alone. Jason wasn’t sure how seriously the authorities took the idea, but if Cobb raised it now, it wouldn’t be coming out of left field.
“And who would the cops be more likely to believe was working with Wallace Barton?” Cobb asked. “You, with all of that evidence against you? Or me, with a broken arm and broken ribs and no evidence against me?”
Jason’s chin sunk to his chest.
“What would Sophie say, Jason, if she learned you aren’t the hero she thinks you are? Worse, that you might actually be a killer? And how about poor, grieving Leonard Sanderson, who gave you two hundred thousand dollars on national TV? I think he’d want that money back, don’t you? And how about your book deal? Think that might fall through? It would be terrible to see all of that go up in smoke. I know how badly your family needs the money. Didn’t I read somewhere that your son has some rare blood disease?”
Jason closed his eyes.
“I can see you’re struggling with this,” Cobb said. “Let me make it easier for you. I’ll be leaving here in a little while. And I won’t hurt you or your family. After I’m gone, though, if I even suspect you’ll go to the cops about me, I’ll kill Sophie and Max.”
“You swore you wouldn’t.”
“I’m a murderer, Jason. I break people’s bones for the hell of it. You think I’m worried about breaking a promise?”
He was numb. The book deal, gone. The movie deals, gone. All that money, gone. Max’s expensive drug therapy, gone. The way Sophie had been looking at him lately . . . gone.
Also gone? Possibly his freedom, when the cops turned their attention to him.
Worst of all, Sophie and Max would be in danger.
Unless Jason kept his mouth shut. Unless he kept to himself that Ian Cobb was a serial killer with every intention of killing again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
While Jason pondered the impossible position in which he found himself, footsteps sounded on the stairs above them, the ones leading down from the second floor to the first. A moment later, Jason’s mother-in-law called down into the basement.
“Sophie says you’re still here, Mr. Cobb. Did you find something else wrong down there? Are we looking at ten thousand dollars now instead of seven?”
“No, ma’am,” Cobb called up in a calm voice. “Just showing Jason everything down here. I want to make the situation clear to him. I need him to understand all the potential risks and costs.”
“Hmm.”
Above them, the sound of her footsteps marked her passage out of the kitchen.
“I had the chance to chat with your mother-in-law for a while this morning,” Cobb said to Jason, “about the furnace. Lovely woman. Want me to kill her for you?”
“I’m through with this, Cobb. Want me to promise I won’t tell the cops anything? Fine. You got it. I have no choice. If I say anything, my life is over. My family is in danger. So I’ll keep my mouth shut. Are we done here?”
“Not quite.”
“Then, damn it, tell me what the hell you want from me.”
“Haven’t you guessed?”
Actually, he had. He hoped he was wrong, but he suspected he wasn’t. “I’m not going to be your new partner, Cobb.”
Cobb cleared his throat. “Just think it through. We made a good team when we—”
“We’re not a team.”
“We have so much in common that—”
“Stop saying that.”
Cobb took a breath. “I need to kill with someone. You killed my last partner. I need a new one now. I want it to be you. After we talked for a while in the stable, I could tell . . . well, like I said, when I looked at you I saw something . . . the same thing I saw in Barton and, well . . .” He trailed off.
“You saved me from Barton so I could take his place?” Jason asked.
“Not exactly. I saved you because I didn’t want to kill you. I didn’t think about it beyond that. The idea of your taking his place came to me later. I realized what I had first seen in you, what was making me want to keep you alive. And I just . . . I think you should consider . . .”
“There’s a huge problem with your plan, Cobb. I’m not a killer.”
“You killed Wallace.”
“It was self-defense.”
“I saw the look on your face after you did it, Jason. The look in your eyes. I know that look. I have it myself when I’m ready to kill. The same look Johnny and Wallace used to have when they watched me do bad things to people. You enjoyed it, Jason, the way it felt to put an end to another life. If you won’t admit it to me, at least admit it to yourself.”
No. Cobb had misread him. He may have been glad that Barton was dead—and maybe Cobb had seen that on his face—but only because it meant that he himself would survive. And Cobb, too, though he was less thrilled about that now. No, Cobb was wrong about Jason. He had to be. And so was Sophie. He needed to believe that. He did believe it.
“Thanks for the invitation, Cobb, but if you want to kill people, you’re on your own.”
“I don’t want to be on my own. It doesn’t work on my own. It’s like . . . going on vacation by yourself. If you do it alone, there’s no one to share it with. No one to talk about it with later.”
“You’re lonely? That’s what this is all about? You kill because you’re lonely? Get yourself a dog, for God’s sake.”
“Without someone to share it with, it’s almost like it doesn’t even happen. When it’s over, it’s like I only dreamed it. Like it wasn’t real.”
“It’s real, Cobb. There are at least sixteen families out there, families of the men you killed, who could tell you how real it is.”
“But it doesn’t feel real. I hoped it would when I killed the guy in the park. But by the time I got home, it was already gone for me. Even when I watched it on the news I couldn’t really remember it, not like I wanted to . . . not like I had been there myself. So I tried again, just to be sure. Like I told you, hours later I killed two more people. Before I killed the second guy, I made him watch me kill the first guy, hoping it would be like it was when Johnny watched me, or Wallace. But again . . . it did almost nothing for me. The pain came roaring back almost immediately.”
He took a deep breath, then continued.
“The last three kills, without a willing partner, gave me a fraction—a tiny fraction—of the relief I need. Like I was dying of thirst but able to take only a sip of water. I need someone to do this with. I want that someone to be you.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask for this, Jason. It wasn’t something I planned. Everything had been going along just fine. But then we took you and . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I know you have it in you, Jason. I can see it.”
“Did you ever consider that the reason you think you see this . . . whatever in me is because you think your brother had it, and I supposedly look so much like him?”
Cobb sighed as though he were trying to explain a simple math problem to a child who just wasn’t getting it.
“You’re obviously not sold on the idea yet,” he said. “It’s a lot to take in. I get that. So here’s what I propose: We do it to one person together. Just one. Like a test. And you’ll see what I mean about it. I think a part of you, something deep inside that you don’t realize is there, will find it interesting. Even enjoyable. Like Wallace did. And Johnny. And pretty soon, I think you’ll get hooked. I swear to God, Jason. I really do.”
“I’ll say it again: You’re completely insane.”
“Probably. But that doesn’t make me wrong. And you never know until you try.”
“I’m not going to kill an innocent person.”
Cobb nodded. “I thought you might say that. So I have one more argument to make. Remember this: I’m not gonna stop killing. I may not enjoy it as much by myself, but I’m not gonna stop. Eventually I’ll find someone to do it with me. But until I do, I’m definitely gonna keep killing on my own. And if I’m gonna do it anyway, it’s not like your being involved would add to the number of murders in the world. I’m not even asking you to help. I don’t need you to lift a finger. Just be there with me. Watch me. See what you think. If I’m wrong about you, if you don’t have the interest after giving it a try, we’ll go our separate ways. We both keep the secrets we’ll share. Live and let live.”
“Tell that to your victims.”
Cobb chuckled. “Good one. At least think about it.”
“No.”
“I’m disappointed.”
“You’ll live,” Jason said, wondering if that was true for him, too.
Cobb shook his head sadly. He sighed. “Guess we’re done here, then.”
He walked around behind Jason’s chair, knelt down, and untied his hands. As soon as they were free, Jason tugged at the knots at his ankles until his legs were loose.
“So that’s it, Cobb? You’ll leave the house, leave my life, and leave us the hell alone?”
“If that’s what you really want . . . which I don’t think you do, down in your darkest places.”
“Trust me. That’s what I want.”
Cobb frowned. “Okay then. But remember what I said about going to the police. I know how much you love your family. I’m sure you don’t want to do anything to put them at risk for the kinds of things I would do to them. And I’m equally sure you don’t want to go to prison.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay then.” He started for the stairs. “Seriously, I’ll show you how to fix the damage I did to the furnace and water heater. Won’t take a minute.”
“I’ll call another plumber.”
Cobb shrugged. “You understand why I’m letting you live, don’t you?”
Jason said nothing.
“It’s because I still have hope for you. Maybe you just need some time. You’ll think about it. You say you won’t—you probably even truly believe you won’t—but you will. I’m sure of it. Just like I was sure about Wallace. When you’re ready, you know how to reach me.”
“Just get the hell out, will you? And don’t you speak to my wife or son on your way.”
Cobb turned and climbed up the stairs. Jason followed him to the front door and closed it behind him, then locked it. He went into the living room, where his family was watching an animated show about talking trains. He wanted to grab his wife and son and hug them fiercely, but Sophie wouldn’t want that. She wouldn’t understand. So he held Max as tight as he could. After allowing the hug to go on for a long moment, the boy said, “Daddy, I can’t see the TV.”
Jason pulled away.
“Where’s your friend?” Max asked. “He promised to say goodbye.”
“He had to go.”
“It’s not nice to break a promise.”
“He’s not that nice a guy.”
He felt Sophie watching him.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“I want you to stay away from Ian Cobb, okay?”
“What happened downstairs?”
“Nothing. Promise me you’ll stay away from him. That you won’t let him in the house.”
“Is it about the money? Didn’t you offer to give it back to him?”
“That’s not what he wanted.”
“Then what—”
“Please, Sophie,” he said sharply, but this time she didn’t seem to take offense. “Please just do what I ask.”
She regarded him for a moment. “What about the furnace and the hot-water heater?”
“I’ll find someone else to fix it. I’ll make some calls.”
She frowned slightly but nodded. He stood to leave.
“Are you going to stay away from him, too?” she asked.
“That’s my plan.”
It wasn’t much of a plan, though, and he knew it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
For nearly four hours, Jason had been sitting in his Camry in the shade of a huge oak, three doors down from Sophie’s house, watching and waiting. No sign of Cobb. Maybe there wouldn’t be. Maybe, despite being a serial killer, the guy was as good as his word when he had promised to stay away from Jason’s family. The problem was, there was no way to know for sure. So Jason began a stakeout during which he had nothing to do but think, which he did while keeping his eyes glued to his family’s house.
The last thing he wanted to do was tell Sophie the truth. That he didn’t stop Crackerjack. That he wasn’t a hero. That all of the newfound hope they had for the future—most important, for Max’s future—was in jeopardy.
He didn’t want to tell her any of that. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had no choice. It would be dangerous not to. So he fired up the Camry and drove down the block.
When Sophie opened her front door, he said, “We have to talk.”
He slipped past her wheelchair and was heading into the living room when he saw Janice walking out of the kitchen.
“I need some time alone with Sophie, please,” he said.
“It’s my house, Jason, and if I want—”
“Actually, it’s my house. Mine and Sophie’s. We allow you to live here. So if I want some time alone with my wife, you’re going to give it to me.” She stared at him wide-eyed. “Please take Max to his room. We’ll let you know when we’re finished.” She said nothing. “Please, Janice,” he said as he turned away. “Just do it.”
In the living room, Max was sitting on the sofa with a Curious George book in his lap. Jason sat beside him as Sophie rolled herself to a stop a few feet away.
“Hey there, Max,” Jason said, “you curious little monkey. Do me a favor, will you?”
“Sure, Daddy.”
“Go down to your room and spend a little time with Grandma. I think she’s feeling lonely today.”
“If she’s the one who’s lonely, how come that’s a favor for you?”
Jason smiled. “Good question. You’re not only a curious monkey, you’re a smart one. I don’t have a good answer for you. But would you do it anyway?”
“Sure.”
He hopped off the sofa and left the room. Jason sat down in his place.
“What’s going on, Jason?”
He found it hard to begin.
“Whatever it is you want to say, Jason, just say it.”
“This isn’t something I want to say. Believe me. You have no idea how badly I don’t want to say it.”
He told her almost everything: The little he truly remembered of his time in Wallace Barton’s stable. The things he embellished in his television interview. The fact that Ian Cobb confessed a few hours ago, in the basement of this very house, to being Crackerjack. That Cobb had been partners with Barton. That he felt some strange connection to Jason that made him spare his life. That he felt a psychotic need to kill with a partner . . . and with Barton dead, he wanted Jason to fill that role. And that he’d planted incriminating evidence in Jason’s apartment and building—indisputable evi
dence covered with Jason’s fingerprints and the DNA of Crackerjack’s victims to make sure he didn’t go to the police.
As he spoke, Sophie’s eyes grew wider and wider. Her mouth fell open. When he’d said all he had planned to say, she stared at him for a long moment, then asked very quietly, “Why would he think you would . . . join him?”
He looked away. He’d left that part out—that Cobb claimed to have seen . . . something in him.
“Because he’s crazy.”
He could feel Sophie’s eyes on him. “And?” she asked.
“And what?” he replied, though he knew what she was after. “Was I interested? Was I tempted to take him up on it? Are you serious?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she looked hard into his eyes. After a moment, he turned away again. “Damn it, Sophie. Not this again. No. I wasn’t the least bit tempted.”
She was quiet for a few seconds. “Okay, so what did the police say?”
“I haven’t called them.”
“But you’re going to, right?”
“He said he’d hurt you if I do. You and Max.” He paused. “And besides, he’d just flip it around on me. Tell them that I’m the one Barton worked with, that I threatened him, saying that I’d kill him if he went to the police. And he’s the one with the broken bones, remember? While I’m apparently the one with trophies from Crackerjack’s victims hidden all over my apartment building. So not only would I put you in danger, but I’d throw suspicion on myself. Given all the circumstances, I just don’t see how they’d believe me over him. My coming forward would both put you and Max in danger and probably land me in jail. What it wouldn’t do is stop Ian Cobb.”
“Then find the evidence he planted at your place first.”
“That’s what I plan to do as soon as I leave here, but how can I be sure I’ll find it all? He says he put it in places I’d never suspect. And if he implicates me, all it would take is one thing I missed with my fingerprints and a victim’s DNA on it to sink me.”
“But if you don’t call the police, he’ll just keep doing . . . what he does, won’t he?”
He decided not to tell her that Cobb had already killed three men since yesterday morning.
The Inside Dark Page 16