Cruel

by Jacob Stone

  He considered approaching her, but tonight was only for hunting his prey. Tomorrow night would be for killing. When he spotted her boyfriend making his way toward her, he slipped back into the crowd.

  He was more careful after that, staying in the background and keeping them in his peripheral vision. When he saw they were getting ready to leave, he made a quick beeline for the back door, which led to an alley. The next step would be tricky, as he needed to follow them home so he could surprise them tomorrow night. He’d been choosing neighborhood clubs and bars for his hunting grounds, hoping to be able to follow his prey on foot, but if these two hailed a cab or got into a car, he planned to sprint to his car a block away and tail them.

  He watched them leave the nightclub and walk past the alley. They didn’t hail a cab or walk to a car. Good. It would be easier following them on foot. He guessed that they lived together in an apartment. Most apartment buildings had standard locks that were easy for someone like Smalley to pick, but it didn’t matter where they lived—he would find a way in tomorrow night.

  He followed them for three blocks, staying in the shadows. When they stopped in the middle of a block to kiss, he slipped into an alley. Maybe he was wrong about them living together, and they could be saying their goodbyes before separating for the night. He’d give it a minute before checking on them. He didn’t want either of them seeing him.

  He was counting down the minute when the boyfriend walked into the alley.

  “You’re the perv who’s been eye-raping my lady all night,” the boyfriend accused. “What the fuck, man? You following us?”

  Smalley was rattled. He knew she had caught him looking her way once, but there must’ve been other times he wasn’t aware of. And how’d they know he’d been following them?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insisted.

  “You don’t, huh? That’s why you’re hiding in an alley?”

  Smalley recovered enough of his wits to realize he didn’t have to wait until tomorrow night. It was almost three in the morning, and he hadn’t seen anyone out in the streets other than these two, and they were the only ones who could’ve seen him. This skinny-assed punk was maybe a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet, while Smalley was a strapping two hundred. He’d broken hardened men at Ashfield twice the size of this scrawny Tom Petty look-alike. He could beat him to death right here in this alley, and when the girlfriend came to investigate, he’d bash her head into pulpy gore. It wouldn’t be as satisfying as being the Nightmare Man, and he’d have to be careful about leaving any DNA behind, but it would take the pressure off and maybe stop the drumbeat pounding in his brain.

  Smalley made up his mind. He could get away with it, and just as importantly, he’d enjoy it. He jutted out his chin and took a step toward the boyfriend.

  “I’m just minding my own business,” he said.

  “Hey, my bad, then. If you’re just minding your own business, that’s cool with me.”

  The boyfriend extended his hand as if they’d shake and everything would be cool, and Smalley smiled thinking how easy he was making it for him to drag the man deeper into the alley so he could have his fun. He took the offered hand. The boyfriend had the same idea, and he was faster than Smalley. He might’ve been skinny, but he had a wiry strength, and he jerked Smalley toward him, catching him off-balance. Smalley caught the glint of the knife’s blade as it swung open, but it was too late for him to stop the blade from being pushed into his stomach. The boyfriend not only had a wiry strength but was as quick as a weasel, and he stabbed Smalley three more times in rapid succession before Smalley fell to his knees. A kick in the face sent him onto his back, and then the man was straddling him, stabbing him over and over again.

  Smalley couldn’t do anything to stop him. He didn’t have the strength to lift his hands or make any noise other than a sick, gurgling sound. He was completely, utterly helpless, as much so as the five women he had butchered.

  He lost track of how many times the knife’s blade penetrated him. At least at the very end the infernal drumbeat in his head went silent the second the blade pierced his heart.

  Chapter 58

  Los Angeles, the present

  Samantha Fine knew rolling her eyes was a useless gesture since her mom was calling from Kansas, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Mom, I’m not flying home,” she said.

  “But honey, you have to! There are stories on the news here about a madman killing people,” her mom said, as if she were mystified by Samantha’s stubbornness on the matter. “It’s not safe for you to be in Los Angeles by yourself!”

  Another eye roll. “I’ll be fine.”

  “How can you say that? He’s already murdered two girls this week—”

  “Women,” Samantha interrupted.

  “What?”

  “The victims who were murdered were women, not girls.”

  “Really? That’s what you have to correct me on? All right, women.” Susan Fine from Wichita, Kansas, made a harrumphing noise to demonstrate her irritation. “As I was saying before you so skillfully tried distracting me regarding the semantics of whether these poor unfortunate victims were women or girls, they were murdered right in your neighborhood!”

  Samantha knew that, but she was surprised her mom did, especially since news about the second murder only came out ten minutes ago. It figured less than five minutes later her mom would call her. “How’d you know that?” she asked.

  “You don’t think I know how to use Google to get stories from Los Angeles newspapers? Or that they don’t provide the addresses of where those women were killed? Or that I wouldn’t be able to use Google Earth to see how close their apartment buildings are to yours? Both of them lived only blocks from you!”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so,” Samantha admitted. “You’re more tech savvy than I imagined.”

  “I know a lot more than you give me credit for.” Mrs. Fine made another harrumphing noise, this one showing she felt insulted. “For starters, you don’t argue with your mother just for the sake of being stubborn when there’s a madman breaking into apartments near where you live and killing other young girls who could be you. Excuse me. Young women!”

  “Mom, you’re acting as if this lunatic is targeting me. Do you have any idea how many thousands of people live in West Hollywood?”

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “The police will be catching him,” Samantha said.

  “They’ve been trying for thirty-four years, and they haven’t yet,” Mrs. Fine fretted. “Jeff shouldn’t have left you alone.”

  “Jeff flew to New York on Monday. The first murder was reported on Wednesday.”

  “He should’ve gotten on the first flight he could back to Los Angeles then.”

  “He couldn’t. He’s contractually obligated for the next three weeks. Besides, filling in on this play could be a big break for him.”

  “Then you should fly to New York and be with him!”

  Samantha couldn’t help smiling at that. Her mother the worrywart suggesting that. When she moved to Los Angeles five years ago to pursue an acting career, her mother had conniptions, but at least consoled herself that her daughter wasn’t moving to New York where a young woman could be mugged just riding the subway!

  “New York’s okay with you now?”

  “At least there’s no one named the Nightmare Man killing people there! Give me one reason why you have to be so stubborn and tempt fate? What would be so wrong about being with your husband for the next three weeks?”

  Samantha could’ve told her the truth, that she had a callback that afternoon for a lead in a new TV series, but she didn’t want to jinx it. The only ones outside the show who knew about it were Jeff and her agent, and Jeff was worried also, but he wasn’t about to ask her to give up what could be her huge break. She didn’t
want to think about anything other than the callback. The truth was she was more worried about the Nightmare Man than she was letting on, and her bravado was for her mom’s sake. She also knew it was ridiculous to think that this freak would pick her out to be one of his victims, but she’d been having a weird déjà vu feeling, almost as if she’d been having dreams about the Nightmare Man that she couldn’t quite remember. Or her mind was playing tricks on her. When minutes ago she saw the news story about the freak killing a second woman, an icy panic gripped her heart, but with deliberate concentration she forced the fear from her mind. And then, of course, her mom called.

  Samantha said, “The odds are better I’ll be hit by lightning than this lunatic doing anything to me.”

  Mrs. Fine snorted out angrily. “Miss Know-it-all.”

  “It’s true. And it’s Mrs. Know-it-all. As you’re well aware, Jeff and I were married four months ago.”

  Mrs. Fine decided to try a different tactic. “Sam, honey, I’ll buy you a plane ticket to either Kansas or New York, your choice. Your father is so worried about you.”

  Even if Samantha was inclined to take her mom up on her offer, she wasn’t going to. Her dad worked as an elementary school teacher, her mom as a librarian. They had already spent more than they should’ve on her wedding, and they didn’t have the money to throw away on a last-minute plane ticket because some crazy lunatic called the Nightmare Man might choose her out of the millions of other women in Los Angeles to kill.

  “Mom, I’m going to hang up now,” she said. “I promise you I’ll be careful, and nobody is going to hurt me, okay? I love you. Dad too.”

  She disconnected the call before her mom could try another tactic. The phone call had left her uneasy, as if there was actually a chance that lunatic might try to come after her. She checked the time. Ten minutes after twelve. Her callback wasn’t until three thirty, which left her time to head over to the gym and work off her nervous energy.

  She forced a determined look. Screw the Nightmare Man.

  Chapter 59

  Morris was disappointed to see that the woman answering the door was in her early thirties and had a three-year-old munchkin wrapped around her leg and an infant in her arms. Unless she had grown up in this ranch-style house and gotten it from her parents, she wouldn’t have lived here when Travis Smalley had rented the guesthouse in 2001. He introduced himself and Charlie Bogle, explained why they were there, and asked a question for which he already knew the answer.

  “Me and my husband have only been here four years,” she said. “We’re renting the main part of the house. A very nice young woman who’s going to medical school is renting the apartment.”

  The tiny munchkin hiding behind her leg peeked out at Bogle and made a “nyah-nyah” gesture with thumbs to his ears and tiny fingers wriggling. Bogle stuck his tongue out at him, and the boy disappeared again behind his mother’s leg. The woman caught Bogle doing this and gave him a cross look. Morris brought her attention back to him by asking whether she could give him the landlord’s name.

  “If you wait here I’ll get you the address and phone number for the management company,” she said curtly. She shot Bogle another cold look before disappearing into the house.

  “You’re worse than Polk,” Morris told Bogle once the door had closed on them. “If you had behaved yourself, she would’ve invited us in, maybe offered us some coffee.”

  “We’re all Polk at one time or another,” Bogle offered philosophically. “Besides, the kid started it.”

  Neither of them were in good moods. They had visited Joplin Cole’s apartment and saw what had been done to her, and that by itself would’ve been enough to dampen anyone’s spirits. They’d also learned that Travis Smalley had been stabbed to death sometime during the night of October 27, 2001, his body discovered in a downtown alley with fourteen knife wounds to the stomach and chest. The timing of his death was suspicious, occurring a week after the Nightmare Man finished killing his fifth and final victim that year, but it didn’t prove that Smalley had taken over for Ed Blount. They were looking at him for the 2001 murders because they had no other likely suspects to look at. If he turned out to be the second Nightmare Man, that meant he had passed the baton to someone else before he died, and they’d have to be hunting for a third Nightmare Man.

  The front door opened and the woman fixed another cold stare Charlie Bogle’s way before handing Morris a note with the management company’s contact information. She had put the infant down before returning, but the three-year-old was once again hiding behind her leg, and this time he peeked out long enough to stick his tongue out at Bogle. The woman closed the door on them before Bogle could retaliate.

  Morris said, “You certainly made an impression on them.”

  Bogle said, “One of those days.”

  Morris sent Adam Felger a text message, then suggested they find a place for lunch. Bogle shrugged. They might as well, since they couldn’t move forward until Felger identified who owned the Woodland Hills house back in 2001 when Travis Smalley had rented the back apartment.

  They found a diner two miles away. Morris was munching on a turkey club and Bogle the meatloaf dinner when Polk called. He had gone to the apartment management company in Van Nuys where Travis Smalley had worked in security before his death.

  “Krenshaw Properties managed the apartment building where Cynthia Leary lived,” Polk told Morris. “Up until December 2000, they also managed the building where Tina Ellison lived. In Travis Smalley’s position as head of security, he would’ve had access to keys for both units and would’ve had no problem making copies of them.”

  Cynthia Leary was the second woman killed by the Nightmare Man in 2001, Tina Ellison the fifth. Both had lived in Van Nuys. Morris asked about Fiona Connolly, the third victim from 2001, who had also lived in the San Fernando Valley.

  Polk complained, “You’re never satisfied.”

  “That’s not necessarily true. I remember a time back in 2009—”

  “Yeah, well, save it. I’m heading over now to the Lasher Management Group in Sherman Oaks and see if I can find a connection between them and Smalley. But as that old ’70s song said so eloquently: two out of three ain’t bad.”

  “Three out of three would be better.”

  “No kidding. I’ll let you know what I find out. Am I mistaken, or are you eating something?”

  “You’ve got a good ear. I didn’t realize I was chewing that loudly. A turkey club. Charlie and I found a diner in Woodland Hills.”

  “Yeah? Any good?”

  “Very tasty,” Morris said. “They use real roast turkey, not the processed stuff.” He looked up at Bogle and asked about the meatloaf plate. Bogle had a mouthful of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and he gave a thumbs-up sign. Morris told Polk, “Charlie approves of the meatloaf.”

  “Meatloaf, huh?” Polk said. “That’s the name of that chunky, sweaty rock singer who did the song I mentioned. Serendipity, if you ask me. I haven’t had lunch yet, but Woodland Hills has got to be at least fifteen miles away.”

  “At least twenty,” Morris said.

  “I guess you two would be done by the time I got there,” Polk inquired.

  “No doubt.”

  “All right, all right, you don’t have to hit me over the head for me to take a hint.” Polk had taken on an injured tone. “I’ll call you after I dig around at Lasher Management Group.” He sniffed and added, “I’m sure they’ve got good diners in Sherman Oaks.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  Polk hung up.

  After Morris put his phone away, Bogle commented that it sounded like Morris had been giving Polk a hard time.

  Morris stared back blankly as if he had no idea what his friend was talking about.

  Bogle studied him carefully. “What gives?”

  Morris gave up the poker face and told Bogle about what Po
lk had discovered.

  “What do you know?” Bogle said. “We can now tie Smalley to two of the 2001 victims. So we’ve actually got a legitimate reason to look at him as the second Nightmare Man.”

  “That and the fact that we eliminated everyone else from Ashfield State Prison.”

  “You could’ve been nice and invited Polk to join us,” Bogle said.

  “I’d rather have him spending his time looking for a connection between Smalley and the third 2001 victim. You also must’ve forgotten what it’s like to watch Polk eat.”

  Bogle shuddered. “A memory I’ve been trying hard to repress.” His eyes took on a thousand-yard stare as he chewed on another mouthful of food, then washed it down with coffee. His gaze shifted back to Morris. “Let’s say Smalley killed these women in 2001. Why was he killed in that downtown alley?”

  “Maybe he was trying to procure a sixth victim and someone stopped him. Ed Blount killed those five women in 1984 for money, not because he enjoyed it. Smalley would’ve been a totally different kind of animal. He might not have wanted to stop after five.”

  Bogle chewed more of his food. “Why didn’t the Nightmare Man secrets die with him?” he asked. “Is it possible he had a partner?”

  Morris held his hands palms up in a hell-if-I-know gesture. This was now the million-dollar question. Travis Smalley was killed suddenly and violently and wouldn’t have had time to pass along his secrets while he was being stabbed repeatedly in a downtown alley. If he had really been the Nightmare Man in 2001, it made sense that he had had help with the murders and had a chance to train his replacement if someone else was now taking over for him. While serial killers rarely had partners, there had been cases of it. They now had enough to justify digging more into Smalley’s background and finding out who his friends were. Going back seventeen years wasn’t going to be easy.