Lee started running.
70
He drove straight into the garage and switched off the engine.
She was still completely knocked out in the back, but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t be much longer before she started to come round. Five minutes, ten at most.
He got out of the car and walked down to the sidewalk, looking up and down the street. Deserted, as usual. There’d be more life in a cemetery.
Even so, he wasted no time going back to the car and pulling her out by her arms. As her body began to slide off the back seat he squatted down and caught her under the armpits, lifting her as he stood up again and throwing her over his shoulder in one smooth movement.
Even though he knew there was no one around, he moved as quickly as he could across the splintered, sun-bleached boardwalk to the front door, and kicked it open with one foot. He’d deliberately left it slightly ajar when he’d left the house barely twenty minutes ago. He didn’t want to be fiddling around with keys with an unconscious girl draped over his shoulder.
He slipped inside and back-heeled the door shut. She moaned faintly.
‘You’ll be making a lot more noise than that an hour from now, I promise you,’ he told her as he climbed the stairs. A lot more.
71
There was only one barman on duty in the Springfield when Lee ran into the Tavern, and no customers at all. It was low tide, between lunchtime and happy hour.
Lee’s heart faltered. He needed to talk to Tom Bilson right now, not in an hour, not even in ten minutes. Now.
He flashed his badge to the kid, a trainee, whose bored expression turned immediately to one of fear and suspicion.
‘It’s OK, you’ve got nothing to worry about,’ Lee reassured him, trying to control his rapid breathing after the 200-yard dash. ‘This isn’t a raid or a set-up. I’m just here to see your boss. Where is he?’
The boy pointed to the ceiling. ‘He’s up in his apartment. He’s taking a nap.’
‘Which is his apartment?’
The boy blinked, confused. ‘What? I can’t just—’
‘Which is his fucking apartment!’
The boy flinched. ‘OK, OK. It’s second door on the right once you’re up there. But you can’t just—’
Lee was already on the stairs. He took them two at a time.
Tom Bilson was asleep on his couch. He was dreaming of a thunderstorm, one of those huge ones that terrified visitors to the Keys but which locals knew were all sound and fury and not especially dangerous. Then the dream changed. A gun was being fired, bang bang bang bang—
He jerked awake. Someone was pounding on his locked bedroom door. He planned to keep it locked until the maniac who’d been sheltering under his roof was caught.
‘Who is it?’ he asked tremulously.
‘FBI. Open up, please, Mr Bilson.’
‘I want to see some ID first.’
After a moment a slim wallet was pushed under the door. Bilson looked at it, and fumbled with the door key. ‘OK, come in, Mr Foster.’
Lee stepped into the room, still breathing heavily. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry to disturb your rest but something extremely serious is happening right now. You know that the man who worked here killed again, the night before last?’
‘Of course. Some poor wretched hooker, wasn’t it? But how can I help, Mr Foster?’
Lee wiped the perspiration from his face with the sleeve of his jacket. ‘This afternoon – within the last hour – we believe the man you knew as Dennis Clancey abducted a young woman from her hotel here on Key West.’
Thomas Bilson blanched. ‘That’s awful. But why have you come here? What could I possibly know about that?’
Lee took a beat. He remembered how Stella had warned him about frightening the man off. That was why she had offered to come with him here.
He came to a sudden decision.
‘Mr Bilson, I’m going to take you completely into my confidence. The young woman in question is my girlfriend. She’s an expert on psychopaths like Woods and she’s been helping our investigations. We’ve – we’ve—’
He ground to a halt. He was dangerously close to tears, and that wouldn’t do at all.
But Bilson stood and swiftly crossed the space between them, taking one of Lee’s hands into both his own.
‘I’m so sorry. She’s that beautiful English girl I read about in the papers, isn’t she? Susan . . . Sharon . . .’
‘Stella. Stella Arnold. She was going to come with me to see you this afternoon. She’s a very, very smart person, and she was – is – convinced that Woods is taking refuge in the home of one of your customers. A man he may have formed some sort of relationship with before his cover was blown.’
Bilson dropped Lee’s hand and shook his head in genuine regret.
‘Sincerely, there’s nothing I can tell you about that – not because I won’t, but because I can’t. I made it clear to your colleague that Dennis – I mean Woods – always kept himself completely to himself, so much so that, to be honest with you, I wondered if he was becoming confused about his preferences and leaning toward the idea of . . . well, being with a woman. He never flirted with my customers or asked for anyone’s phone number. That’s the truth.’
Lee tried to fight back the despair that began to swirl around him again.
‘Of course, I can see that . . . but have any of your regulars stopped showing up here in the last couple of days?’
Tom shrugged helplessly. ‘Not so I’d notice. As you say, it’s only been two days, hasn’t it? It’s simply too soon to tell.’
Lee stood up to leave, utterly defeated.
‘All right. If you think of anything – anything – call me or Sergeant Moss immediately.’
‘Of course. I have your phone numbers. I’m so sorry I can’t help you. I’ll say a prayer for her.’
Lee looked wearily at him. ‘You’re a religious man?’
‘Yes. Why? You think my sort aren’t allowed to believe in God?’
‘Of course not, I didn’t mean to . . . Anyway, thank you for your prayers, Tom. I’ll see myself out.’
Lee was almost at the head of the stairs when a voice behind him called out: ‘Wait!’
He spun round to see the bar owner hurrying after him.
‘I’ve remembered something. It’s probably irrelevant, but . . .’
Lee felt the faintest flicker of hope. ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Go on, Tom.’
‘I told you that Woods never responded to anyone’s advances, and most people got the message and left him alone. But there was one customer, one of our regulars going back years before my time here, who simply wouldn’t give up. He’s a sweet old thing, must be well into his seventies now. I think he used to be bit-part actor. Goes by the name of Charlie Booker.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, he was always flirting outrageously with Denn—dammit – Woods, buying him drinks, leaving ludicrous tips. I don’t think Charlie seriously thought he stood a chance – and neither did we. There must have been over four decades between them – he was just fooling around, having a bit of fun. That’s why it never occurred to me to mention it.
‘Anyway, the other night – the night before Woods disappeared, now I think of it – I saw Charlie trying to give what looked like a coaster to him. I’d seen him – Charlie, that is – scribbling something on it a minute or two before as he sat alone at his usual table.
‘At the time I thought it must be some sort of naughty message or a rude joke or something – Charlie was pretty canned by then – but it could have been his phone number. I wouldn’t put it past the old queen. Anyway he tottered off into the night and, as I say, I forgot all about it.’
Lee didn’t move.
‘What did Woods do with the coaster?’
‘That’s the strange thing. I think I saw him put it into his back pocket. I can’t be sure, but it certainly wasn’t on the bar a minute or so later.’
‘Have you seen Cha
rlie since?’
‘No. He’s not been in. But there’s nothing unusual about that. He’s not in here every night, like some of them.’
Lee felt the flicker of hope begin to burn a little brighter.
‘I don’t suppose you have Charlie’s address?’
Tom Bilson nodded.
‘I do. We run a tab for him and he settles up at the end of each month. But last Christmas he was laid up and didn’t show up again until March. He insisted I send him his account in the post every month from then on, so that he didn’t fall behind. I’ve got the address downstairs in a drawer somewhere. Come with me.’
Less than two minutes later, Lee was standing outside on the street with a scrap of paper in one hand and the borrowed walkie-talkie in the other. He pressed the transmit button. ‘Ben, come in. It’s Foster.’
After a couple of seconds the radio squawked and Ben’s voice crackled out of the ether.
‘Boss? You got something?’
‘I think I may know where Woods has been hiding out. It’s about three minutes on foot from where I am now. The address is . . .’ He looked at the piece of paper he was holding. ‘It’s 28 Wilson Street. But listen, Ben, if he’s there he’ll have Stella with him. We can’t just raid the place. If by the grace of God he hasn’t killed her already he surely will if we barge in. I want you to assemble a tactical unit at the end of the street and await my orders. I’m going there to assess the situation. Out.’
Lee checked his weapon.
Then he started running again.
72
He hadn’t used the nails yet. They’d do for later. For now he’d just tied her hands and feet. The only items of clothing he’d removed were her shoes; that made it easier to secure her by her ankles. He would cut her clothes off when the time came, as he did with all of them.
She was coming round fast now so he went downstairs to make himself a scotch on the rocks that he could sip while he chatted to her. He might as well be comfortable. As an afterthought he filled a glass of water for her. The chloroform would have left her mouth dry and although that wouldn’t interfere with the screaming he did want to be able to hear what she had to say beforehand.
When he got back upstairs with the slopping glasses her eyes were open and she was licking her lips the way they all did after they regained consciousness.
‘Hello, Stella. How you feeling?’
Because of the way he had arranged her on the home-made crucifix – those bed boards had been perfect for the task – her head was about eighteen inches higher than his so that she was looking down on him. When her eyes had been shut it didn’t matter, but now it made him feel uncomfortable.
He decided to ignore it. If it hadn’t bothered the Roman centurions, he wouldn’t let it bother him.
She didn’t answer his question so he tried again.
‘Want some water?’ He held up her glass while he simultaneously took a belt of scotch from his own.
She stared dully at him. He grinned at her.
‘Cat got your tongue? C’mon, take a sip.’
He held the glass up to her lips but it was awkward trying to give someone a drink from below and the water slopped down her chin and onto her blouse.
‘Shit, I’m sorry. Hang on.’
He went into the bathroom and soaked a none-too-clean bath sponge under the cold tap. Then he went back to her and held it to her lips.
‘Try it this way.’
She sucked a little of the moisture up.
‘There you go. Better?’
She spat the whole lot into his face.
He cursed and stepped backwards, spilling half his drink and almost tripping up over what was left of the coil of rope he’d used to bind her. He cursed again as he steadied himself, then put what was left of his drink carefully on the floor and crossed the room to the ruined four-poster. He dried his dripping face on one of the pillows before turning to face her. He was smiling.
‘I’m not gonna tell you that you’ll be sorry you did that, Stella, because before very long you’ll be regretting much more important things, like that you were ever born at all. But I’m gonna cut you some slack before I start cutting you. I guess you must feel pretty strange. I mean, there you were, thinking you were my nemesis – that’s the right word, isn’t it, college girl? – and here we are. Turns out I’m actually yours!’
He roared with laughter before going back for his drink. He sipped it, considering her awhile.
‘Did you see me on the beach that evening in Key Largo? I think you did, Stella. That’s why you went down to the water, isn’t it? I spooked you some. You know why that was? Because we’re kinda the same, you and me. Creatures of instinct.’
She continued to stare at him. Jesus, she was starting to seriously annoy him.
‘Stella, I can make you talk, you know that. Look.’
He went to the bag in the corner that held the things he’d need later, and pulled out the knife, holding it towards her so she could see its slimness and length and glittering sharpness.
‘I bought this, just for you. You know what I do with these special knives, don’t you? Of course you do, you’ve seen the photographs. And I’m going to use this one to make you scream, you know that too. But I’d rather you spoke to me first without any . . . encouragement. Won’t you parlay with me a little before we get started? It’ll be your last chance to make any kind of noise that anyone could understand.’
Her eyes remained fixed on his, and he sighed.
‘I have to tell you that this is real disappointing, Stella. You a psychologist and all. I thought we could discuss stuff. I thought we could discuss me. I’d really like to know what you think about me, what I am, what I do. I’ve read so much crap in the newspapers about me. No one gets it at all.’
He put his head on one side.
‘You ever read Paradise Lost, Stella? Lucifer’s cast out of Heaven but he doesn’t give a shit, he just sets up in Hell as the Antichrist with all the other guys who’ve been cast down with him. I keep it by my bed. I read it most nights. My God, it’s beautiful. Most beautiful fucking poem ever written.
‘I don’t think I’m the Antichrist, Stella – I’m not crazy, though I know you think I am – but I really dig him. He’s so brave and perfect and powerful. He can change anything he wants – he arranges it so that Adam and Eve are kicked out of the Garden of Eden, for Chrisakes. And look at us two now. Me down here, you up there . . . you with the whole world on your side, and me all alone. Yet I’ve prevailed, haven’t I, Stella? I’ve fucking prevailed.’
He swilled the scotch in his glass and then drained it off in a single swallow.
‘I’m gonna die soon, Stella, but the Antichrist will be waiting for me. He’ll be pleased with me, and everything I’ve achieved. He might make me one of his fallen angels. He might even—’
He stopped. He could see he was wasting his breath on her. He tried another tack.
‘Aw c’mon, Stella. You explain how you worked me out so fast, and I’ll tell you why I do it. Or why I think I do it. Jesus, I know I’m a psychopath. It’s how I’m wired. But like I said, I’m not mad. I was hoping you’d explain me to me, before I give you a practical demonstration of my methods. Talk to me, my English rose! To put it crudely, you’ll buy yourself some time if you do. Hell, you might even cure me! Think of that! Then I’d cut you down from the cross and we’d go praise the Lord in some church and afterwards see a movie together! How does that sound?’
Just that fucking stare. OK, OK . . .
‘All right, I see how it is. So here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m going back downstairs to replenish the drink you made me spill. I’ll probably make myself a snack too because I’m getting hungry, and I don’t like to work on an empty stomach. When I’m done I’ll come back up here and give you one more chance to shoot the breeze. If you’re still not interested, then we’ll move on to the main feature. And remember, Stella, I’ve seen it before. I know the soundtrack. And I know how it
ends.’
73
Lee reached Wilson Street in just over ninety seconds. He jogged down its crumbling sidewalk, looking for number 28. He quickly worked out it was going to be on his left, and probably near the very end of the road.
No wonder Woods had been able to hide out here so successfully. The whole street was practically derelict. Charlie Booker must have been one of the last people still living there.
He reached number 26 and stopped. He had to get his wind back: if he went into 28 heaving like this he might as well announce his arrival through a bullhorn.
When he was breathing normally again, he walked as casually as he could past the house, all the way to where the road ended in some kind of stinking, fetid bog. He turned around and strolled back, more slowly this time, stopping in the shade of a tree that stood in the front yard of number 30.
He could see a wooden lean-to garage built on the side of Booker’s house. He scanned the windows of the building for movement and when he was satisfied that there was no one looking down onto the street, he walked quickly to the garage doors. They were slightly ajar. He pulled one open as gently as he could, wincing as it squealed on its hinges. Then he peered through the gap he’d made.
Parked inside was a green and cream Ford Country Sedan.
Lee pulled the radio out of his back pocket.
‘Foster here,’ he said quietly. ‘Ben, where are you?’
The response came immediately.
‘Sir, twelve of us are about to leave headquarters. We’re in three cruisers. ETA Wilson Street two minutes. Where are you?’
‘Outside number 28. Woods is definitely here – his car’s in the garage. I’m about to make an entry into the house. Stand by. Remain at the end of the road until I order otherwise. Do not, repeat not, initiate radio contact.’
‘Understood.’
Lee slipped the radio back in his pocket and drew his automatic pistol, clicking the safety off as he did so.
He had no intention of going in through the front door. It was probably locked and could be alarmed or even booby-trapped.
The Way You Look Tonight Page 26