by Cross, Amy
"Help me stop this killer," I say firmly, trying to hide my anger. The truth is, he's right. I am struggling to keep my head together.
"You're on chemotherapy, aren't you?" He leans closer to the glass and sniffs at the small holes that are supposed to make it easier for us to hear one another. "Your breath smells pretty funky. Somewhat... chemical. You're on something to help keep the cancer from spreading until the operation. You've probably got some dull, jobsworth doctor who's promised you surgery in the next few weeks, and until then he wants to retard the spread of the cancer as much as possible. Am I right?"
"This isn't about me," I say firmly.
"Those drugs'll kill you if you give them long enough," he continues. "Just like the drugs they're gonna pump into me tonight. We're in kind of the same boat, except I assume your doctors are still claiming they can save your life." He smiles. "Is it worth it? Lose your tits, fill your body with poison, and... what? Live? Die? Are you so desperate to cling to life, that you'll let them hack away at you until there's nothing left? Even if it means that you're barely alive at all?"
"Help me stop -"
"The old Joanna Mason," he continues, interrupting me, "the woman I remember from twelve years ago, might have been able to persuade me. She was smart. She scared me, a little. I'd never met a truly intelligent woman before, and I have to admit, she made me question my beliefs." He pauses. "But now? The new Joanna Mason, the one doped up on cancer drugs, has lost her edge. You're just another dumb whore. I don't need to help you in this case. If some stupid bitch is trying to copy my murders, she'll soon fail. No woman has the mental capacity to operate at such a high level. The only exception to that rule, and I mean the only exception, was you. Once. But that was an aberration, and one that is clearly being corrected."
"You haven't changed," I reply. "Twelve years after I stopped you, you still think women are inferior to men. You still cling to that belief, like some kind of philosophical dinosaur."
"You might have tits and a pussy," he says with a smile, "but you've got the brain of a man, Ms. Mason. I recognized that right from the start. Are you quite sure there's not a cock hidden down there in your underwear?"
"You're an idiot," I tell him.
"An idiotic man is still better than the smartest woman," he sneers. "Ask any child who's ever seen his mother's weaknesses, or any man who's ever tried to talk rationally to a woman. They're all failures. The only women who've ever achieved anything have done so by sublimating their feminine sides and embracing masculinity."
"You're wrong," I reply. "The new killer -"
"Will fail," he says, taking a step back as footsteps approach the door. "If it's a woman, she'll fuck up sooner or later. I guarantee it. She'll get her monthly visit from the blood fairy and her anger'll get the better of her, or she'll let her hormones push her into a mistake."
Behind me, the door swings open and I hear several sets of footsteps entering the room.
"I'm sorry," Gazade says, with a sense of calm that I've never heard in his voice before. "Our time seems to be up, Ms. Mason. I'm afraid I have a pressing engagement. Just like you, I'm going to be pumped full of drugs. The only difference is, mine will kill me a lot faster than yours will kill you."
***
"Just a couple more minutes!" I say, hurrying along the corridor alongside Lockley. "You can wait a few minutes, can't you? No-one has to know. There's always a delay getting the news out anyway, so let me use that delay to ask him some more questions. I was just starting to get through to him."
"You really weren't," she replies sternly, "and there's no way I'm going to delay this execution by even a second." As we get to the door at the end of the corridor, she turns to me. "I gave you what you wanted, Ms. Mason. I'm sorry it wasn't enough, and I'm sorry you weren't able to pull a miracle out of your ass. From what I've heard, miracles used to be your specialty, but this is one miracle too far."
"Please -"
"He clearly didn't have any intention of helping you," she replies, interrupting me. "He was playing with you, Ms. Mason, and you were too blind to see the truth. I could let you spend all day, every day with that man for the rest of your life, and you'd never get a straight answer from him." She pauses. "It's pathetic, really. I expected someone with your reputation to be a little more focused."
"I can get through to him!" I insist, before suddenly realizing that there's only one way she could know for certain that I didn't have any luck. "You were listening," I say after a moment, shocked that in my drug-addled state I didn't consider the possibility - in fact, the probability - that someone would be keeping tabs on my conversation with Gazade. She must have heard everything, including the conversation about my cancer.
"Of course," she says with a faint smile. "By the way, I'm sorry to learn that you're ill. I hope the surgery is a success."
I open my mouth to reply to her, but suddenly I spot movement nearby and I realize that Dawson is getting closer. The last thing I need is for him to know that I'm sick, so I figure I need to change the subject.
"Sam Gazade -" I start to say.
"You're very brave," she continues, interrupting me. "You must be so strong, to continue with your work at such a difficult time."
"I just have one more question," I say firmly. "One question that could save five or six lives. Is that too much to ask?"
"You should have asked it already," she replies. "I've heard about you, Ms. Mason. I've heard you're smart, but right now you're being extremely dumb. Sam Gazade has been sitting in this prison for twelve years, and he's never shown even the slightest sign that he might decide to cooperate with the search for that diary. It's crazy for you to think that he might somehow repent at the last minute and start talking. That's not how things work. The man's sick, and it's too late to get anything useful from him."
"Let's get out of here," Dawson says as he reaches us. "It was pointless coming here."
"You still have to hook him up to the equipment," I continue, desperate to get this bitch to help me. "That'll take a couple of minutes, at least." Checking my watch, I see that it's two minutes to midnight. "Give me one more minute," I add, "and I swear to God, I'll give you all the credit in the world if we manage to get any results. I'll tell the media that you single-handedly helped us to catch whoever's out there committing these copycat murders."
"I don't need your credit," she says, but she seems a little less certain than before. Once again, it looks as if the prospect of public praise might make her see things differently.
"One question," I continue. "One minute. Please!"
"Jo," Dawson says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Let's -"
"No," I say firmly, pushing his hand away as I keep my gaze focused on Lockley. "This is our last chance. If you don't let me in there to ask this one final question, there'll never be another chance. More people will die, and I'll make damn sure your name's dragged through the mud."
"Are you blackmailing me?" Lockley asks, with a stunned look in her eyes.
"Of course she's not," Dawson says, trying to be diplomatic. "Jo, let's leave. We have other options."
"I'm telling you the various outcomes," I reply, keeping my gaze fixed on Lockley. "That's all. No-one's blackmailing anyone. I'm simply being absolutely honest about my intentions."
She pauses, and I can see that she's considering my offer. "One question," she says finally, "and one minute. After that, you're out. Got it?"
I nod.
"And no-one can know about this," she continues. "Not unless it actually produces a lead, anyway. Is that understood?"
Turning away with a sigh, she pushes the door open and leads me into the execution chamber. It's a fairly small room, almost an exact cube, and Sam Gazade is already flat on his back on a bed, while a couple of technicians work to prepare the various machines. He looks almost like a doll, tied down and barely able to move. On the far side of the room, there's a black curtain covering what appears to be a small window. The whole place seems
unbearably sterile, and as I step into the room I'm struck by the realization that this entire place is designed for death.
"This is highly irregular," Lockley mutters, before turning to one of the technicians. "Is everything ready?"
"Just give us a couple of minutes," the technician replies, carefully taking a small glass jar from a nearby refrigerator. "We're almost ready to introduce the dose. We just need to strap him down a little more first and prepare the computer."
With tight leather straps around his wrists and feet, and a metal brace holding his head in place, Gazade still manages to tilt his eyes enough to see me. There's a curious look on his face, and I'm still not exactly hopeful that he'll give me any useful information. Still, I have to hope that he might have a sudden change of heart as he prepares for his final moments. Sam Gazade has always seemed like a complete psychopath, but I have to believe that somewhere deep down there's a part of him that can still be useful. The 'old' Joanna Mason would have been able to pick him apart and get the right result, but with these drugs in my system, I'm barely able to think straight.
"Your one minute starts now," Lockley says, before turning to an attendant near the door. "Don't open the curtain until this woman has left the room. I don't want the witnesses to see this." She turns back to face me. "Make it count, Detective Mason. You've already caused enough drama. Make sure it was worth the fuss."
Pushing past her, I walk over to Gazade and stare down at him for a moment. I wish I knew the magic word that would unlock his cooperation, but as much as I hate to admit it, I'm feeling pretty helpless right now. The worst part is, I know Gazade can see my hesitation, and he's loving it.
"Come to see me off?" he asks, his voice sounding less certain than before. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. Everyone else said you'd stay away, but -"
"Shut up," I say firmly, as one of the technicians slips a needle into his arm, ready for the introduction of the lethal drugs. "You have one chance," I continue, "and one chance only, to do the right thing. Deep down, you have to know that this copycat could kill a lot more people before we catch her. She might even exceed your total -"
"Bullshit," he spits back at me.
"A mere woman," I continue, hoping against hope that I might have got through to his darker side, "beating the great Sam Gazade at his own game. Doesn't that make you sick? Doesn't that make you want to intervene and ensure the natural order's restored? Remember, she has an advantage over you. She saw how you were caught. She knows what you did wrong, and she can make sure she does better. By the end of this, she'll be the one everyone remembers, and you'll just be a footnote in her story."
The Dead and the Dying: A Joanna Mason Novel
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