Frozen Statues, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  “Did you leave a white lily in our building?” Reece asked.

  Danny jumped, as if Reece had struck her. She rolled her chair as far from him as she could.

  In a subtle move, Eli blocked Reece from his sister’s view. “Did you send Sam lilies?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “It is Incubus’s calling card,” Eli said. “Someone sent a bouquet yesterday.”

  “Eli—” Reece began.

  Sam interrupted. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  Before Reece could answer, Danny said to Eli, “I didn’t send them, I promise. All I did was try to have a conversation with her. She was leaving when I got to her building so I followed her.” She held up her hand. “That’s it.” She licked her lips and her eyes darted to the side. “Well, I sort of tagged her phone,” she mumbled. “And kind of got rid of the picture.”

  “Tagged it how?” Sam asked.

  “No big deal, just a tracer,” Danny said flippantly.

  She must have recognized the fury in Sam’s face because she rushed to add, “So I could keep an eye on Eli. That’s why I thought he was with you the day your dog died.”

  Sam tossed her phone on the desk. “Get rid of it. Now.”

  “She did not mean any harm,” Eli said wretchedly. “Danny can be overprotective.”

  “You think?” Sam glared at the girl. “Were you outside, staring into my loft a few weeks ago? Did you follow me to Incubus’s house?”

  “I don’t have a car. All I did was come to see you. Once. That’s it.” She sucked her lip and made that odd growl. “Well, uh, I did something else.”

  “What?”

  Danny reached under her desk and hauled out a shiny black metal box. “I do dumb things when I’m upset.” She thrust the box into Sam’s arms.

  What fresh hell is this? Sam thought.

  “You were all messed up,” Danny murmured. “I figured you’d regret it.”

  Sam lifted the lid off the box. Nestled in pink satin lining were all of Brandy’s belongings. Danny had stacked Brandy’s photos and tied the bundle with a pink ribbon. A lump rose in Sam’s throat.

  “I need his phone.” Danny nodded her head at Reece but didn’t make eye contact.

  Reece held out his cell. Danny cringed with an expression of horror, as if he were waving a butcher knife at her. Reece raised a questioning eyebrow at Sam but placed the device on the desk and stepped back.

  Danny’s body relaxed with every inch of distance Reece put between them. Sam didn’t like the hostile girl, but Danny’s genuine fear of Reece made her sad. There was severe trauma in the girl’s past, and Sam would bet money it had to do with a violent man.

  Lines of white code danced against a black background on one of the wall-mounted screens as Danny tapped on a keyboard. She muttered something and overlaid a second window across the first. Symbols and text flew so fast that Sam couldn’t tell if any of it was English. After a few moments, Danny shoved Reece’s phone to the side and connected Sam’s. They stood in silence as she worked.

  Sam had given up hope of her finding anything when Danny exclaimed, “Well, hello, aren’t you a beauty.” She continued typing.

  Sam’s impatience grew as the minutes ticked past. “Well?” she asked.

  Danny turned her chair to face them. “I found it. It’s feeding data to the source. But the signal keeps bouncing—Kosovo, Romania, Hungary.” She sighed in frustration. “I can’t find the origin.”

  “Can they hear us?” Eli asked.

  Danny shook her head. “I overrode that piece and am sending location coordinates for Sam’s office. I don’t want them to have our address.” She nudged Reece’s phone back across the desk. “That’s clean.” She looked up at her brother. “I don’t need to check yours. I sweep it every night.”

  “So it’s just mine that’s compromised,” Sam said.

  Danny nodded. “And it’s wild shit. Whoever did this knows his stuff. Now it’s coming out of Italy.”

  A map formed in Sam’s mind. “What about Albania?”

  “Nope, not yet.”

  “Aleksia Berisha?” Eli asked.

  “The chick whose passport you wanted?” Danny laughed. “No way. She would have to be near Sam’s phone to catch the signal. Aleksia Berisha never entered Canada.”

  I receive positive attention from fans inside and outside the prison, Incubus had written.

  “Well, someone is helping Incubus,” Sam said. “And they must be in Toronto because they’re leaving lilies, trashing my car, and hacking my phone.” She paused. “And Gretchen Dumont’s phone, so it would appear Reece was having an affair.”

  “Convicts can communicate with people outside the prison without the authorities catching on,” Eli said. “That’s how my sperm donor got someone on the outside to attack Danny.”

  “If this is revenge because Sam put Incubus in prison, why is he playing games?” Reece asked. “Why not have her killed?”

  Cold fear clenched her heart. “He doesn’t want me dead.” She tried to crawl into the monster’s twisted perspective. “He wanted me to come to him. He knew that a serial killer would incite me to read his letters. When I pulled the thread, Incubus reeled me in.” It was a terrible time to admit it, but she had no option. “I went to Millhaven.”

  Much to her shock, Reece nodded. “I know. What did he want?”

  Incubus had tortured her over Joyce’s death, but she knew that level of psychological warfare was too simple for a man as evil as he was.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’m certain he’s working with the Frozen Statue Killer. This is an elaborate plan to draw me to him. The similarities between the two cases are too subtle for the police to draw conclusions. The reason I considered a copycat was that Incubus planted the seed.”

  A strange expression crossed Reece’s face. “Why involve Angelina Stuart? You don’t know her.”

  “But you do,” she said.

  Whatever game Incubus had in mind wouldn’t work if Reece prevented her from playing. Taking Reece’s best friend’s son and framing his ex-girlfriend’s sister was a ploy to hook her fiancé.

  “You’d do anything to save Bart,” she said. “If there was a chance Incubus knew something about the abductions—”

  “I would encourage you to communicate with him,” Reece concluded.

  “But he hadn’t counted on you applying for that articling position at the Crown Attorney’s office,” Sam said. “Going against a direct order from the staff inspector of homicide would put your career in jeopardy. But I don’t see what Incubus would gain from any of this.”

  “Figure out what you want from him,” Danny said.

  “Excuse me?”

  She stared at Sam with no expression. “I’m not a fancy psychologist, but this is social engineering. If I want to encrypt a root kit in an attachment, I need you to open that attachment. Social engineering succeeds when I understand what you want and make you believe I can give it to you.”

  Danny was right. The key to manipulation was identifying your victim’s vulnerabilities and desires. Subtle tactics modified the victim’s behaviour until the manipulator achieved what he wanted. And Sam understood her own vulnerability.

  “I have to know what the lily represents,” she admitted.

  “He’s a psychopath. Has it occurred to you that it was just a flower?” Danny asked.

  Sam shook her head. “No, it symbolizes something.”

  In the nightmare, Joyce had whispered ‘Remember.’ Dreams were a person’s subconscious, pulling up fragmented memories. In the last nightmare, the women had held white lilies. Two had dropped their flowers on the stools. Joyce had run her finger through the blood.

  Did you appreciate my workshop? Incubus’s conspiratorial tone had implied they shared a secret.

  “There was something in the cabin that Incubus thinks I saw,” she said.

  She closed her eyes and the image of the torture chamber floated in her mind.
In the centre was a black medical exam table with steel legs, metal stirrups, and restraints. Beside the right stirrup was a stainless-steel trolley with wheels. On top was the tattoo kit. There was a surgical table with instruments and makeup.

  Sam saw it.

  Her eyes snapped open. “There were two stools,” she whispered. “In Incubus’s kill cabin.”

  Reece shook his head. “No, there was only one.”

  “There was one in the pictures forensics took,” she agreed. “But there were two the night I was there. Incubus went back and removed one.”

  Jerry Lutz had intended for her to follow him that night at Lorna’s house. That’s why he’d made it so easy. He hadn’t stopped his car in the lane to ensure no one was following him. He’d waited for her to catch up to him. Incubus had lured her to the cabin where he’d killed her sister.

  His game took shape in her mind. She’d given him what he’d wanted last time. She had resorted to vigilante justice and had gone after him alone. But Incubus hadn’t known that an arsonist had planted an explosion to burn the abandoned warehouse. A raging inferno was never part of the plan.

  “Incubus didn’t work alone three years ago,” she said. “He had a partner.”

  “The dark-haired girl at the grocery store the night he took Joyce,” Eli said. “I read it in the file. Police never found her.”

  “She prevented the cashier from carrying Joyce’s bags,” Sam said.

  Eli’s hand twitched and his eyes widened. “Incubus’s stepdaughter? But how can she be the Frozen Statue Killer? Her passport proves she is in Albania.”

  Danny twirled around and began typing, opening screens in rapid succession. “Not if she entered Canada with a fake passport.”

  Eli clutched his sister’s shoulder. “Pull up the picture from the Albanian passport you found.”

  “That’s what I’m doing,” she retorted.

  “But this makes no sense,” Reece said. “Aleksia is going to great lengths to prevent her stepfather from winning his appeal.”

  Sam had no clue what he was talking about. Before she could ask, a face appeared on the screen.

  Eli leaned over and opened the picture he’d retrieved from Bart’s hard drive. “It does not look like the same person, but it is hard to tell because the passport photo is frontal and the other one is profile. Can you electronically compare the images to measure similarities?” he asked Danny.

  “Her eyes are closed in one and the facial angles are different. I need face scanning biometric tech to be conclusive,” she said. “I can access forensic software but I need time.”

  “The Canadian Border Service Agency scans passports,” Eli said. “Do they store the data somewhere?

  “In a traveller processing databank,” Danny said with a hint of excitement. “It should include photos. If I can circumvent the firewall, I can execute a search against her old passport photo and see if there’s a probability match to a passport currently in the system.”

  “Can you get in?” Reece asked.

  She shrugged. “I’ve never tried.”

  Finding the name Aleksia travelled against would help, but it wouldn’t bring them any closer to locating Bart Walsh, assuming he was still alive.

  “We need Bryce Mansfield,” Sam said to Reece.

  He nodded. “And you need to talk to Jim.”

  “Why?”

  “You forged his signature on a letter you gave to Lutz.”

  Warmth crept up her cheeks. “I can—”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Reece said brusquely. “Aleksia contacted Jim with demands. He must have a way to reach her.” He grabbed his coat. “I’ll go to police headquarters and then meet you at the loft. Eli, meet us there with whatever you guys find.”

  “I have to run to the office to pick up my laptop,” Eli said to Reece. “Can you swing by on your way home and pick me up?”

  “I’ll text you when I leave Bryce,” Reece said and took Sam’s arm to lead her up the stairs to the private elevator.

  In the elevator, he turned to her. “Don’t play Incubus’s game.”

  She hit the button for the lobby. “I don’t know what he wants.”

  Reece studied her with no expression. “Yes, you do.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  In the Cellar

  Angel

  BART IS EXCITED about his plan for our escape. I doubt it will work but my tooth is out. When the root sucked away from the gum with an audible pop and a rush of blood, I clenched the slippery prize in my fist. I’ve memorized the flat metal of the lock housing with my fingertips. The door opens out. When she turns her back, I’ll have just a second to reach up and position the tooth.

  Sometimes, days pass without her visiting. Something is happening, because her absences are growing more frequent and longer. The booming music no longer plays. The strobe light has stopped flashing. But the deathly silence and darkness is worse. Music and flashing lights kept away the rodents. They smell my blood and the decaying flesh on my broken leg. Rats scratch endlessly at the rock-hard soil around the bottom of my enclosure. I can almost see their hungry eyes glow as they burrow. My greatest fear in this merciless hell is their yellow teeth tearing into my flesh.

  Without the punishing music reprimanding us for talking, Gavin interacts with us. Occasionally, he sings songs that he composes in his head. Creativity allows him to cling to hope. It is his connection to sanity amid this nightmare and I envy him. Gavin plays bass guitar in an indie rock band. He tells stories about his bandmates and the clubs they play. They recorded an EP that they’re releasing in the spring. When he invited us to the launch party, I cried. In my heart, I know there will be no party. Gavin will never again cradle his guitar in his arms. He’ll never again flirt with pretty groupies in venues filled with fans. There will be no escape from this hell.

  My hearing is acute in this oppressive darkness. I discern the squeak of the exterior door opening upstairs and her treads on the wooden planks above me.

  “She’s back.” Gavin says quietly.

  “Stick to the plan,” Bart whispers.

  There are footsteps on the stairs. She reaches the bottom step and switches on the light. I slouch in the corner, close my eyes, and slow my ragged breathing.

  Gavin rattles his cage. “Hey, do something. The chick is dead. Come on man, there are rats. One bit me.”

  Her footsteps quicken and keys tinkle as she unlocks my door. She knots my hair around her hand and yanks my head up to examine my face. The pain forces open my eyes. I blink against the harshness of the overhead lights. Her eyes are soulless, black stones inset in the paleness of her face.

  “I need you alive.” Spittle flies into my upturned face.

  She clutches my hair in her fist and rips. The clump tears from my burning scalp and blood dribbles down my forehead.

  She hurls the bloody tuft onto the ground. “You will not ruin this for me.” The meaty smack of her uppercut echoes through the cellar. A bone cracks in my jaw and searing pain floods my face.

  “Leave her alone!” Bart screams. “Get away from her, you psycho bitch.”

  She turns and snarls at him. I reach up and shove the tooth into the lock, jamming the ball of my thumb against it and praying that it wedges tight.

  She shoves me aside and slams closed the door. I cling to the metal links and pull the door tight against my chest. There is no way to tell if it has locked.

  “You are such a pathetic creature.” She laughs. “It was difficult to pretend to be your friend, but you can’t imagine how impressed Daddy was that I found you.”

  She pulls out her gun, opens Gavin’s cage, and kicks a box of food through the opening. “One or two murders and Daddy could tempt the nosy sow into visiting him. It was easy to manipulate her after that. Once everyone believes she’s insane, Daddy will rip away everything she loves until she breaks. He will make her an image of himself.”

  She moves to Bart, waving the gun until he submits, and steps beh
ind him to the back of his cell. She kicks in his box of provisions.

  “I told Daddy that the bitch’s partner would be a problem.” She bares her teeth in a macabre grin. “Then I saw your sad little Bumble profile from Uthisca and knew you’d be the perfect bait.”

  She turns now and scowls at me. “Good thing I found young Bart, because you’re so despicable that even a knight in white armour can’t be bothered to save you.”

  “Who?” I whisper.

  “You can’t come up with a single name.” She laughs with genuine glee. “Even your parents can’t stand you. Daddy adores me. My mother was going to take me away from him so I killed her. Daddy understood I was ready and he brought me to this cellar. I used to listen as his victims screamed. Sometimes I’d hold my hands under their gushing blood. I’d sit by his side while the tattoo gun hummed and the artistic lily formed on their ankles.”

  “Your father is Incubus,” Bart whispers.

  She bows. “The one and only.”

  “You want to kill Sam McNamara,” Bart says.

  “We have something much better planned for her.” Her dark reptilian eyes drill into Bart. “Flawless revenge is art.”

  She walks to the stairs. “My final two boys will be my magnum opus. An assemblage that will stun the world.”

  She plunges us into darkness once more and we hear her ascending the stairs. A few minutes later, the exterior door slams. She is gone.

  Holding my breath, I push the door of my cage. It opens and I pull my broken body out of my cell. Stabbing pain pierces my leg as I try to crawl. My arms shake and I keep collapsing against the fetid dirt.

  “Angel? Are you out?” Bart asks.

  I can’t answer. I need every ounce of strength to keep sliding toward his voice. Bart’s cage is so close to mine. I have to make it. I must feel his skin against my hands, just once.

  Lying on my stomach, I pull my body with my arms.

  “I hear you.” Bart’s excitement urges me to keep slithering on my belly.

  “You’re close,” he says. “Try to find the side of my cage.”

  I reach my hand out. My fingertips brush cold metal, and I sob with relief.