by Jason Parent
An accurate reflection of its possessor, his workspace was as disheveled as the rest of the department. Bruce had good reason to be disheveled. Nearly two months had gone by without finding hard evidence linking any suspect to the murders. Five victims were dead, leaving their families and friends with questions he couldn’t answer. He’d never failed to solve a homicide case, but he’d also never worked a serial. A double homicide, a few heat-of-passion murders—husbands with cheating wives, parents who couldn’t afford or stomach their children—and several armed robberies or drug deals turned fatal were the worst Bruce had faced. Still, he’d always managed to put all the clues together in a matter of weeks. But the new killers weren’t sloppy, and despite their appetite for gruesome displays, they seemed to lack a desire for public notoriety.
“The more bodies, the more evidence, wouldn’t you think?” he asked Jocelyn, who was slumped in the chair on the other side of his desk. She was the only person he couldn’t intimidate with mere bravado, and he respected her for it. In addition, despite their greater number of years on the job, few other detectives shared her level of competency. The department needed more Jocelyns. Too bad she was one of a kind.
“It doesn’t always work that way,” she said. “You know that. These guys are good, or at the least, they’re careful.”
Bruce chewed the end of his pen, which was already a misshapen sculpture of plastic. “I don’t think I could deal with something like those poor detectives in San Francisco, working the case for so many years and never catching the Zodiac. I can’t handle losing.”
“It’s only been like eight weeks. We haven’t lost anything yet. Stop being so pessimistic. Besides, I don’t think these guys are going to stop. People are calling in every day with potential sightings of our van and our killers. It’s just a matter of time before one of the calls is from a credible witness. You need to have patience, Bruce.”
It took a moment, but Bruce realized his walls were down, not something he cared to show anyone. He couldn’t believe how comfortable he’d become with his partner in such a short stint, and making matters worse, she was trying to comfort him. Her youthful optimism, the kind that time and experience sucked dry, made his skin crawl.
“Shouldn’t I be the one telling you that?” He straightened and snapped back to his old self. “Any luck with the phone records?”
“For number four? Not yet. The call to Huntley was made via a disposable phone. Those things have identification numbers. We’re seeing if we can pinpoint when and where it was sold and then, hopefully, to whom.”
“Good. I need some coffee. When I get back, we can go over the autopsy reports one more time. You want anything?”
“No, thanks.”
Bruce strode to the break room. How long has this coffee been sitting here? What is that crap on the bottom? He stared at the semi-liquid, semi-plasma substance pretending to be coffee. A tired old man stared back at him from the liquid’s surface. He’d seen those sunken eyes, that sallow skin, the crow’s feet that reached out to his temples, and the thinning mat of hair many times, and every time, he thought, I should retire. But he never would, not until they made him. Retiring meant sitting at home, alone in his apartment, waiting to die.
As Bruce fiddled with the coffee machine, Officers Brian Temple and David “Sven” Stravenski passed in the hall, heading toward Aaron Pimental’s desk. Both were smiling, and they walked with a bit of a bounce in their steps. What the fuck are they so happy about? He kept one ear on their conversation while he brewed a fresh pot of coffee.
Bruce glanced through the doorway. Pimental sat at his desk, staring vacantly at its unpolished surface. He looked as though he would rather have been anywhere but there. Bruce wondered why the department had hired the guy. He clearly had no interest in police work.
Pimental looked up as Temple and Stravenski arrived at his desk. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”
“We got the rest of the lists from the Commonwealth,” Temple said in a much too peppy voice. “There’s only about twelve more for us to investigate.”
Bruce cringed. As much as he didn’t like Pimental’s poor attitude, he hated morning people more. For someone who slept as little as Bruce did, “morning” extended to three in the afternoon.
“Yeah, because that last batch worked out so well for us,” Pimental replied.
Stravenski grunted in agreement. He hadn’t had much luck with his portion of the highway department’s list of registered van users, either. The three of them had looked like fools and wasted the department’s time and resources. Although Bruce wasn’t held responsible for their inadequacies, he felt responsible. He’d given those clowns the go-ahead, and they’d come up with diddly squat.
Temple shrugged. “Well, these are our marching orders, like it or not.”
“Who are the lists from?” Pimental asked.
“Department of Public Health, DCF, Department of Corrections… a few others. There are only a few names per list.”
“Can I see them?”
Temple held the lists as though they were precious. He hesitated, sighed, then handed them to Pimental.
“Douglas Fournier,” Pimental read aloud. “We can cross him off the list, and DEP, too, for that matter.”
“Why’s that?” Stravenski asked.
“I know Doug. Trust me, it’s not him. And he’s the only one on your lists from the Department of Environmental Protection, so we can scratch that department.”
“Why?” Temple asked, sounding annoyed. “Just because you know the guy doesn’t mean he’s not a killer.”
“No, Brian, the fact that the guy spends all his time attending church, volunteering, and generally trying to save the world from itself tells me he’s not a killer. Doug is harmless, a ‘Jesus freak,’ as my friend would call him.”
Bruce nearly sprayed coffee out his mouth. “Who’s a Jesus freak?” he asked between coughs as he ran over to the officers, coffee splashing onto his hands.
“A friend of mine.” Pimental sat up straight. “He’s on one of the lists that we’re using to investigate the murders.”
Bruce looked at Temple. “Way to stay on top of this, Temple. Nice job.”
Pimental’s jaw dropped. Temple grinned with pride.
Bruce said, “I want to know where this Doug… what’s his full name again?”
“Fournier,” Pimental answered.
“Right. I want to know where he is and what he’s doing twenty-four seven, starting immediately. Don’t screw this one up, guys. I want to know everything and anything there is to know about him. Temple and you,” Bruce said, pointing at Stravenski. “Find his van, and find it now! Pimental, in my office. You’re going to tell me and Detective Beaudette everything you know about this Douglas Fournier.”
CHAPTER 17
Craig’s panic sent him barreling through brush, deep into the forest. He finally stopped to catch his breath at the edge of a brook. The soles of his feet were shredded, and his teeth jackhammered together from the cold. He had to get back to his car, or he would end up freezing to death.
Remaining under cover, he cut a wide circle around where he was pretty sure the house sat. Every now and then, he heard Carter or Ricardo call his name, their voices barely audible over the rumbling motors of the same ATVs Craig had wanted to try out earlier.
He picked up a branch. I need to take one of them out, steal one of their four-wheelers. That’s probably my best bet. I’m not sure how much more of the cold I can take. Just knock one on his ass and ride on out of here. Craig needed to do something quickly before his body shut down from hypothermia or before he was spotted in his bright-white gi in a dead brown forest.
He told himself to calm down, think it through, and weigh his options. Attack one of them and steal his ATV? He shook his head. Unless I get the jump on him, he’ll probably run me down. Who knows what weapons they gra
bbed before heading out?
“Why is this happening to me?” He almost started to cry before summoning his composure.
He considered sneaking back into the house and grabbing his keys or their keys, but that was too risky. He would have to break in after leaving the sparse cover for no cover. Plus, his keys might not be where he left them. He was running out of options. Even if I make it to the road, they’re guaranteed to spot me, and I can’t keep traveling through these woods barefoot. Desperation hit hard. This is fucking crazy.
Craig took a deep breath. Well, one thing’s certain. If I try to wait it out, I’ll freeze to death. I need to keep moving, keep the blood circulating. The days are short this time of year. It’ll be night soon and get a whole lot colder.
He worked his way back to within fifty yards of the house. He could see down the western slope of Carter’s property toward the lake beside the house. The sun, low in the sky, cast an eerie glow on the still, black water. Only a thin line of purple along the horizon separated the world from darkness.
Something across the lake caught his eye. It gave him his first semblance of hope since he’d escaped his former friend’s grasp. That light! That’s another house!
The shimmering light was faint but definitely real. A female voice yelled something. Is she calling out to me? No, she can’t be. Should I yell for help? Craig shuddered. He knew that screaming would reveal his location. And she was all the way across the lake. Even if he could make her understand that he needed help, Carter and his crew would get to him first.
A dog barked and ran toward the woman. The pair retreated into the warm confines of their cozy country home, oblivious to the horror Craig faced and the monster that lived a few miles away. The light disappeared, taking with it that small semblance of hope he had fostered.
Then, Craig remembered something. The kayaks! Where there’s a farm, there’s a phone. Craig set his jaw and flexed his fingers. I just need to get there. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. He listened for the sound of engines but heard nothing. They must be too far away. Now’s my chance! He jogged down toward the beach. After a pause to listen and look around, he sprinted over to the first kayak. He dragged it the fifteen feet to the water then slid it in as quickly and as quietly as he could.
The noise from the kayak was nothing compared to the yelp he failed to suppress as his feet entered the icy liquid. Craig thought his feet had gone numb, but the cold sent tingly pain through his body like a jolt of electricity. It revitalized his sense of touch and reawakened his terror.
He hopped into the kayak, partially just to get out of the water. He sat as still as he could while shivering and listened intently for signs that his cry had been heard. Other than his own heavy breathing, he heard no sounds. He pulled up the oar, which fortunately was stashed down in the bottom of the boat. Pushing off the lake bottom, he propelled the vessel forward.
He’d only made it about ninety yards when he heard the sound of a motor. He drew in the paddle, letting the kayak drift. Could they have heard my splashing over their engines? He cursed himself for being so stupid.
He bent at the waist and put his chest to his knees. If he kept low in the seat, maybe they wouldn’t see him. He spotted Doug and Ricardo pulling up to the beach on one of the four-wheelers. Carter followed closely on a dirt bike, still wearing his gi but sporting a helmet and sneakers. He parked beside Ricardo and Doug.
From their wild hand gestures, Craig guessed that Ricardo and Carter were arguing. Probably about what to do with me. He couldn’t hear their words until the purring of their engines died.
“Tell him we were just fucking with him,” Carter said.
“I got this,” Ricardo said. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to Craig. “What the hell are you doing? And why’d you break Carter’s wall?”
“Fuck you, asshole!” Craig resumed paddling.
“Dude, you’re acting crazy.”
“I’m acting crazy? I’m acting crazy? You fuckers tried to kill me!”
“You’re completely overreacting. We were only kidding. We knew you were paranoid about being followed, so we decided to play a joke on you. I admit it was a stupid idea. If we knew you were gonna freak out, we wouldn’t have done it. But, Craig, you have to come back in, get out of this cold. You could be seriously hurt.”
“That’s fucked up, man. Joke or no joke, I’m not going anywhere near you guys.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. It was a dumb joke. That’s on us. If you want to leave, then fine. But shouldn’t you take your car? I don’t expect you to not be angry, but look at yourself. If you stay out there, you could die.”
“I don’t trust you. Leave me the hell alone.” Craig had nearly reached the lake’s center.
“You’re going to freeze to death. Come in.”
“You tried to kill me!”
“No, Craig, I didn’t. Come on, man! How long have we been friends? I told you, it was a joke. Obviously, it was a bad one. But if we wanted to kill you, we wouldn’t be wasting our time talking to you. Hell, we could have just shot you a long time ago. We could drive to the other side of the lake and wait for you there.”
Ricardo paused, perhaps waiting for some acknowledgment. Craig said nothing.
“My point is,” Ricardo continued, “no one wants to kill you. Carter’s a little angry about what you did to his wall, but his insurance will cover it.”
“Fuck Carter, and fuck his insurance!” Although he had no explanation for why his friend of twenty years would suddenly turn into a crazed maniac, Craig still didn’t trust him. Ricardo’s words made sense. At least they made more sense than the idea that one of his best friends wanted to kill him. Everyone said Craig was paranoid. Maybe it was true.
“Don’t you see how silly this is?” Ricardo sounded sincere. “Craig, no bullshit. You could die out there. Don’t you think you’re being a bit irrational? You’ve been edgy lately with that whole van-following-you thing. This paranoia has to stop.”
“I’m not fucking paranoid!” Craig was scared, but he was starting to feel foolish. Am I? Here I am, out on a fucking kayak in the middle of December, freezing my ass off because I think one of my closest friends is trying to kill me. But he did try to kill me, didn’t he? Choking is part of the sport, but he must have felt me tap, at least the second time.
“Craig, come inside and get warm,” Carter called. “You can take a hot shower.”
Craig didn’t respond. No one spoke or moved.
“All right, Craig. Be stubborn,” Ricardo yelled. “We’re going back inside. I already said I’m sorry. We’re all worried about you. What more can I do? When you come to your senses, feel free to join us.”
Ricardo, Carter, and Doug started their vehicles and rode up the beach toward the house, never looking back to see if he would follow. Are they playing me? Or am I just being stupid? Rick’s changed a lot this last year, but why would he try to kill me?
Craig paddled farther out, not willing to risk his life on the word of a friend he could no longer trust. The adrenalin flowing through his body slowed, and the biting cold returned. He looked across the lake. He was barely past the midpoint.
“This is stupid! I’m freezing.”
His feet were raw and freezing. He feared he would lose his toes if he didn’t get inside soon. He stared across the lake. Even after he got to the opposite shore, he would have to trek another mile or two through thick woods before he made it to that farmhouse. By then, my cock will be so frozen, I’ll have to live with shrinkage for the rest of my life. He glanced back at Carter’s house. He saw no sign of Ricardo or the others. They weren’t after him. They never had been.
I’m so fucking stupid. He turned around and rowed back toward Carter’s house.
When he reached the shoreline, he braced himself for the step into the cold water. Fortunately, the
pain wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated because his feet were pretty much numb. He pulled the end of the kayak onto land then stumbled up the slope to the house. Twilight had come and gone, and the whole area was shrouded in darkness. He was glad not to be plodding through woods and trespassing on some stranger’s land. What was I going to do when I got there? Call the cops on Ricardo? The whole thing seemed silly. Still, he couldn’t shake his doubts.
Ricardo, his longtime friend who had never harmed anyone, wouldn’t try to kill him. There was no reason for it.
But Ricardo had changed. Not only had his sight improved, but he’d grown stronger and quicker since he’d first started training with Carter. Craig wondered if steroids had something to do with it. ’Roid rage might explain his intense chokehold. He would never accuse his friend of illegal drug use and thought it better not to know. How, then, could he accuse him of attempted murder?
When he reached the house, he peered through a window. Ricardo, Carter, and Doug were sitting in the living room, drinking from mugs. Craig licked his chapped lips. He wanted one of those mugs. He limped around to the front door and waited until he wasn’t panting so hard before ringing the doorbell.
“Who is it?” Doug snickered from behind the door.
“Come on. Open up.”
“What’s the secret password?”
“Are you four?”
“Are you four?” Doug mimicked. “Nope, I don’t think that’s the password. Hold on, let me ask Carter.”
“Are you having fun?” Craig yelled.
“Carter, is ‘are you four’ the secret password?”
“Just let him in,” Carter said.
Craig pounded on the door. “Give me my fucking keys already!”
“For God’s sake, Doug, let him in,” Ricardo said. “He’s got to be as frozen as a Popsicle.”
Finally, a voice of reason. The door swung open, and Doug stepped aside to let Craig in. But Craig didn’t budge.
“See? No one is trying to kill you,” Carter said, his arms out by his sides as he walked over to the door. Carter’s smile seemed sincere, but Craig couldn’t be sure.