by L. L. Foster
Myer grunted as he arranged the man onto the platform. “Any idea when that’ll be?”
“Soon. Very, very soon.” Talking about it excited Oren unbearably, so he forced the image of the tall, dark-haired girl out of his mind. “But for now, would you rather I leave Aunt Dory to her pleasures and give you chores to do?”
“No, course not.”
Sullen idiot. “Then hurry it up and get him fastened down. I think he’s in shock. If you keep dallying, he’ll die before you can even get started.”
That warning spurred Myer to haste. As he and Dory worked with industrious delectation, Oren went up to his rooms to change from his frumpy, dirty clothes. He detested the garb he had to wear to fit into the slum neighborhoods. He much preferred finer things, but he was adaptable enough to do whatever was necessary.
Leaving the intercom open so he could hear the frenzied activity in the basement, he stripped out of his costume and changed into his regular clothes.
At one point, he laughed aloud at Aunt Dory’s rapture. She was such a rutting pig that her groans of pleasure could be heard over the man’s hoarse screams of agony.
And Uncle Myer, for all his protestations about preferring a female, wallowed in the ministrations of pain with the vigor of a man half his age.
The high-pitched wails were like music to Oren, feeding his soul. He’d missed this so much. Thanks to the tall woman, it had been too long since he’d luxuriated in his preferences.
When the coordinated blend of tormented outcries and squeals of carnal pleasure began to fade, Oren knew the man had expired. As he’d suspected, the brute hadn’t lasted long.
Because of his personal bent toward inflicting pain, Oren often read up on various medical afflictions. He knew that shock could cause a sudden drop in blood pressure, a faint pulse, and if left untreated, death.
Of course, shock had only hastened death. The overindulgent tendencies catered by his relatives had done the most to terminate the man’s life. They had never learned to savor opportunities, but in this instance, Oren didn’t mind. Their lack of mastery over their obsessions had, for once, served his purpose.
Resolute in his whims, tingling with impassioned expectancy, Oren made a casual descent to the bowels of the grand house. As he reached the cool basement, the scent of death, excrement, and sweat assaulted his nose.
Lifting a hand to shield his nostrils, he ventured forward into the tableau of pain. The mangled body of the man, now stained with blood and his own body fluids, as well as secretions from his relatives, showed signs of grotesque abuse.
Like children denied the last bite of succulent candy, Aunt Dory and Uncle Myer stood there, silent and sullen.
Her desires not yet fully sated, Aunt Dory still quivered with need.
Uncle Myer, for all his protestations, looked well glutted.
Buffoons.
They lacked all finesse, and neglected all sense of advantageous detail.
Walking past them and the bloodied remains, Oren approached a mahogany cabinet. On the outside, apparatuses of various use hung in arrangement according to size and application. Accoutrements of torture filled the many drawers. The amount of paraphernalia his relatives had procured through the years belied their ability to control themselves.
After searching for the best device to suit his purposes, Oren retrieved a long surgical blade from a golden hook. From a velvet-lined drawer, he withdrew elbow-length rubber gloves. Inside double doors at the base of the cabinet, he took out a long plastic apron.
His mouth trembled. His hands shook. Deforming a corpse added no felicities to his perversion, he assured himself.
But he’d do this.
The end result would bring immeasurable pleasure to him.
It would be the best joke of the century.
Ann sat on the edge of his desk, flirting without meaning, annoying for the fun of it.
“Luther, Luther, Luther.”
“What?” he asked, trying to concentrate on his papers despite her physical disruption.
“After all the women who’ve thrown themselves at you.” She tsked. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”
Laying his pen aside, Luther looked up at her. “Really, Ann? Harassment from the woman who’s sleeping with Morty Vance?”
Umbrage put her shoulders back. “His name is Mort, not Morty.”
“Whatever.”
After a moment, she treated Luther to a Cheshire cat smile. “He’s adorable, isn’t he?”
Not in the least. “If you say so.”
She stood, stepped behind his chair, and rubbed his stiff shoulder muscles. “So what about you?”
“What about me?” God that felt good. Lately, he stayed so knotted up, he felt like a walking lump of tension.
Leaning around to see his face, she specified, “Are you sleeping with little Miss Sunshine?”
He wished. “You’re awfully nosy all of a sudden.”
“There’s a method to my madness.”
“Yeah, and that’d be?”
She went back to rubbing, which kept her out of his view. “Have you seen Gaby lately?”
“No. She wanted a few days to herself.” Gut instinct started churning. But then, he always felt uneasy when thinking of Gaby. “Now why do you ask?”
“Huh.” Stepping to the side of the desk again, Ann lifted a wrist and looked at her watch. “Our shift is up. Are you ready to go?”
Dodging his question? “I don’t think so. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
She wrapped both her arms around one of his and tried to lead him toward the door. “I’ll tell you, but only after we’re outside and in your car.”
Planting his big feet, Luther refused to budge. “My car, huh? Should I take that to mean you’ll be riding somewhere with me?”
“Yup. To Mort’s.” She cleared her throat. “Because that’s where Gaby’s at.”
Oh hell. The way she said that . . . Luther shut down his computer and grabbed up his suit coat. “Let’s go.”
Trotting in her high heels to keep up, Ann said, “Just that easy?”
Where Gaby was concerned, Luther had learned a second’s hesitation could be too long. “Yeah, just that easy.”
“She has you twisted up pretty good, Luther. I’m not altogether sure that’s a good thing.” Once they were in the hallway, she pulled back on his arm. “Slow down, please. My shoes aren’t meant for sprints.”
Luther moderated his pace, but his determination burned. They stepped outside to a setting sun and humid skies. “Okay. So what’s going on?”
“Well, two things, really. And I want you to hear me out, okay?”
“Fine.” He opened the passenger door for her, practically tucked her into the car, and hurried around to the driver’s door.
Ann laughed. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. Gaby’s visiting with Bliss. From what Mort said, she’ll be there a little while yet.”
“Unless she decides to leave.”
“Well, yeah. She does make mighty abrupt decisions, and her mood switches faster than light.”
“Trust me, I’m well aware of Gaby’s personality quirks.” Grim, Luther started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “So what specifically about Gaby being at Mort’s made you think we needed to get over there?”
“You won’t like this.”
“That much I already know.”
Ann half turned in her seat to face him. “Given what Mort overheard of the conversation between the girls, Gaby wants to know the particulars of being a prostitute.”
“So? She’s always curious about . . .” Luther trailed off. Ann didn’t need to know about Gaby’s preoccupation about, and inexperience with, sex. “Never mind.”
She waved that away. “I don’t think you’re getting me, Luther.” Ann touched his arm. “Gaby wants to know what she should do, and how she should act, to convince others that she’s a hooker.”
Disbelief slammed into Luther. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. D
amn her. So that was her harebrained plan?
At least Mort and Ann had done as he’d asked, and notified him posthaste of her foolhardy plan.
Resigned to Gaby’s perfidies, Luther said, “She hopes to set herself up as a hooker in order to catch the cretin who’d killed Lucy.”
“I think so. That was Mort’s impression. He couldn’t think of any way to dissuade her, so he called me, so I could tell you . . .”
Striving for a calm that was well out of his reach, Luther said, “I appreciate it. Thanks.”
Ann sat back. “Well, bravo. And here I thought you’d be up in arms about it.”
“There’s no need to get upset because she’s not doing it.”
“She’s not?”
“Hell no.”
Seconds ticked by as Ann studied him. She settled back in her seat and folded her hands over her lap. “Well, I’m curious as to how you plan to stop her. From what I’ve seen, Gaby is an unstoppable dynamo who does just as she damn well pleases.”
“I’ll stop her.” Luther flexed his hands on the wheel. One way or another, he’d force her to see his reasoning. “That’s all you need to know.”
“Luther . . .” Ann’s hesitation diverted his attention.
“What?”
“You know I love you. As a friend and partner, I mean. I can’t help but worry about you.”
He’d said as much to Gaby; friends worried, and nothing could change that. “What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t want to anger you. But you’re so eaten up with this girl, I’m not sure you’re seeing things as clearly as you should—as clearly as you normally would.”
Luther glanced at Ann. Eaten up? Yeah, he was. Gaby had him twisted up in a dozen different ways. He stared at the road ahead of him. “Let’s hear it.”
And still Ann fretted before finally saying, “How did Gaby know that there was someone in that fire? No one else knew, right?”
“She claims to have this incredible intuition.” Feeling idiotic, but unable to stop his defense of Gaby, Luther attempted to explain. “You know, like a cop’s instincts that tell him something isn’t right. You’ve done it. So have I.”
“Not like that, Luther. Gaby knew someone was inside. She didn’t just suspect it.”
He didn’t have an answer for that, so he said nothing.
“And after just stumbling on that dead vagrant, how did she then go several blocks away, only to discover a pipe bomb in an old playground?”
Oh God. He should have asked himself those same questions. But when he was with Gaby, his need for her blunted his suspicions. She made him believe in her.
Probably because he so badly wanted to believe in her.
“I don’t know.” Luther shook his head, growing more tense by the moment. “It could all be bizarre circumstance.”
“I suppose that’s possible.” Ann’s hand tightened on his arm. “But, Luther, you’re a cop. You have to accept the other possibility—that Gaby knows these things, because . . .”
He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t. “Ann—”
“She knows, because she’s the one responsible for them.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Luther tightened his hold on the steering wheel. Acid burned his throat and his guts churned. But he needed to hear it all. “You’ve gotten to know her some, Ann. In your personal opinion, do you think she’s capable of that?”
“Capable?” She answered without equivocation. “Absolutely. I’ve never seen anyone more capable. But do I think she did it? No.”
His lungs filled. “No?”
“I was there when she stormed past that fire to save someone she didn’t know. I was there when she stood over that damned bomb. You heard from the bomb squad. If it had detonated, there would have been no more than little bits and pieces of Gaby left.”
So he wasn’t the only one under Gaby’s spell? Nice to know, but under the circumstances, not a whole lot of comfort.
“Gaby is hurting. I see that, too, Luther. And people in pain can do astounding things. Mort trusts her with his life.”
“They have a screwy friendship.” A smile took him by surprise. “Want to hear something funny? When I first met Gaby and got to know Mort, I thought they had something romantic going on.”
Ann smiled, encouraging him with her silence.
“I was jealous.” Feeling raw, Luther laughed at himself. “That’s pretty fucked up, huh?”
“You know what I think?”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to. “What?”
“I think Gaby is incapable of causing such carnage, but she knows a whole lot more than she’s telling you. And regardless of our personal feelings on it, we’re obligated to explore every possibility.”
Luther pulled up to the curb in front of Mort’s apartment building. “Meaning you want me to count her a suspect?”
“I don’t relish Mort’s reaction to such a thing. He’ll feel betrayed, and that’s sure to cause a rift between us.” She opened her seat belt. “But do we really have any choice?”
“No.” They were about to get out when a call came in.
Ann answered, saying, “Detective Kennedy.” After a moment of listening, she closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “I see.” She listened again, then said, “Oh God. Yeah, we’ll be right there.”
Seeing the strain on her face alerted Luther to the seriousness of the call. As soon as she disconnected, he asked, “Trouble?”
“That’s an understatement.” She looked at him with sympathy. “We have to make this visit short.”
“He got another woman?”
“No, this time it was a man. We’re being called in because he was tortured pretty badly, in a similar way to our first victim.”
Ice cut along Luther’s spine. “Where’d they find the body?”
“About two blocks from where Gaby lives.” Ann reached for his arm. “It’s worse than the female victim, though. They say this guy had his testicles and heart removed. They were left on either side of his head, so no one would miss the . . . significance.”
“Christ.” Luther looked up at the building holding Gaby. Somehow, he just knew she was involved.
“There’s more, Luther.”
Ah. Just as he figured. “There always is.”
“An anonymous source claims that Gaby fought with this guy the night before last. He said he witnessed her beating him to within an inch of his life.”
Numb, Luther looked at Ann, and asked the only thing he could think of. “Why?”
“Something about the guy abusing one of the hookers. I guess Gaby took exception to it.”
“She would.”
“The thing is . . . the witness says he overheard her threaten the guy with further punishment.”
Dread formed a cold lump in his guts. “Let me guess. She told him she’d cut off his balls?”
Ann nodded. “And carve out his heart.”
Luther scrubbed his face and laughed. “Leave it to Gaby to let her arrogance bury her neck deep in shit.”
Leaving it up to Luther, Ann asked, “What do you want to do?”
Patting Ann’s hand, he silently thanked her for the support. “Gaby’s not stupid, you know. She wouldn’t openly threaten a man, and then kill him and display him for all the world to see.”
Ann considered that. “They said the corpse is pretty mangled.”
“Yeah, and that, Gaby could do.”
At Ann’s surprise, Luther shrugged. “If the man hurt one of the prostitutes bad enough, I have no doubt Gaby would have beat him nearly to death. She’s ferocious in her protection of anyone she thinks is smaller or weaker than herself.”
“I’ve noticed that.”
Luther’s thoughts churned. “In all honesty, I believe she could even kill the guy.” He looked Ann in the eyes. “But if Gaby murdered someone, no one would ever know about it. The body would never be found.”
Refraining from judgment, Ann sat quiet.
“I guess we shoul
d go.”
“A few uniforms are holding the site for us.” She softened. “If you want to stay here to talk to Gaby, I can head over there without you—”
“Forget that.” Luther opened his door. “This is going to be quick.”
Ann hurried out of her side of the car. “And if Gaby is resistant?”
He strode toward the front door. “She won’t be. Not this time.” Luther swore it to himself, and hated what he knew he’d have to do. But damn her, she had his back against the wall.
What happened next would be on her. She’d brought this on herself.
But knowing that for truth didn’t alleviate Luther’s consuming guilt one little bit.
Chapter 14
Edginess had been creeping in on her for days. Not the feverish diminution of strength and thought that usually accompanied a true calling, but a more frenetic sensation that left her discomforted, antsy.
Something had happened—but what?
Everyone she cared about was safe; she trusted in that. If any of them, any innocent person, was in great peril, she’d know.
Bliss droned on in great reluctance, schooling Gaby on patent costs for various deals of prostitution. Blowjobs, hand-jobs, visuals, and extra participation . . . it all sounded repulsive and far-fetched. But to catch her guy—
A disturbing premonition of dread invaded Gaby’s thoughts. Bellicose urgency brought her to her feet, but unlike her other episodes, this impending doom affected her differently.
This had to do with Luther, not evil incarnate.
“Oh fuck.”
Bliss grabbed her hand. “Gaby, wait.”
“Can’t. I need to get out of here. Now.” Gaby jogged to the front of the house and caught Mort just as he started to unlock the door to Ann and Luther. “Don’t.”
He turned to her in surprise. “It’s okay. It’s Ann—”
“I know who it is.” Pulling him away from the door, Gaby studied his face, praying for the support she desperately needed right now. “Mort, you know me, you trust me.”
His earnest gaze never faltered. “One hundred and fifty percent.”