Cold Blooded (Dennis McQueen 02)
Page 25
“If he’s here,” Sommers said, “he already knows we’re here.”
“If he tries to get out the back the Double Ds’ll get him,” Silver said.
There didn’t seem to be anywhere in the front of the store for a man to hide. They went around behind the meat display cases, found some storage places beneath them. Silver and Sherman opened them while they all stood by with their weapons ready.
“Okay, then,” McQueen said, when they didn’t discover a murderer hiding under there, “let’s go in the back. My guess is we’ll find a freezer back there.”
He could have sent Sherman and Silver ahead of him, but that wasn’t his way. He led the way into the back, followed by the two men, with the two women bringing up the rear.
“Look at that,” Silver said, pointing to the large walk-in freezer. “Somebody bought that baby secondhand—maybe even third.”
“Jesus,” McQueen said. “That thing’d never been on your list, Bailey.”
“Yeah, that list turned out to be a bust.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “It was my idea.”
“Hey, Sarge,” Sherman said, “you’re the boss, all the ideas are yours.”
“Yeah, right.”
At that moment Sommers’s cell phone rang. McQueen was annoyed that she hadn’t turned it off. Between the bell over the door and her cell, their suspect definitely knew they were there—if he, indeed, was there at all.
“Got it,” she said. “I’ll tell him.” She broke the connection and tucked the cell back into her purse.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Vadala and Mollica got called out on a body,” she said. “Looks like our guy’s fifth victim popped up down by the Brooklyn docks.”
“Damn!” McQueen said.
Silver was over by the freezer, looking through the small rectangular window in the door.
“Sarge, you better look at this.”
“Fan out,” he told the others, “see what you can find,” and went to join Silver. “What’s up?”
“Take a look.”
McQueen looked through the window and saw three bodies hanging from hooks. One was an elderly woman hanging by her bra. The other two were men, hooked behind their pants. McQueen was sure if he looked they’d all have scratches on their backs.
“Jesus,” Silver said, “he’s got them backed up.”
“But why?” McQueen asked. He looked through the window again. “They don’t look like they’ve been in there very long.” He frowned. “Could he have lost it today, started killing customers? If he just got rid of the fifth recently, why start killing again?”
“He’s escalating,” Sommers said from across the room. “It’s textbook.”
“There’s been nothing textbook about this guy, so far,” McQueen said.
McQueen put his hand on the door handle and pulled. The door opened cleanly. They stood that way quietly for a few moments, and then there was a thump from above them.
“Bailey?”
“Yep?”
“You got a home address on this guy?”
“No,” she said, “just this place.”
They all looked up at the ceiling as there was a scrape.
“Maybe he lives upstairs,” Sherman said, saying what they were all thinking.
“Bailey, you and Willis check the bodies in the freezer. Maybe they’re alive.”
“What are you gonna do?” Willis asked.
“The boys and I are going upstairs, soon as we find a door or a stairway.”
“Found it!” Sherman chimed in.
McQueen and Silver went to join him while the women entered the freezer together.
Sherman was standing by an open door. When McQueen looked inside he saw a stairway leading up. “Close quarters,” Silver said.
“Yeah.”
There was only room for them to go up the stairs one at a time, and at that McQueen was large enough that his shoulders might brush the walls. There was a crack of light at the top, but there didn’t seem to be a door.
“Sarge?” Silver said. “Want us to go first?”
“Nope,” McQueen said. “Follow me.”
He started up.
“What do you think?” Willis asked.
Sommers inspected the bodies closely, touched one of the men.
“They’re dead,” she said. “I don’t know how, but they are.”
Willis went around behind the bodies. She saw the deep scratch on the woman’s back between her shoulder blades.
“This guy’s a sicko,” she said.
“Tell me about it.”
“Shouldn’t we take them down?” she asked.
“No,” Sommers said. “Not until the M.E. gets here. I better make the call.”
She tried her cell, but there was no signal inside the freezer.
“I’ll have to step outside.”
Momentarily alone with the three stiffs Willis shivered; she started to follow Bailey out. She stopped short, though, when she noticed something. There were three bodies on hooks, two other empty hooks, and then there was a chain hanging down, but no hook.
“Hey, Detective . . .”
McQueen held his gun ready as he went slowly up the stairs. He was aware of Sherman and Silver following close behind him. As they ascended his eyes got used to the gloom. He saw that there was, indeed, no door at the top, just a landing. He didn’t like the close confines of the stairway, there was no room to maneuver. Also it was hot and he was sweating inside his heavy coat.
The stairs creaked beneath their feet, and he abruptly wondered if the thing would hold them, or collapse beneath their collective weight.
As he neared the top stairs he thought anything could be waiting for them at the top. It was only that attitude that saved him, because at that moment someone stepped out and swung something at him.
“Jesus—” he shouted. He tried to duck, and while he succeeded he lost his balance and fell forward, onto the landing.
Meanwhile Silver, unprepared, wasn’t as lucky. A metal hook struck him in the face and he fell backward, his full weight landing on his partner. Together, they tumbled down the stairs.
Owen Feinstein, feeling swollen with power, turned to address the fallen McQueen. He raised the heavy meat hook that he’d removed from the freezer, felt his thin arms surge with strength.
McQueen was stuck, his bulk working against him in the confined space. He tried to bring his gun around but slammed his hand into the wall. He looked back over his shoulder and his eyes widened as he saw the sharp point of the meat hook coming down at him.
Then the stairway filled with the sound of shots. Owen staggered, frowned, dropped the hook and fell on top of McQueen . . .
At the bottom of the stairs both Sommers and Willis were looking up over their extended guns.
“Sarge?” Sommers called. “Are you all right?”
At their feet Silver and Sherman both moaned, and Willis leaned over to check them.
“Dennis?”
It was dark near the top of the stairs, but Sommers thought she saw someone moving.
“Damn it—” she said, but she was cut off by McQueen’s voice from above.
“I’m okay, Bailey,” he said, “but you better call for an ambulance. This guy’s hit twice and I don’t want to lose him.”
EPILOGUE
McQueen’s left arm was in a sling. The dropped meat hook had taken a chunk out, but there was no broken bone.
Silver and Sherman had both been treated. Silver had been hit in the head with the hook. A gash had been torn and it had bled like a stuck pig, but the wound wasn’t bad. The doctors were keeping him overnight for observation. Sherman had gone home, suffering from a sprained shoulder. Within the confines of that staircase they had slowed each other’s progress down the stairs, effectively saving each other from more serious harm.
The D.A., Delaney, and Lieutenant Bautista were down the hall, conferring with each other and with Delaney’s ADAs, Kearney and Wo
rth. They already had a psychologist in with Owen Feinstein, who was still alive after major surgery to remove the two bullets, one from Sommers’s gun and one from Willis’s.
Sommers was down the hall with Bautista. Willis was seated with McQueen.
“She’s sleeping with him, ain’t she?” Willis asked.
“Who?”
“The Latino dreamboat?”
“Yeah.”
“You care?”
“Yeah,” he said, “but not the way you think. By the way, thanks. You and Bailey saved my life.”
She shrugged.
“We heard the commotion and came runnin’.”
“It was dark at the top of those stairs,” he said.
“How’d you know who you were shootin’ at?”
“We didn’t.”
McQueen looked at her.
She grinned.
“We took a shot.”
“Yeah,” he said, “one each. It worked.”
They both looked up as Bailey Sommers came walking over to where they were sitting.
“How is he?” McQueen asked.
“He might make it,” she said. “At least, the head doctor hopes he does. He says he’s a fascinating subject.”
“In what way?”
“He refers to himself by four different names,” she said. She took out her notebook. “The Observer, the Ice Man, the Transporter, and the Killer.”
“Split personality?” Willis asked.
“That’s just it,” she answered. “The doctor says no. He’s only going by one given name, Owen Feinstein. The other . . . titles are how he referred to himself when he was doing a certain job. The Killer when he was killing, the Ice Man when he was putting them up on hooks, and so on.”
“Sick man, either way,” McQueen said, “split personality or not.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t mean insane sick,” he went on, “but that’s what they’ll say. He’ll be in a hospital for a long time, instead of jail.”
“That sucks,” Willis said. “They know why he was killing?”
“No, not exactly,” she said. “The doctor says he’ll have to study him. He said something about waiting the nine months between victim three and four pushing him over the edge. Apparently, you can’t put off an urge for that long. He flipped out today and started killing more people, one after the other.”
“Well,” McQueen said to Willis, “you got your firebug.”
“You got your husband killers, and your serial killer,” Willis said. “Is everybody happy?”
“Dennis,” Sommers said, “can I talk to you?”
Willis said, “I gotta go check in. I’ll call you.”
“Okay, Mace.”
“Detective,” she said to Sommers.
“Marshal.”
“Nice shooting.”
“You, too,” Sommers said.
Willis went off down the hall and Sommers sat next to McQueen.
“How’s your arm?”
“It hurts.”
She looked off in the direction of Willis.
“You like her?”
“Yeah,” he said, “but not the way you think.”
She fell silent.
“You wanted to tell me something?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m done with Ernesto.”
“Good for you,” he said. “Not because of me.”
“Maybe a little,” she said. “He turned out to be an asshole. He and the D.A. are gonna spin this so that they come out looking like supercop and super D.A. Not only a serial killer, but a child killer, a husband killer, an arsonist . . .”
“Forget it, Bailey.”
“It was you, Dennis,” she said. “All you.”
“It wasn’t, Bailey.”
“What do you mean?”
“They can study Feinstein all they want,” he said.
“He had us beat. His victims were chosen at random, had nothing to do with each other.”
“But the scratches from the meat hooks—”
“The fact remains we never would have found him if not for a series of fortunate—and unbelievable— coincidences that occurred in that burning building.”
“There sure was a lot going on in there.”
“Yeah.”
He shifted, moved his arm around a bit, then cradled it with the other one.
“Want me to drive you home?”
“As long as you’re not going home with the Latin heartthrob.”
“Never again.”
“Well, that’s good.”
They stood up.
“What happens now, Dennis?”
“We go on with our jobs, Bailey,” he said. “Move on to the next case. As far as we’re concerned this one’s over. Case closed.”
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Table of Contents
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
PART TWO
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
PART THREE
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
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