Fifteen Times a Killer

by Alan McDermott

  The silence on the other end of the line was encouraging.

  “What do you mean, missing?” Claire eventually asked.

  “Try calling her. It’s like she turned her cell off.”

  “No way. She would never do that. Lehane bought us all portable chargers so we could be contactable at any time, day or night.”

  “Then you explain it,” Corrina said.

  More silence, but this one dragged on. Corrina suspected Claire was rethinking her position—and her own safety—but the reporter shattered that idea.

  “Thanks, Corrina. This is gold. A suspect has been identified, Telegraph reporter suspected to be his fourteenth victim, FBI want to suppress the story. I’ll be sure to give you a mention in tonight’s edition.”

  The phone went dead, and a wave of anger surged through Corrina. She considered calling her back, but recognized the futility of it. Instead, she called Travis on her hands-free and updated him, asking him to get Hank to pass it on to McCrae. His department would have to deal with some of the fallout, too.

  Her next call was to Josh, but he was still waiting for the prosecutor to get back to him. He promised to update her the moment he got the green light.

  Still fuming at Claire McMillan, Corrina pulled up outside Emma Halsey’s house in Canoga Park. It was a faded green bungalow, two bedrooms at the most judging by the size. Corrina climbed onto the tiny porch and knocked on the door.

  A woman opened the door a crack, ready to slam it shut at the first sign of trouble. Corrina knew from the file Josh had shown her that she was in her late twenties, but she looked mid-forties. Her skin was sallow and stretched over her small frame. Probably meth, Corrina thought.

  “Emma Halsey?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  Corrina flashed her ID. “Corrina Stone, FBI. Can I come in?”

  “You got a warrant?”

  “Do I need one?”

  Emma looked nervous, so Corrina tried to put her at ease. “You’re not in any trouble. I just want to ask you a few questions about your brother.”

  Emma hesitated, looking indecisive.

  “I promise, I’m not here about you or anything you’ve done.”

  Emma sighed and stood back, allowing Corrina into her home.

  It was as small as it appeared from the outside. The tiny living room fed onto the kitchen, with a hallway leading to the remaining rooms. The curtains were drawn, so Corrina couldn’t tell whether the place was decorated in earth tones, or was just plain filthy.

  Emma sat on one of the small, two-seater sofas and indicated for Corrina to take the other. She declined.

  “Do you know where your brother is?”

  Emma sat with her hands clasped tight, and Corrina could tell she was desperate for a hit of whatever substances floated her boat. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

  “How long?” Corrina asked her.

  “Years. Not since…eleven years. Yeah, eleven.”

  “You weren’t close?”

  Emma got up and poured herself a glass of water from the sink. She asked if Corrina wanted one.

  The liquid in the glass was cloudy. “No thanks.”

  Emma retook her seat. “We were close. Once. Then Mom died and he changed.”

  “Changed how, exactly?” Corrina asked.

  “He just wasn’t the same. Wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even me. He used to be so outgoing, but when she passed away, I think a bit of him died, too. He started drinking, taking drugs…”

  “Did you talk about it with him?”

  Emma shook her head. “I tried, but he always clammed up. Soon as he got the money, we never spoke again.”

  “The money?”

  Emma looked shocked, and Corrina suspected she hadn’t meant to broach the subject.

  “What money, Emma?” Corrina pressed.

  “The pay out from the lawsuit. Six million and change.”

  It was a staggering amount, and Corrina wondered why it hadn’t appeared on Seth Benning’s tax returns. All awards from civil lawsuits were taxed, unless the claim was for personal injury. Whatever share Emma had received, it had been spent long ago, judging by the state of the house.

  “Was that the pay-out for your mother’s death?”

  Emma nodded.

  “Did Seth know he was supposed to declare it to the IRS?” Corrina asked.

  “Is that what this is about?” Emma got up and began pacing, her arms wrapped around her chest. “He told me it was all legal.”

  “What was? What did he do?”

  Emma stopped and stood before Corrina. “I don’t think I should say anything else without a lawyer.”

  “Listen, I don’t care what you’ve done, but if you have something to tell me about your brother, I need to hear it. Nothing you say would hold up in court unless it was on the record, and I have no intention of taking you in. Okay?”

  Emma considered her position, then sat back down opposite Corrina. She took another sip of water and a deep breath. “At first Seth didn’t want to settle. He said he wanted it to go to court, to see them punished for what they did, but our lawyer said the amount offered was the best we could hope for. If it went to trial, we’d be lucky to get the same amount, but legal fees would take a chunk of it. He also said there was a chance we wouldn’t win because it was to be a jury trial, and they are always unpredictable.”

  “But I don’t understand why Seth didn’t declare it to the IRS,” Corrina said.

  “He asked me to take the money. Said he wanted his name off the lawsuit, the settlement, everything, otherwise he wasn’t going to agree to it. They had to withdraw the lawsuit and draw up an agreement that I would receive the entire pay-out.”

  “So, Seth didn’t get anything?” Corrina asked.

  “Yes, he got the house and one million. He said I could keep the rest.” Emma saw Corrina’s confused expression and elaborated. “He told me he only wanted a place out in the hills and enough money so he wouldn’t have to work again. Said a million would be enough. If I hadn’t agreed to it, it would have gone to court and we might have lost everything, so I did what he asked.”

  “But surely the IRS would notice the cash in his bank account after he hadn’t filed taxes for a few years.”

  “It never left my bank,” Emma said. “I opened a new checking account in my name, then gave him the bank card. When the statements arrive, I forward them to a PO box. Same with the new check books and new cards. Anything from that bank goes to him.”

  “Surely the IRS would get suspicious,” Corrina pointed out. “No job, not collecting welfare, no income.”

  “They did contact him a few years ago. He told them I was supporting him. That’s what he said he’d do when we got the money. When they asked me, I told them it was true. I was paying his rent and giving him money each week. I never heard from them again.”

  Corrina had been fixated with the money, but something jumped out at her. “You said he bought a house. Where is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Emma said. “He was the one who found it and made an offer. All I did was sign the paperwork and pay for it. He brought the paperwork, I filled it out, and that was the last I saw of him.”

  Corrina stood and took out her phone. She was about to call Josh’s number when the cell rang.

  “Josh. I was just about to call you. I want you to look for property in the name of Emma Halsey.”

  “I already checked her address. She lives in rented accommodation,” Josh told her.

  “You didn’t check the land records, too?”

  “I…I didn’t think,” Josh replied. “Who rents when they already own a home? It just never occurred to me.”

  It was a valid excuse. Corrina would have probably done the same once, but with experience comes the knowledge that every stone needs to be kicked over, no matter how insignificant they appear.

  “Okay, don’t sweat it. Just find me the address and call me back.”

  “Sure. Oh, and the w
arrant came through. I found the last place Jess used her cell. Up on Piuma Road, north of Malibu Pier.”

  Corrina knew there was little up there. None of the bodies in the recent chapters had been found there, so what had taken Jess out into the wilderness?

  “Thanks. Call me when you get that address. I’ll be—”

  “Got it,” Josh interrupted her. “13502 Piu…Piuma Road. That’s close to where the last call was made!”

  Corrina was already on her way out of the door. “I’m heading up there now. Tell Travis I might have to break my promise.” If Seth Benning had Jess, there was no way she was going to sit and wait for the ADIC’s permission to go in. “Oh, and look into a court settlement in the name of Emma Halsey. I want to know who the defendant was.”

  She suspected she already knew the answer.

  When she got to her car, she called McCrae.

  Voicemail.

  She remembered he was in an interview, and he always turned his phone off before going in. She called Josh back.

  “I can’t get hold of McCrae. Contact his team and tell them to pull him out of his interview. I need him with me. And tell him to put SWAT on standby. We might need them.”

  She started her car and sped away from the curb, putting the address into her satnav as she drove. The quickest route was along Ventura freeway and down Las Virgenes. A shade over twenty miles.

  She prayed she would make it in time.

  Chapter 39

  Jess woke, and immediately realized she was naked. She moved to cover herself with her hands, but they wouldn’t respond.

  Memory flooded back. With it came a tidal wave of fear. She tried once more to move her hands, but they were stuck fast. Her legs, too.

  Tears flowed down her face as she tried to focus on a way out, but deep down she knew her chances of leaving the basement alive were zero. She wasn’t an action hero from the movies, with a neat trick to escape her bonds and the fighting skills to defeat a mad killer. She was an overweight reporter who’d never had so much as a school yard disagreement. There was no way she could get out of this by herself.

  Still, she had to try.

  Jess looked around for something, anything that could help her, but the restraints made escape impossible. The killer had done this eleven times already—that she knew of. There may have been more. That meant he’d have tweaked his procedures when weaknesses appeared. By now, with so many kills under his belt, he’d be flawless.

  She thought of screaming for help, but she recognized the black material covering the walls and ceiling. Soundproofing. No one would hear her unless they were in the same room.

  She turned her head to the right and immediately regretted it. She saw a bench, on top of which lay a chainsaw and several cutting implements, as well as a blow torch and an electric drill.

  More tears fell as she imagined what he was going to do to her, but a thought leapt into her head. Why her? What had her parents done to anger Fifteen-X? Her mother hadn’t worked in years, but her father made components for fast jets and missiles for the military. Was that it? Did the killer object to war?

  Whatever the reason, she prayed she didn’t find out for a long, long time.

  * * *

  Seth Benning readied the last of the devices, the one leading to the storm doors at the rear of the house. All three were now in place. If anyone tried to sneak up on the house, he’d know about it—and so would they.

  The thought put a grin on his face, and it spread to a full smile when he pictured Jess lying on the table in the basement.

  The table of doom, he’d called it. Such a silly name, but social media loved it. He’d seen thousands of memes, some asking who would you like to see on the table, others with their own suggestions. Most were politicians from both the major parties—including the President—but there were some celebrities, sports figures and even a racehorse. What kind of sick fuck would want to kill a horse?

  Some got the point of his mission, though. There were a few memes with businessmen and women and explanations about why they should suffer. A textile manufacturer who paid his predominately immigrant workforce less than the minimum wage. Meh. A small airline owner who skimped on maintenance, which caused the death of six passengers. That was a good one.

  Private security firms would be rubbing their hands at the prospect of so much work, especially if he’d managed to convince others to follow his lead. Only time would tell.

  Speaking of which, it was time to pay Jess a visit. She should be awake by now, and suitably terrified.

  He walked around the front of the house, carefully avoiding the trap he’d set as he went in the front door. He locked and bolted it, then made his way down to the basement.

  “Jess!” he exclaimed gleefully. “You’re awake!”

  He was used to the tears the first time they saw him. Jess was no exception. Crying, pleading, begging, he’d seen it all before. It never fazed him. Well, maybe the first one, but he’d been building up to this, and he was going to enjoy it.

  “Please don’t do this,” Jess wept. “Please.”

  Seth threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, Jess. This is what I’ve been looking forward to for the last ten years. Of course, I’m going to do this.”

  He walked over to the bench and caressed the tools he would use to end her life. He’d thought long and hard about this moment, and the last decade had been about trial and error, finding out which techniques inflicted the most pain while not proving immediately fatal. Of course, there were other factors to consider, like the victim’s general health. Jess, for instance, didn’t look after herself, so there was no guarantee that her heart would last the course. That’s why he’d chosen the least intrusive methods that wouldn’t kill her but would maximize the agony.

  First, though, was the psychological attack. He’d researched torture at an internet café, and one of the most effective tactics was to explain what was coming. That usually got people talking, according to the article he’d read. Seth didn’t want information from her, just fear and pain.

  It was terror time.

  He stood next to her, looking her up and down. “A natural redhead, I see.”

  Jess tried to bring her legs together, but the table made it impossible.

  “You’ve read my story, Jess. You know what I do to the people I bring here. Tell me, which one gave you nightmares, eh? Was it the fingers and toes?” He picked up a gardening tool, one used for lopping small branches. “This is what I use for that. It’s not very sharp, I’m afraid. It wasn’t meant to be used on bone, so the blades are a little dull. Of course, that means it’s going to hurt a lot more.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  He stared down at her. “Seriously? After all this time, you still don’t know why I do this? I spelled it out, Jess, in plain English.”

  “I know, I know, but why me? What did my family ever do to you?”

  “You don’t know? Then let me explain it to you.” Seth pulled a tall stool closer. “Seventeen years ago, a small company a few miles from my childhood home decided that, rather than pay money to safely dispose of the chemicals it used in its manufacturing process, it would dump them in the nearby river. Not accidentally, I want you to understand that. They purposefully drove to the river and tipped the contents of the drums in. Just to save a few bucks.

  “The following year, they won a huge contract with the military and the money started flowing in. From that point on, they dealt with the toxic chemicals properly, but the damage had already been done. My mother developed cancer three years later. I was at her bedside when she died.”

  Seth looked into Jess’s eyes, and he could see the flare of realization.

  “That’s right. That small company was KFD Components. Kenneth Franklin Duffey. Your father killed my mother, and I had to watch her agonizing final hours. Your father is going to do the same.”

  He got up and pulled a tripod with a camera mounted on it next to the bench. He set it to r
ecord, then placed it on the bench, looking down at Jess’s naked body.

  “I’m going to send a copy of this to him,” Seth told Jess. “I’ll also send it to Claire McMillan. Did you know that she’s taken over from you now? Of course, you didn’t. I only sent her the latest chapters when you arrived here. She’s got twelve and thirteen, and you’ll be number fifteen.”

  He saw the look of confusion on Jess’s face, and he smiled. “You’re wondering who number fourteen is?”

  Jess managed a shaky nod.

  “Easy. The daughter of the man who defended your father’s company in the lawsuit. Corrina Stone. And you’re going to help me bring her here.”

  * * *

  Corrina had her lights and siren on, the speedometer nudging past a hundred and ten as she tore down the freeway. Seven minutes had passed since she’d left Emma Halsey’s house, and there was still no word from McCrae. She was considering calling him when her phone rang. Corrina killed the siren and hit the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel. “Stone.”

  “Corrina!”

  The voice was unmistakable, the terror in it palpable. Corrina tried to keep her voice calm, reassuring. “Where are you, Jess?”

  “She’s with me, Corrina, and I’d like you to join us,” said a different voice.

  Corrina gripped the wheel. “Who is this?” She knew the answer but wasn’t about to tell him that she was closing in on him.

  “You still don’t know? You surprise me, Corrina. I thought you were smarter than this. I’ll give you a clue. You paid me a visit recently.”

  “I don’t recognize the voice, so I must have missed you. You’ll have to be more specific.” The satnav told her to get off the freeway at the next exit. She was now just five miles from his home, and she wanted to keep him talking as long as possible. Better to have him engaged in conversation rather than chopping Jess to pieces.

  “I don’t suppose it matters much anymore. My name is Seth Benning, and I live at 13502 Piuma Road. How long will it take you to get here?”

  “Just let me put that in my satnav…looks like a little over an hour.”