Inmate 1577 (22 page)

Allman chewed on his cheek, then nodded. “So who’s his source?”

“I was hoping you could tell us. So far we’ve hit a wall. What he got, he never should’ve gotten.”

Vail harrumphed.
That’s an understatement
. “It could end up costing lives. So if you’ve got any idea who he might be speaking to—”

“If I had any idea who he’s talking to, believe me, Agent Vail, I’d be talking to them, too. But I’ve got no goddamn clue. I assumed it was you people.”

“Enough of this,” Dixon said. “We’ve got a victim in there waiting for us.”

“Hang out here,” Burden said to Allman, pointing at the spot as he backed away. “I’ll give you a buzz when you can come in.”

“I left you something at your office,” Allman said. “More articles and information about cases that I think could be related.”

“Thanks,” Burden said.

“Just remember,” Allman said, “I’ll be standing out here in the cold. Waiting.”

Vail glanced back at Allman.
I’ll break out the freaking violins.

AFTER SLIPPING BOOTIES ONTO THEIR shoes, they ascended the steps to the second-floor bedroom. A sitting room at the top of the stairs contained a stout oak rolltop desk, bearing a PC and an oversize 25-inch LCD monitor that was asleep.

They walked into the bedroom and stood there, staring at the bed.

This is not good.

“What the hell is this,” Burden said.

Vail stepped closer to the body. It was an elderly woman, with scraggly steel-wool hair that was matted with blood. Her face had been beaten, almost crushed from the force of the blows. And the behaviors they had seen all too many times were present: The woman had been sodomized with an umbrella. And her blouse had been pulled up to the level of her chin.

“It looks like an angrier attack,” Dixon said. “Karen?”

“It does look that way. Some psychopaths enjoy imparting pain and damage to the victim. But he hadn’t previously beaten their faces like this. Not nearly this bad. At first blush, it seems like he’s pissed off.”

“Because of Scheer’s article?” Burden asked.

“That’s the million-dollar question,” Vail said. “And that’s why we need to control what we release to the media. When something like this happens, we have no idea what’s driving what. Is the offender steering the ship, or are we?” She tilted her head, sizing up the trauma, then said. “Yes, if I had to guess, and that’s what I have to do here, I’d say it’s because of the article. That was a pretty bad insult to his ego. And the timing is too coincidental. This looks like a fresh vic, and Scheer’s article came out hours ago. Yeah. Related.”

Burden pulled three surgical gloves from his pocket and handed two to Vail and Dixon.

“Where’s the key?” Dixon asked as she inserted her hand into the baby blue rubberized material.

They twisted and bent, peered and knelt, taking care not to disturb it before the criminalist had a chance to document the scene.

“Found it,” Burden said, pointing to a spot beneath the victim’s torso.

Dixon held her iPhone in front of it and snapped off a couple of photos from different angles.

Burden extracted the key and held it up. “Not the same.”

Vail tilted her head, appraising it. “Just a plain brass key. Kwikset. One in...what, millions? Not the specialized shape like the other ones.”

“So...what?” Burden asked. “He ran out of the other kind?”

Or it’s a different killer. The violence to the face. A different key. Is this a copycat who went by what’s in that
Register
article? Or is it the same asshole, just fucking with us, trying to make me do what I’m doing now. Running in circles and getting nowhere...

“Karen.” Dixon waved a hand in front of Vail’s face. “Hello, Dixon to Vail. Over.”

Vail refocused her eyes. “Sorry. Running it through my brain.”

“Care to share?” Burden asked. “Usually works better that way.”

“Telling people what pops into my head sometimes gets me into trouble.”

Dixon chuckled. “No argument there.”

Vail took the key in her gloved palm and looked at it. “It’s possible this is a copycat. I wanna go back through Scheer’s article and see exactly what details he disclosed. If this offender painted by numbers based on what Scheer described, the chances of this being a different scumbag go up. Could be he’s the same guy, trying to throw us off. Playing with us.”

Burden craned his neck and studied a letter laying on the dresser. “Just a guess, but I think our vic is Roberta Strayhan.”

“Hey, you guys up here?” A voice from the hallway.

“In the bedroom,” Burden said.

Rex Jackson walked in with his kit. He noticed the key in Vail’s hand. “Couldn’t you have waited? You’re making my job harder.”

Vail handed Jackson the evidence. “I’d apologize, but I don’t want to be disingenuous.”

Jackson chuckled a humorless laugh. “You’re a piece of work.”

“Hey,” Dixon said. “You’re getting a more civil, diplomatic Karen Vail. A few months ago, her response wouldn’t have been so nice.”

“Thanks,” Vail said.
I think.

Jackson pulled his camera from its bag. “I guess I should feel fortunate. But I don’t.”

Burden took a long look around the room, and then said, “Clay Allman’s downstairs waiting to come up. How long?”

Jackson thumbed a dial on his Nikon. “Give me thirty. And make sure he’s escorted, I don’t wanna be responsible testifying about what he did or didn’t see.”

As Jackson began snapping photos, Burden, Dixon, and Vail left the room and let him work his magic. They exited the building and joined Clay Allman by the curb, right where they had left him, hands in his jeans pockets and flexing his legs in place. The temperature had dropped a few degrees and dusk had crept in.

“You didn’t have to stay in the exact spot,” Burden said. “I was only kidding.”

Allman spread his arms. “I aim to please.”

“My mother had a sign like that in the bathroom,” Vail said. “Over the toilet. I aim to please, so please aim.”

“Sounds like you had a strange childhood,” Dixon said.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Give it another thirty,” Burden said to Allman, “then head on up with Sanchez. Sanchez,” he called to the cop standing at the building entrance. “Thirty minutes, take Clay Allman up to the crime scene. And don’t leave his side.”

Sanchez raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“How about you come by after, walk us through those cases you dropped off.”

Allman consulted his watch. “I’ve gotta file a story, but I can come by tomorrow morning, spend a little time.” He backed away, then said, “Good?”

“That’ll work,” Burden said.

“If it isn’t my new favorite asshole,” Vail said.

Pulling up to the curb was Stephen Scheer. He shoved the gearshift to its endpoint, and then got out of his Honda.

Burden extended an arm to block Vail’s path. “I think I’ve gotten to know you pretty well, Karen. Leave him alone. Let me handle this.”

Vail kept her mouth closed, but the firm set of her jaw and narrowed eyes spoke volumes.

Dixon came up beside Vail. “Think he’s gonna look at us?”

“I wouldn’t invite eye contact if I was him.”

“Inspector,” Scheer said, doing as Dixon had predicted and behaving as if the two women were not present. “I’m told you’ve got a new body.”

“I can’t confirm or deny,” Burden said.

Scheer’s gaze flicked over to Allman, who was standing thirty feet away, beside Officer Sanchez.

“So is that how this is going to be? Silent treatment and a barrage of ‘no comments’?”

Burden cocked his head. “What do you want me to do? You’ve put us in a very, very tough spot. But yeah, there’s a new body. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“And get this, dickhead,” Vail said. “Your bullshit article might be responsible for her death. Print that.”

“Don’t give me that,” Scheer said.

“We warned you,” Dixon said. “Did you think we were bullshitting you?”

Allman was standing by the doorway, his chin tipped back, watching the scene play out. Vail figured he must be enjoying it, though he displayed no overt signs that it brought him any pleasure.

“You still have a chance to make this right,” Dixon said.

“It’s beyond fixing,” Vail said. “But you can prevent the guilt from keeping you up at night. Tell us where you got that info. Who’s your source?”

Scheer poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He looked at Allman and held his gaze, then turned and stormed back to his car. A moment later, he burned rubber away from the scene.

Vail watched him peel away and began to wonder if they would ever learn who was sabotaging their case. If he didn’t reveal himself soon, she was going to have to quit being so nice and do more than merely ruffle a few feathers.

MacNally had finally fallen asleep. He was dozing and dreaming of Henry when he felt a firm hand clamp down on his mouth. His eyes shot open—but before he could react, two arms swung him onto his stomach and his head was buried in the pillow. A heavy weight climbed on top of his legs.

A hand grasped the waistband of his pants and yanked hard, nearly ripping the fabric and pulling them down. His legs were pried apart.

MacNally tried to twist his neck, to free it, to call out, to bite—something defensive—but whoever had a grip on the back of his head had his face pressed so firmly into the pillow he had tremendous difficulty breathing. His attacker’s other hand was applying such a powerful downward force between his shoulders that fighting back was impossible. He was, essentially, locked down in place.

Voorhees’s words echoed in his mind, and he instantly knew what was coming. A second later, he felt something hard penetrate his anus. And it hurt, ripping pain as he tightened and tried to fight it—but with his legs splayed apart, he couldn’t muster any strength to keep the sphincter closed.

MacNally swung his elbows back, hoping to make contact with something, to just get him to stop, but he struck hard objects—muscle, he figured—and the attack continued. Finally, minutes later, the rapist shuddered and his body stiffened, and then all movement ceased. The man pulled out and the weight lifted from MacNally’s body.

He was able to lift his head—but a different set of hands immediately took over, shoving his face down into the pillow.

No air, can’t breathe—

And another body mounted him from behind.

This time the rape was more forceful. MacNally now had a sense as to whom had gone first—Carl—and now hard-bodied Kurt was taking his own ride.

MacNally was as Voorhees had predicted. A lop.

Carl and Kurt were predators. And he was locked in a cell, imprisoned in more ways than one, with no end in sight.

In fact, it was just beginning.

Vail had an idea, and acted on it swiftly. “Get in the car, Roxx. Burden—your keys.”

“My— For what?”

“Quick,” Vail said, running over to the driver’s door. “I’m going after Scheer.”

“For what?” He tossed her the keys. “You sure that’s smart?”

Vail didn’t answer. She was busy turning over the engine. Dixon was pulling on her seatbelt when Vail peeled away from the curb.

She leaned forward as she accelerated, struggling to keep an eye on Scheer’s disappearing vehicle.

“Find the light, Roxx. Flip it on.”

Dixon bent over and felt around, then found the round, magnetic device. She rolled down the window, turned it on, and then stuck it on the roof. “What do you have in mind?”

“A little blackmail. You in?”

“That’s kind of ambiguous, Karen. And blackmail is, uh, well, illegal.”

“Not real blackmail. Just some...creative coercion.”

“‘Creative coercion.’ Sounds to me like the new PC term for blackmail.”

Vail swerved around a car and accelerated. “I think we should use it, start a trend.”

Dixon grabbed onto the seat as Vail yanked the wheel hard to the left. “How about not?”

Vail had closed the gap between their Ford and Scheer’s Honda and were now forty or so feet behind him. The reporter’s brake lights flickered, he appeared to glance in his rearview mirror, and then he slowed his vehicle. A Prius to his right pulled to the curb and allowed Vail to pull up directly behind Scheer’s bumper.

As both cars came to a stop, Scheer remained in his vehicle.

“I don’t think he realizes it’s us,” Dixon said.

Vail shoved the gearshift into Park. “He’s gonna shit when he sees that it is.”

“Getting pulled over like that, he’s probably already shitting.”

Vail grinned. “Even better.” As she walked toward Scheer’s car, his expression was evident in the sideview mirror. He popped open his door and got out.

“Don’t you know that when a cop pulls you over, you’re supposed to remain in your vehicle?”

Scheer folded his arms and leaned back against the Honda. “What do you want?”

Vail looked across the car at Dixon. “A bit testy, brash...even arrogant. Don’t you think? Not the reaction we expected.” She turned back to Scheer. “How about showing some respect for a federal law enforcement officer?”

“So is that what this is? You pulled me over to harass me? Fine, go on. Have your fun.”

“Stephen,” Vail said with a pitying shake of her head. “I’m here to help you. We wanted to make you an offer.”

Scheer looked from Vail to Dixon. “What kind of offer?”

“I’ve got a story that’s surely front page material. And,” she said, rotating her watch to catch the streetlight, “looks like there’s still enough time to make your deadline.”

“Let me get this straight. You want to give me a story. After what you said to me yesterday? That’s a bit hard to believe.”

“It is hard to believe. No, I was thinking of making
you
the subject of a front-page article. The reporter who, pissed off at his former friend and colleague, decides to write some bullshit story that includes dangerous and irresponsible information that sets off a serial killer.”

“We hear your job’s in a bit of jeopardy,” Dixon said. “A piece like that might not sit well with your editor. Or the paper’s legal team. Might just put you over the edge.”