“So he decided to count it in the only place he was comfortable with,” Emma said.
“If this assumption is correct, then Bob saw Tyrel with a buttload of cash…” Gabriel paused. “What would a desperate criminal do after that?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Oh…”
“Yup. Bob did his homework and found Tyrel’s residence, probably because Tyrel frequents Inferno. Bob would have been planning to rob him. Now that he knows we’re after Tyrel, he’s speeding up the process.”
“It isn’t gonna end well for Bob, is it?”
Gabriel shook his head. “No, it is not.”
* * *
The night had breached the horizon as the Camaro cruised along the edge of the Ohio River. Gabriel watched military aircraft perform colorful stunts over the black water.
They had left Apex almost twenty-four hours ago, resting only for food and gas. Gabriel’s shoulders had become numb. Bill smelled like he had just come back from playing football for five straight hours and forgotten to take a shower. But no one complained. They just drove with one thought in mind—save Agnes.
Bob didn’t answer when Gabriel called him from his phone, then from Emma’s, and finally from Bill’s. For the first two hours, the phone rang until it automatically disconnected. But after that it went straight to voicemail. He had switched it off. So Gabriel turned to Conor for help.
Gabriel opened his email and went through the seven Wi-Fi hotspots Tyrel used to surf PETA. They visited each one scattered around a three-mile radius in a big neighborhood called Old Louisville. The free hotspots were all located on busy streets. Must have been one of Noah’s lessons.
Gabriel could collect the CCTV footage from the time and date Tyrel connected his laptop to them. With a laborious method of elimination, he could find the car Tyrel used. The problem was, Agnes didn’t have that kind of time.
Unable to wait anymore, Gabriel called Conor.
“What’s taking so long? It’s just tracking a cell phone.”
“We’ve got the same judge to sign three warrants in one day. We’re requesting them like requesting refills. So he’s making me and my boss wait. After all, we didn’t tell him the whole truth, and I guess he’s onto us.”
“Can’t you somehow circumvent these rules?”
“I can, but there’s no use because I don’t handle computer nerds. They come from a different team, and their bosses won’t do shit without seeing a warrant first.”
“Ugh.”
“He will eventually sign it. Then the nerds will track Bob’s phone.”
“Thanks.” Gabriel hung up and went to plan B.
He dialed the only person who he knew wouldn’t have these pesky problems with following rules and explained the situation to him.
“Excuse me?” David said. “I’m still employed by the NYPD, and my expertise is needed on other cases. Cases for which I’m actually paid to work, I’d like to add.” Then he burst out laughing.
“I know being an asshole is like a hobby to you, but do it in your spare time, okay? Now use it to save a life, possibly three lives.”
“Ah… the oldest trick in the book. Guilt trip. You’re lucky it works on me. Fine. Shoot.”
“Triangulate this.” Gabriel recited Bob’s phone number and hung up.
David called back three minutes later. “Okay. I see that it was active, and then it was switched off thirty minutes ago.”
“Can you tell me something I don’t already know? Like the location of the cell phone tower it was last registered on.”
“It’s an area spanning just three streets.” David read him the address he’d found.
Gabriel almost cried in relief when the location ended with Old Louisville. Because this was also where the seven Wi-Fi hotspots were located.
Chapter 42
April 13, 2019. 07:41 P.M.
Old Louisville was a ghost of Victorian-era London. Intimidating brown mansions guarded the scarcely lit streets. If it weren’t for the cars, this section of the city would look like it got stuck in time, but the pedestrians were all young. Did these peculiarities have something to do with Tyrel choosing it to be his new home? The thought prompted Gabriel to do a quick search on his cell phone.
This location was apparently a historic district. Low crime rate, cheap rent, and the scenic environment attracted college students from the universities flanking the neighborhood on each side. Okay, that was smart on Tyrel’s part. No one hassled the undergrads. Local cops didn’t mind cars driving around at odd hours, and homeowners didn’t care about the weird noises from upstairs.
Gabriel put the phone on charger and stared outside again. The younger generation had brought diversity with them, giving rise to many multicultural shops, most of them restaurants and food stalls. The streets were clean, the walls had no graffiti, and Gabriel had yet to see a seedy character in an alley. Still, he couldn’t fully trust the innocence of the place. A mass murderer lived somewhere here, and they were cruising the area to find him.
Bill sat in the back with him, Beast perched in-between. Emma let out a contagious yawn once every five minutes. They were all tired, their bodies fighting against their will. They didn’t need baths, dinner, or comfy beds to rest. A really long blink would suffice.
They turned onto a quiet cul-de-sac called Park Avenue. It was one of the streets within the area in which Bob’s cell phone signal had been last recorded, the other two being South 6th and 7th streets.
Emma stopped at the end. “Now what?”
“Let’s—”
Gabriel’s phone rang. Victor. He unplugged it from the car’s charging socket.
“Yes, Captain.”
“You’ve received a box without a return address, here at the precinct.”
“I have?” Gabriel frowned.
“I put it through the scanner. It’s just a bunch of papers.”
Of course. It was Lolly’s case documents that Joshua had said he’d mailed to Gabriel.
“Oh, yes, Captain. That’s from my dad. Since my house is locked, the mailman must have dropped it at my workplace.”
“Okay. I’ll hold on to it until you return from your vacation. By the way, congratulations on getting your job back.”
“Thanks, Captain. Gotta go.” Gabriel hung up.
Before the worry about his father took a hold on his mind, he talked to Emma, denying it the chance.
“Let’s take a look at 6th Street again.” He looked at the GPS on the dashboard.
Emma sighed, reversed the car, and drove there, but nothing stood out. Everything looked like it had five minutes ago. The houses were similar and belonged in the nineteenth century. Gothic architecture and stained-glass windows creeped Gabriel out. But none were decorated with skeletons in a pre-Halloween zeal. No house had a banner advertising burgers made from special meat.
Should Gabriel call in Conor’s help, besiege the perimeter, and scour each property? No, that would be reckless and stupid. If Tyrel saw the flashes of blue and red light breaching his windows, he would disappear and be lost forever.
Emma stomped on the brake, twirled her head, and stared at Gabriel.
“Okay, we’ve been circling this place without an idea of what we’re doing. We can’t rub the tarmac with our tires and expect Tyrel to magically come to us. The road ain’t a lamp, and he ain’t a freaking genie.”
“I don’t know what else to do, Em.”
“Let’s try to find a nearby salon.” Emma turned back, pinched the touchscreen and zoomed out the map. “Men go there frequently, too, right? Even serial killers?”
“He is a hillbilly,” Bill said. “Aren’t they used to having their mommies cut their hair?”
In spite of Bill’s lousy joke, a bulb lit up in Gabriel’s brain.
“You are a genius, Em,” he said.
“I know.”
“I’m gonna search for local vegan shops.”
“But wait. That’s not what I suggested.”
“
For men,” Bill said, “buying food is more important than looking the part, sis.”
“It’s not that,” Gabriel said. “You get haircuts once every two months, but buy groceries much more often. The odds of a supermarket employee knowing Tyrel are better than a barber.”
Gabriel opened the GPS on his phone and found that there was only one vegan shop in the entire neighborhood. He gave the address to Emma. It was 1.3 miles from where their car idled. Emma floored it, and in under a minute she skidded the car to a halt in front of the shop. A blue neon sign above it read, SINLESS FOOD.
They piled out of the car and rushed to the cashier. The man’s hand disappeared under the table, and his posture stiffened.
“It’s all right. We are cops.” Emma showed him her shield.
The cashier scrutinized it, and finally his hand resurfaced and rested on his chest as he let out a heavy breath.
Gabriel showed him Tyrel’s sketch.
“Yes. That’s Mr. Mason.”
“Could you tell us if he comes here often?”
“He does. But he mostly orders online. What’s this about?”
“It’s a police matter,” Emma said.
“But you are not from here? You’re the NYPD?”
“Yes, we are,” Gabriel said. “Can you give us his address?”
If this guy was going to make him get a subpoena, Gabriel would drag him across the counter and punch him in the face. But he was only recently reinstated from a nasty suspension.
“We believe Mr. Mason’s life is in danger. He is in the witness protection program, and the mafia somehow found his house.”
The man stood there and scratched his chin with a thumb, eyeing Gabriel suspiciously.
“Aren’t marshals in charge of witness protection?”
Goddamn TV.
“I believe there is a leak inside,” Gabriel said, in a flat tone. “He was our witness until the FBI took him from us, hid him, and screwed everything up.”
“The Feds do that, don’t they?”
They didn’t, but now Gabriel thanked TV.
“All right. Give me a minute and I’ll bring him up.” The cashier walked over to an ancient computer resting on the edge of the table and typed something. “Please save him, because vegans are rare. Not everyone chooses not play a part in murder?”
“Murder?” Bill said.
“Of animals? You pay someone else to do it for you? That’s the only difference. Consumers are still major contributors to the sin.”
He then read them the address from the CRT monitor. It was on Park Avenue.
Chapter 43
April 13, 2019. 08:03 P.M.
Tyrel’s home was a narrow, two-story sandstone house surrounded by a purple hedge, and it had a garage. Tonight it was lit only by the half-moon and light from nearby buildings.
First they called it in and told Conor to have emergency teams on standby. Then they drove past the shady structure several times, before parking at a spot thirty yards from it. They climbed out of the Camaro and quietly pressed the doors shut, then snaked across Tyrel’s neighbor’s yard. Through a cleft in the hedge, they slipped onto Tyrel’s mown lawn. A staircase on the side of the house led to the balcony, where they located the front door. It was going to be a problem breaching that entrance. They should try the back.
They divided into two teams. Gabriel and Bill would go around the house, while Emma covered the front. Her only duty was to stand guard under the stairs, because she was the one with a gun.
Gabriel led the way in semi-darkness, and Bill followed closely behind. As soon as the backyard came into view, a quick movement in front of them froze Gabriel in his tracks. But it was just T-shirts and jeans hanging from a clothesline, flapping in the wind. He released his breath and continued forward.
The hedge was taller in the back, providing more privacy. They rounded the corner and found the backdoor. Gabriel hurried toward it and turned the knob, but it was locked. However, it was also thin.
He beckoned Bill over and whispered, “Jimmy.”
Bill crouched and disappeared into the shrubs.
Gabriel pressed his ear against the wooden door and heard muffled noises of a TV, some catchy tune, and whistling. His nose picked up something. He closed his eyes, tilted his head, and concentrated. It was a faint smell of garlic, chili peppers, and ginger with the whiff of… bacon.
What the—
Gabriel recoiled, frisking his hip. But there was no gun.
What could he do now? He was too late. Tyrel could very well be cooking Barnabas’s heart. Or worse, Agnes’s.
Gabriel knew he should feel terrified standing at the backdoor of a monster’s den, a monster that ate human flesh. But he wasn’t. He was indignant. There was no way he would fear a child murderer. Or let him breathe freedom.
Just as he decided he would ram the door down by himself, he heard leaves rustling.
Bill crawled out from the bushes with the steel tool, searching the shadows.
“What?” Gabriel said.
“It’s Beast, Detective Chase. He’s gone.”
“What do you mean he’s—” Gabriel said, louder, then brought his voice down. “You rolled up the window on your side, didn’t you?”
“Not fully. I cracked it just a little…” Bill’s eyes brightened. “Oh...”
“We don’t have time for this.” Gabriel marched to the door. “Open it.”
“No, my shoulders are stiff. Here.” He passed the jimmy to Gabriel.
Bill wasn’t a good liar. He was probably still embarrassed by the struggle he’d undergone to break open the cellar door in Apex.
Gabriel wedged the sharp end of the jimmy in a slit between the door and frame, a few inches above the knob. After using a controlled pull, applying diligent force at regular intervals, the steel lock splintered through the wood almost soundlessly.
“You smell it?” Gabriel said. “He’s cooking.”
“Um... okay?” Bill scratched his head and twisted one side of his face in confusion.
“Cooking?” Gabriel said again. “His food.”
“Oh, fuck me.” Bill’s eyes widened in fear.
“Follow my lead. Whatever you see inside, stay calm.”
Gabriel opened the door and slipped in, gripping the steel rod tighter as he went. The deeper they crept into the claustrophobic corridor, the more laden the atmosphere was with spices. If Gabriel didn’t know Tyrel’s food habits, he would be salivating. Now only his eyes watered while his mouth dried.
They came across a closed door. Gabriel listened to it for a few long moments, then quietly opened the door. It was the garage, but there was no car inside, just a weighing machine. It reeked of piss and shit, but there wasn’t a hint of disinfectant. Two crates were bolted to the ground, veal crates, but they were empty. Gabriel’s heart sank.
They resumed tiptoeing to their mark. At the end of the corridor, on the right, they found a flight of stairs going up to a partially open door. As they ascended, their shoes were illuminated by the light beaming from within. Here the TV was louder, the whistling more profound. The living room.
The air warmed and thickened as they strode up. It was so full of flavor that even Gabriel’s eyes sensed the chilli peppers.
When they were at the door, Gabriel could practically taste the meat. The ineffable feeling nauseated him. He had an iron stomach, but there was only so much a man could take. So he pulled a white handkerchief from his jeans and tied it across his face, covering his nose and mouth. Bill followed suit, and when Gabriel caught his gaze, he nodded.
Then he nudged the door open, and they entered.
Chapter 44
April 13, 2019. 08:17 P.M.
Gabriel hunkered down and crouched along Tyrel’s floor, with Bill on his tail. The living room was Spartan and void of decor. On the far left sat a sofa opposite a TV mounted on the wall. Beside the TV was a door, the one they’d outflanked. A partial wall stood on their immediate right. Both the whistling an
d the heat was coming from there. The kitchen?
Maybe Gabriel could sneak up behind the bastard and knock him out with the jimmy. He moved forward, ducking his head below the edge of the wall. When Gabriel was right under the opening, the whistling stopped. Shit. Had Tyrel spotted his unruly hair?
Gabriel slowed his breathing and gripped the steel rod tighter. The sweat on his palm disheartened him, making him question his command over the weapon. It might fly from his oily clasp if he took a swing.
But the whistling resumed. Gabriel exhaled, placed the jimmy down, and wiped his palms on top of his jeans before picking it up again.
A chair scraped on the floor, twice, and the whistling ceased for good. Tyrel must be settling down to have the special dinner he’d been cooking. Gabriel rose slightly and looked over the ledge.
It was a kitchen, all right. Shiny utensils were arranged in a cabinet over a stove. A man in a white T-shirt sat at a dining table, with his back toward Gabriel. He had a thick neck and broad, chiseled shoulders.
There was no mistaking it. The man was Tyrel.
In spite of the risk, Gabriel craned his neck higher to get a better view. Someone lay face down at Tyrel’s feet. A thin metallic object protruded from the back of his head. From his attire and hairdo, Gabriel inferred it was the same man who’d lied to Bill hours ago. Bob.
There was one more person in the kitchen with Tyrel—a naked, ruined man. Barnabas. He was alive, but only barely. A chain secured his neck to the wall behind him. He was missing half a leg, and a tourniquet was coiled around the stump. But the knee was still bleeding, drop by drop. A length of wet cotton rope lay near the gelatinous puddle and had absorbed some of the blood.
Barnabas’s blood-dripping chin slacked on his blood-smeared chest. A piece of meat rested on the floor. It was small, dark red, and triangular. What was it? Gabriel looked closely and almost gasped.
A tongue.
Gabriel observed Barnabas’s face again and found that his lips were missing, too, the red teeth giving out a creepy grimace.
But Barnabas was anything but smiling. He was crying like a wounded dog. Tears and snot dribbled onto his crotch. Gabriel wanted to puke. It’s one thing to see a week-old putrefying dead body being eaten by maggots—which Gabriel had on several occasions without batting an eye—but totally another to see an amputated and tortured man crying in an alien voice. Tyrel, on the other hand, was enjoying his meal, humming as he munched.
Inhuman: Detective Chase hunts an animal who protects his own Page 27
