by Blake Pierce
“I didn’t kill anyone. I’ve never killed anyone.”
“So, where were you last night?”
Clyde adjusted himself in his seat. Underneath the heavy lights, beads of sweat collected on his forehead. He flicked his hair back behind his shoulders.
“I was at home.”
“Convenient,” said Ella. “That’s all?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
“Not unless alligators can talk.”
“What about last Friday night?” Ella asked.
Clyde thought for a few seconds, then smiled mockingly. “Same again. In fact, I haven’t left the house for a couple of weeks now. Been too busy with my projects, if you know what I mean.” Clyde’s slimy tone sent a sudden rush of frustration through her, the same way an unexpected loud noise brings up a feeling of irritation and adrenaline at the same time.
“When you put on that fake machismo nonsense, you know it just makes you look more like a guilty man, don’t you? I’d drop it, if I were you. When we catch the person responsible, he’s going to prison for about four hundred years. Possibly execution.”
Clyde ignored her threat, but Ella decided to let the idea hang in the air. Finally, it was Clyde who broke the silence.
“Did you have a pet as a kid?” he asked.
Ella decided to humor him. The more he talked, regardless of the subject, gave an insight into his demeanor. “Yes. A dog.”
“Me too. Had him for twelve years. But then he got too old and I had to put him out of his misery. He was my first, if you know what I mean.”
He was trying to make her uncomfortable, she thought. He’d noticed how she reacted when he mentioned torturing animals and was doing the same again. She played the same game back.
“And since then you’ve gone through every species, culminating in humans,” said Ella.
“Wrong.”
Get under his skin, she thought. Get down to his level.
“All because daddy didn’t give you enough love when you were a kid?” she said. “Or was it the opposite? Was it too much love?”
Clyde snapped back in his seat, scraping the chair against the hardwood floor.
“How about you shut the fuck up, secretary?”
“Yeah, I read your police report before I came in here. Every night when daddy would come into your room, you’d pretend to be asleep, wouldn’t you? You’d hope that just for tonight he’d spare you. But he never gave you a night off, and they only got more brutal as you… loosened up, shall we say? You’d cry into the pillow until it was over, and the next day you’d go out and find a small animal to kill to claw back some kind of power in your own life. Wasn’t that how it went?”
Clyde’s eyes dropped to the table. He shook his head repeatedly.
“And poor old Clyde never quite came to terms with it, did he? That’s why he’s still out there now, even at his age, creating weird sideshow gaffs and taking his frustrations out on those people much more adjusted than he is.”
“Enough,” Clyde screamed, crashing his wrists against the table. A shrill clanging sound startled them both. “I don’t kill people, do you understand? I kill animals. I completely stay away from people. I try my hardest to be alone, because I know that I’m not fit to live amongst you types. Do you hear me? Why do you think I live like a fucking hermit? Because I want to?”
And through his rage, Ella saw something which she feared more than anything she’d seen so far. She saw the truth spilling out. Raw, primal truth being channeled via anger.
“Oh, and they’re not sideshow gaffs,” Clyde said through gritted teeth. “Gaff means fake. Mine are real. Don’t talk about things you don’t have any knowledge about.”
Ella let the room quiet down for a second. She let him calm, and almost conceded defeat. But then, an idea formed.
“If you’re not our perpetrator, then you won’t mind us showing you these photos?” Ella said. She dropped a folder onto the table and pulled it open. The photo on the top was of Shawn Kelly’s corpse draped on his sofa. “What do you think of this?”
Clyde peered at it, then looked away. “Disgusting. I don’t want to see that shit.”
“You have animals from Satan’s zoo in your house and you think this is disgusting?”
“I don’t like seeing dead bodies.”
“We think he’s copied Jeffrey Dahmer at this crime scene. You know who Dahmer is, right? The cannibal from,” Ella paused and pretended to think. “Iowa, I think. I dunno. Who cares, though? He killed gay black men. A massive coward, really, just like whoever did this.”
Ella knew Ripley was watching, but she also knew that Ripley would recognize the mind games Ella was playing. Ella concluded that Clyde was a loner with very few connections to the outside world. He couldn’t exactly spread the word around, and even if he did, who’d believe a guy like him?
“Sure, I remember him. Was this victim gay too?”
“Sure was.”
“Maybe he got what he deserved then.”
She let the remark pass, then pulled out the next photo. “See this? This is a local woman named Christine Hartwell. Familiar with her?”
“No.”
“Well, we think he was mimicking another serial killer here too, except the scene was so amateur we couldn’t really tell who. To us it just looked like one big mess. Maybe Dennis Nilsen, the gay guy from England? We’re not sure.”
Clyde shrugged and turned away. “No idea who that is.”
Next up was the crime scene photo of Winnie Barker, left bleeding in her bed. “What about Ms. Barker? In her eighties. Stabbed while she slept. Kind of a spineless move, don’t you think?”
Clyde examined the photo while Ella watched for any sign of guilt or remorse or delight behind Clyde’s dead stare. There was no emotion, just detached curiosity.
“Still alive in her eighties? Guess this guy did her a favor.”
“He was copycatting another criminal this time. Aileen Wuornos, the female serial killer from Florida. He didn’t pull it off quite as well as she did though. Sometimes you need a woman to get things done right, you know?” She was purposely giving Clyde erroneous information, trying to trip him into correcting her.
Clyde waved his hand at Ella. “Look, you’re talking at me like I know these people. I’ve told you once already, I didn’t do this. I don’t know who did this, and I don’t know the names of these people you’re throwing at me. That’s all I’ve got to say on the matter.”
Ella felt defeated, exhausted. She had to use all of her willpower to not reach across the table, grab Clyde by his dirty black shirt, and scream I know you did this, you son of a bitch.
The interrogation room door swung open, making Ella almost jump back in fright. Ripley entered with an intense look on her face. Ella had seen it before.
“Ms. Dark,” she said, “I need to speak you with you urgently.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alex had never really driven his Ford Focus outside of town before, but he’d drive it to the moon if it meant he could sell it.
The car was a wreck, serving only as an intermediary while he familiarized himself with the rules of the road. A year since its purchase, without a scratch or a dent to its name, Alex had decided to upgrade to something which might net him more street cred.
So when the anonymous bidder had told him he’d happily take the car off his hands, providing he could drive it to his house, Alex had jumped at the chance without a second thought. A quick search of the man’s address told Alex that he lived somewhere out in the sticks, and on the screen, things didn’t seem so treacherous. But out in the boonies, as the locals called it, Alex’s beat-up Ford struggled to cross the rickety ground into the bayou’s heartland. Houses were rare, and human life rarer still. Trees faded from green to yellow and the wildlife increased in size and hostility. He was still a mile away from his destination when his sat-nav told him it didn’t recognize the region he w
as in.
But Alex continued on, eventually entering the small town of Starksville. He felt the relief. Houses were scattered across the greenery in no particular pattern, so it took him a few minutes to find number eleven.
He knocked on the door. A flurry of footsteps sounded against a wooden floor inside. The door opened and Alex found himself starting at a man, mid-thirties, with jet black hair and a wry smile on his lips.
“Hey. I’m Alex, the car guy,” he said. For a second, the man hiding behind the door looked like he was staring at a ghost. He measured Alex up and down for a few seconds, the awkwardness not lost on either of them. Then the man’s demeanor quickly changed.
“Alex! Of course. Sorry, I forgot you were coming. Please come in.”
Alex stepped inside a home that was surprisingly modest, despite it being at least a mile away from civilization. “Wow, most of the homes around here are basically shacks. You’ve got a nice place here,” Alex said as he traversed the hallway into the living room.
“Thank you,” the man said. “Built it myself, actually. I like the solitude out here.”
“You’re lucky,” Alex said. “You must have some money.”
His living room was spacious, decorated in a sleek white finish to contrast against the home’s traditional wooden foundations. An oversized television took up one corner of the room. Beside them were some framed photographs of two young children.
“I’ve got enough,” the man said. “By the way, call me John. Can I get you a drink?”
“Oh, no thank you,” said Alex. “I can’t stay too long. My dad’s waiting for me to call him to pick me up, if you decide to buy the car.”
“Sure? I’ve got coffee, soda, maybe a beer if you want?”
“I’m good. Besides, I’m not old enough to drink beer,” Alex laughed. “I’m only nineteen.”
John’s face twisted into a snarl. “Well, you know it’s rude to turn down a drink, especially booze. That’s something they don’t teach you at school, I bet.”
The comment caught Alex off guard. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. I’m sure your beer is delicious.”
John took a seat on the other side of the room. He stared at the TV even though it was just a black screen. Alex felt the mood suddenly change.
“Anyway, the car,” he began. “It’s yours if you want it.”
“Great, thanks. I’ll need to test drive it first.”
“Sure.”
“Alone,” John added. “I don’t want you trying to hide anything from me.” It was worded like a joke, but all the necessary tonality was missing from his delivery.
Alex hesitated. “All right... Here’s the keys.” Alex pulled them from his pocket, and John reached over and grabbed the whole bunch in the blink of an eye. Alex began to feel a little uncomfortable. “Umm… you want me to just wait here?”
“Yes.”
Alex remained seated while John left the house outside. Through the living room window, he saw John jump into the Ford Focus without really looking at it much. The engine started up, but the car didn’t move.
All fell quiet. Alex used the time to casually inspect John’s home from his seat. John be incredibly trusting, Alex thought, leaving a stranger alone in his house. But what did it matter as long as he was able to shed that rusty old vehicle that barely drove a mile before a warning light clicked on.
Alex turned and looked into the kitchen. It was attached to the living room but separated by a makeshift bar, complete with whiskey bottles, tumblers, and Guinness pint glasses. Outside, he saw the car move for the first time.
Alex stood up to stretch his legs and idly inspected the kitchen. He came across a large glass patio doorway which led out into John’s backyard, although it was less of a backyard and more of a football field. The nearest house, a small single-room hut, was a mere blip in the distance. Alex saw that John already had two cars sitting inside a shack-turned-garage adjacent to his house. He couldn’t make out the models, but they had brand new plates. The question of why John would want to buy a beat-up old Ford ran through his head, but it was none of his business, he thought.
On the kitchen wall, Alex spotted a photo calendar. It was a family of four. Mom, dad, and two young girls. It was one of those personalized ones, Alex thought, casually flipping from November to December and back. A whole calendar of family pictures. How sweet. He remembered having one as a kid, back before his mom passed away.
But then Alex noticed something.
The man in the pictures wasn’t John.
He had no time to ponder the mystery as John came speeding back into view, parking the car in his backyard at a crooked angle between the house and garage. He hadn’t been long. Thirty seconds at most. Alex rushed back into the living room and took his original seat to give the impression he hadn’t moved. John came bursting in through the back patio door.
“She drives good,” he said. “I’ll give you a thousand in cash. How’s that sound?”
Relief filled him. Finally, someone wanted to buy his junk. “Deal,” Alex said. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“What are your plans with it?” Alex asked, making small talk while John disappeared into an adjoining room. “I see you’ve already got two newish cars.”
“Yeah. It’s for my son,” John shouted back.
Alex looked back toward the pictures on the TV stand, the calendar. He was no expert, but the children in the photos looked like girls to him. He thought best not to inquire.
“Oh, well, I hope he likes it.”
“I’m sure he will,” John said, returning to the lounge. Alex saw he had something gripped in his palm, but it didn’t look like money. “Listen, while you’re here, do you think I could try something?”
Alex froze up. “Like what? Something to do with the car?”
“No, not that. This might sound a little weird, but I’m actually an entertainer by trade. The wife and kids have been at the lake all week, and I’ve got a new routine I’ve been desperate to try.”
“You? An entertainer?” Alex asked.
“Yes, me. Why is that a shock?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You just didn’t strike me as the type. What type of entertainer?”
“A magician.”
“Wow, that’s cool. You don’t want to saw me in half, do you?”
“Not exactly,” said John. “Look, I’m doing a show tomorrow night and I really want to include this new piece, but I haven’t been able to practice it with anyone. Can you spare five minutes before you head home? I know it’s a strange request, but you can probably see that I can’t just call my neighbor over.”
This was the last thing Alex expected, but it would be a funny story to tell his friends. Besides, who was this guy? He wasn’t Criss Angel, but he might be a famous magician he’d never heard of. “Sure thing. What is it, a card trick?”
John opened up his hand and a pair of handcuffs fell out. Alex felt a twinge of discomfort. “Uh, what the hell is this? Why do you want to handcuff me?”
“Not you,” John said. “Me. I’ll do the whole thing. Look, inspect them.” John held up his hands to show they were empty. “Nothing in the hands, and perfectly normal cuffs, right?”
Alex picked up the cuffs and looked them over. He wasn’t really sure what was considered normal and what wasn’t, but he played along anyway.
“They look fine to me.”
“Good. Now cuff me.” John turned around and stuck his hands behind back. “Go on. Slap them on me and pull them tight.”
Alex stood up from the sofa, fiddled around with the handcuffs until he figured out how they operated, and then attached them in place. He squeezed them so the metal was flush against John’s wrists.
“Done, I think.”
“Good. Now watch this.” John turned around to face him and began to wriggle his arms around behind his back. John creased his face, closed his eyes, and reopened them when he heard a clink. Slowly, he pulled o
ne arm free. Another clink, and the handcuffs fell to the ground beside John.
“Ta-da.”
Alex thought it best to feign interest. The trick was hardly groundbreaking. He expected something with a much more satisfying payoff. There was something weird about this guy and Alex didn’t want to stick around to find out any more about him. “Wow. Did you pick the locks or something?”
John reached down and picked up the cuffs. “No, nothing like that. A magician shouldn’t reveal his secrets, but honestly, this trick is so simple it doesn’t really matter. Anyone can do it.”
“Oh right. Well, let me know where you’re performing and I might come see you.” Alex said, not even trying to hide his desire to get out of the house. There was something about middle-aged men doing basic magic tricks that was universally unsettling.
“Here, let me show you.” John launched toward him and maneuvered behind him. Alex resisted as he pulled his arms back, but John held onto them with an iron grip.
“No, it’s fine. I really need to be heading back.”
“It will only take a second. Look.” Before Alex could move away John had snapped one cuff on Alex’s wrist. Alex tried to shake it off, but before he could, the second cuff was on. The sudden lack of mobility in his arms sent a violent wave of panic through his nerve endings. He jigged his wrists around ferociously to try and free himself.
“This isn’t funny,” he shouted. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Relax,” John said with a smile. “Here, I’ll show you the trick. It’s easy.”
Alex felt John’s breath on the back of his head. Close up, he smelled like dirt. “How do I get out? What’s the trick?”
Alex felt John’s hand caress his scalp. Alex froze in a state of confusion. Maybe this was part of the trick, he thought.