Pump Fake

by Michael Beck

  "Someone's in it deep," said Cap.

  "No. It's just a misunderstanding."

  Cap patted me on the shoulder. "You go right on telling yourself that, son. Now, excuse me. I think I need to try more of that chicken. It may taste like shit, but who cares?"

  I moved through the crowd towards Decker and Liz.

  A hand grabbed my arm like a vice.

  "Hey, Coach," I said.

  He was wearing a black suit that was probably a good fit thirty pounds ago. I felt like taking a step back, as the buttons on his vest seemed like they were going to pop at any moment and take out the nearest person's eye. His tie was already undone and his shirt collar open. He appeared flushed and uncomfortable. "The Dolphins," he said.

  "What?"

  "The Dolphins. The medicos tell me Troy should be right for the last game of the regular season against the Dolphins. Start working towards that, okay?"

  "Have you told him?"

  "No. I want him hungry. I want him to come out in that game like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. I want him ravenous, hear me?"

  "I think so. He's going in some eating competition, right?"

  "Have him ready. Our season is on the line. We need to win to guarantee a place in the play-offs."

  "Gee, no pressure. Thanks, Coach."

  He slapped me on the shoulder so hard my arm tingled. "That's why we get paid the big bucks, boyo."

  "So people keep on telling me." I said to Coach's back as he disappeared into the crowd. What would Decker's reaction be when he heard? Relief? Joy? Excitement?

  I watched him from a distance. As he talked to Liz, his hand kept touching her arm, his eyes were fixed on her face and his body leaned towards her. How he felt was as plain as day.

  Liz I couldn't read. She smiled, nodded, laughed and talked. But that was Liz. She was always easy and natural, and when someone spoke she focused on them entirely. Liz always made you feel like you were special, valued. That was her gift.

  Mine was making people feel like crap. And I was good at it.

  I went looking for Jade and followed the loud music into a small room off the foyer, where a DJ was set up. There was a small dance floor, and laser beams and a flashing strobe light that threatened to send the epileptic crazy. Only two people were dancing, as most of the guests were still arriving and chatting in the foyer. Bob and Jade.

  I stood at the door, not quite believing what I was seeing. For fourteen years Jade had been like a block of concrete, mute and silent. Now she was smiling and dancing? Holding hands, they spun and twisted through some dance that Bob must have taught Jade. In the flashing strobe light, the girls in their shimmery evening dresses were like something out of a dream. Jade was laughing, and her long, blonde hair swirled around her as she swayed from side to side.

  I don't how long I stood there before I became aware of someone standing next to me. "Hi, Liz."

  "That's amazing. I would never have believed it without seeing it."

  "I see it and I still can't believe it."

  "I need to talk to you."

  I took a breath. That kiss. "Yes, we do."

  "About Troy."

  "Troy?"

  "Yes, he's been acting really strange the past couple of days."

  "Oh, that."

  "Yes, that." She regarded me oddly. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah. Has he said anything to you?"

  "Said anything? Are you kidding? I'm lucky to get a grunt out of him."

  "I found out there was someone else at the cabin that weekend."

  "Who?"

  "Kyle King."

  She gave me a puzzled glance. "That name sounds familiar."

  "It should. He's running for the Senate."

  "That Kyle King? He was there? Are you sure?"

  "Positive. He and Troy grew up together in Leadville and they were very close. For some reason the three boys kept quiet about the fact that Kyle was there the night Ashley died."

  "Why would they do that?"

  "I don't know. Decker still denies he was there, but I have proof."

  "All right, but that can't be what's making Troy upset. If King was there, Troy always knew that."

  "You're right. I found something."

  "What?"

  "Ashley Hunter's panties."

  "What? How did you find them after all this time?"

  "Maxwell had them."

  "Why did he have them?"

  "That's a very good question and one that Decker never asked me."

  Liz turned away from me. She was staring across the room at Troy, who was still talking to Davis and Hawk. "Did you find anything?" she finally said.

  "The panties were torn and stained. I sent them to a lab for testing."

  "Do you think Ashley was assaulted?"

  "It seems more than likely."

  "By who?"

  "That's the sticking point. Franklin and Ashley are dead. Maxwell still sticks with the original story and King denies he was even there."

  "You spoke to King?"

  "Ah huh."

  "That must have gone down well. Something like this would kill his election chances."

  "Yes, I don't believe I'm too popular in the King camp."

  "Why would the three boys cover up the fact that King was there? Especially if he did something wrong? Remember, Troy was dating Ashley. He wouldn't let anyone get away with hurting her."

  "I agree. That's why it's got me stumped. You need to talk to Decker and get him to open up."

  "I've tried. It's like a wall goes up when I try to talk to him about it. But you'd know about that. You're an expert at that."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know exactly what I mean. You put a wall up around your time in Afghanistan and about your parents' death and refused to let me in."

  "You wouldn't have wanted to be there, Liz. It wasn't a nice place."

  "That wouldn't have mattered. I wanted to be wherever you were."

  "I didn't know even where I was, Liz. How could I take you there as well?"

  "Because you loved me."

  Her words silenced me.

  "You've caught Cupid. It's over. Can you let me in now?" Her eyes and voice wouldn't let me go.

  "I'm not sure it is over."

  "But he's dead. You can move on."

  I thought of Bailey's memory book and the note he received in prison and hesitated.

  Liz stepped away from me, shaking her head. "You can't let it go, can you? Even now you're not willing to admit you've caught your parents' killer. You need it. It's all you have. You don't want to move on. Avenging their deaths has become your only reason for living. You'll never let it go. Well, I can't live like that, Tan. I can't live with death. I want to be alive. I'm sorry for you, Tan. Truly sorry." She backed away from me.

  I stood, stunned by her parting words.

  "Cupid didn't just take your dad's heart, Tan. He stole yours too."

  CHAPTER 66

  Bob came back with me that night and we made love. Ferocious, passionate, almost animalistic sex. I don't know if how I responded to her was because of what Liz had said. Perhaps I was trying to refute her words and prove I was alive. That I did feel.

  Afterwards, Bob lay watching me, her chest rising and falling deeply as she regained her breath. "You okay?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "You're not normally that...intense. I wasn't sure if you were making love with me or at me."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I'm not complaining. It was a wild ride. I'm just not used to seeing you like that."

  Bob drifted off to sleep and I lay there listening to the wind and rain buffeting the Winnebago. That was one thing I liked about living here. A house sheltered you so much you often had no idea of the weather outside. It was like living in a cocoon. In the Winnebago I felt every gust of wind and every sprinkle of rain. It was like a living thing. I liked that.

  I wondered if that's why I had come back to the Winnebago tonight. I had broken
my own rule by bringing her here. Had I done it because of what Liz had said?

  If I had, it was pretty lame. It proved nothing. Except my stupidity.

  I slipped out of bed, being careful not to disturb Bob. She rolled over, muttering, and I placed my hand on her naked back until she quieted. After covering her with a blanket, I opened the safe under the shower and sat in the passenger seat watching the rain striking the windscreen. I turned on the small dash light and contemplated what I held. Father Bailey's memory book. I had never handed it over to the police. Now that he was dead, there seemed even less point in doing so.

  I flicked through the drawings of the victims. So many of them. And all so young. I wondered if he did the drawings before or after he killed them?

  In some drawings, the children's' hands were extended, imploring. Had they been begging for mercy? If so, they received none. Primeval fear shone out of eyes frozen wide-open. They looked so small and defenseless.

  So many of them. Every child made me think of Lucy and Jessica.

  So much death. A wave of guilt, horror and sadness engulfed me. If only I had solved the case earlier. Why hadn't I ever investigated Bailey years ago? If I had, many of these young children would be where they were supposed to be, asleep in the warmth and security of their homes, instead of lying sightlessly in freezers in the morgue.

  At least some justice had been done. Father Bailey was dead.

  I closed the book, went to set it down on the dash and hesitated. A white edge was peeping out from underneath the leather cover. I peeled the inside of the leather cover open and a folded piece of paper fell on to my lap.

  I opened it. Another drawing. Like the others, it showed a girl kneeling, holding her hand up in entreaty. Unlike the others, another figure was in the picture. Seen from the back, it was a tall, shadowy man. In one hand he held a knife. In the other, a heart, dripping blood.

  The drawing had been done in pencil, shaded as if the man and girl were in a cave...or a cellar? Was this Bailey himself, about to take another innocent victim?

  I studied the girl's face. Which one was she, I wondered. The first? The last?

  I frowned as I noticed something in the top corner. Like the rest of the drawing, it was shaded in, but the shading seemed to have a shape. As I studied it, I realized it showed a man's head, peering around a corner at the dark man.

  I went to the table, picked up a magnifying glass and turned on the table lamp. It was a man all right. The drawing was too indistinct to identify him, but I could see his mouth was open in horror or fear. Around the man's neck there seemed to be a faint lightness. I looked closer. It was a white collar. A priest's collar.

  Who was the dark man the priest feared?

  * * * *

  "What's always stuck in my craw is how a guy with Alzheimer's can commit all these murders and never be caught. Father Bailey has a goddam memory book and we're supposed to believe he planned and executed sixteen perfect murders. It just doesn't compute." I threw Father Bailey's memory book onto the small table where Bear and Faith sat. Mole was busy typing away, following some lead down on his computer while Francine kept us warm with carbon monoxide fumes.

  Bear began to flick through the drawings of the victims. "Why has he got a memory book with all the teenage victims in it if he didn't kill them? Do you think it's a setup?"

  "No. The handwriting and drawings are definitely his. But why are only the teenage victims in his memory book? If he was trying to keep track of the people he killed, why aren't there any adult male victims in it? Have you listened to the police interview?"

  "You mean the one where he confesses?"

  "But that's just it. He doesn't confess. You have to listen closely. Here, I wrote it down." I opened a pad. "He said, 'I killed my angel.' Not angels but angel. He's confessing to only one murder, not all of them."

  "Angel, angels. That's all semantics," said Bear. "The man's confessing. That's all that matters."

  "But he's not confessing to what we think. Listen to the other stuff he said during this so called confession. He said, 'I didn't mean to', 'I couldn't help it', 'they all died', or 'they were hurt'. He never actually confesses to all of the murders. He only admits one."

  "Tan, that's just because his mind is so irrational. What he actually said doesn't mean anything. You're picking over the quotes from a madman and looking for reason. But there isn't any. Bailey was fucking insane so you can't look for any sense in his words."

  "I think Bear might be right here, Tan," agreed Faith.

  "That's where you're both wrong. His words do make sense. You just have to look at it from his perspective."

  "You mean from the perspective of a psychotic, insane madman?" said Bear. "Sorry, but I don't have that much imagination."

  "No, I mean from someone suffering Advanced Familial Alzheimer's. He couldn't remember the names of the victims, so he said to check his book. That was true. And do you remember the only victim's name he could remember in full?"

  "It was the boy, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, the only male, child victim, Jesus Fernandez, who the police still haven't been able to trace. Don't you think it's strange that he killed one boy and then all girls? Remember, Bailey had been questioned about interfering with altar boys before. Why would a guy who has a fixation on young boys start killing girls?"

  "Because he hates them. Perhaps he was once knocked back by a girl before he became a priest? Because of a million reasons that we'll never know. Who knows what goes through a sicko's head?"

  "No. Sexual predators don't operate randomly, Bear. They are sick fucks but their sickness is very specific. Bailey admitted killing one child, one angel. That was the boy, Fernandez. He said the other children were hurt and he hated burying them. He never said he killed them."

  "So, what are you saying? You think he was working with someone? That he wasn't acting alone?"

  "Perhaps."

  "So you're talking about someone who was able to plan and commit eighteen murders? Someone who planned every murder so that the evidence would point at Father Bailey? A person who happens to know every intimate detail of Bailey's life? A person who knew that, because of Bailey's Alzheimer's, he would take the rap for the murders? Do you know how unbelievable that sounds?"

  "There's something else about this unknown person you didn't say."

  "Oh? What was that?"

  "This person didn't just know Bailey. Bailey also knew him. How else to explain how he was so comprehensively set up?

  "Bailey was dangerous. Not because he was a serial killer, but because he was dangerous to the real Cupid. The real Cupid wanted Bailey dead because they knew each other and, if Bailey remained alive, he would weaken the evidence Cupid had planted. No one had more to lose if Bailey lived. And that explains why Father Bailey received that letter urging him to commit suicide."

  No one spoke for a while.

  "That has been a mystery," conceded Faith.

  "Who would want Father Bailey dead more than an accomplice?" I said.

  "I don't know... How about you try eighteen sets of parents? And then add in brothers, sisters and cousins of all the victims? For that matter, how about yourself?" said Bear.

  "Yes, but none of us would know what buttons to push to make Bailey kill himself. The reference to his father in the letter. No one would know that but someone who knew him closely."

  "It would explain how a priest with a distinctive build and poor memory was able to pull off so many murders undetected," said Faith slowly.

  I held up the drawing I had found in Bailey's memory book. I pointed to the tall dark figure holding the heart and knife.

  "This is the guy we have to find. Look at Bailey in the drawing. He's terrified of him."

  "That's interesting you mentioned the girls," said Mole, who had been working on his computer the whole time.

  Faith said, "Why?"

  "I was going to mention it the other day but, after Bailey confessed, felt there was no need."

/>   "What about the girls?" I heard the edge in my own voice.

  "Well, you know how we could never understand how Cupid picked the girls. I mean apart from them all being young teenagers, they didn't seem to have anything in common."

  "So?"

  "Well, I found something in common. It probably doesn't mean anything, and it is only something small."

  "What is it?"

  "All of the girls had been on detention."

  "What? You mean like at school?" said Faith.

  "Yes. You know, for missing classes, smoking in the john, not doing their work, that sort of thing. They'd all had detention sometime during the school term when they died."

  Complete silence greeted this, until Bear whispered what we were all thinking. "They were all bad girls."

  It all fit in some crazy way.

  "Cupid kills a bad girl and then a good man," Faith said slowly. "He takes the heart out of the bad girl and puts it into the body of the good man."

  "Why?" said Bear.

  "To atone for the girl's badness. To save her."

  "These kids were late to class, they weren't evil."

  "They were to Cupid," I said.

  "So he kills a good guy to atone for the evil of the girl? That doesn't make sense."

  "It does if you're a sick fuck like Cupid," said Faith. "That's why he uses the thurible and holy water. It's like something sacred to him. Like what do you call it...?"

  "A rite?" I said.

  "Yeah, it's like a holy rite. He places the bad girl's heart in the good man's body in some twisted, religious sense of atonement."

  "And not because he just enjoys it?" said Bear.

  "Yeah, that too," Faith quietly agreed.

  Bear said, as if thinking aloud, "So, the question is how did Cupid know these girls were bad? How did he know they had detention? They were all at different schools, weren't they?"

  "Yes," said Mole. "But if I found them, any decent computer hacker could too. We're only talking about a high school computer system. Fourteen-year-old boys have been known to hack into them to change their grades."

  "So you could check each school's computer server system to see if there has been any unauthorized access?"

  "Easy." Mole was already typing away.