Kill Game

by Francine Pascal

  “Fingerprints?” Gaia asked.

  Catherine nodded at Gaia’s question. “Plenty. Again, all the boy’s. We had a few minutes when we got excited because Will found a partial that was from a different hand.”

  “It’s the father.” Will shook his head. “Back to the drawing board.”

  “Anything else?” Gaia was in the grip of a sinking feeling.

  “Not really,” Will told them. “No footprints. No identifying marks anywhere. Plenty of fibers and chemical samples everywhere, but that’s taking a long time to process.”

  “Guys,” Kim called out, pointing at the big projection screen on the wall. “Look at this.”

  Gaia and the others looked up at the screen.

  On the left a negative image of Nathan Hill’s wall came into focus. They could see now in white against black the jagged, dripping letters that spelled SAVED—and the cross painted above it.

  “Go ahead,” Kim told the technician he’d been talking to. She tapped her fingers on her computer keyboard.

  On the right-hand screen another negative image appeared. It was much smaller, and the contrast was more washed out. But it showed a very similar image: the word SAVED and a jagged cross. That’s the new one, Gaia realized. From the old man’s apartment.

  “Can you bring them together?” Kim asked.

  The technician did what he’d asked. The two images moved together, their sizes adjusting until they overlapped in the center of the screen. By now most of the technicians were watching.

  “Well?” Will asked.

  “The same,” Kim said firmly. “The same handwriting. The same person.”

  “You’re sure?” Gaia asked.

  “What? Oh, absolutely,” Kim said quickly, pointing at the screen with a pen. “Look at the downstrokes. Look at how the drips go—the cross stroke of the A smears the blood on the left side. One person did both.”

  But we knew that, Gaia thought impatiently. She admired what Kim had done, and she saw the logic behind it. But it didn’t get them any closer to solving anything.

  “Agent Sanders,” another technician said suddenly. He was a tall man with a close-cropped afro and gold-rimmed glasses. “I’ve found something.”

  Gaia and the others gathered around. The man was carefully holding up a microscope slide.

  “Well?” Kim asked.

  “Some kind of red powder,” the man said excitedly. “We thought it was dried blood, but it’s not. It’s got impurities, but it’s basically a consistent compound. It’s not organic—not food or bodily material.”

  “Which crime scene?” Gaia asked.

  “Both,” the technician said triumphantly. He was holding up another slide. “We just got this from the Kaufman murder. It’s the same stuff. Personally, I’d say it was clay. Some kind of red clay.”

  Red clay? Gaia thought in confusion. Red clay? What does that mean?

  “Any ideas?” she asked the others. They shook their heads.

  Suddenly they heard a rapping sound from the direction of the door.

  “May I come in?”

  Gaia looked over and saw Special Agent Jennifer Bishop.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Bishop said. She was wearing an impeccable business suit with her FBI identification badge clipped to her lapel. Her dark red hair was combed flat as usual. “I just wanted to drop by and see how you’re all doing.”

  “Hello, ma’am,” Catherine said in a forced-sounding cheerful voice. Kim, Will, and Gaia all said hello.

  “Making any progress?” Bishop asked casually, gazing around at the technicians and their machines. “You all look so busy.”

  “We’re not sure, ma’am,” Will said, in his patented aw-shucks southern manner.

  “You’ve certainly got all the data under control,” Bishop was saying to Catherine. “I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks, ma’am,” Catherine said sullenly. She was rubbing the bridge of her nose, as if the traces of her hangover were refusing to go away. “It’s not like it’s doing a lot of good.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Agent Bishop said teasingly, casting her eyes down the rows of computer screens, the stacks of crime scene photographs, the microscope slides. “Actually, I’d say you’ve got everything you need. You could solve the case right now just from the information in this room.”

  Kim and Catherine were staring at Agent Bishop. “But we can’t find anything,” Catherine burst out in frustration. “I’m sorry, but I can’t see any patterns, any information, anything.”

  Agent Bishop smiled peacefully.

  “‘I once was lost,’” she recited quietly, “‘but now I’m found. I was blind, but now I see.’”

  “Is that a clue, ma’am?” Kim asked.

  “No,” Agent Bishop said. She was looking at her watch. “Just some advice. The bell’s going to ring in two minutes. Make sure all your data’s safe in the computers.”

  And then, with a parting glance at Gaia, Agent Bishop turned and walked out of the room. When the door was shut, Catherine slammed her fist against the lab table.

  “Easy,” Kim said. “Take it easy.”

  “I can’t,” Catherine said. “I’m frustrated. We’re not getting anywhere.”

  Will had come over to Gaia. He was standing close to her, a look of concern in his eyes.

  “Hey,” Will said. “You all right?”

  Gaia shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe. What’s it to you?”

  “I’m your colleague,” Will said quietly. “Remember?”

  The bell went off. It was as loud as usual. With a loud clicking noise every computer screen in the room went off all at once. Fluorescent lights in the ceiling began buzzing to life. The technicians put down what they were doing and began filing from the room.

  “Gaia,” Will said. She looked at him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s go for a drive.”

  It wasn’t what she was expecting him to say. Catherine and Kim were putting their notes into file folders across the now-empty room. Gaia looked up at Will’s ice blue eyes, and suddenly she felt enormously tired—tired of clues and orders and ticking clocks and computers and the whole ordeal. And he realized that, Gaia thought. He knows I need to get away. He’s actually being the “gentleman” that I thought he only played on TV.

  “What do you say?” Will went on. “Just a drive into town. To relax and get away.”

  “All right,” Gaia said, sighing. She was reaching to take off her shoulder holster, which was rubbing painfully against the back of her neck. “Yeah, good idea. Let’s get the hell out of this place.”

  OLDEST, LAMEST TRICK

  The sky was darker and still overcast, and rain seemed likely. Gaia stared at the gray clouds through the blue-green strip of glass along the top of the windshield of Catherine’s car.

  Will was driving. They weren’t talking much. He seemed to understand that she just wanted to think.

  And I don’t need to be alone, she thought. Not necessarily.

  Usually when Gaia felt like this, she went off to spend time by herself. She had done it just yesterday after round 1 of the game, when “the body of Nathan Hill”—just a latex dummy, she knew, but what difference did it make?—had reminded her of Jake. Years ago, in that other life, she had spent time in Central Park, looking for low-grade criminals to attack.

  Agent Malloy was right, Gaia thought, watching the houses and trees pass by the car. I thought I was “doing good” back then, but I wasn’t, not really.

  Gaia was slumped in the car seat, her knees against the dashboard. She and Will had changed out of their trainee outfits and back into regular, comfortable clothes. Glancing over, she watched his hands on the steering wheel, strong fingers gripping its rubber surface.

  This time, in daylight, as they passed the mowed field near the edge of town, Gaia had a clear view of the World War II memorial statue. In the bleak, fading, overcast light, she could clearly see the bronze soldier’s tired, brave face, his eyes
shaded by his wide, round helmet. The sculptor had managed to convey the strain in the infantryman’s limbs, the unimaginable weight of battle on his wide shoulders, the burden that pressed his heavy combat boots into the soft mud of Normandy or Italy or Iwo Jima or wherever this nameless soldier had fought and, maybe, died.

  The soldier’s rifle barrel held a bouquet of white roses. Gaia remembered that from last time. The wide, blooming white petals opened to the sky, as simple and beautiful as notes of music.

  Now, after another half hour of aimless driving, Gaia felt a little better. Will still hadn’t said a word. They both looked over as they passed Johnny Ray’s, not yet open for business, and Montano’s steak house, where a chipped plastic sign advertised Special Bar B Q and Surf & Turf Shrimp Special.

  That’s where Will proved how good he is, Gaia thought, remembering two days before. Had she really been that consumed with being “better” than him? Was their competition really so meaningful? Gaia wasn’t sure now. They continued through the town, and Gaia looked at the cars and newspaper machines and pickup trucks and papers blowing in the breeze beneath the overcast sky.

  This is a real town, she thought with some satisfaction. Not like Hogan’s Alley. This place makes Hogan’s Alley look like Disneyland.

  That was a bit of an exaggeration, but it was essentially correct. The stage set where they played their game was a thin, pale imitation—a drive through a genuine American town made that clear.

  “A little dose of reality,” Will said, letting out a long breath.

  Gaia looked over at him with her head leaning on the car’s window.

  That’s not the first time he’s done that, she thought. Read my mind somehow.

  Will glanced over, saw Gaia looking at him, and quickly turned his attention back to the road. Gaia did the same thing, self-consciously sitting up, turning her attention to the buildings outside the car’s windshield. They were passing a small apartment complex with a row of cars parked in front. The building was low and wide, the kind of place Gaia could only imagine living in if she couldn’t find a stand-alone house. The apartment complex had a row of fenced-in tennis courts, their red clay surfaces framed by white painted lines, behind the—

  Wait.

  “Stop the car,” Gaia told Will.

  “What?”

  “Stop. Look over there.”

  Gaia pointed. Will followed the direction of her arm and then stepped on the brakes. The Altima lurched to a stop, and a driver behind them honked angrily. Will waved and quickly pulled out of the street’s traffic lane and over to the curb.

  The bunding had tennis courts, and they were surfaced in red clay.

  Red clay.

  “Well, don’t that beat all,” Will said quietly.

  “This is it,” Gaia whispered. “This is the next clue. This is part of the game.”

  Will frowned at her. “Gaia—come on. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look where we are,” Will said patiently. “We’re on the far side of Quantico. We’re nowhere near Hogan’s Alley.”

  “So?”

  “So how could this be a clue? We’re not even on FBI property.”

  “We weren’t on FBI property,” Gaia said slowly, “when they pulled that stunt with the restaurant gunman. You remember: you were the big hero of the hour. It was your moment of—”

  “Okay, smart-ass, I get your point. Continue.” Will smirked

  “And we weren’t on FBI property at Johnny Ray’s when two agents were watching us either.”

  Will was clearly thinking. He stared out the car window at the clay tennis courts. Then he slowly reached to shut the engine off and pulled the parking brake.

  “So … assuming you’re right, what do we do?” Will asked skeptically.

  Gaia thought about it. She wasn’t sure what the answer was.

  “We wait,” she said quietly. “We sit here and we watch the building. And we see who comes in or out.”

  Will squinted. “Are you sure?”

  “Not really. I’m waiting for your brilliant idea that will make me look dumb.”

  Will closed his eyes in mock resignation. “AU right, all right, Ms. Moore—I concede the point. Just trying to make you laugh,” he said. “You’ve got these little dimples that appear when you laugh—I’ve seen it before.”

  “I don’t have any dimples.” Gaia could feel her face reddening, heating up. “Honestly, Will, I don’t know where you get this stuff.”

  “Come on, you must like me a little,” Will said, smiling. His arm was still along the edge of the car seat—Gaia was suddenly aware of his thick upper arm muscles just inches from her Tshirted shoulder. “I can’t be all bad. And you were looking at me before, ma’am—I caught you at it fair and square and you might as well admit it.”

  “What?” Gaia was almost sputtering her objections. “That’s the most—”

  “Remind me never to move to New York,” Will said, squinting and grinning as he turned his face away. “If all the girls are like you, the boys must have prematurely gray hair, and I like my hair the way it is.”

  “Okay,” Gaia said. “Okay, I admit it. I think you’re all right. I think you’re very smart, for one.”

  “And I’m a handsome devil,” Will said, smiling maddeningly. “You might as well admit that part, too. Look how close to me you’re sitting right now.”

  “Conceited is what you are,” Gaia said. “It’s amazing. We’re in a car—there’s nowhere to go.”

  “Fine, but I’m not conceited. I’m truthful,” Will argued. “I mean, should I act like you? The way you go around pretending you’re not beautiful?”

  “What?” Gaia had no idea what to say to that. Somehow she was having trouble thinking clearly or breathing regularly—and it made her even more frustrated with Farm Boy. “Don’t change the subject. Anyway, you’re the one with the arm on the car seat. Didn’t anyone tell you that’s the oldest, lamest trick in the book?”

  “I’d heard that,” Will said.

  Gaia was looking into Will’s blue eyes from just inches away. Somehow she had moved her fingers up to brush against his chest. He was staring right back, and as he did, his hand moved, and his fingers gently grazed across her shoulder, through the smooth cotton of her T-shirt. Distantly, Gaia expected herself to flinch. But she didn’t.

  Will brushed the hair from her neck and ran his fingers across her cheek. Then his face moved closer, and before Gaia even allowed herself to think, she let hers move closer to his.

  “Stop that,” Gaia murmured.

  “You first.”

  Their mouths came together smoothly, gently at first, slowly, and then more firmly. Will’s left hand came up onto Gaia’s shoulder, his strong arms pulling her forward as the kiss grew deeper and deeper. Gaia’s eyes were closed, and with Will pressed against her, a trace of his aftershave in her nostrils, and his strong chest pushed against her, she felt like her entire body was softening, going more and more limp in his arms. Now Will’s hands were delicately framing her face, gently brushing her hair back as he kissed her again more powerfully and then pulled back. Her eyes were open now; their faces were pressed together, forehead to forehead, her hands on his wide shoulders, his forearms resting on either side of her long neck.

  “Well,” Will murmured. His eyes were very close; she could feel his eyelashes brushing against hers. “Interesting development.”

  Gaia didn’t know what to say.

  “Does this mean we’re not ‘colleagues’ anymore?” Will asked.

  “I’m not sure I’d—Oh my God.”

  “What?” Will seemed startled. “It was just one kiss; it’s not—”

  “Look,” Gaia whispered urgently. She was squeezing Will’s shoulder, pointing past him out the car window at the apartment building.

  Will turned and looked. Crouching her head down, Gaia could see into one of the second-floor windows. The window was partially shaded, but the room behind the shad
e was brightly lit.

  Shadows were moving on the blinds. Gaia and Will could clearly make them out.

  A hulking male figure. Holding something menacing—the shadow was blurred, but it could have been a knife or a gun.

  Cowering before the huge male shadow, a smaller figure. Pretty clearly female—Gaia could make out the shadow of a ponytail.

  It’s happening, Gaia thought. This is it—the killer is in there.

  “Come on,” she snapped at Will, pulling on his sleeve. “Come on, let’s go. This is it—this is the third murder.”

  “What?” Will was squinting incredulously at her. “Gaia, wait—that doesn’t make sense. Now? While we’re watching?”

  “We staked the place out,” Gaia argued. “It makes perfect sense—it’s exactly what Bishop would do. What did she say? I’m blind, but now I can see? I can see it, Will. It’s happening.”

  “I don’t know.” Will seemed agitated. He was rubbing his neck, squinting up at the building. In the window the menacing male figure was moving again—drawing closer to the female silhouette. “I know how badly you want to win, Gaia. But this is just—Look, can we at least call the others?”

  “Come on,” Gaia snapped impatiently. “We don’t have time and you know it. Look, he’s hurting her.”

  “What?” Will was looking at her quizzically. “Gaia, it’s just a game . Even if you’re right, what can a few minutes—?”

  “No. We’ve got to stop the crime,” Gaia explained impatiently. She was practically hopping up and down in her seat. “Kim explained it to me. Look, are you coming?”

  “Gaia, think about what you’re doing,” Will said patiently. “The red clay doesn’t prove—”

  “Fine,” Gaia said. Turning away, she got the car door open and vaulted out into the street.

  Come on—time to move fast, Gaia told herself, propelling her body up onto the sidewalk and over to the Truro Apartments door. She tried to open it; it was locked. After shaking it back and forth she slammed her fist against the glass. The glass broke loudly and Gaia reached through the opening and twisted the knob, getting the door open.

  Then she was racing through the dusty, badly lit entryway and up a narrow flight of linoleum-covered stairs toward a wooden apartment door that had to led to the room she’d been watching. She banged on the door.