by Whitley Gray
Other than getting his jollies by stirring up a snake’s nest of bad memories for Zach? The best tack would be refusal and put the issue to bed. But Zach deserved to make the decision. “Can you hold a moment, or would you rather I called you back?”
“I’ll hold if it’s brief.” The lawyer sounded pained.
Beck put the call on hold. “Zach, I’ve got Edward Day on the phone.”
Zach brushed powdered sugar off a shirt Beck recognized as belonging to himself. “What happened? He heard about Perny?”
Just cut to the chase. “Darling saw the broadcast last night and wants to talk to you.”
The color drained from Zach’s face. He set the doughnut on a napkin. “Why?”
“Day won’t tell me. He insists on discussing it with you. Are you willing to talk to him?”
Zach’s eyes were black holes in the white of his face; he looked like something ghastly had materialized in the room. “I’ll talk to him.”
Beck took the call off hold. “Mr. Day? Here’s Dr. Littman.”
“Littman.” Zach sounded a hell of a lot calmer than he looked. “What can I help you with, Mr. Day?” He paused for a moment. “Is that right? What is this information?” Another pause. “I don’t see how—” Zach shoved his free hand in the pocket of his khakis and paced. “Your client has no legitimate way of—” He scowled. “No. I’m sure you are.” Zach listened and nodded. “I realize that.” With exasperation he said, “Yes. I know.”
There was a long break in Zach’s side of the conversation, and his lips pressed together in a hard line. A little steel filled his tone. “I find that hard to believe… That may be, but there’s no way he’s taking a field trip.” This time the pause seemed to go on forever. “I’ll speak with Detective Stryker and let you know.”
Zach ended the call and returned the cell to Beck. “That was interesting.”
Sounded like the wrong word. “What did he say?”
“Darling has information about the Follower, and he’ll only give it to me.” Zach’s voice was even, but the pallor persisted.
“Sounds like a circle jerk. Why would he tell you anything?”
“I’m not sure he will.”
Cautiously Beck asked, “Are you going to go?”
Zach’s expression became determined. “I have to.”
“Why?” Seeing Darling would be a time suck, not to mention an emotional drain on Zach. The cost would be much higher than a few lost hours and a tank of gas.
“Because if I do, he’ll give us Carrie Schemmel.”
“I CAN GO by myself, Beck.” Zach didn’t need a chaperone for Supermax. I’m an FBI profiler, for God’s sake.
Beck shook his head.
Zach felt the weight of Beck’s disapproval. Darling had become a real quantity instead of a theoretical one.
“Remember what happened last time?” Beck’s tone had an edge of worry.
“What about it?” Zach snapped. Right away he regretted it. Beck was concerned, and judging by the dark circles, he hadn’t slept any better last night than Zach had.
“What if…that…happens again?”
“That” being Zach’s need for a shower and sex with Beck immediately after last visiting with Darling. “It won’t. Day will be there, along with someone from the DA’s office.”
“Okay, so why can’t I be there?”
“There’s no need. You’re head of the task force, and Denver is where the action is.”
“We have no idea where the Follower is right now. None. He could’ve gone back to Omaha for all we know. I don’t have to physically be here. I can stay in touch by phone. I’m sure SJ would cover.”
The truth was, Zach didn’t want Beck along. Zach had made a dark promise he wasn’t proud of. Something for Darling. No way did Zach want Beck to witness that morally murky promise in action. Zach took a deep breath. “Marybeth and the boys might need you.”
Beck’s face read no fair, a mix of hurt and anger. “They know I’m there for them. Just like last night.”
“How about a video feed from the prison? Would that work for you?”
“You know—whatever. Do whatever you want, Zach. That seems to be the way you operate these days.” Beck yanked open the door and stalked out.
Zach slumped in a chair. That had gone well. At least Beck wouldn’t be touched by the evil that was Xavier Darling. Focus. Call Day back and make tracks for Supermax. Oh, and don’t mind deserting your principles along the way in return for Carrie Schemmel’s body.
* * * *
“Um, Beck?”
He looked up to find Richfield standing by his desk. “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“I, uh, I did find a couple more parking tickets in that six-block radius of the house in Sunnyside.”
“Good. What’ve you got?” Beck gestured for Richfield to take a seat.
Richfield folded himself into the chair and held out two printouts. “I don’t know how useful these might be. One is an RV that was parked too close to a fire hydrant. It’s licensed in Iowa. The tags are current. Belongs to a woman named Olga Vabalas.” Richfield paused. “There are no Vabalases in Iowa right now. Or Denver.”
“She could’ve moved.” Beck tamped down his frustration. The Follower wasn’t driving an RV to commit murder—too memorable. “We’re looking for a personal car.”
Richfield nodded. “I’m just trying to be thorough.”
Be patient. “Sure. What’s the other ticket?”
“It’s a blue four-door sedan. It had no plate—just a handwritten temporary in the back window—like you’d make for a private sale?”
“I know what a temporary tag is, Owen.”
“Right. The citation was issued about six weeks ago. Then two weeks ago it was ticketed as abandoned. Since a lot of students live in that area, it looks like they were waiting a little longer before confiscating it, but—”
“Give me the distilled version.” Beck wanted to throw the kid back into patrol.
“It’s in impound.”
Beck wasn’t sure he heard right. “Our impound?”
Richfield nodded vigorously.
This could be one of Perny’s murder mobiles, not moved because Perny wasn’t around to relocate it. “We need to treat it as a potential crime scene. Was there a registration in the vehicle?”
“I don’t know.”
No surprise there. The kid couldn’t detect his way out of a paper bag.
“But I can find out. So…find out and call you?”
“Yeah. Wear gloves, shoe covers, and a hair cover when you check for the title, and get the lab down there. Have them move it to their garage. And Owen?”
“Yes?”
“Good job.”
Richfield blushed and gave him a shy grin. “Thanks, Beck.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The road to Supermax stretched over rolling hills and red dirt. A guard tower punctuated the purple backdrop of the Rockies. Supermax was as advertised: situated on a unremarkable plain, few obvious physical features, festooned with spirals of scalpel-sharp steel. The outside revealed nothing about the inner workings—which was one of the reasons it was secure.
That, and the world’s largest repository of razor wire and electrified fence.
Zach yanked off his belt and tie, slipped off his jacket, shoulder harness, and SIG. He put them in the locker assigned by the Supermax corrections officer. Without the weight of his weapon, the prison had a foreboding feel—the heaviness of potential threat.
As if concrete and literal miles of razor wire weren’t off-putting enough? He clipped the visitor’s pass to his shirt pocket and clutched his legal pad, pen, and envelope of papers. The preapproved digital recorder was in his pocket. After another pat down, he was cleared to go.
The guard negotiated the hallways toward the center of the complex, toward the control unit, toward the interview room and evil. Zach had confirmed the use of maximum-security precautions: an impenetrable barrier, fu
ll-body restraints, and multiple guards.
Their footsteps sounded loud on the concrete. Neutral walls, neutral floors, and the ever-present odor of industrial-strength cleanser.
It seemed like any other prison—except for the silence. No general population here, no cell mates. All single-person soundproofed cells. The quiet was more unnerving than the cacophony of a lower-security institution.
The CO paused, stared into a camera, and another set of electronically activated doors swung open on a gray hallway. No windows, no marks on the walls to give a sense of getting somewhere. The air was colder—almost like walking into a cave. His heart ran a little faster.
It’s a building. No reason for claustrophobia.
“The attorneys are already here,” the CO said over his shoulder. “And the prisoner is secured.”
Good. No waiting.
The guard stopped outside an open steel door. “This is it. You’ll hit a Speak button to activate two-way communication with the prisoner. There’s a Mute button for the visitor. If you want to talk among yourselves without him hearing, hit Mute. You’ll still be able to hear him unless you push End. Then neither party hears the other. Clear?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Zach chewed on his lip. Is this our security? One guard against a maniac?
As if reading his mind, the CO said, “The door won’t be locked. I’ll be right outside in the hall. Five other COs are in the entry behind the prisoner’s chamber, but he’s…very secure.”
“Good to know.” Zach took a deep breath and stepped inside.
ADA Rhys Nementhal sat at a table along with a gray-haired man Zach took to be Edward Day. Beyond the table was the expected Plexiglas wall. And beyond that was Xavier Darling, six feet five inches of ebony psychopath. As on Zach’s previous visit, he was chained to a chair.
There the similarity ended.
Jesus. In the chamber, the seat appeared to be part of the floor. Shackles immobilized Darling—neck, waist, wrists, and ankles. Encircling him at a two-foot clearance was a wire dome, like a giant birdcage. Tiny blue lights blinked at intervals, indicating the power was on. A warning sign stated DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE.
An electrified bell jar. Deadly? Or just a deterrent?
In restraints and navy-blue scrubs, Xav looked thinner. A white smile split his face; his mouth moved with mute words, ending with what had to be a kiss. The hair stood up on Zach’s neck. No matter what, Darling was still a malignant, dangerous creature, psychologically as well as physically.
Zach forced his attention to the table. To Rhys he said, “Good morning.”
“Nice to see you again, Doctor.” Rhys stood. She’d worn a sky-blue suit, which somehow looked too naive for a prison visit. She indicated the other man. “This is Edward Day, Mr. Darling’s attorney.”
“Hello, Dr. Littman. Thanks for coming.” Day offered a manicured hand, and they shook. “I’ll be directing my client as to whether he can answer your questions.”
Pointless. Nothing Darling said would worsen his punishment; five consecutive life sentences left no doubt about the possibility of parole. After the Perny debacle, Day should be falling all over himself to assist in catching the Follower. Or maybe that gentleman didn’t yet know what the boy wonder had been up to.
Rhys and Day reclaimed their seats; Zach took the chair on Rhys’s right.
“Feel free to begin, Doctor.” Day waved his hand at the speaker controls.
Zach hit Speak.
“There you are, Dr. Littman.” The voice was still melodic, still a basement-deep bass. Still chilling. Darling gave a wicked grin. “How’ve you been?”
No pleasantries. This was Zach’s interview. With a serenity he didn’t feel, he said, “I got your message.”
“Thanks to Mr. Day.” Darling attempted to lift his left hand, but the restraint held. He pointed his forefinger. Day ignored the gesture. “I saw your TV special last night.”
“I heard.”
“Your Follower sounded…familiar.” Darling shifted as much as he could with the chains and cuffs. “He reminds me of…me.”
Yeah, because you helped him become what he is. Distaste curdled Zach’s stomach. “In what way?”
Darling focused on Rhys. “What do you think, little girl blue?”
Rhys stiffened. Zach hit Mute. Using his legal pad, Zach blocked Darling’s view of his profile. “Don’t let him push your buttons. Just ignore his patter.”
“I’ll try,” she whispered. Zach nodded and lowered the notebook.
Why hadn’t the DA’s office sent someone more experienced? Darling could nettle someone who’d had twenty years’ experience, let alone a green ADA. He hit Speak.
“Who does he remind you of, Dr. Littman?” Darling’s expression indicated exaggerated curiosity.
And this is just the beginning. Darling wanted a playdate at their expense. Zach fought the urge to leave. They should have started with Schemmel. “Who is he, Darling?”
“He’s a fan, don’tcha know.”
Zach knew all too well. “Tell me about your ‘fan.’”
“You tell me. What…does…he…do, I wonder?” Xav tilted his head to the side. The pitch-dark eyes gleamed.
“Don’t you know?” Zach asked.
“Give me the official interpretation.”
It shouldn’t happen. Not even in exchange for the remains of a lost girl. “He takes their hearts. Like the girl in Omaha.”
Darling gave no indication of knowing the girl was Vicki Hightower. “What else?”
Guilt made him break out in a sweat. It was unethical to do this. It went against all his training to bargain with this monster, to feed him the details he craved, all in hopes of locating a dead girl. Zach made himself say, “He takes a finger.”
“For a necklace?” Darling sounded like he’d won a prize.
I hope to hell not. “I don’t know.”
Darling laughed—a booming, bone-chilling rumble. It echoed around the room like a horror show. Zach hit End, abruptly shutting off the maniacal mirth.
It was disgusting. He turned to Day. “This won’t work.”
“You can’t be finished,” Day said. “He hasn’t stated the girl’s location.”
Zach held up the notepad again, blocking his face from Darling’s view. “Serial murder isn’t some sort of parlor game, and I’m not going to treat this meeting as a sideshow for his amusement. We don’t need your client to tell us about the Follower. We have other leads.”
“You promised the photos in exchange for information.” Day’s supercilious expression matched his words.
“And he promised actual information. So far I have nothing.”
“May I suggest you offer the photos now?” The man didn’t seem disgusted by his client’s request. Zach wanted to pop him in the nose.
“No, you may not. This is my interview, Mr. Day. You’re here to protect your client’s rights, not to orchestrate the discussion.”
Day looked nonplussed. “You’re here at my invitation.”
“Wrong. You’re here because your client offered information about the Follower. Knowing that might not be enough to get me here, Darling promised the location of Carrie Schemmel’s body. Now I’m here, and your client is playing games.”
Day regarded him with dislike. “I can’t force him to give you anything.”
“Then we’re done.” Zach stood and turned toward the door.
Darling screamed.
The Plexiglas wasn’t enough to mute the inhuman bellow. The barrier shivered with the sound waves. A chill ran up Zach’s spine. The CO posted outside the door strode in. “If he doesn’t quit, we’ll have to end this.”
From the back hall two guards entered Darling’s chamber and inspected the area. One CO brandished a Taser and appeared to bark orders at the prisoner.
Visibly distressed, Rhys gathered her things and moved to the door. “My God. He’s…he’s flipping out.”
Day’s complexion had turned the color of tapioca. He
looked from Zach to Darling, who stopped yelling long enough to bare his teeth at his counsel. Day jumped to his feet, grabbed Zach’s arm, and said, “Don’t leave.”
Walking away was easy; prying information loose was not. The Schemmels deserved closure. But no way was Zach conducting this interview via innuendo and riddles. He shook off Day’s hand. “Then direct him to answer.”
Day hit Speak. “Mr. Darling.” The yelling stopped. “Dr. Littman will stay if you answer his questions as we discussed. Acceptable?”
Sweat glazed Xav’s bald head and arms. Nostrils flared. He shook his head, and droplets went flying. Zach imagined he could hear the sizzle of perspiration hitting the electric cage. Darling glowered. “Acceptable.”
Zach took his seat. The CO nodded and left.
“Don’t you leave.” Darling’s chest pumped, air rasping in and out. “We just begun, Dr. Littman.”
Xav’s diction was falling apart—a sure sign of stress. Calm was necessary to get through this. Zach wanted to stall, not present the photos right away. In a neutral voice he asked, “Who is the Follower?”
“Now that’d be giving you the whole shebang, don’tcha know.”
“Tell me something about him.”
“He likes to count.”
Zach’s heart stuttered, and he managed to rein in an expletive. Darling knew about the numbers. Only the killer and law enforcement were privy to that detail. “Sometimes. But I already knew that. How does he choose them?”
“He’s a collector.”
Of what? Hearts? Fingers? Darling seemed to be the only common denominator. “What is he collecting?”
“Those deserving the blade.” Solemnly, Xav nodded.
Icy fingers wound around Zach’s chest. Darling knew what was in the Follower’s poem—the one packaged with the heart and sent to Minneapolis.
Those deserving the blade will cleanse the Other’s sin.
Darling had knowledge only the killer or the police had. Where had he gotten this intelligence?
“Your turn,” Darling said.
“You knew two of the victims.”
For a moment Xav considered. “That ain’t new. That don’t count as your turn.” In a stage whisper he said, “Try…a…gain…Doc…tor Litt…man.”
