by Elle Gray
He looks at Blake for a long moment then nods, seemingly mollified. Good thing Blake’s here to smooth any ruffled feathers. He annoys me though. Marston seems like a guy who’d be on one of those anti-government compounds out in the middle of nowhere, screaming about taxes and his freedom, if he weren’t here, making money hand over fist at a bar in one of the most expensive— and heavily taxed— areas in the country.
In other words, the man is a hypocrite with values that shift in whatever way he deems convenient at the time. He’s a man who doesn’t truly stand for anything. He just pretends to.
He burns a copy of the footage and pointedly hands it to Blake, rather than me. And I thought I was petty. Before we turn to leave, I have a thought and look down at Gary.
“How long do you keep your security footage?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Indefinitely. Doesn’t take much to store it digitally.”
I nod. “Can you do me a favor and burn us copies on five other dates, please?” I ask, doing my best to sound ingratiating. “Just between the hours of seven and midnight. It’s just to bolster our case. I want to be sure we make it ironclad.”
Gary looks at Blake, who gives him a soft smile and a nod. After receiving permission, he turns back to me.
“Okay, what are the dates?” he asks.
I give him the list of dates, and we wait quietly as he burns copies of the footage for us. When he’s done, he hands the discs to Blake again, and I give him a nod.
“Thank you, Mr. Marston,” I say.
We’re heading out the door when his voice stops us. We turn back to him, and he’s got his head cocked and a thoughtful expression on his face.
“You know, you should talk to Sean. He’s the bartender out front,” he says. “He and Doc talk sometimes. He might be able to give you a name.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Marston,” Blake says.
“Thank you.”
His expression is solemn. “I helped you because I think you’re wrong, and I want y’all to see it for yourselves,” he says. “Just do me a favor and don’t ruin the man’s life. He’s one of the good ones.”
“We won’t, Mr. Marston,” Blake says. “You have my word.”
Thirty-Two
Outside of the Arrington Residence; Ballard, Seattle
“Dr. Jekyll”
Everything was going fine. Everything had been great, actually, until that prick stuck his nose where it doesn’t belong. Who does Paxton Arrington think he is? He’s nothing. He’s a wannabe superhero who runs around like he thinks he’s Batman or something. He’s not fighting crime. He’s a narcissist who only does what he does to see his name in the papers. To make people adore him. Stroke his ego. Tell him what a great and amazing man he is.
He’s not even a man. He’s nothing. He’s a spoiled rich kid who thinks the world is his and he can do whatever he wants. Paxton doesn’t know sacrifice. He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel absolute soul-crushing pain. He’s never tasted loss and suffering. Not like I have. And I doubt he’s ever actually loved anybody in his miserable, privileged existence, let alone had them tear his still-beating heart out of his body.
He. Is. Nothing.
I pace back and forth on the sidewalk across the street from his condo. It’s a tall red brick building in the middle of a gentrified neighborhood that now only caters to the super-wealthy. He puts on an act like he’s one of the people. His time in the SPD was a good act; I’ll give him that. It was almost convincing. But he sleeps in his ivory tower, never knowing what a simple life, a humble life full of deprivation and sacrifice, actually feels like. He’s never wanted for anything. He’s had everything handed to him on a silver platter.
So why is he trying to take everything from me?
It’s because he’s never had to work for anything. I had to work for everything and for every dollar I have. I had to suffer through miserable days and nights, even going hungry, to get to where I am. I earned everything I have. But not him. No, not Paxton Arrington, prince of Seattle.
Women throw themselves at his feet. They will do whatever he says because they want the lifestyle and status being an Arrington will give them. And they know if they displease him in any way at all, he’ll toss them out onto the street. His fancy lawyers would make sure they got nothing.
And so they remain loyal to him out of fear. Not because they love him. Not because they’ve learned the lessons I’m teaching the women of this stinking city and have become enlightened. They remain true to him for fear of losing all of the material possessions they hold so dear.
I’ve never had that luxury. I’ve never had any luxuries in life, other than what I earned with my own blood, sweat, and tears. And I’ve certainly never had the luxury of having a woman who was faithful to me. I will, one day. But not until my lessons have spread far and wide and women everywhere come to know the importance of fidelity.
I’d had high hopes for Marcy Bryant. I thought she was different. I thought she understood what I’m trying to accomplish. Thought she understood me. But I was wrong. When I saw her come out of Arrington’s building, with his lackey in tow, I saw the truth: she’s a whore, just like the rest of them.
She betrayed me, just like the rest of them. Instead of loving me like she should have, she’s busy spreading her legs for a man totally unworthy of her. For a man who won’t appreciate her like I can.
I didn’t think Marcy was like that. I didn’t think she would trade material comfort for what could have been one of the world’s greatest love stories. And I would have loved her. I would have given every piece of my soul to her. Given her a life she couldn’t even have imagined in her wildest dreams. I would have given her everything.
But now, all I’m going to give her is a lesson. One she should have learned already, one I thought she already knew. It’s clear I was wrong about her, and now she needs to learn what I have to teach her. It breaks my heart, but it must be done. It’s for her good and the good of women everywhere. Infidelity has consequences, and the sooner these whores learn that lesson, the better this world will be for everybody.
Thunder crashes overhead. A moment later, a brilliant, angry bolt of lightning splits the sky. It’s as if the heavens are channeling my mood. It feels like judgment. Justice. I’d warned Arrington to stop hunting me, but like the arrogant narcissist he is, he failed to listen. So I came here tonight to kill him and only ended up with nothing but a broken heart and shattered dreams. Again.
I realize now I should have killed him and the blonde woman outside the Schooner when I first saw them. But I waited. I figured it would be easier to kill them in his home. No witnesses that way.
I suppose, in a way, I should be grateful. Had I not tailed them here, I would never have seen the truth about Marcy. I would have gone on believing she was different from the others. Would have opened up my world to her, only to have it blown apart all over again.
So maybe I should thank Paxton for showing me the truth.
I’m still going to kill him. And I’m going to make sure he feels my pain. I’m going to hurt him in ways he’s never even conceived of. As a surgeon, I’m intimately familiar with the human body. I know exactly how to cause the most pain while doing the least amount of damage.
I’m going to take my time with him. I’m going to draw this out. I will make him howl in the most exquisite agony. And only when I’ve wrung as many screams out of him as I can, will I give him the mercy of death.
And only after forcing her to watch me kill her lover in such excruciating agony, only then will I kill Marcy. I have not yet decided whether to make her suffer for the pain she’s caused me, or whether to be merciful because of how much I care for her. I suppose I can decide that when the time comes.
It will be a lesson for the world, a lesson in what happens when you do not heed my warnings. A lesson for anyone who chooses to cross me.
Soon.
Thirty-Three
Arrington Investigations; Downtown Seattle
“Dr.
Jekyll”
The night has grown gray and gloomy. A storm is lashing the city. Brilliant spears of lightning arc through the sky and rain pounds on the windows like a million fists beating on the glass. I don’t recall when we last had a storm so violent, but it almost seems like a portent of what’s to come.
After finishing up with Marston down at the Schooner, we picked up Nick and Marcy. I figured she’d want to get out of my place to stretch her legs for a bit, as well as want to hear what we’ve learned. Once we hit the office, we started sifting through the information we picked up and checking it against the data we already had.
It actually turned out to be a more fruitful endeavor than I originally thought. So long as my gut is right— and I’m just about one hundred percent sure it is— we have our killer. The sense of excitement sizzles through me with the intensity of the lightning cutting through the air outside.
Armed with the name David, given to us by the bartender, the first thing I did when we got back was to go through the entire list of suspects again. He wasn’t on mine or Brody’s list, but when I combed through Blake’s list, I found him. I look at his face on my tablet screen and recall the image from the video. Obviously, with the graininess and obstruction in the security footage, an exact match is impossible. But I know this is the guy. I can feel it.
I punch a couple of buttons on my tablet, and the monitor on the wall lights up with the identification photograph from the Swedish Medical Center, the hospital where he works. I study his face for a moment, taking in his dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. He’s got a friendly face. I’m sure he’s charming. He’s educated and cultured. And as a surgeon, I’m sure he’s a man of means. To look at him, you would never suspect such evil lurks beneath the surface.
He truly is the living embodiment of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
I turn back to the table behind me. Blake, Brody, Marcy, and Nick are all seated on the other side, facing me. Amy lingers in the doorway, curiosity etched into her features. They’re all staring like I’m about to give a lecture, and they’re waiting for me to speak.
“This is Dr. David Tucker. Never married, no children. He grew up poor in Toppenish. Worked his way through school, excelled academically, moved to Seattle for both undergrad and med school at UW. By all accounts, an excellent student. Obtained grants and scholarships to help get him through med school and has become one of the premier cardiothoracic surgeons at the Swedish Medical Center in Ballard,” I tell them. “This is also the man who, to date, has murdered six women in the city.”
The only person to react is Marcy. She shudders, and her expression darkens as she looks at the picture. But she says nothing. I look over at Brody, and he pulls up a map of the city, overlaying it with a series of colored lines that criss-cross all over the place, leaving a big, colorful mess. They all look at it curiously.
“I’m kicking myself for not thinking of this at the outset of this investigation, but a few days ago, I had Brody start hacking into the cell service providers—”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Blake interrupts.
She smiles at me, and there’s a ripple of nervous laughter around the table. Brody looks at Blake and shrugs, a wide smile on his face. He does love showing off. Of course, if I had his talent and skills, I might be tempted to show off a bit as well.
“Anyway,” I say. “These lines all represent the GPS location data for all of our victims. As you can see, none of these women frequented the same places. A couple of them might have visited the same stores on different days, but these women all obviously ran in different circles and different areas. Agree?”
Everybody nods, and when I cut to Blake, I see the realization dawning in her face. I can see she’s kicking herself for not thinking of it sooner too.
“The nexus is the Schooner,” she says.
“Thanks for stealing my thunder,” I quip. “And yes, the only place all six women visited, the only place all of them had in common, was the Golden Schooner Tavern.”
“Okay, but how can you connect Tucker to all of the victims?” Marcy asks.
“Excellent question,” I reply. “And the simple answer is, I can’t. Not in a way that wouldn’t get tossed out of court for being circumstantial.”
“That’s why you asked Marston for the security tapes,” Blake states.
I nod. “The dates I gave Marston correspond to the dates the women were in the Schooner, according to the cell data,” I say.
“And guess who was there the same night as the victims?” Brody asks.
He punches a few keys, and the image on the monitor blinks out and is replaced by five still images for the security footage from the bar. In the frames, we can see each of the murdered women. Brody hits another key, and the images are replaced by another set of stills, each of them showing the man we believe to be Tucker.
“He’s sitting in the same spot every time,” Marcy observes.
Blake nods. “You were right. He knows that’s a dead spot,” she says. “Wouldn’t surprise me if we found out he tampered with the cameras himself to create it. There’s no way those images will ever hold up in court.”
“I’ve gotta be honest, boss,” Nick pipes up. “I can’t even be sure the guy in those pictures is the same as this David Tucker.”
“There’s also no way you can prove he killed them,” Amy chimes in. “Just because he was in the bar the same night the women were, unfortunately, doesn’t prove anything.”
I nod, having expected the objections. “It’s all circumstantial, I know,” I reply. “But it gives us a place to start. It gives us a viable suspect.”
Everybody nods in agreement, so at least I’ve got that going for me. I look at Blake and see her puzzling through something in her mind. I know it’s probably trying to figure out how we’re going to make a case against this guy.
“So how does Marcy tie into all this?” Brody asks. “Is she in danger?”
“I think the short answer is yes,” Blake replies. “For some reason, he’s become fixated on her.”
“I think I know the reason,” I say. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t really see it until now, but look at her. She’s pretty similar to the victims.”
Marcy’s face colors as all eyes fall upon her. Blake is the first to look back to me with a dumbfounded expression on her face.
“How did we not see that before?” she whispers.
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” I reply.
“I don’t see it,” Marcy protests, a nervous tinge in her voice. “They were all tall and athletic. I’m short. I’m not athletic.”
“You’ve got a great figure though,” Amy says with a smile.
Marcy smiles back at her, but she can’t hold onto it. Her expression shifts back to one that’s grim and afraid.
“But with the dark hair, eyes, and fair skin… you’re similar,” Blake notes.
“I think it’s more than that though as well. That she was the first to give him the attention and validation he craves was a big factor,” I add. “I think for this guy, the fact that she looks somewhat similar to his original trigger is a bonus.”
“He’s fixed on you, Marcy,” Blake says gently. “And he’s unpredictable. Until we have a bead on him, I think it’s best if you lay low and stay out of sight.”
“Yeah, okay,” Marcy replies. “Wonderful. Just how I imagined spending this weekend. Getting stalked by a serial killer.”
She lets out a groan and props her elbows up on the table, then buries her face in her hands. I know she never asked to be part of this. This is taking a huge emotional toll on her. I feel bad for her. But the only way to bring this to an end is to put this guy down once and for all. And we will.
“So, what are we going to do?” Brody asks.
“Nothing yet. Though I don’t believe I’m wrong, I want to get some hard intel on this guy before we actually do anything,” I reply. “Until then, I want you to stay with Marcy, Nick. I think e
ven with the security detail I hired, having a familiar face will make it easier on her.”
“You got it, boss,” he says, giving me the finger guns again.
I’m just about to tell him the next time he does that, I’m going to rip his fingers off, but Marcy gives me a look that could curdle milk.
“I’m sitting right here,” Marcy says. “You can refrain from talking about me like I’m not in the room anytime now.”
I laugh. There’s that fire and spirit she’s been missing. It’s good to see.
“So how are you going to go gather intel?” Blake asks.
I give her a wide smile. “I’m sure you don’t want to know the specifics.”
“Wonderful,” she groans.
“I do have one very perfectly legal part for you to play though,” I offer. “You willing to play lookout for me?”
“Sounds like I’m better off not knowing.” She grins. “Yeah, I’m in. One hundred percent.”
“Good,” I nod. “Brody, can you hack into the hospital database to see if you can get a schedule on Dr. Tucker?”
“I’m on it.”
I look over at Marcy, who looks frustrated, angry, and terrified all at the same time. I give her an encouraging smile.
“This is all going to be over soon,” I tell her. “We’re going to nail this disgusting creep.”
“Promise?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
Blake gives me a look, and I know it’s because we should never make a promise to anyone, anywhere, for any reason. But what can I do? Marcy looks like a lost little girl right now. All she wants to do is report the news— not be the news. It’s not her fault some psycho has developed some freakish fixation on her.
And I really do believe we’re going to get him. He may not feel it yet, but the walls are definitely closing in on him. We just need a few more pieces to finish putting this puzzle together and bring this to an end.
I’m going to nail Tucker. And that’s a promise I’m making to myself, to Marcy, and to the memory of Stella Hughes.
