“This will all blow over. Trust me. Soon as folk find something else to complain about, you’ll be back. The ice cold bitch. Who thought I’d ever miss her?”
Ron gave Lucy a complimentary pat on the shoulder. She responded with an unconvincing, half-hearted nod.
Ron saw the doubt that lingered in her eyes. “You’re gonna keep seeing him,” he deduced. “Seeing Pryce. The same asshole who cheated on you. Geez, Lucy. You got a death wish?”
“He’s not the man he used to be.”
Lucy took out her car keys, and inserted the bulky one in the driver’s door.
“No he’s not,” Ron said disdainfully. “Now he’s a filthy rich, cheating asshole. You think you’re anything special to that guy? He’d screw any woman daft enough to fall for him. Like Sophie Gallier. Remember her - the girl who drowned in his pool? You could be right about Fitzroy not being the killer.”
Lucy stopped, key half turned. “You still think Adrian’s guilty.”
“Or a target. Neither scenario bodes well for you, does it?”
The car door unlocked with a clunk. Lucy pulled it open so fast she almost knocked Ron over.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked. “Bug the guy’s house? Go through his e-mails?”
“I want you stay the hell away from him before you get killed!”
Ron yelled so loud a nearby tramp looked up from this collection tin. Before Lucy could climb into her vehicle, Ron placed an obstructive arm across the door frame.
“Fake gun or not.” He lowered his voice to a quiet - but firm - whisper. “You were there for him. He saved your life, you saved his. Now you’re even. You don’t owe that nerd a god damn thing. If the killer is still out there, let the rest of us catch him. You go home and chill out. Enjoy your suspension. Okay?”
“Okay,” Lucy said grumpily.
Ron gave her a warning stare, then lifted his arm away.
“And don’t take any of Pryce’s calls,” he said. “His safety’s a police matter now.”
***
A fierce argument could be heard from the apartment above Lucy’s. An irate man chastised a distraught, whimpering woman. A bottle smashed, she sobbed, and everything went quiet. Lucy took no notice of the disturbance. Sprawled across her sofa, she leafed backward through her photo album.
“Police have named the hostage taker as James Fitzroy,” Kristina Malloy said, “a name my regular viewers will recognise.”
Wrapped in a maroon cloak and flowery scarf, she presented her evening news report from the Taurus Studios roundabout. Her head filled the centre of the television. Vibrant light from the screen splashed across Lucy, adding multicoloured patches to her shirt.
“Many will agree Fitzroy was a disturbed individual,” Kristina continued, “especially after my interview with him this morning. But nobody could have imagined the horror he would inflict. However, thanks to the efforts of our city’s finest, the strangler’s campaign of terror is finally over.”
Lucy turned over another page, and scanned photos of her and Adrian in their college years. She lifted a bottle of malt whisky from her table, and poured the final drops into her drinking glass. The rim was stained with dark brown lipstick impressions.
“Speaking this afternoon, Lieutenant Blake gave reassurance to the public,” said Kristina.
The image brightened as it cut to footage recorded earlier in the day. Blake stood outside the police precinct, his bald head tinted dark orange in the sunset.
“We should never forget our role to protect and serve,” he said. “The department can confirm reports regarding the fatal shooting of James Fitzroy, and the hostage situation at the Taurus Studios building. In response to media speculation, we can also confirm the suspect used an imitation firearm.” Blake stopped to swallow. “This was a high pressure situation, but impeccable standards are what Philadelphia’s citizens rightly expect from our officers. I personally guarantee there will be a full and thorough investigation into this incident.”
Lucy drank her whisky, and slammed the glass down hard on the table. It was only through sheer good fortune it didn’t shatter.
“We also believe Fitzroy was responsible for the murders of Justin Norris and Sophie Gallier,” Blake continued. “That he was the so-called… Taurus Strangler.” The Lieutenant looked uncomfortable saying those words. “As for his motives, I have nothing further to add at this time.”
“I’ll add something,” Lucy ranted at the television. “He didn’t have a motive, because he’s not our guy. While you’re busy hanging me out to dry, the real killer…” She grabbed the remote control and pointed its infrared lens at Blake’s face. “…is getting away with murder.”
Lucy jabbed the standby button, and the television screen immediately went black. She sat in near total darkness, illuminated only by a faint, pinky-neon glow from her apartment window.
“Time for the armchair detective to stop pitying herself,” she said. “And to do some work.”
***
There was a loud, high-pitched beep. A computer monitor screen switched on, and a thin, green-lined grid faded into view. The squares were all empty except for a flat, slightly thicker, horizontal white line along the middle.
“Adrian…” Lucy’s voice was clear, if slightly slurred. “It’s me.”
The white line vibrated in tandem with her voice, creating sinusoidal waves over the grid. Every syllable generated a distinct spike in the pattern. The computer operator - a shadow-shrouded figure wearing black leather gloves - pressed the F10 key. A message flashed in red under the grid: President Office Phone - Recording #32.
“I think you may be in danger,” Lucy said. “Don’t go home. I’m coming over to the Taurus building. Officially I’m not on the case any more, but… we can talk. Just wait for me.”
Lucy ended the call, and the white line on the monitor flattened out. The unseen operator moved the computer mouse across a smooth, black glass table. Red laser light shone through finger gaps onto the sleeve of a leather coat.
The mouse pointer stopped over a floppy disk icon in the lower left corner. There was a faint click, and another flashy message appeared in place of the first: Recording Saved.
“We’re about to finish for the night,” a woman shouted. Footsteps got louder. “Unless you two want to get locked in…”
Overhead strip lights turned on, illuminating the honeycombed desks in the Taurus project room. The woman who’d just entered - Jenna, wearing her transmitter-tagged bodysuit and ninja hood - removed her hand from the switch beside the door.
“Anybody in here?” she called out through her mouth filter.
The central screen picked up transmitted data from Jenna’s motion capture suit. Like her, the wireframe avatar walked slowly forward. The digitised woman’s head moved from side to side in perfect sync.
The gloved computer user - crouched behind a workstation - reached up, unplugged a cable from the desktop phone, and coiled it into a circle. Unseen by the approaching Jenna, the leather-clad intruder yanked the cable’s other end, and snapped it off a clear plastic connector.
Jenna stepped past the desk. She relaxed when she saw the person knelt behind. “What are you doing here?” she asked, not noticing the cable behind the gloved figure’s back. “Come to watch my cooldown routine?”
The computer user moved the laser mouse, and clicked on a right-pointed, triangular icon.
“Adrian,” the recorded voice played back. “It’s Lucy.”
Waves appeared on the green grid, in the same sequence as before. Jenna bent over to take a closer look, and listened to the recorded phone conversation.
“Isn’t that the cop who shot—”
Jenna paused as a shadow moved across the keyboard: a tallish figure, closed fists far apart with something thin and curved in-between. Before the gymnast could scream, the Taurus Strangler swiped the phone cable over her head and tightened the deadly noose.
The killer dragged Jenna back, strong arms pu
lling the Lycra-suited woman below the desk. The gymnast could no longer be seen, but every kick, hand-swipe and gasp was transmitted on the giant monitor. The wireframe model writhed - an open-mouthed victim in the grip of an invisible strangler. She desperately clawed at her throat. The avatar thumped empty space behind, then went back to scratching her neck. Her struggle for survival against the unseen enemy continued for a whole minute. Then the woman relaxed, her head tilted back.
Released from the assassin’s hold, the wireframe avatar collapsed in a heap. Connected green lines traced the still outline of a female body.
Chapter Fourteen
Flickering grey lines and static covered the monitor screen. The only discernible information was a caption displayed on the footer: Project Room, 20:58. The corresponding surveillance camera had been disabled, but Levitt wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. His eyes were glued to his mobile phone, which streamed televised footage of a basketball game in progress.
The men wearing yellow jerseys - embroidered names were too small to read - went on the offensive. A seven-foot giant passed across the full width of the court. The receiver out-jumped an opposing player, caught the basketball, and dribbled toward the basket. Roared on by the home crowd, he skilfully feinted and dodged by two defenders. The phone’s volume was turned up high, macho grunts and ball bounces audible over cheering spectators.
“Go on,” Levitt urged the player. “Take the shot.”
Fully absorbed in his play-by-play commentary, the chief of security didn’t see the Taurus Strangler sprint across a four-way junction. The balaclava-masked, leather-clad figure was only on camera for a split second. Then the fleeting shadow was gone.
Twin headlights blinded the building approach monitor. A battered vehicle turned side-on and slowed to a stop. Its exhaust pumped out fumes. The driver - possibly Lucy, though the blonde’s face was half-obscured by condensation on the window - tapped the wheel, as if contemplating what to do.
“Damn it!” screamed Levitt. He almost lost his grip on the phone. “Why didn’t you shoot!?”
Murmurs of discontent rippled round the arena crowd. Levitt reached behind, and took an iced doughnut from a plastic bag on the security desk. That left him only one more to consume, but the bread crumbs scattered on his trousers suggested he’d already stuffed a few down his throat.
“Idiot!” Icing sugar melted in Levitt’s fingers. “He laid it on a plate for you. All you had to do was dunk it in the basket. We don’t pay you for fancy footwork. We pay you to score points.”
Levitt wolfed down the doughnut. He pressed buttons on his phone, and scrolled down a page of overlaid statistics. Half-way through the list, he reached for the plastic bag again. It was no longer there. Breadcrumbs had been swept into a long, narrow pile, and a typed letter placed beside them. The Taurus Studios logo was visible in the top corner.
“What the hell?” Levitt coughed, still munching his unfinished doughnut.
He used his feet to propel the swivel chair across to his desk. In the bad light, Levitt had to squint to read the note.
All Taurus employees are expected to present a good image of the company. We encourage healthy eating, particularly for security guards. You failed to meet these standards, Mister Levitt. Consider your employment terminated.
The plastic bag dropped over Levitt’s head. Crumbs rained on his shirt. The guard tossed his phone and scrambled to get up. The Taurus Strangler - who’d snook up on him unnoticed - tightened a computer cable around Levitt’s throat, and yanked it taut to secure the bag in place.
A layer of clear plastic stretched over the terrified guard’s face. Levitt’s chair wheeled about as he desperately tried to escape the killer’s grip. Salivated dough spread over his mouth and cheek, flattened to a thin, mushy paste. He clawed between his lips - in an attempt to rip the polythene - but only managed to smear the bag with sugary fingermarks. Levitt’s suffocated groans were lost amid cheering from the basketball arena.
Levitt opened his upper desk drawer. A magnum revolver - a wild-west-style, high-calibre handgun - lay inside, just beyond reach. Seeing the danger, the strangler pulled the computer cable, and dragged both man and chair away. Levitt’s boot soles squeaked across the floor as he failed to get a foothold.
Tipped backward, Levitt saw the Taurus Strangler staring mercilessly through the balaclava eye slits. The guard thumped the killer’s chest, his blows far too weak to do any harm. Convulsing at the mouth, Levitt sank into the seat cushion. Arms flopped on limp, crumb-strewn knees. The intruder kept a tight grip on the cable and turned to view the security monitors.
Lucy - it was clearly her now - exited the parked car and walked toward the office tower. The Taurus Strangler breathed heavily as the entrance doors slid open. Slitted eyes followed Lucy’s progress on the monitors. The killer unwrapped the cable from Levitt’s neck, and slammed his head on the desk. The polythene bag was still tight around the dead man’s face, stuck to his cheek by soggy doughnut residue.
***
Lucy walked past the unstaffed reception desk, and continued toward the elevator tubes. Her footstep clacks sounded loud in the empty hall. The pyramid-framed lights under the balcony lit up hung Crimson Shadow posters, but all the television screens were dark. Surveillance cameras fitted with sensor dishes tracked Lucy’s position, turning silently on support axles.
“Anybody here?” Lucy shouted.
She received only a time-lagged echo in reply. Lucy pressed a darkened elevator call button. When nothing happened, she pushed again and held it in. The shaft doors remained closed, and the disc-shaped platforms stationary on upper levels. Lucy gave the glass tube a frustrated fist-pound, then turned her attention elsewhere. Almost immediately, she noticed a slightly-ajar door with a thin sliver of light down the middle.
Lucy groaned and held her head. After she recovered from a dizzy spell, she shoved the door open. The corridor beyond was a square-shaped tunnel. Regular-spaced wall lights gave the black marble a dark-grey-striped texture. Lucy stopped to rub her forehead again, righted herself, and pressed on. Whenever she stepped through a well-lit segment, dishevelled clothes were revealed: undone shirt collar, creased pants, empty gun holster sticking out below an unbuttoned suit.
Lucy came to a T-junction. Interest piqued by loud cheering to her left, she staggered in that direction. The noise increased in volume as Lucy approached a signposted door. She rubbed her fluttery eyes, and focused on the silver-on-black typeface. Security Room.
Lucy lurched through the door in a trance-like state. She took no precautions as she went in. On the opposite wall, the bank of monitor screens showed empty Taurus offices. The project room camera was still faulty, displaying only flickery lines and static.
Seeing the garbled footage jerked Lucy into half-alertness, but she didn’t notice the Taurus Strangler enter behind her. Security images projected across the killer’s balaclava and exposed irises - reversed copies of live surveillance feeds. They were replaced by solid, unbroken black as the stalker moved into Lucy’s shadow.
Lucy saw Levitt’s tensionless legs beneath the chair, but the rest of him was concealed by the backrest. The upturned cellphone at his feet transmitted the final minutes of the basketball game. Lucy stepped further into the room, only to recoil when she discovered the security chief’s body. Smeared sugar had solidified over the polythene bag. White streaks partly obscured Levitt’s dead eyes and dough-clogged mouth.
Lucy staggered back, her eyes now fully open. She went for her gun, and muttered a quiet curse when she realised the holster was empty. The Taurus Strangler moved behind her, and raised a fully-stretched computer cable. The killer’s lips were stationary against the mouthpiece veil. There was no noise - not even a breath - to alert Lucy to the impending attack. She stepped back from Levitt’s body, head passing under the wire.
In the static-laced monitor screen, Lucy saw a fuzzy reflection of herself and the masked, shadowy figure about to garrotte her. She instinct
ively raised her hand. Lucy reacted just in time to block the inrushing cable. The plastic tightened across her palm, and slid down the inside of her wrist.
“Shit!” gasped Lucy. Her expletive was barely audible over the roaring basketball crowd.
The killer applied more pressure, and dragged Lucy away from the desk. She dug her heels in defiantly - doing much better than Levitt - but it was a losing proposition. Despite failing to noose Lucy’s neck as intended, the strangler had her at a disadvantage.
Lucy stamped on the masked assailant’s foot, and immediately rotated into a twist. Her spirited fightback took the killer by surprise. They careered into the swivel chair. It wheeled aside, and momentum carried the struggling duo into the security desk. Levitt’s unbalanced, top-heavy corpse dropped on the floor behind the strangler.
Shrieks from the basketball crowd went up an octave as Lucy spied the revolver in the desk drawer. She reached for it. The strangler tried to pull her away, but tripped on Levitt’s outstretched leg. Lucy took advantage of the stumble, and grabbed the weapon.
Lucy aimed blindly over her shoulder. The killer ducked, and yanked the computer cable to jerk her off balance. Wrong-handed and slipping, Lucy’s shot went well wide of her target, and put a jagged hole through a monitor screen. The image blacked out. Sparks flew from damaged, shorted-out circuitry.
Lucy checked the revolver’s chamber. Five of the six partially-exposed slots were empty, and a single bullet left. Lucy pressed the gun’s barrel into the stretched computer cable, and pulled the trigger.
Her shot severed the wire in two. Free from restraint, Lucy dived forward, rolled over onto her back, and aimed the revolver up at the Taurus Strangler’s chest.
“Take the mask off, Adrian!” she cried. “I know it’s you. You were the only one who knew I’d be here tonight. I’d like to see your head before I blow it off.”
Lucy’s calm, unflinching aim and ice-cold gaze gave nothing away. There were no tell-tale panic signs to indicate her gun was empty.
Termination Notice (Action Girl Thrillers) Page 10
