“I just realised,” Lucy said teasingly. “You never showed me your bedroom. Shall we finish this upstairs?”
***
Ron rewound the video of Sophie’s murder, and watched it over from the start. Screams and gurgles came through the tablet phone’s speaker, then rustling cloth as the struggling victim ripped off her unseen attacker’s balaclava. A giant air bubble rose from Sophie’s mouth, and popped on the pool’s surface.
“Do I have to listen to that again?” Vickers inserted a blank report form into her typewriter. “Even a technophobe like me knows cellphones have mute buttons.”
Ron gripped the phone tighter as he watched the gloved killer force Sophie underwater. He rewound three seconds to review the footage. And then watched it a third time. He stopped playback, and advanced the images frame-by-frame. Ron tilted the phone to its side, shifting the reflection of an overhead strip light off the screen.
“Look at this,” he said.
Vickers leant across the desk. “Look at what? It just confirms what we already know. The killer drowned Sophie Gallier.”
“Not before she pulled off his mask.” Ron pointed to a spot below Sophie’s head. The water appeared darker between the killer’s arms, with a curved upper outline bordering a brighter section. “There’s a face in the water. I can’t make it out. It’s definitely there, though.”
“That’s not a face,” Vickers disagreed. “It’s a blurry shadow.”
“It’s Pryce,” Ron said with utter conviction. “I know it. Can you enhance the image?”
“Can I enhance it? Not my field of expertise. You know I don’t touch computers, and with good reason. The outline’s vague, not to mention the water distortion. I’m sure you could make the shadow look like Pryce. Or Elvis Presley. Or even the President of the United States if you really wanted to.” Vickers sighed in surrender. “Come back tomorrow and talk to my assistant David. Maybe he can help you.”
“It might be too late by then.”
***
Adrian Pryce’s bedroom was a gamer’s paradise. There were multiple televisions, surround sound systems, and hardware stands. No old computers were on display, only the latest consoles, all well-maintained and looking brand new. Recessed, multi-levelled shelves lined every wall. It was games - not literature - that occupied the storage space. The pyramid-topped light stands were the same design as those downstairs, substituting for the four corner posts of a chrome-framed, king-size bed.
“Just how many computers do you own?” Lucy asked Adrian.
“Enough,” he replied. “Still feeling intimated?” Adrian nodded at the pistol holster balanced on the wet clothes bundled in Lucy’s arms.
“Just a paranoid habit.” She dropped them on an empty chair. “I always sleep with my gun close.”
Home-owner and guest were both naked except for underwear. Lucy paused by the balcony window to look at the dark-surfaced swimming pool in the rear garden. The drizzle had stopped, but traces of water still remained on the brass guardrails.
Adrian lay across his bed. “Come away from the window,” he said invitingly. “I find the view inside much more exciting.”
Lucy walked barefoot across the fluffy black carpet. She pounced onto the bed, and crawled cat-like across the duvet cover. Lucy held her tantalising position above Adrian for a few seconds, then lowered herself gently onto his body. The two lovers interlocked their fingers. Lucy stretched Adrian’s hands up and back, and held them against the corner lampshades. Beads of perspiration trickled down the glass pyramids, soon evaporating in the heat.
Lucy’s elbow caught a games controller on the bed. She snagged its cable between her toes, and yanked the wire from the console port. Its unconnected end bobbed across the carpet as Lucy shifted forward into a lovemaking position.
“How about you forget your games?” she said. “And let someone else take control?”
Adrian kicked the controller off the bed, and the loose cable after it. He wrapped his ankles around Lucy’s, and let his head sink into the pillowcase.
“I’m all yours,” he said submissively.
***
Ron glanced at his wristwatch, then at the Taurus Studios roundabout. Philadelphia had shut down for the night. An occasional vehicle drove across the nearby intersection, but none turned in the direction of the black tower. Only a few office buildings were occupied, illuminated windows shining in gaps between dark skyscrapers. The clouds had cleared after the earlier rainstorm, but treacherous-looking frost had already formed on the roads and pavement.
The detective had parked his Chevrolet on the kerb, a few yards from the Taurus entrance doors. He leant against the vehicle’s hood and watched the approach. Ron’s eyes brightened with hope as a throbbing engine broke the silence. Then the noise got louder and became the distinctive, constant buzz of a speeding motorcycle. Ron’s optimism quickly faded, and he took another look at his watch.
A solitary headlamp shone on the Chevrolet. Ron stood up sharply and shielded his eyes, unable to see the motorcycle through the blinding glare. He quickly moved behind the car, took cover, and drew his weapon. The helmeted rider circled the bull statue, giving Ron some temporary respite from the light. He aimed over the car hood, ready to squeeze the trigger.
“Don’t shoot!” the rider shouted over the engine.
The vaguely feminine voice gave Ron pause. He kept his weapon trained on the motorcyclist as she decelerated to a stop, lowered the support stand, and removed her visored helmet. It wasn’t until Tania stepped in front of her headlamp - and showed her face - that Ron relaxed.
“Wasn’t expecting you to come on a motorcycle,” he said, putting away his sidearm.
Tania switched off the lamp and engine, and brought her computer laptop and Taurus ID card over to the rendezvous point. “You said something about enhancing a video image. Don’t the police have people who do that?”
“None who’d volunteer for night duty at such short notice,” Ron said praisingly. He followed Tania to the doors, where she slid her identity card through a scanner and input a keypad code. “I thought they’d shut down the building.”
“They did. But I helped design the security system.”
Tania held back and let Ron take the lead. Their overlapping footsteps echoed round the empty lobby. Lights turned on automatically as they passed underneath, but the deactivated security cameras remained stationary.
“Where to?” queried Ron.
“From what you told me, the image is very blurry. We’ll need a lot of processor power and graphic enhancement software to clean it up. We’ll have to use the computers in the main project room.”
Tania pressed the elevator call button. “So, what does this footage show?” she asked while the disc platform descended.
Ron stalled, as if deciding how much to disclose. “A murder.” He broke it gently. “Sophie’s murder. We think there may be a reflection of the killer’s face on the video.”
“But I thought Dawson… We traced the signal to…” Tania’s knees shook under her leggings. “Are you saying he wasn’t the killer?”
“We don’t know.”
The elevator arrived with a ping. Tania lurched back from the opening door, one hand on her heart. It took her a few seconds to recover.
“My god,” she squealed. “You mean…”
Tania looked fearfully round the deserted lobby - at the many shadows.
“Don’t worry,” Ron reassured her. “Nobody else knows we’re here. And you’ve got me around for protection.”
Tania was still quivering when she stepped into the elevator. Ron held his hand over the floor selection keypad. He looked to Tania for input.
“Floor eleven,” she said, her voice still a little shaky.
“I knew that.” Ron pressed the button and waited for the door to close. “Most girls wouldn’t have done this. Come out here alone at one AM. This is the second time you’ve helped me today.”
“I guess… I’m not like m
ost girls then.”
Tania unzipped her leather jacket, and parted the flaps to allow fresh air to her sweaty skin. Her form-fitting cream vest was damp around the breast area, nipple points showing through. Ron couldn’t take his eyes off Tania’s athletic figure. She slipped her jacket off her shoulders, pulled the sleeves around her waist, and tied them in front. Ron blinked on seeing Tania’s bare, muscular arms. She took off her leather gloves and stuffed them into her pant pockets.
“No,” Ron said. “You’re a bit… tougher than most.”
The elevator pinged, and the door swivelled open. Tania walked past Ron into a black-tiled corridor. Ceiling lights flickered on as she moved within sensor range.
“It’s all the overtime I put in doing the motion capture,” she said. “Before Adrian decided I wasn’t slim enough and hired Jenna. And he planned to use me for the Crimson Shadow posters until…” Tania slumped against the wall and sniffled. She dropped the harsh commentary in favour of fond reminiscence. “Until they used sexy Sophie.”
“Well, sexy Sophie can’t help me crack this case. But tough Tania might. The room we want is through there, right?”
Tania straightened her spectacles and pushed open the doors to the Taurus project room. Automatic lights flickered on above the ‘hive’ of computer workstations. Tania quickened her pace, heading straight for the big screen at the centre.
Ron gazed up at the bare ceiling. It seemed much emptier now the suction discs and harness cables had been removed. “So that’s where the killer got the equipment from,” he said. “And how he escaped the murder scene. We must have missed that bastard by minutes. Maybe seconds.”
Tania booted up a computer terminal and opened a command prompt window. “Do you have the image?” she asked.
Ron pulled out the mobile phone, hesitant to show Tania the still of Sophie being drowned. “It’s on here,” he said queasily.
Tania frowned as Ron handed it over. “Can’t do much with that,” she grumbled. “Good thing I came prepared.” She reached into her jacket pocket and removed a strong, flexible USB cable.
Tania plugged one end into the mobile phone, and the other into a computer socket. After a few seconds an enlarged, high-definition image appeared on the big screen. Sophie’s dying scream was captured in minute detail, down to individual air bubbles, wavy hair, and lines on her open lips. On the blown-up picture, the reflection of the killer was less contentious, distorted outlines of facial features visible in the water.
Tania looked away. “I can’t do this. I never liked the woman, but watching her drown. It’s… sick.”
“What did tough Tania go?” Ron came across to comfort her.
“She works out on weight machines and codes computer games for a living. Crimson Shadow is just make believe. This is real life. I can’t watch.”
“I’m afraid we have to.”
Tania glanced briefly at the screen, then averted her gaze again. “The software’s set up to run automatically. You should get a result in a few minutes.”
Ron turned to look. A green outline had appeared around the killer’s reflected face. Within that border was a square grid. Colours changed block by block. Black became dark grey, and white turned to pink. Then the next cycle started. The computer program drew a second grid over the original, its squares half as wide. Parts of a human face appeared in the enhancement area: irises, hairline, the bridge of a nose. The image was still too fuzzy to identify the strangler.
“That’s really—” Ron turned to see Tania halfway to the exit. “Where the hell are you going? I don’t want you out of my sight.”
“The building’s locked down!” she shouted back. “Nobody else can get in here. Please, just do your detective work and go.”
Tania was through the door before Ron could argue with her. He snarled in frustration and turned back to the image. Ron stared straight into the Taurus Strangler’s jumbled-up, multicoloured eyes. The second iteration finished, and a third began.
“Come on you bastard,” Ron vented at the screen. “Show me your face. I know it’s you.”
He accessed his phone’s address book and selected Duvall from the menu. He waited with his thumb on the dial button, ready to make the call.
***
The lovers rolled over, fully stretched hands locked together. Bed springs creaked as Adrian flattened his chest against Lucy’s and transferred weight onto her. She wrestled back, grunting as she forced a gap between them. It was a physical contest to assert control, with neither party willing to yield.
“What happened to letting go?” Lucy panted.
Adrian released her, and rose up into a sitting position. His briefs rubbed against Lucy’s own masculine-style shorts. White flakes fell off a sticky patch around his groan, and floated down onto the bed sheet between Lucy’s thighs. Adrian exhaled, breaths growing quieter as the peaky bulge above his crotch flattened out.
“This reminds me of a scene from Crimson Shadow.” He scrunched up the pillow case in his sweaty hand.
Repeated buzzing came from Lucy’s discarded clothes. Her shirt pocket vibrated. Green light shone through the white cotton, vaguely in the shape of a telephone receiver.
Lucy ignored the incoming call. She was on guard, suspiciously eyeing Adrian. “Thought we were done playing games.”
Adrian rolled off Lucy and onto his side. He brushed loose hair off her neck, exposing the strangulation bruises left by the killer. “What can I say? I’m addicted to them.”
He reached out behind his back, and patted the carpet. Finding the controller, he roped in the plastic cable, and clenched the connector in his fist.
“What happens in this scene?” asked Lucy.
“It’s a classic. With a twist.”
Adrian looped the cable around his wrist, and lifted up the attached controller. The corner lamp behind his legs shone on the taut wire. Lucy noticed its shadow pass across the shelves. She recoiled back, and moved her hands to a defensive position below her chin.
“Ron was right.” Lucy said bitterly. “He tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. Dawson wasn’t the strangler. It’s you. It was you all along.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“This is Detective Duvall. I’m afraid I’m not available at—”
Ron terminated the call, cutting Lucy’s recorded answer-phone message short. He turned his attention back to the computer screen. The enhancement grid was a lot finer than earlier iterations, the square edges now only a few pixels wide. The original image had been cleaned up considerably. What had been a shadowy, ripply reflection was now clearly a human face, chin arc and reddish lips visible above a smooth, hairless neck.
Ron squinted. “Wait a second,” he muttered. “That’s not Pryce. It’s…”
He ran his finger across the killer’s sharply-outlined features: long and loose, shiny black hair, two darkened, but distinctly soft-skinned cheeks, thin eyelashes, glossy-textured mouth.
“The strangler’s a girl?” Ron gasped disbelievingly at his own conclusion. “It can’t be. To do those murders, she’d have to be super-strong. Like…” His hand dropped like a dead weight.
“Tania.”
Ron spun round and drew his weapon in mid-turn. There was nobody else in the project room, but he didn’t lower his gun. Ron pushed back against the screen and steadied his aim at the door. He held the trigger half-squeezed.
Ron had shaken off his initial surprise. Should Tania come back, there’d be a psyched-up cop waiting to shoot her dead.
***
Lucy watched Adrian, eyes on the straightened plastic cable. She kept her hands in front of her neck, ready to block an incoming swipe. Adrian lunged forward then suddenly stopped in mid-thrust.
He laughed as Lucy rolled off the bed. “Fooled you,” he said jokingly.
Lucy sprung up into a standing position. She edged toward her pistol holster. “Real funny,” she said, flat-lipped. “But I don’t buy it. Maybe I should shoot you, just to be sure.”
“Pulling a shitty stunt like that after what we’ve been through. Are you crazy?” Lucy stepped back toward the bed, sticking to the middle ground. “What if I’d shot you?”
Lucy’s phone vibrated in her shirt pocket. A name shone through below the incoming-call symbol: Wallace. Lucy made no effort to answer.
“Who’s that?” Adrian asked her.
“Ron and his wild goose chase. Another asshole who doesn’t know when to quit.”
Adrian wrapped the cable around his wrists, and bound them together. Lucy watched the half-naked man tie himself to the corner post lamp. Behind her, the phone stopped vibrating.
“As I was saying,” Lucy said. “Just another asshole.”
“Come on,” Adrian enticed her. “This is the scene where the heroine rescues her lover in peril. Usually it’s a guy who rescues a girl. Here it’s the other way round. That’s the twist I was talking about. Well, are you going to untie me?”
Lucy mounted the bed and dropped her crotch on Adrian’s, doing nothing to soften the brute-force impact. He grunted and tried to keep a brave face - a moderately successful effort.
Lucy rubbed his groin soothingly, and brushed away the remaining white flakes. “I’ll think about it. First it’s my turn to play.”
Her phone vibrated again, but she stayed with Adrian.
“You should get that,” he said. “Maybe it’s something important.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Lucy dismissed his concerns with a passionate, forgiving kiss. “The only thing important to me is right here.”
Adrian grabbed the rear strap of Lucy’s sports bra, and pulled it over her head. Tossed blonde hair settled over her bare breasts, loose strands tickling Adrian’s skin. He squashed the sweat-stained bra into a ball of fabric and threw it away. It unwrapped in flight and landed on top of Lucy’s clothes. The dangling, lowermost cup obscured the shirt pocket. And the vibrating phone.
Termination Notice (Action Girl Thrillers) Page 18
