She obliged, and he pretended to muck around under the hood for another minute.
Finally, he came around to the driver’s side, shaking his head. The window was rolled down and from inside the car, Sarah looked up at him expectantly. “I don’t get it,” he said, infusing his voice with just the right mix of annoyance and confusion. “It’s just making an awful rattling sound. I may have to leave it here, take it in to the mechanic tomorrow. I don’t want to drive it and then it breaks down on me and I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“It sounded okay to me,” she said. “Want to try again?”
“Yeah, we’ll have to. But first let me just tinker around with the alternator. Hey, can you pop open the glove compartment? There should be a small tool kit in there, and I’ll need that.”
“Of course.” She reached over and popped it open, digging through the mess of papers inside. “You know what, I don’t see anything—”
His hand shot through the window and was around her throat before she could scream. His other hand, filled with cloth and chloroform, knocked her out before she could even register what was happening.
He pushed her straight over onto the passenger side, where she slumped. Then he quickly went around front and slammed down the car’s hood, hopped behind the steering wheel, and started driving. Looking over his shoulder, he confirmed there was nothing behind him. Nobody was in the parking lot, nobody had seen anything. Perfect.
Entering the on-ramp for the freeway, he kept the window rolled down, enjoying the warm summer breeze. At this time of night, it would be less than a two-hour drive to his little cabin in Raymond, and she would be waking up by then. The cabin was one of his favorite places on earth. It was in the middle of nowhere, nestled in the midst of two hundred acres of untouched forest that he’d owned for the past twenty years. Sarah would be able to scream all she wanted. Nobody would ever hear her.
Catching someone new, Edward had to admit, was always delightfully sweet, but the best part was always what came after.
The best part was the burn.
* * *
“It’s your move, Ed.” Johnny was looking at him closely. “Where did you go just now? Thinking about Big Tits Kyla, I’ll bet. I do that too sometimes. Just space out, you know what I’m saying? Happens more and more the older I get. One minute I’m concentrating on something important, the next minute I’m forgetting what I’m doing. Sometimes I go into a store and forget what I went in there for. Don’t you hate that? This one time I went into the hardware store and I . . .”
Edward stopped listening, but not before he decided that Johnny Langston was officially a waste of space. Who would miss him if he died? Not Kyla, he was certain of that.
There was still some Viagra left. He already knew Langston was on three different heart medications. The drugs would interact nicely . . . or terribly, depending which way you looked at it.
The thought filled him with pleasure. Moving his red checker piece across the board, he jumped over three of Langston’s black pieces until he reached the opposite end of the board. He offered his opponent a grin.
“King me,” Edward said.
33
It wasn’t rape, okay?
She’d been totally into it. She was turned on, she kissed him back, she’d helped him take his goddamned shirt off. So maybe he’d pushed things a little too far, and yes, maybe at the end he’d hurt her, but she’d been into it, and it wasn’t on purpose, and it wasn’t his fault that she’d let it go too far and that he couldn’t stop after that.
Sam put her face in her hands and slumped into the sofa, pulling the knit blanket tighter around herself. God, she sounded exactly like a rape victim. How many episodes of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit had she watched where the characters who lived in the Land of Denial sounded just like she did right now? But this wasn’t television. This was Matt, her Matt, and in all the years they’d been together, he had never once physically hurt her. He certainly would never rape her. Things had gone too far, that was all, and it had nothing to do with the fact that their relationship was dissolving and that they both knew it was over. For Christ’s sake, they still loved each other; that part didn’t dissolve overnight. Matt was a lot of things, but he was not a rapist.
Or . . . was he? He didn’t stop when she’d said stop. If anything, he’d gone harder, wrapping his fingers around her throat, causing her to lose consciousness for a few seconds.
She was so confused.
Forcing it out of her mind for now, Sam grabbed her laptop and clicked on the Seattle Times homepage, craving some kind of distraction. It worked. As soon as she saw the headline, she grimaced—it was clearly designed to shock.
BUTCHER 2.0?
The Seattle Police Department, in conjunction with Marysville PD, confirmed this morning that they are now hunting for a serial killer responsible for the deaths of two women in the greater Seattle area this past week. Both women were raped and murdered in similar ways, prompting Seattle PD lead detective and spokesperson Detective Robert Sanchez to announce that the city now has a new serial killer at large, dubbed “Butcher 2.0” by the media.
While specific details of both crimes have not been released, a source from the police department has confirmed that the murders bear a strong resemblance to those committed by the serial killer popularly known as “The Butcher” back in the late ’70s and early ’80s. Rufus Wedge, age 37, was the prime suspect in those murders. Wedge was shot to death outside his apartment building in Beacon Hill by a task force headed up by former Chief of Police Edward Shank, who at the time was a captain and the lead detective on the case.
The article went on to give what little background information there was on Wedge.
Edward Shank was appointed the chief of police in 1985, having received a commendation from the mayor for the Butcher case. It is the duty of the Times to mention, however, that Rufus Wedge was never arrested, tried, or convicted for his crimes. However, the murders did appear to stop after Wedge’s death, and these most recent two murders are the first to resemble the crimes Wedge was accused of committing.
Detective Sanchez would not confirm whether Seattle PD is searching for the original Butcher, or the Butcher 2.0, a copycat serial killer.
Former Chief of Police Edward Shank, who retired from the police department in 1998, could not be reached for comment.
Sam reached for her phone and tried calling Sanchez. He didn’t answer. Instead, a robotic voice said, “The mailbox you are calling is full. Please try your call again later.”
Shit. She tried a different number.
“Hello?” Another female voice, not robotic, was in her ear.
“Hi, Vanessa, it’s Sam. How are you?”
“Oh, hello, my dear.” Sanchez’s wife seemed pleased to hear from her. Sam could make out the sounds of video games being played in the background. “I’m pretty good. You know, busy with the kids and all. They need to go off to college already, because Lord, I’m due for a break.”
Forcing herself to be patient, Sam asked how the kids were doing, and the two women made small talk for several minutes. Yes, Jacob had started high school, Christian was on the soccer team, and Dominic had a girlfriend who seemed a little slutty. Yes, Sam’s new book was going well, Matt was working hard at the restaurant, of course she’d pass along a hello.
Unable to stand it any longer, Sam finally said, “Vanessa, do you know where Bobby is? I tried calling him a few minutes ago on his cell but he didn’t pick up, and his voicemail box is full. He’s also not answering his phone at the station.”
“Oh honey, I’ve given up tracking my husband’s whereabouts ages ago.” Vanessa didn’t sound the least bit concerned. “I know him, though. He always calls when he can. Did you try texting him?”
“I did.”
“Well, I’m afraid that’s about all you can do. But hey . . .” Vanessa paused, muffling the phone. She yelled something into the background, and when she came back on the line, th
e volume of the video game being played was considerably lower. “He did mention he was meeting with Matt’s grandfather this afternoon.”
“The Chief?”
“The one and only. I believe they’re going to ask him to consult on the new Butcher cases. After all, nobody knows the old Butcher better than Edward Shank. I’m sure Bobby will call you back as soon as he’s done. Say, anything new with you and Matthew? That boy put a ring on it yet? I’m waiting for my wedding invitation. It would be a great excuse to buy a new dress.”
“Matt, uh . . .” Sam swallowed, unprepared for the questions. “We’re actually not together anymore, Vanessa. It ended . . . it ended recently. We’re still friends, though.” Instantly her mind flew back to the night before on Matt’s kitchen table, and she shook her head, trying to force the images out of her head.
Vanessa must have heard the catch in Sam’s throat because she said, “Oh, dear. Oh, sweetheart. Relationships are so tough, aren’t they? You know what, I think we definitely need to have dinner. Just us girls, what do you say? I’m not taking no for an answer. How’s next week for you?”
They quickly set a date and then Sam hung up, grateful to get off the phone so she wouldn’t have to talk about Matt anymore.
Because it hurt. It really did.
34
If they needed Edward’s help on the new Butcher cases, then they could damn well come to him. That was how it worked.
Edward had received a phone call from a younger female detective at Seattle PD, someone who sounded very blond over the phone, and who’d turned out to look exactly the way he’d imagined she would when she showed up at the Village a half hour later. Detective Kim Kellogg had been sent to bring Edward back to the police precinct to consult on the Butcher 2.0, but he’d shooed her away, and not so politely. He wasn’t interesting in going anywhere. Frankly, it was goddamned insulting that they’d sent that bubblegum blonde to retrieve him. He was the former chief of police, for Christ’s sake. Whatever happened to respect?
An hour later, Detective Robert Sanchez knocked on his door.
Bobby Sanchez was no longer the skinny little rookie Edward remembered. In his early fifties now, the man had grown into a smart, confident, and tenacious cop, and these qualities were the reason the detective had built a solid reputation over the years. Sanchez’s solve rate was impressive, and Edward could see why Bobby had been chosen to head up the newly formed task force to catch the new Butcher.
The younger man stood in the doorway, looking tired but dapper in his suit, a box of cannolis from the Green Bean in one hand and two steaming coffees in the other. Two blue Seattle PD file folders were wedged under one armpit.
“You really do need my help,” Edward said with a grin. “Nice to see you again, Bobby. You’re looking good. Come on in.”
“I heard this is the way to butter you up.” Sanchez stepped into Edward’s room, handing the former police chief the box of pastries. “Seems like a small price to pay for your expertise. You should charge more. Your time is valuable.”
“That why you sent Froot Loops over to come get me?”
Sanchez winced. “Sorry about that. I was tied up in a meeting, and she volunteered. Kim Kellogg’s actually a good cop, though, I promise.”
Pointing the detective toward the sofa, Edward retrieved two plates from the kitchenette and served them each a cannoli. Sanchez dug into his, and in three bites his pastry was gone.
“Man, I haven’t had anything that sweet in a long time,” the detective said, sighing. “My wife would kill me if she knew I was indulging. She’s put me on a diet.”
“If a man works hard, then a man should eat what he wants.” Edward took a bite of his own cannoli, not remotely interested in what the younger man’s wife thought of her husband’s eating habits. “Have another.”
“Wish I could, but I’m watching my blood sugar. Diabetes runs in the family.”
“More for me, then. So. Why are you here? The perky blonde said you were thinking of asking me to consult?”
“I’m not just thinking of asking, I’m asking.” Sanchez’s face clouded as he dusted powdered sugar off his hands. “It’s a mess, Chief. We’re reopening all the old Butcher cases and comparing them to the two murders from the past week.”
“So then who are you looking for?” Edward said. “The old Butcher or a new Butcher?”
“Officially, the Butcher two-point-oh.” The detective rubbed his face. “But between you and me, I’m pretty sure they’re one and the same. It’s a giant mess.”
“That’s not a mess, Bobby.” Edward snorted. “That’s a clusterfuck. I don’t envy Connie when she has to answer questions about that.”
“I don’t, either. She mentioned getting in touch with you in the next couple of days. Your phone’s probably going to start ringing, too.”
“Already has.”
“Chief . . .” Sanchez shifted on the sofa. “Whatever happens, I hope you don’t think anyone over at PD looks at you any differently. You did the best job you could back then. Wedge was a good suspect. It was a good shoot.”
“Do I look like it’s keeping me up at night?” Edward said, and then offered the detective a grin. “I’m fine, Bobby. I can handle the heat.”
“Damn right you can.” With that awkwardness out of the way, Sanchez leaned back, visibly more relaxed than he’d seemed a moment ago. “When word gets out, though, I’m sure it’ll just be a matter of time before somebody from Rufus Wedge’s family comes forward to file suit on his death.”
“Don’t you worry about that.” Edward waved a hand. “Wedge had no family.” I made sure of that before I chose him.
The detective nodded. “Anyway, any input you have on these current murders would be appreciated. Don’t worry. You’ll be an official consultant. We’ll pay you an hourly rate.”
“Goddamned right you will, but I’ll donate it to the Police Kids charity. I don’t need the money.”
Sanchez smiled.
“Those the files on Tidwell and Chavez?” Edward asked, gesturing toward the blue folders Sanchez had placed on the coffee table.
The detective nodded and pushed them over. “Everything we have so far is in there. Take a look, let me know what you think.”
Edward looked down at the files, making no move to open them. He didn’t trust himself to look at the photographs he knew would be inside, not while was Sanchez was watching him. He didn’t trust himself to contain his excitement at the sight of their dead bodies. “Can I keep these?”
“Yes, those are your copies.”
“I’ll need some time to read through it all. Why don’t I give you a call later?” Edward stood up.
Surprised, Sanchez stood up as well, understanding that he’d just been dismissed. “Of course. I look forward to hearing from you. Thanks, Chief.” Reaching for his coffee cup, he paused before taking a sip. “Actually, before I leave, there is something I wanted to ask you about.”
“Certainly.” Edward glanced at the folders again. “Make it quick, though. I got somewhere to be.”
Sanchez stood beside the door but made no effort to reach for the handle. “Back in the day, when you were investigating the Butcher, you opted to keep some things from the media.”
“Sure. Standard police investigation tactic.”
“Right, I understand that.” Sipping from his coffee cup, the detective shifted his weight again, which meant he was feeling uncomfortable again. “But I’m wondering why you left the hair out of the reports.”
“What hair?”
“The missing hair from the back of each of the victims’ heads.” Sanchez cleared his throat. “I know it was a long time ago, but do you recall telling the medical examiner not to put that information into his reports? Cam Bradbury was his name.”
“I remember Cam,” Edward said, appraising the detective coolly. “Good ME, very thorough. We worked together on a lot of cases. But I can’t say I remember anything about that.”
“I spok
e to him yesterday.” Sanchez’s face was neutral, but his eyes were fixed on Edward, not missing anything. “He said that each of the Butcher victims had a lock of hair missing. He said you advised him to leave that out of reports, because you were concerned about leaks. You were already dealing with two copycats and the media was creating a frenzy.”
“If I did, then I did.” Edward shrugged. “Like you said, it was a long time ago. What’s your question?”
“I guess what I’m confused about is why.” Sanchez cleared his throat again. “I mean, after the cases were closed, why wasn’t the missing hair included in the reports?”
Edward stared at the younger man. “Check the reports, Bobby. I’m sure it was. Cam was an excellent medical examiner. He wouldn’t have missed a detail like that.”
“He didn’t miss it. He left it out. On purpose, at your request.”
“Okay then.” Edward frowned. “So then it was added afterward.”
“Was it?” Sanchez sipped his coffee. “We can’t confirm whether it was, because the ME’s reports are all missing from the Butcher files.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Edward said. “My job was to catch criminals, not ensure the files of closed cases were complete. Why don’t you ask Records what happened? Though I’m sure you already did.”
“I did.”
“Can’t help you, son.” Edward shrugged again. “Like you said, it was a long time ago.”
“It’s just . . .” The detective met his gaze with a cool one of his own. “That information was pretty important. The hair was part of the Butcher’s signature, which nobody other than you and Bradbury knew about. If we had known, we might have been able to link future murders to the Butcher. Such as the murder of Sarah Marquez.”
“Who?”
“Samantha’s mother. She was missing a swatch of hair, too. We’re looking at her as another Butcher victim. Had we known about the hair, we would have figured out that Wedge was the wrong man.”
“Samantha’s mother was murdered two years after Rufus Wedge was killed,” Edward said. “What would we have done, Bobby? Raised that piece of shit from the dead so we could apologize to him?”
The Butcher Page 25
