Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary)

by Jeff Strand

  "What do you think?" Roger asked.

  I sighed. "I'm not seeing anything that's pointing me in a specific direction. Maybe Gaggles and Boo-Boo are actual nicknames."

  "What about the cowboy hat? That could mean something."

  "It might," I agreed. "I wish there was some way we could safely get a copy of this to Rachel."

  I suddenly had a paranoid mental image of somebody sitting outside in a van, listening to our conversation being transmitted from a bug that was hidden in the confetti. It was certainly possible. I hoped I hadn't doomed the rest of the prisoners.

  We rewound the tape and watched a third time. I scooted up right against the screen, searching for hidden messages that might be in the background. Something about the way the skulls moved when they spoke seemed a little odd—odd beyond the way their mouths didn't match their words.

  I pressed the mute button so their voices wouldn't be a distraction, and continued watching.

  "Look at that," I said, tapping the screen on the skull with the cowboy hat. "Which one is this, Gaggles? Look how his mouth moves compared to Boo-Boo's."

  Roger watched silently for a moment. "It definitely seems like two different people are working them."

  "Right.Gaggles isa lot more haphazard. Boo-Boo almost looks like he's being controlled by a computer."

  I thought about that. It was an interesting thing to notice, I guessed, but what was it supposed to mean?

  Maybe two members of Ghoulish Delights were working together.Dominick and Linda, or Carl and Farley. Or, it could just be another helper like The Apparition. Either way, this observation did approximately squat in terms of revealing the killer's identity.

  We rewound the tape yet again, but the fourth viewing provided no new insights. A fifth viewing had the same result.

  So the clue we needed could very well be hidden after the skulls started their vicious work.

  I really, truly, wholeheartedly did not want to watch that part of the video again, but I had to. Considering that real people had gone through the agonizing torture recorded on the tape, and to stop it from happening again all I had to do was sit in the comfort of my living room and watch it, I really had no excuse.

  I watched the death of the woman in its entirety.

  No clues presented themselves.

  I looked over at the clock on the wall.Almost eight.Four hours until we needed to be at the taping.

  "Okay, Roger," I said, "you're not going to like this, but I suggest you sit here and study the tape while I go to that Cruor place."

  "All right, I'll see what I can do."

  "And I assume you know to keep the doors locked and be alert for people stalking the house."

  "You assumed correctly. But are you sure you really want to go there?"

  I nodded. "I'll be okay. The killer has put me in some creepy situations since he dumped us in the ditch, but none of them were designed to put me in danger."

  "So far.Be careful anyway."

  "I will."

  I went into Kyle's room and was pleased to discover that it was a full 2.5% cleaner than when he'd started. I did the usual hugs, kisses, descriptions of punishment should he not behave, and then proceeded into Theresa's room, which looked nearly 4% better. Maybe my parenting skills weren't so bad after all.

  After telling Theresa that no, she couldn't come with me, I went outside, got in my car, and pulled a map of Chamber out of the glove compartment. I looked upCruor Street on the sidebar index and saw that it was located in square B-7, which meant it was way on the other side of town. No big surprise.

  CRUOR STREETwas part ofRichmondHeights . The "Rich" part of the name was appropriate, because this was the wealthiest section of town. I drove past house after house that made my place look like a rotting hovel until I reached 1214. It was a green two-story deal with a recently mowed lawn that had already been littered with toys. The roof was covered with three different antennas and a satellite dish. A car was parked in the driveway, but I couldn't tell what kind because it was hiddenunder one of those stupid car covers. It was probably a nice one, though.

  I parked next to it, got out, and went up to the front porch and rang the doorbell.

  "Hold on!" a voice called out. "I'll be there in a minute!"

  It took about three minutes, but finally a well-tanned guy in his mid-forties opened the door. He wore denim shorts and a plain white t-shirt, had no remaining hair worth mentioning, and was in pretty good shape save for a small beer gut.

  "May I help you?" he asked, smiling at me with perfect, unnaturally white teeth.

  "This is going to be a bit unusual," I admitted, "but could I ask you a few questions?"

  "No, I haven't been Saved," he said.

  "Nothing like that."

  "I don't need any magazine subscriptions, either."

  "I'm not selling anything. Could I come inside?" I asked.

  The man's smile faltered. "Is there some sort of problem?"

  "You're not in any trouble or anything," I assured him. "I'm a private investigator, and I was hoping that maybe you might have some information for me."

  Now the man looked downright uncomfortable. "I doubt I know anything. Are you sure this is the right house? Who are you looking for specifically?"

  "Mr. Tandy." No great detective work there, I'd just checked the name on the mailbox.

  "That's me, but I'm not sure what I can help you with."

  "Have you heard of something called Ghoulish Delights?"

  The man shook his head. "No.Never." He was so obviously lying that it was almost comical.

  "Are you sure? Because it's my understanding that some very high-level people are looking for a Mr. Tandy in conjunction with Ghoulish Delights."

  His tan seemed to pour right off of his face as he whitened. "Maybe you should come inside."

  "Thank you."

  We stepped into the living room, which was filled with furniture that consisted of either wildly expensive antiques or old junk—I couldn't tell which. He pulled the door shut behind me and gestured to the couch. "Please, have a seat. My wife and kids should be back any minute, so I'd appreciate it if you could make this quick," he said. "Can I get you something to drink?"

  I wasn't in the mood to chug downan arsenic -laced lemonade or a root beer filled with razor blades, so I politely declined and sat down. I sank so far down into the cushion that for a second I almost thought it was some sort of death trap.

  Mr. Tandy sat down on the fading recliner. "Now, what did you say youwere wanting to know about?"

  "Ghoulish Delights."

  "And what is Ghoulish Delights supposed to be?"

  "You know darn well what it is," I said, giving him my own version of The Gaze.

  "I'm sorry, I don't."

  "Does the name Michael Ashcraft mean anything to you?"

  "No."

  "What about Jennifer Ashcraft?"

  "No."

  "Okay, then how about Victor Grunge? He's a six-foot-eight, three-hundred-fifty poundhorndog currently sitting in the Chamber Jail waiting for a new cellmate to replace the one he broke last night."

  "You're not intimidating me," said Mr. Tandy, wiping about a quart of sweat off his forehead.

  "Boo!"

  Mr. Tandy jumped a good two inches off his seat.

  "I think I am," I said.

  "I swear,I don't know anything about any Ghoulish Delights. I don't know where you're getting your information, but it's wrong. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

  "I believe I'll stay."

  "Okay." Mr. Tandy stared at the floor for a moment, and then began to check his fingernails for dirt.

  I figured there were two ways that this guy could be involved. He was either working for the killer, or he was a Ghoulish Delights customer. And he seemed far too jittery to be a worthwhile employee, so I suspected it was the latter.

  "Let me lay it all on the line," I said, leaning forward and looking him right in the eye. "I know that you hav
e been purchasing a series of tapes depicting extended torture and vicious murders that are, how should I put it, not simulated. Am I correct?"

  "No! I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Oh, really?Mind if I take a look around?"

  "Do you have a search warrant?"

  "I can get one."

  "You can not. You said you were a private investigator, not a cop."

  "I say lots of things to lots of people," I told him, mentally giving myself a solid kick in the butt for the search warrant gaffe. "And what I'm saying to you now is,you'd better tell me everything you know or you'll find yourself locked away from your wife and children for a long, long time."

  "But I didn't do anything!"

  "Then how about telling me what exactly it isyoudidn't do?"

  "Nothing!Imean, everything! I mean...you know what I mean! I didn't do anything!"

  "Do you want to hear what happened to Victor's last cellmate?"

  "No!"

  "It was mop city afterward, let me tell you."

  Mr. Tandy stood up. "I said I don't know anything, and I'd like you to leave my house right now."

  "Fine," I said. "I hope you've got your passport ready, because you'llbe wanting to flee the country before the day is over. You're busted, Mr. Tandy, so I'd advise you to make it easy for yourself. Tell me what you know."

  He sat back down and buried his face in his hands. "I don't know anything. I swear."

  "You don't swear very convincingly."

  He remained motionless for a moment, then removed his hands and looked up at me with wet eyes. "I didn't buy a series of tapes.Only one. That's all."

  "And who did you buy it from?"

  "Michael Ashcraft. I swear to you, I didn't hurt anyone! They did everything! All I did wasfill out a form." Mr. Tandy's voice cracked. "That's all I did. I only watched. I didn't touch anyone."

  "What was on the form?"

  "You know, hair color, age, race, build..."

  "Yours?"

  Mr. Tandy stifled a sob. "No, for the victim I wanted."

  Oh dearLord , I thought. Snuff films made to order.

  It was all I could do to keep from walking over and punching the sick bastard in the face. But I remained calm, even as Mr. Tandy broke down completely.

  "I swear, I didn't hurt her!They said I could help out, participate if I wanted, or maybe watch the whole thing live and keep the tape as a souvenir, but I didn't! I wasn't there! All I did was watch the tape! I didn't tell them who to kidnap!"

  "And how much did you pay for the privilege of watching somebody die?" I asked.

  "One hundred thousand dollars," Mr. Tandy replied in a quiet, almost inaudible voice.

  "Well, I'm glad you're doing so well for yourself," I said. "That's a pretty big chunk of money for a tape, when you canrentFaces of Death for a couple of bucks at 7th Street Video. I guess even though you didn't kill her yourself, it gave you a nice little tingle knowing that she was dying because of you." I looked him over carefully, pretending to study him to figure out what his tastes might be. "Let me guess...you picked a redhead, maybe eighteen years old, athletic build, right?"

  "No. She was forty.Brown hair.Heavyset."

  "Well,to each his own ." I cracked my knuckles. "Listen, what I should do is beat the shit out of you then haul you straight to the police station. But I'm not going to. In fact, things may work out all right for you, if you're willing to play along."

  Of course, once the prisoners were safe I was going to make sure this guy was put away for a long time. But he'd find that out later.

  "What do I have to do?"

  "First off, you know the hundred grand you paid for that video? You're going to pay me twice that to keep quiet." If he thought I was nothing more than a blackmailer, he wouldn't question why I was letting him go.

  Mr. Tandy nodded. "I don't have the money now. You don't know how hard it was to get it the first time without my wife knowing."

  "You have exactly one week to get it. Remember, I know where you live. Now, I have some questions that I want answered."

  Suddenly Mr. Tandy's eyes widened. "My wife's just pulled up! You've got to leave!"

  "I'm not going anywhere," I said. "Tell her I'm an old friend,then we'll find someplace to talk in private."

  Mr. Tandy lifted the bottom of his shirt and used it to wipe his eyes. The door opened and a woman entered, with three grade-school kids behind her, the youngest holding a box of doughnuts. I almost had to laugh when I saw her.

  About forty.Brown hair.Heavyset.

  "Oh, hello," she said to me. Her pleasant expression switched to one of concern as she noticed Mr. Tandy's distraught condition. "Ben, is something wrong?"

  Mr. Tandy shook his head unconvincingly.

  "I apologize for disturbing you," I told her. "I'm just here to speak with your husband about a financial matter.Nothing for you to worry about."

  "I handle most of the finances," Mrs. Tandy said. "Should I be speaking with you as well?"

  "No, I think we've got most of it covered. Really, it's nothing to concernyourself over."

  Mr. Tandy stood up. "I'll be back in a second. I need to use the bathroom."

  "Kids, go play outside," said Mrs. Tandy, ushering them out into the front yard. "Ben, are you sure you're okay?"

  "I'm fine. Yes."

  He walked into the hallway, moving like one of the living dead. I wanted to keep him in sight, but what was I going to do, tell him he couldn't take a leak? I heard the bathroom door close and turned to face Mrs. Tandy.

  "What's going on?" she asked.

  "It's a personal matter."

  "I'm his wife. We don't have secrets."

  Oh, was she in for a bit of a shock.

  "I'm sorry, but this is between Ben andI.Whatever he wants to tell you, he can."

  "I expect him to tell me everything. I hope you understand that it's very upsetting to come home and find a total stranger in my house and my husband looking like he's ready to kill himself."

  Forget letting the man urinate in peace. I rushed down the hallway and pounded on the only closed door.

  "Mr. Tandy, open up!"

  "Go away!"

  "I mean it. Open the door. We need to finish talking."

  Mrs. Tandy walked into the hallway after me, wringing her hands in what seemed more like agitation than nervousness. "What the hell is going on?"

  I tested the doorknob.Unlocked. I threw open the door, figuring that it was well worth the risk of embarrassment if he happened to be merely sitting on the toilet.

  He wasn't.

  He was standing at the sink, a razor in his hand.

  Chapter 17

  HE'D TAKEN a regular plastic shaver and broken the top to get at the blade, which he held pinched between his thumb and index finger.

  "Stay away!" he said.

  I rushed him, and he flung the razor at me. It bounced harmlessly off my chest as I grabbed him and easily pinned his arms behind his back. Mrs. Tandy screamed.

  "Be quiet!" I shouted at her. "Don't make a sound! Now listen to me, I need your full cooperation, both of you! I'm only here to ask questions, nothing else! I just need you to—"

  Mrs. Tandy vanished from sight, and I heard her footsteps running down the hall, probably toward the nearest phone. I shoved Mr. Tandy out of the way. His leg struck the bathtub and he fell to the floor. The razor was still on the floor, within his reach, so I gave it a good kick then followed his wife to stop her before she called the police.

  I hurried down the hall, through the living room, and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Tandy stood next to a phone mounted on the wall. She held the handset in one hand and was punching buttons with the other.

  I grabbed the phone from her and gave the cord a good yank, popping it out of the jack. "Do you want your husband to die?" I demanded. "Do you?"

  She shook her head, tears spilling down her face. "No!"

  "Then sit down and stay calm! If you don't do as I say you might as well s
lice his wrists yourself!"

  I couldn't believe I'd said something like that, but this was no time for compassion. I sprinted back into the bathroom, ready for the sight of Mr. Tandy lying on the tile in a pool of blood, his wrists slashed wide open.