Close Your Eyes

by Thomas Fincham

  “He’s getting creative,” Ben said.

  And he’s getting bolder, Jo thought.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Jacopo was proud of himself as he drove the Mercedes at high speed down the freeway. He had completed all the tasks his master had placed before him. When he had received his last target, his master had indicated that it would be his final assignment. At first he was disappointed. He had begun to look forward to the kills. They gave him a sense of purpose, a sense of power, a sense of control, something he had never felt before. His life had always been chaotic, unstructured, and full of despair. It had left him feeling lost and helpless. He almost wished his master would give him more to do.

  But he had to remind himself of why he had done what he did. The car he was driving, the apartment he was staying in, and the money waiting in a Swiss bank account for him to collect were his rewards for a job well done.

  Sure, killing those people gave him a satisfaction that no amount of money could replace, but he was not some deranged serial killer who wanted to terrorize the citizens of Bridgeton. The media had it all wrong. He was doing it to have a better future. He was doing it to get his family back.

  But there was something that had nagged him throughout this process. Would his master betray him? Would he renege on their deal now that the mission was complete?

  He shook his head.

  No, absolutely not.

  It was his master who had plucked him out of a life of obscurity and given him so much. If it was not for him, he would still be living in some dumpster, or worse, dead.

  No. His master owed him nothing.

  This knowledge made the task all that much easier. He trusted his master as his master trusted him. Why else would he have chosen him?

  Loyalty meant a great deal to his master. He had said so on numerous occasions. Jacopo was loyal to him. And he hoped he had fulfilled his duty loyally.

  It was now time to celebrate by reaping the rewards of his labor.

  But before he could do that, there was one more thing he needed to do. He had to go back and clean his kill room of anything that could lead back to him. He would do that later tonight, when the police were gone. It was nerve-racking seeing them outside each station this morning. But fortunately for him, he had something that gave him access to the transit system. Once he flashed it, they let him through without a single question.

  He smiled once again at his good fortune.

  Life was going to be different from now on.

  Craig Orton was his past, and Jacopo Manfredi, the full name his master had given him, was his future.

  “Jacopo Manfredi” he said, letting the name roll off his tongue. He was beginning to like that name because it had a sort of ring to it.

  Maybe he’d take it as his new name when he started his new life.

  But he still had some unfinished business to attend to.

  SIXTY-SIX

  Rhodes watched as Guzman and his bodyguard left the barbershop. Rhodes was right behind them as they drove away in the Escalade.

  He kept a fair distance between the two cars. Even though Guzman had no suspicions he was being followed, Rhodes still wanted to be careful.

  He wanted to keep the element of surprise with him. Guzman had been rattled, and Rhodes wanted to see what he would do next.

  Rhodes had a strong feeling that Guzman did not act alone and that there were others who were involved in what happened to Reed. How did a teenager’s cell phone end up in the hands of a drug dealer? Rhodes thought. There has to be some link.

  During his research, Rhodes found nothing that indicated Reed was involved in drugs of any kind. In fact, he was a good kid with good grades. He had ambitions of becoming an architect like his father. Rhodes did not get the impression that he would jeopardize his future by doing something illegal. But Rhodes also knew that almost everyone had secrets. Whether it was an affair they hid from their spouse, or a love child from a previous relationship they did not want the world to know about, or a fraudulent action caused by a lapse of judgment that made them keep up the lies. These were their Achilles heel, and they would go to great lengths to keep it from those around them.

  Sometimes a devastating event—a death, for instance—exposed the façade they had carefully cultivated for so long.

  Was Reed hiding something he did not want anyone to know, not even his father? Rhodes could find nothing in his investigation that linked him to the barbershop or even the pizza shop.

  Maybe Reed’s death was a terrible accident. Maybe he was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  This reminded Rhodes of the case of the woman who was on her way to her friend’s house when she decided to stop by a gas station. Even though there was more than enough gas in her car, she wanted to pump some more in case of an emergency. After filling up, she went inside to pay when an armed robber came in, demanding all the cash. The clerk behind the counter happened to be new, and in his eagerness, he tried to play the hero. Things didn’t turn out as he had planned. Not only did the clerk get shot, but also an innocent bystander. The clerk somehow survived being shot in his stomach, but the woman who had come in to pay for gas died after being shot in her chest.

  Rhodes believed what happened to the woman was a tragic accident. Had she not decided to stop for gas, she might have still been alive.

  What if Reed had not lost his phone? More importantly, what if Reed had not gone to retrieve it? He surely would still be alive today.

  Rhodes had a feeling there was more to this story than met the eye. He was determined to find out what it was.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  Jo was at her desk when Chris came over. “You okay?” asked. “You don’t look so good.”

  Jo had her eyes closed and she was leaning back in her chair.

  “I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

  “Actually, you know, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking too lately.”

  Jo felt like her headache would turn into a full migraine. She was not in the mood to deal with Chris’s quips and quirks right now.

  “Is it about Irina?” Jo asked. “Because I still don’t think she has changed her mind about going out with you.”

  “Really?” he asked. “I’ve been going out of my way to compliment her for the last couple of days. I’ve asked what diet she’s on because she looks slimmer than before. I’ve inquired if she used to be a supermodel in Ukraine because she looks hot. I’ve even smelled her so I can tell her how much I like her perfume.”

  Jo raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t punch you when you did that?”

  “She has no idea. I always do it from behind her, and if she turns, I quickly make it look like I’m texting someone.”

  “Creepy,” Jo finally said. She then added, “Is that why you are here, Chris?”

  He squinted, shook his head and then said, “No, actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Okay, what is it?” she said, rubbing her temples.

  “I think we’ve been looking at this the wrong way.”

  “Looking at what?” she replied.

  “We’ve been too focused on how the killer leaves the bodies on the trains…”

  “So?” She was not sure where this was going, but she did not want to indulge Chris in another one of his wild theories.

  “Don’t you find it odd that we have recordings of him exiting the stations, but we have none showing him entering?”

  Jo sat up straight.

  Chris said, “We always assumed he came during the rush hour, or through a station with minimum surveillance. There are forty stations, you know. But what if he didn’t?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what if he didn’t enter the stations through the main doors.”

  Jo stared at him.

  He continued. “After this last victim, I had Walters contact BTA. It took a bit of pressuring from her, but they sent me footage that they’d taken at all the stations that morning. I couldn’t go through hours of f
ootage from forty stations, so instead, I ran software that focused on individuals dressed in a jacket, hoodie, and baseball cap. These are the three items the killer had on when he exited the stations, so my search was very narrow and specific. And guess what I found?” Before Jo could say anything, he said, “No one matching the killer’s description entered the station either through the turnstiles or even the revolving doors.”

  Jo was almost on the edge of her seat. “So, what are you saying? The killer entered some other way?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he said. “And I can prove it.”

  They walked over to Chris’s desk. Once he was behind his computer, he pulled up a video. “This is from the first victim.”

  Jo watched as the killer carried Silvio Tarconi along the platform and stopped to wait for the train.

  Chis said, “There are two cameras on either side of the platform, so both should catch what’s happening there. I’ll place the footage from each camera side by side. Just watch.”

  From the east camera, they saw the killer and Tarconi appear on the screen, but they were not on the west camera.

  “How is that possible?” Jo asked, leaning closer to the screen. “There is only one exit on that platform, and the west camera should’ve caught whoever entered and exited the platform.”

  “That’s what I was thinking too,” Chris said. “It’s like they magically appeared out of thin air.”

  “It was magic,” Jo said.

  Chris scrunched his face. “What? You really think so?”

  “It’s a magic trick. Do you know how magicians make people disappear in a box?”

  “Sure. They have a hidden back door in the box.”

  “Exactly!” Jo exclaimed. “I’ll bet my badge there is a maintenance door in the middle of that platform.”

  “What’re you saying?” Chris asked.

  “What I’m saying is the reason we haven’t caught the killer entering any of the subway stations is because he’s been entering them through BTA’s underground tunnels.”

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  Rhodes followed the Escalade all the way to a strip mall. He was not sure why Guzman was here. Maybe he is going to visit his associates and gather ten grand, Rhodes thought.

  The Escalade drove past the front of the mall and swung into the back.

  Rhodes debated whether he should do the same. It was one thing to follow the Escalade to the front of the mall—he could explain why he was there by going to any of the stores—but it was another thing to follow the car around back. What would he say if he got caught?

  He decided to take the risk. He could not afford to lose Guzman, not now.

  Fortunately, there were other cars in the back of the mall. They most likely belonged to employees. In the distance, Rhodes spotted the Escalade. It was parked, but the engine was still running.

  They are waiting for someone, Rhodes thought.

  He found a parking spot and pulled into it.

  He watched the Escalade. Fifteen minutes later, another vehicle entered the back of the mall. Rhodes spotted it in his rearview mirror.

  The silver Audi drove past. Rhodes doubted the driver had spotted him.

  The Audi parked in front of the Escalade. A man who barely looked twenty got out. He wore a flannel shirt, a sports jacket, khaki pants, and casual shoes.

  Guzman and his bodyguard got out of the Escalade. They circled the man.

  Rhodes was too far to hear them, but he could tell Guzman was agitated with the young man. He pointed and yelled at him.

  The young man put his hands up in defense. Whatever he said, Guzman was not accepting it.

  Guzman nodded to his bodyguard. He grabbed the young man by his shirt collar. The young man quickly stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and pulled out what looked like money.

  Guzman examined the money and became even more irate. He suddenly pulled out a gun and waved it at the man. His bodyguard pushed the man to his knees.

  Are they going to execute him? Rhodes thought. Should I get involved?

  Rhodes shook his head. No, that would not be smart.

  The young man pleaded for his life, but Guzman began pacing back and forth. It looked like he was lecturing him.

  Guzman stopped and pointed at the man’s car. He said something and the young man shook his head. Guzman pressed his gun against the young man’s temple. The young man began to cry. Guzman ordered him to stop.

  The young man then pulled out his car keys and handed them to Guzman.

  Guzman pointed the gun at the young man and said something to him. Rhodes could not tell what it was, but he was sure Guzman was warning the youth not to go to the police.

  The bodyguard punched the young man in the face. He fell to the ground, covering his face. The bodyguard gave a roundhouse kick to the young man’s stomach. He curled into a fetal position.

  Guzman handed the keys to his bodyguard. The bodyguard got in the Audi while Guzman returned to the Escalade.

  A few seconds later, both vehicles left the back of the mall.

  Rhodes debated following them, but his instincts told him the young man was somehow involved in Reed’s death. Plus, Rhodes already knew where Guzman and his bodyguard were heading. He could always catch up with them later.

  He decided to follow the young man instead.

  SIXTY-NINE

  He took a sip of cognac. He had thick white hair with sharp gray eyes and leathery skin. He was in excellent shape for his age. He always had strong and sturdy hands, which came in handy in his line of work as a surgeon.

  He took another sip and focused his attention on the television mounted on the wall of his residential office.

  He could hear noises outside. It was his daughter’s sixteenth birthday, and his wife had decided to throw her a surprise party in their five-thousand-square-foot home. He also had a daughter who was twelve. The older was more like her mother, outgoing and socially conscious. The youngest was more reserved and preferred small events rather than big ones, just like him.

  He had wanted to get away from the party. The guests were mostly his wife’s friends and acquaintances. He tried to be cordial with them, but he could not stand them. They always thought they were better than him. He did not know why. Like them, he came from wealth and privilege. But there was something different about him. He did not belong with them, and they knew it. But for the sake of his marriage, and for his daughters, he put up with them.

  However, not all was bad. He had money, he had respect, and he had a family. What more could a man ask for?

  It had taken him a long time to get to a place where he was comfortable, where he did not have to look over his shoulder. But somehow he could feel change happening in the air.

  He always knew it could happen one day. Why wouldn’t it when he was still alive? He should have gotten rid of him when he had the chance, but he did not. How would he have explained it to the world if he had? The focus would have turned on him, opening up old wounds.

  No, what he did at that time was the right course of action. He just never expected things to turn out this way.

  He watched as the reporter on the screen spoke about the Train Killings. She ended her segment by saying the FBI had no suspects or any leads at this time.

  His face grew grim. He had a feeling the longer this was allowed to happen, the more complicated his life was going to become.

  There was a knock at the door. “Honey, are you coming down?” his wife said. “We’re about to cut the cake.”

  “I’ll be there in a sec,” he replied.

  He put his glass down, turned off the TV, and left.

  SEVENTY

  After speaking to Chris, Jo had called Walters and told her of their discovery. Walters had immediately convened a meeting where she, Jo, Tarik, Irina, Crowder, and Chris discussed their next course of action.

  They understood why the killer had chosen to use the tunnels to enter the stations but not to exit. He did not want the autho
rities to know about the underground route. It was why he always chose to leave through the main doors of the stations. It was his way of throwing them off. If he left through the stations, the authorities would believe he must have also entered through them as well. The only reason he was doing it was because he wanted to keep using the tunnels to dump his victims’ bodies.

  That ends now, Jo vowed. We will go down and bring him out.

  Chris had pulled up a map of the tunnels on a giant screen. It was then that they realized how massive the subway system was. It reminded Jo of a spider’s web.

  “He could be anywhere,” Walters had said, staring at the screen.

  Jo knew where to look. She told them, “Our focus will be on the stations the killer used to drop off the victims’ bodies. We thought the killer had chosen those stations because they gave him a clean exit. We were wrong. He chose them because they are all close to each other. This means the killer kept the bodies somewhere in the vicinity of those stations in order to move the bodies through the tunnels and onto the platforms.”

  After the meeting, Irina and Tarik went to Davenport Station, Walters and another agent headed to Sherbourne Station, and Jo and Crowder had driven to Woodbine Station.

  Crowder took the tunnel going east while Jo took the tunnel going west.

  With a flashlight in one hand and her gun in the other, Jo walked carefully over the tracks. She had been advised by the BTA safety employee that the tracks contained 600 volts of live electricity.

  There were lights on the tunnel ceiling, but they were not strong enough to see someone in the distance. There was no telling if the killer was still underground, though. Jo did not want him to get a jump on her. The tunnels had a foul odor, a stench that was the mixture of garbage and rotting flesh. Jo had seen rats the size of squirrels, and she assumed some of them had inadvertently made contact with the live tracks.