Download Murder

by Patrick Logan

  His heels shot out in front of him, and he fell on his ass. As he went down, the arcing tire iron followed.

  It cracked loudly off the top of his head.

  The assailant also appeared to stumble in the snow, which was probably the only thing that kept the tire iron from splitting his skull open and send his brains splattering across the white expanse.

  Drake grunted and tried to swear, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was an unintelligible mumble.

  The figure fell directly on top of him, forcing the air from his lungs. He tried to push off, but his hands had suddenly become obstinate, stubborn things that refused to listen to his brain.

  The white specks of swirling snow suddenly dimmed, becoming gray flakes in an otherwise black void.

  A split second before darkness overcame him, Drake caught sight of his attacker’s face, which was set deep inside the hood of a winter coat.

  Drake tried to speak, to shout, but succumbed to unconsciousness before he could manage a single word.

  CHAPTER 61

  Colin Elliot ran his hand across the top of the door, trying to feel through the thick pad of snow for the key.

  When he felt nothing, he swore and removed one of his gloves. As he did, he noticed a small cut on the knuckle of his index finger, and his frustration transitioned into shame.

  I hit her… I hit her and now I’m going to pay.

  He couldn’t believe that he had actually done it. It wasn’t the first time he had thought about it, of course, but there was a huge difference between thinking something and actually doing it.

  She pushed me… she pushed me too far. Every man has their breaking point, and this was mine.

  With freezing fingers, he searched back and forth for the key.

  When he didn’t find it, his grimace became a scowl. Colin turned his eyes to the snow around the door, looking to the spot that he had found the key last time he was here.

  He was on one knee, rooting through the packed snow when something occurred to him.

  Colin whipped his head around to confirm his suspicions. And then, seeing the familiar shape and pattern of footprints, his breath caught in his throat.

  Someone’s been here.

  Colin leapt to his feet, giving up on finding the key in the snow, if it was still there.

  I have to get inside, I have to get inside now!

  With a trembling hand, he reached for the doorknob, while at the same time bracing his back foot, readying himself to kick the damn thing down.

  To his surprise, the door was unlocked, and he pushed it open.

  His eyes scanned the interior of the house, his heart still racing in his chest.

  The interior of the small cottage was musty and frigid, but empty.

  Everything was exactly the way he had left it that day he had come with Colby and Juliette.

  Except that was the problem.

  When he had come here, his black notepad had been on the counter, and he had taken it back with him.

  Only now it was here again, back in the exact same place as before.

  Colin squinted at the notepad as if it might transform into a giant beetle the way the typewriter had in Naked Lunch.

  But of course it didn’t.

  I took it… I remember coming inside and grabbing it, before heading back out to stop Colby from drowning Julliette in snow.

  After that, he thought he remembered putting it in his computer bag, but couldn’t remember opening it since.

  So how the fuck did it get back here?

  Still staring at the notebook, he kicked snow from his boots and entered the cottage. Then he flicked on the lights, which bathed the main room in a dull yellow glow. His steps as he approached the counter were slow, deliberate.

  Hesitant.

  He was halfway there when he heard a sound.

  Colin froze as he listened.

  At first, he thought it was mice again, which wouldn’t be a surprise considering how old the place was, how many holes and cracks there were in the floorboards.

  He had also seen mouse shit in some of the drawers the last time Ryanne had driven him out of the house and he had spent the night here.

  But when the sound came again—powerful scratching this time—Colin knew that this was no mouse.

  And when the words followed, his heart stopped completely.

  “Please? Anyone up there? Please, I’m freezing down here. Please help me.”

  CHAPTER 62

  “Yeah,” Glenn said with a hint of pride. “I scrambled the IP. But so what? That ain’t a crime last time I checked. In fact, I bet it’s part of the Constitution, or some shit. Big brother ‘n’ all that.”

  For what might have been the twentieth time, the man tried to cross his arms over his chest, and then appeared to look annoyed when the chain caught.

  He was like a child, continuing to check that a live burner on the stove would scald.

  Chase shook her head.

  “Yeah, it’s not a crime. But if you want to get out of here, you’re going to tell me who you scrambled the IP for.”

  Glenn squinted at her.

  “For Ryanne. What’d you think?” he laughed. “You think I did it for Colin?”

  Chase swore and started toward the door.

  “Is that it?” Glenn called after her. “Can I go now?”

  Chase ignored him and knocked on the door. When it didn’t immediately open, she kicked at it with her foot.

  Stitts pulled it wide, a stern expression on his face.

  “You said I can go! Hey! Lady, you said—”

  Chase slammed the door closed behind her.

  “What? What’d he say?” Agent Stitts asked as Chase hurried toward the other room. “The intercom was still off.”

  “He said he scrambled the IP for Ryanne, not Colin,” Chase replied as she pulled the door to the observation room open. Inside, she was surprised that another man, one she didn’t recognize, had joined Dunbar.

  Her first thought was that it was another IA goon, and she instinctively moved a half step behind Agent Stitts.

  The man had horseshoe hair and thick glasses hiding beady eyes. He was so short that Chase thought that she might actually be the taller of the two.

  In heels, there was no doubt.

  “Who’s this?” she demanded, her eyes glaring at Dunbar.

  Officer Dunbar raised his hands defensively.

  “This is the handwriting expert that I sent the books to… is this a bad time or… do you want me to tell him to leave?”

  Chase had to think for a moment why Dunbar had reached out to a handwriting expert, but then she remembered that he was analyzing the books from Drake’s e-reader.

  Red Smile.

  “Benjamin Laroche,” the man said in a nasal voice. He held a hand out in front of him.

  Chase eyed him up and down.

  “Tell me what you’ve found,” she barked.

  Benjamin cleared his throat.

  “Well, I came to several conclusions based on the files that were provided to me. I must advise you, however, that this is not my—”

  “Get to the point!”

  The man’s eyes bulged.

  “My first conclusion is that the author of the Manbeast series, I believe his pen name is R.S. Germaine, is not the same person who wrote Red Smile. I repeat, R.S. Germaine and L. Wiley are not the same person.”

  Chase squinted as she processed this information. Things were suddenly starting to fall into place.

  “What else?” she asked, the fury suddenly gone from her voice.

  But despite her question, Chase knew the answer.

  It was the reason why the entire profile felt wrong the moment Agent Stitts had opened his mouth.

  “And I can tell you, with 98% certainty, that Red Smile Parts I, II, and III weren’t written by a man, but by a woman.”

  CHAPTER 63

  Colin threw the door to the cold cellar open and stared into the darkness.


  There’s someone down here!

  He reached for the light switch, missed, and his hand slammed against the frigid wall.

  “Hello?” he called out, his voice wavering. “Hello?”

  He ran his hand up and down the wall, searching for the light switch.

  I imagined it… Ryanne’s got me so messed up that I just—

  “Please… I’m freezing down here.”

  Colin’s hand finally found the switch and he flicked it on. There was a fizzle and a pop, which was punctuated by a brief flash of light before everything was once again shrouded in darkness.

  The woman in the basement screamed and Colin felt his heart flutter in his chest. He turned back to the kitchen, his eyes falling on the drawer that he knew contained a flashlight.

  “I’m coming,” he said, whispering for some reason. “I’m getting a flashlight and I’ll be right back.”

  The only response was a whimper.

  Colin ran toward the drawer, pulling it open so quickly that all of the cutlery smashed against the front and several forks flew over the side.

  Ignoring the mess, Colin grabbed the flashlight. As he turned back toward the stairs to the cellar, he instinctively checked his phone even though he knew that there was no signal.

  “Shit,” he swore.

  Nothing that had happened made any sense; not the fact that he had struck Ryanne, that she had slept with that fat bastard Glenn, least of all that there was a woman trapped in the basement of his cottage.

  But, for the time being, none of that mattered.

  The only thing that held any consequence was the woman freezing in his basement, and that he had to save her.

  Colin switched on the flashlight and aimed it into the dank cold cellar opening. His breath was coming in frosty puffs and he shivered.

  If the woman had been down there for more than a day, two at most, then he was surprised she hadn’t frozen already.

  It must be close to ten degrees in the cellar.

  “I’m coming. Just wait, I’m—”

  Headlights suddenly filled the cottage, and Colin instinctively ducked. The throaty roar of an engine followed next, then, in an instant, both the lights and the sound were gone.

  Colin’s heart thudded in his chest. He crouched on his haunches, cowering away from the cottage door.

  “Hello? Is anyone—”

  “Shh! Shhhh!” Colin hissed frantically down the stairs.

  But the woman didn’t hush. Instead, her words grew even more frantic.

  “Please, you need to help me!” she screamed. “Help! Help! Heeeeeeeeeeelp!”

  Colin grit his teeth and shook his head.

  “Shhhh!” he pleaded, tears streaking his cheeks now.

  It was no use; the woman’s words had degenerated into unintelligible screams.

  Colin was torn; he didn’t know if he should go to the woman as he had initially planned, or hide.

  The truth was, he had never been in a situation this fucked up before.

  In the end, he elected for the latter. Closing the door to the cellar partway, he moved deeper into the cottage, staying low.

  He saw a figure approach the door and then pause.

  He’s seen my footsteps. He knows I’m inside.

  When the shadow grabbed for the door handle, Colin lay flat on the floor, using the worn, tartan couch as cover.

  Like a child hearing strange sounds from the closet, he clenched his eyes closed, and listened.

  The footsteps moved into the cottage, and then seemed to hesitate.

  The book! Did I move the notepad? Did I touch it?

  Colin didn’t think that he had grabbed the book, only noticed it, but couldn’t be certain.

  Fuck! Fuck!

  The footsteps started again, and Colin felt his grip on the thick handle of the flashlight tighten.

  Go away! Just go away! Please go away!

  But the person didn’t go away.

  Instead, he heard the footsteps approach the stairs.

  “Hello? Is that you again? Are you back?” the woman chattered from the cellar. “I’m… I’m freezing…”

  The footfalls suddenly quickened and then the door that Colin had left partially open creaked as it was swung wide.

  “I’m going to slit your fucking throat, bitch,” a strangled voice rasped. “I’m going to slit your throat.”

  The woman in the basement started screaming again.

  “Help! Help! Help!”

  More tears squeezed out from between Colin’s clenched eyelids.

  Just stay down, he told himself. Stay down and when the person—whoever the fuck it is—goes into the basement, make a run for it. Just get into your car, and get the hell out of here. Make it to the main road, then call the police.

  Colin felt himself nodding, his chin scraping uncomfortably against the carpet beneath him.

  Yeah, that’s it, just run. Run like you’ve always done. Run like the spineless bastard that you are.

  It wasn’t his own voice in his head this time, but Ryanne’s.

  Or maybe it was Glenn’s.

  Before he knew what was happening, Colin rose to his feet. He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand and started to move silently toward the figure at the top of the stairs.

  You ain’t worth shit. You’re nothing but a loser, a fucking child who wants to write books—shitty books that no one wants to read. You have a family to look after, and you can’t even pay the bills. I have to whore myself because you can’t—

  “I’m going to slit your fucking throat, just like all the others,” the figure—it was a woman, Colin realized—spat down the stairs.

  —pay the bills. And the best part? I like it. I like fucking Glenn. I like the way his—

  The floor beneath Colin’s foot suddenly creaked and the figure at the top of the stairs spun around.

  Colin didn’t hesitate. He sprinted toward her, bringing the end of the heavy flashlight down in a sweeping arc.

  The bulb blinked out when it smashed against the top of the woman’s head, but it stayed lit just long enough for Colin to see her face—before she flew backward down the stairs.

  He gasped.

  “Ryanne?”

  CHAPTER 64

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?” Chase demanded, her brow furrowing. Agent Stitts moved toward her, a concerned expression on his face, but she stopped him by holding up a finger. “Detective Simmons, for the love of Christ, tell me you didn’t let her leave.”

  Chase couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “Sergeant Adams, I don’t know what happened. She was cleared by the doctors, then she just snuck out.”

  Chase fought back a curse.

  “How long ago was this? How did she leave?”

  There was a pause.

  “I don’t know. An hour, maybe less. I have no idea how she left or where she went.”

  This time Chase swore.

  Loudly.

  “Find her, Simmons. For Christ’s sake, find her, and arrest her.”

  “A-arrest her? You mean—”

  “Just do it!” she yelled into the phone before hanging up.

  Dunbar and Stitts stared at her and she bit her lip, trying to figure out what to do next.

  “The kids,” she said at last. “Where are the kids?”

  “They’re with Social,” Dunbar replied.

  Chase breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Give Social Services a call, let them know not to let them leave with either parent.”

  “They can’t leave, they—”

  Chase threw up her hands in frustration.

  “I know they can’t leave, Dunbar! Just like Ryanne Elliot wasn’t supposed to leave! Just fucking do it!”

  Then to Detective Yasiv, she said, “Call dispatch, tell them to be on the look out for Ryanne as well as Colin.”

  A muffled shout from behind the glass drew her attention.

  Glenn was looking at them, eyes searchi
ng for something he couldn’t see, face pale, lips twisted in a frown.

  “You promised you’d let me go! Lady! Lady!”

  Chase’s eyes narrowed.

  “Find out what car Glenn drives and put out an APB on that, too.”

  Detective Yasiv nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket as he fled the room, leaving Chase alone with Agent Stitts.

  An uncomfortable silence came over them.

  “Profiles are never exact, Chase. And I knew that this one—I told you that this one, given the strange nature of the deaths, the books, wasn’t going to be perfect,” Agent Stitts started. The man’s words were unapologetic, explanatory, not defensive, which unnerved Chase. “But here’s the thing, you knew it was wrong, you knew it from the beginning.”

  The words offered Chase little comfort; the murderer was still at large, as was…

  “Drake!” she exclaimed, fumbling for her phone.

  “What?”

  “Drake’s out there… he’s on his way to Colin’s cabin,” Chase said as she started to dial.

  CHAPTER 65

  Drake shivered himself awake.

  It was cold and dark, and there was no telling how long he was out. Somewhere close to him he heard the sound of a car running, but when he tried to sit up, a flash of pain filled his head.

  With a grunt, he managed to roll onto his stomach.

  Aside from the pain, Drake realized that he couldn’t feel anything. Not his fingers, his toes, or his face. He moved his hands to his left to catch some of the ambient light coming from the still open car door.

  His fingers were a stark white.

  I’ve got to get out of the cold, he thought. Again, he tried to rise, but his head felt as if it would split in two, and instead of on his feet, he found himself on all fours, breathing heavily, spit dripping from his mouth.

  How could I be so stupid? So careless?

  Instead of trying to stand a third time, he felt around his body with numb fingers, confirming that his cell phone was still in his pocket. It took four tries for him to get it out, and twice that number to actually turn it on.

  He squinted as he held it in front of his face, grimacing when he saw that it had no service. As he angled it to try and catch a signal, he felt something hard press into his back just above his hip.