by Scott Blade
We watched as Eline Kline glanced back at Shane once more before exiting the balcony. She was a strong, well-polished woman. However, her eyes begged for Shane to help free her son from captivity. Family was her weakness, but I supposed that that's what being human meant. Humans felt sadness, loss, a sense of protection over their offspring. Serial killers were not like that. For Shane, there had never been anyone that he cared enough about to die for, not in our entire existence. Sure, we would kill for almost any reason, but Eline Kline appeared as though she was willing to die for her son.
Beyond the lifelong politician, there was a mother fearing that her first born son was a monster. She feared that he would go to the electric chair, a fear that I understood better than anyone.
Terrance smiled at her, reassuring her. As soon as she was out of earshot, Terrance glared back at Shane with a stinging look of disappointment.
"Shane, you have been a great asset to this firm. Since the first case that you led, you have had a phenomenal winning ratio, but your interview with Vanity Fair has cast an unwelcomed light on our firm, our reputation," Terrance said.
"How do you know what I said in that interview? It hasn't even come out yet," Shane asked.
Terrance merely looked at Shane.
Guess that somehow he had gotten an early copy of it, probably from Anna Black.
Terrance walked over to the balcony and leaned over the railing, looking down at the street.
His stature was menacing. He had been a successful trial lawyer for decades, and now he ran a wealthy firm. When he wanted to, he could portray a tyrant, and he was doing just that.
It used to intimidate Shane, but he knew that he had me. He stood strong, unfaltering to Terrance's demeanor like two bears meeting in the wild. Still, Terrance always impressed me. He definitely had a dark side. That allowed him to be such a good attorney. Empathy made both a villain and a great lawyer.
"I don't mean to disappoint you, Terrance. I thought that the article would be good for my career."
"Good for your career as an underwear model?" he asked, sternly waiting for Shane's reaction.
"It is not good for this firm. You only think of yourself. Graves and Associates is the name of OUR firm. Everything that you do publicly reflects upon us all. I need you to remember that," Terrance continued. He poked his finger in Shane's chest, just like he did whenever we misbehaved as an adolescent.
Funny how he was around to discipline us and never most any other time, I thought.
"I'm sorry, Terrance. I got a little carried away," Shane admitted.
I agreed. The spread was unnecessary exposure. We were both flying high. We should've been more humble. I should've been more scrutinizing of Shane’s behavior.
"Shane," Terrance said, turning to face him. "The board is going to find out about the article sooner or later. Some of the partners have been aligning against me. Our firm is not a dictatorship. Remember? Each partner actually owns stock in us. They are shareholders, and the shareholders are going to want action. Each of their votes counts. You have become our highest profile lawyer overnight. I need you to act like it matters."
"You are right. The last thing that I want to do is cause you grief."
"Us grief? You are a part of this family too,” Terrance said.
Shane nodded.
“Good. Now this is your chance to redeem yourself. Take Eline's case. Meet with her son and evaluate him. The police have some evidence on him. It's DNA evidence. It places him at the scene of one of the recent slayings," Terrance said.
"DNA evidence? That is not good."
The Secretary's son might actually be the real StoneCutter.
Gillard, I wronged you. We misjudged you.
Many people possessed a killer instinct, but most of the time the darkness inside of them never hatched. Perhaps, Gillard was one of those types. Perhaps, he wasn't even aware of his demon. I should have been more thorough!
"Yes, DNA evidence. He claims that he was sleeping with Angela Frost. They were having an affair. Mr. Frost had no idea."
"So, Angela Frost threatened to expose the Secretary's son to his family?" Shane speculated.
"Very good, Shane. Yes, the police are working on this theory. The Secretary's son had an affair with Angela Frost. He tried to cover it up by killing her the way that he killed his other victims," Terrance said.
"Is he the StoneCutter?" Shane asked.
"Who cares? He is your new client. Get him off so we can help you save face with the board. After all that you have accomplished, I want you to make partner. That Vanity Fair spread will cause difficulty. So meet with Eline's son and save him like you did Gillard Shutter, and Paul Verize. Save him. And save yourself."
No pressure.
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Shane was eager to kill the right murderer this time; the man who killed his parents and robbed him of a normal life had to die. It didn't matter whose son he was. It didn't matter that Terrance vouched for him. If Eline Kline's oldest son was the StoneCutter, then he would die at my reptilian hands.
Ever since our conversation with Terrance, I have been coming to Shane's surface, showing my teeth. I snapped at a few people already including the attendant at the 7/11. She talked on the phone while Shane waited for change. Also, I snapped at the homeless man who tried to panhandle us on our way to Shane’s car.
We spent most of the afternoon getting our affairs in order.
For our escape, Shane bought one-way plane tickets out of the country. We were flying to Mexico. From there, we would head to Eastern Europe and backtrack into France. Of course, Shane purchased our tickets under an alias. No one who looked for us would find us. By the time that they had even gotten close; we would be long gone.
He moved large sums of money into offshore accounts, splitting it up into different accounts in case one was seized by the FBI.
Tonight, we would visit Eline Kline's son, Martin, in jail. Tonight he would die.
Earlier, Shane looked him up online. His face seared the screen of our laptop. He was a handsome, middle-aged man. He resembled a forty something Harrison Ford. It was so uncanny that Martin Kline could easily have doubled for Mr. Ford in a bio-picture about the actor.
Shane discovered that Martin had two children of his own and one grandson. It was just as Eline Kline had said. He had the picture-perfect life.
"Except you have a dark secret. Don't you?" Shane asked out loud. He stared at Martin's photo from the internet. We looked through the laptop's screen and deep into the pixels that formed Martin's eyes.
I could not see his creature, his killer, but he was there. He had to be.
The first thing we did, after buying plane tickets, was fire up the kiln. The flames hummed through the thick, steel walls of the large furnace. We stared at our trophies. All of the murder weapons that were never found in so many unsolved murders. At least these cases were unsolved by the police. Of course, we solved each one, killed each killer, and kept their weapons as our souvenirs.
This part was much harder for Shane than I had thought. He didn’t want to part with them and neither did I, but we needed to disappear, to leave no trace behind. We couldn't leave a shred of evidence for anyone to find. We didn't want to entice the FBI into an international manhunt. A celebrity lawyer that killed his clients was not someone that they would just let go.
Before we went to visit the StoneCutter, Shane shredded all of the documents that could lead to any investigations into our devious acts. He burned everything that was in our lair. In the end, he grabbed the first murder weapon that we ever collected from a serial killer––a sharp, serrated hunting knife. He stared at it. He tossed it into the belly of the kiln, feeding the monster. The beastly furnace was not satisfied, but it would be. We had plenty more trophies for it to feast upon.
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Shane drove his Benz up to the gates of the county jail. A few armed guards patrolled the parameter of the high chain-linked fence. The sun rappelled down the sky into
the west. The guards would begin to change shifts in the next hour. We wanted to be out of the prison by then. We wanted to be out before anyone discovered the body of Martin Kline. New guards meant fresh awareness. We needed to head for the airport by that time.
I wanted to watch the StoneCutter suffer, but time was a factor. This time I would kill him, and he would be gone forever. He would pay for the mistake that I made. I didn't feel any remorse for Gillard Shutter, but I could sense that Shane's guilt was turning into shame. Guilt and shame were not emotions that we had ever felt before. I needed to rid Shane of those feelings before they turned into cancerous remorse. So I had no choice but to right the wrong that we committed. I had to maintain balance in our existence. Killing the right StoneCutter would achieve that.
Shane pulled the car into the main gate. A lanky guard with glasses and a clipboard walked out to the driver's side window. Shane rolled it down.
"Yes sir. Can I help you?" he asked.
"I'm a legal defender from Graves and Associates. I'm here by request of Eline Kline," Shane answered. His black, leather gloves clinched tightly to the steering wheel as I began to take control.
His skin tightened, loosened, and then flattened out as if there was a physical transformation taking place. Shane steadily transformed into the beast inside.
The guard peered down at the clipboard. He flipped the pages a couple of times and then looked back at Shane. Suddenly, the only features that he could make out were Shane’s eyes. The rest of his face was hidden by shadows.
"Mr. Lasher?"
"That's me," I answered.
"Good. They are expecting you. Drive forward. Park near the wall to the west. Go to the grey building. Follow the signs."
Shane pulled the car into the facility. The engine's hum died down into silence like the slowing of a heart monitor on a patient's death bed.
Shane stepped out of the car. We grabbed the kill-case. The inner lining of this briefcase hid a string of razor-sharp piano wire. In less than ten minutes, I would have the sharp chord around the StoneCutter's throat, strangling him. I couldn't wait to watch the black creature inside him wiggle to the surface and struggle for breath.
I salivated at the thought of watching Martin Kline's black eyes turn lifeless.
Shane pushed through the doors to the grey building and walked towards a security checkpoint. Two Secret Service agents stood outside of a white door. They stopped us and began frisking Shane and searching the kill-case. Luckily, we hid the compartment with the piano wire perfectly into the dark leather stitching of the case. They would never find it. An x-ray machine wouldn't find it. It would simply appear as a coiled up stitch of fabric.
A demented grin overtook my face as the agent finished looking through my briefcase. He found nothing suspicious. He approved the kill-case to enter the prison with us.
"Continue, Mr. Lasher," the closest agent said.
We nodded at him and picked up the kill-case.
They stepped aside and opened the door for us. It opened to a short hallway that led into a cafeteria. The entire room was cleared out, except for one prisoner––Martin Kline.
The Secretary's son sat at the far end of the room. Martin's back was turned to us. We could see the bright orange jumpsuit. It was so bright against the white background of the cafeteria that it appeared as if the StoneCutter was on fire. I liked the idea of him sitting alone in a prison cafeteria engulfed in flames.
As Shane crept slowly and quietly closer to his backside, I took over, completing the transformation. I had full control over Shane's body. I stopped several paces behind Martin and lowered the kill-case. Cautiously and defiantly, I pulled the piano wire out of the case.
Then I reeled the line in, winding it around my hands as tight as I could, making the wire ready to strangle the insidious killer in front of me.
As I neared Martin's back I lifted the wire up high over his head. I was a moment away from my first strike on the StoneCutter and then he spoke.
"Mr. Lasher? Please help me," he said. He slightly cocked his head so that I could see his profile.
Quickly, I dropped the wire out of his sight. I studied his features and my jaw dropped in disbelief. The suspect in front of me was not Martin Kline.
I retreated from Shane’s surface. Then I stormed around to the front of the table where he sat and peered into the eyes of the Secretary's son. It was her youngest son, Alex.
"Alex Kline?" I asked.
"Yes. You are Shane Lasher right? My mother's lawyer?"
Shit! Alex was their suspect? Not Martin! Shit! This was not right. Alex was only twenty-one years old. It was impossible. He couldn't have been the StoneCutter. I was created years before he was even born.
The police had the wrong man. Once again I was left without the StoneCutter in my grasp.
5
Lawyering Up
"Murder is commoner among cooks than any other profession."
––W. H. Auden.
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Shane woke up early and skipped the gym. Instead we worked out at home. We began with five hundred pushups, three hundred pull-ups, and one thousand crunches. Afterwards we repeated the process. An hour later, Shane took a shower and we both tried to forget about Alex Kline, and the unsatisfied feeling that was left deep inside our shared body.
After leaving the jail, Shane and I felt the sting of insatiable hunger. It was a hunger that was only satisfied with gallons of blood. My appetite for blood leaked into Shane's gullet. The sensation left both of us frustrated and starving....craving.
A good night's sleep and a hard morning workout could calm any unwanted feelings, even a serial killer's bloodlust.
Shane went into his closet and picked out a dark Brioni suit with a sky blue silk tie.
After shaving and putting on the suit, Shane felt like his old self. Even though we were back at square one, at least we knew that the StoneCutter suspect was not the real StoneCutter. Alex Kline was far too young to be the right killer. Not to mention that he was far too dumb to have ever gotten away with murder for as long as the StoneCutter had.
Today, we would find out exactly what the police had on him. Why was he their suspect? The whole situation reeked of sabotage. It smelled of something evil lurking in the shadows. It was a foul smell that was all too familiar to me. I smelled it every day in Shane's head.
I suspected that someone was behind Alex's arrest. Someone was using him to cover their tracks.
This prospect excited me, because the only person that I could think of that would purposely frame Alex Kline was the real StoneCutter. I wondered if the real StoneCutter had manipulated the world into believing that Gillard Shutter was him.
I intended to find out.
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Outside of Shane's apartment, a surprise visitor awaited us.
Det. Sun Good leaned against a white Ford Mustang that she took from the police motor pool.
"Shane Lasher. What a strange thing seeing you here at your own front door instead of cowering underneath some rock, hoping that I don't locate you. Why have you been dodging me?" she asked.
"Sun, what are you doing here?"
"Right, like your office didn't tell you that I've been trying to get a hold of you for the last twenty-four hours. Where were you yesterday? No one seemed to know."
"Dentist. Getting my teeth whitened. What can I do for you Sun? I'm on my way to work," Shane said.
"Dentist? That's cute. You are so damn vain."
"What can I do for you?" Shane repeated. He went straight to the point. I liked points––sharp ones.
"I'm here about Shutter," Sun said. Her toned body twisted in the sunlight as she stretched. She was catlike. She must have been leaning against her car for an hour waiting for us to leave the apartment. She was like a lioness, stalking, prowling for Shane, ready to feed her starving cubs. Out of all of the short term romances that Shane has had over the years, Sun Good was by far my favorite. I enjoyed playing cat and mouse w
ith her.
"Gillard Shutter? What about him?" Shane asked.
"Shane, the new StoneCutter murders shine a serious case of doubt on Shutter's conviction. Even though you got his sentence commuted to mental treatment, he was still convicted. The new suspect may have actually committed the murders that Shutter was accused of."
"Good point," Shane said. Another point. "So?"
"So? Shane, I need to speak to him. I'm building a case against the StoneCutter suspect, and I need to speak to Shutter. The D.C. police department is interested in revisiting his accounts of the murders. We need to reinterview him," Sun Good said, slowly approaching Shane.
Reinterview him? They wanted to interview our dead client? The one that we murdered. The one who might have actually been innocent. Good thing that dead men tell no tales.
Not only did I have to battle Shane's growing guilt, but I had to dodge the police and locate the real StoneCutter before they did.
"Reinterview him?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure where he is," Shane said. He wasn't nervous, but still, neither of us wanted Det. Good snooping around for our missing client.
"I thought that you might say that. So I went ahead and had my partner check up on Mr. Shutter. In fact, my partner is not with me right now, because he drove all the way to New Jersey yesterday. Do you know what is in New Jersey?"
"The Jersey Devil?" Shane smirked.
"Shutter's family," she said. Sun Good moved in closer to Shane. She leaned in like she wanted him to kiss her. She caressed his tie with her boney fingers.
"Shutter's family?" Shane asked.
"Yes. If anyone knew where Shutter had gone, it would either be his lawyer or his mother. And you know what?"
"What?" Shane asked.
"His mother had no idea where the hell her serial killing son was. But I bet that you do. So?"
"So what?"
"So where the hell is he?" Sun Good tugged on his tie, tightening it like a noose around our neck. Her action forced Shane to lean down towards her. The tie passed in-between her fingers like an automated winch pulling a cable, lifting a muddy car out of the river.
