Tick Tock (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #2)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Are you sure?” asked Frank.

  Sarah looked over at him and nodded. “Yes.”

  Shakespeare took a deep breath. “Very well then. Every twelve hours he’d flood the room with a type of knock out gas. Odorless, so the victim would never notice. He’d then go in with a gurney, load the person on it, and take them out. What was done then we can only guess from the equipment we found, but it appears they were fed intravenously and through a tube, and then their bladder and bowels were emptied. Nails would be trimmed, hair cut, legs shaved. Whatever grooming that would be necessary to keep the appearance of time having stopped.”

  “But what about these long term ones?” asked Frank.

  “From what we can tell, Alders had been held for three years, but based upon the notes, she was so well behaved, that he would regularly release her into public. She was so absolutely convinced she was serving her master, and that she was dead, she was able to attend school. He even had her set up as his mistress on the outside, and she had no clue it was him that had taken her captive.”

  Frank propped himself up on his elbows. “But why would she have set up the murder scene at the hotel?”

  “That we’re not sure of. It’s not in the notes, but the thinking at the DA’s office is that he did it as a test. We’re pretty sure Angela Henwood, the first victim, was killed by Alders or Sandy. We’re not sure why he was involved, but a powerful personality like Tate could manipulate someone who was weak or lacked self-confidence. But the masseuse, we’re pretty sure she was killed by Alders. Perhaps it was a test to prove her continued loyalty.

  “There’s no doubt these women were manipulated by a pro. And they weren’t the only victims. We’ve found almost two dozen bodies in the second containers. We’re still trying to track down who these people are, but judging by the ones we know that were directly involved in your case, Sarah, he used amateur actors and actresses to play various roles in his experiments, then would kill them when he was finished. He even brought in a med student to tend to you when he was stuck in the hospital.”

  “And she’s—”

  “Dead, yes. We found her with the bodies of two NYU drama students.”

  “What about the Psyche Department? I thought things kept pointing there?” asked Frank.

  “They did. The cameras, the email to the med student. Even the entire concept of these being set up as experiments screamed for it to be someone in the Psyche Department. Turns out, however, that Tate had someone set up a dummy email account at the department with an identical name to one of the department heads. Emails were sent from and cc’d to the dummy account, making them look legit, including an email that requested that when the cameras arrived, they be reshipped to the warehouse. It was really quite ingenious.”

  “This guy was basically one of the greatest serial killers in New York history,” said Vinny.

  Shakespeare nodded. “And I doubt he would see himself as that.”

  “There were four live feeds,” said Frank. “Sarah’s, and I assume St. Jean and Alders. Whose was the fourth?”

  Shakespeare shook his head. “There was no data in that folder, just the live feed and a shell of the notes. Maybe he was setting up for his next victim, we don’t know.”

  “But why did he choose us?” asked Sarah.

  “Actually, he chose Frank.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. If you look at it, he was escalating. His first few years he appeared to kidnap someone, then manipulate them through speech into suicide, usually placing a gun in their chamber. Then he progressed to bringing in actors and others to play roles. This allowed him to do some of the killing himself, rather than just watch the suicides. With Alders he went a step further. He kept her long term, then eventually used her to do some of his dirty work, even had a relationship with her. St. Jean he held long term as well, and had just begun to use her for some of his dirty work.“

  He seemed to be targeting women, so why Frank?” asked Sarah.

  “Well, he targeted women for the chamber. It looks like this time he had cooked up an elaborate plan to see if he could get someone on the outside to believe they deserved to go to hell, and then commit suicide. We found a list of text messages he had planned on sending, including ones telling you to take some sort of pill to end it all.”

  “What was the purpose of the text messages?” asked Frank. “Those things drove me nuts!”

  “That’s exactly it. According to the notes, they were designed to keep you on edge, to fear your phone, something you used constantly. He wanted you to panic, to make mistakes, and in the end, to kill yourself so it would all end.” Shakespeare sighed. “He had one hell of a lot of torment planned for you, kid. I don’t think he counted on you figuring out the cameras.”

  “Yeah, that was a pretty obvious mistake to make,” said Vinny.

  “I think part of him was delusional enough to think he was the Devil, therefore him knowing any and all goings on would be natural. He made a mistake, because Trace getting suspicious of Frank was not in his plan. His judgment, clouded by his delusion, led to his error, then the discovery of the cameras, and then things began to unravel.”

  “But why Frank?” asked Sarah.

  “We found a lot of newspaper clippings about Frank after the shooting two weeks ago. I think he fixated on you, then planned to frame you for the murder of Angela Henwood. He had already killed her after she helped build the latest chamber along with the murdered drama students.”

  “We found their fingerprints all over it,” explained Vinny.

  “Sarah, you weren’t part of the plan. With Henwood dead, timing was critical. Frank had to be taken that night, and since you were with him, you were taken too, and put into the chamber. I’m guessing he was going to take someone else that night, because the notes he had put together indicated someone was supposed to be in the chamber—he just got lucky with you.”

  “Lucky’s not the word I would have chosen,” said Sarah.

  Shakespeare stood. “Well, you’re safe. Frank got shot again and didn’t die again. And the perp is in jail, awaiting trial.” He approached the bed. “You two relax and recover. This case is over.”

  Tate sat down behind the glass and picked up the phone. It was his wife. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. His life as he knew it was over. He looked at her smiling face but didn’t smile back. He didn’t need to put on any pretenses anymore. He hated her, she hated him. No more hiding it.

  “How are you, dear?”

  It sounded artificial. A bullshit question to ask of a man looking at life in prison. A bullshit question that deserved a bullshit answer.

  “Fine.”

  “Good, good. I talked to the lawyers and they said there was no chance of getting you out on bail.”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “They’re going to give you a psyche eval.” She laughed. “I guess they think you’re insane.” He smiled. Just a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. “If only they knew.”

  His smile broadened. I’m not insane. I did everything for a purpose.

  Her face became serious. “You know why you’re being punished, don’t you?”

  He looked at her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “You shouldn’t have fallen in love with her.”

  What was she talking about? How could she—?

  “You were given one directive, one rule that couldn’t be broken.”

  His mind reeled as he heard the words echo through his head. “Thou shalt not fall in love with this creature,” he whispered.

  “Precisely.”

  And then he knew. As his world came crashing down around him, he stared at her, his mouth agape as she glared at him. It all made sense, why he had been made to think Samantha was killed, and that he had killed her. Why so many events over the past few days had been out of control. It was punishment. Punishment for breaking the one rule.

  He had fallen in love.

  And it was fo
rbidden.

  Her glare was replaced by a smile. “I won’t be able to see you anymore. Not until your return.”

  He snapped back to reality, and nodded, a new understanding of everything, of two decades of his life, a life that was being rapidly rewritten in his mind. “I understand. I understand everything, now.”

  She leaned toward the glass and placed her hand on it. He placed his hand over hers, aligning the fingers. He could almost feel her warmth through the glass. He knew it was his imagination, but it was a warmth he missed. The cold, damp prison he now occupied not at all to his liking. I miss the heat.

  “I just want you to know one thing, before I leave.”

  He pressed the phone harder against his ear, just in case he might miss her final words to him.

  “I’m very proud of you.”

  He smiled. Not a slight smile, but a broad one, his teeth almost breaking through, his eyes wide with happiness.

  “Thank you, my master.”

  AFTERWORD

  The idea for Tick Tock came from an intriguing phrase I heard almost two years ago, a phrase I now have no recollection of where I first heard it. That phrase was, “Hell is other people”. Eventually I hit my “ideas” file, and researched this phrase. It came from a 1944 French play, Huis Clos, written by Jean-Paul Sartre, and has been performed in English under such names as No Exit, In Camera, No Way Out and Dead End, according to my trusty Hitchhiker’s Guide to Earth, Wikipedia.

  After reading a brief blurb on the play, the idea fascinated me, and I then made certain not to read the actual play, as I didn’t want to be influenced by it. As I found out later, the play bears almost no resemblance to Tick Tock, instead acting merely as the spark for the central idea of someone believing they were in Hell.

  On another note, after writing this book, and giving it a name that, after reading this book I am certain you, the reader, would agree fits, I discovered that James Patterson had recently released a book under the same title. A little bit of searching led me to find that another great, Dean Koontz, also wrote a book under the same name. As such, I apologize to Dean and James for any confusion this may cause. Perhaps people looking for this book will find yours instead, and your sales may improve.

  With a mystery, things are usually held quite tightly to the chest, however several people did help me. I would like to thank my wife, Esperanza, my daughter, Niskha, my parents, Hugh & Bernice Kennedy, as well as Brent Richards (who I couldn’t figure out how to kill off in this book, but maybe the next) and finally my friends for supporting me, and the tens of thousands of readers who have purchased, and hopefully enjoyed, my novels. You continue to have this author’s humble gratitude.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has written over twenty international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series, the first installment of which, The Protocol, has been on the bestsellers list since its release, including a three month run at number one. In addition to the other novels from this series including The Templar's Relic, a USA Today bestseller and #1 overall bestseller on Barnes & Noble, he writes the bestselling Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers, the Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers, and the Detective Shakespeare Mysteries. Robert lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.

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