Watch Me (Jefferson Winter 2)

by James Carol

  ‘You said he was alive.’

  Her hands curled into fists and she punched me in the chest. She punched again and again, and I just stood there taking it. Tears streamed down her face, accusations poured from her mouth. Her blows gradually got weaker, then stopped altogether. I pulled her into a hug and held her tight, hot tears soaking into my T-shirt.

  Taylor’s face had been beaten to pulp. Multiple blows had caused both eyes to swell up and clamp shut. His lips were swollen and cut and there was blood everywhere. His clothing hid the damage the unsub had done to his body, but I was betting it was there. Taylor’s face looked bad, but those injuries alone weren’t enough to kill him.

  His grey T-shirt had turned black where the blood had seeped through. That’s where the real damage was. Internal injuries. A ruptured spleen, liver damage, broken ribs, maybe even a punctured lung. No bullet wounds, though. There wasn’t enough blood for that.

  He was lying on his left side with his right foot tucked under left calf and his right hand draped over his left arm. The pose was very deliberate and obviously staged. This wasn’t how Taylor had died. The unsub had left him like this and he’d done that for a reason. I’d seen this pose before. It took a second to realise where.

  The last time I’d seen someone laid out like this wasn’t at a murder scene, it was in a medical textbook. Taylor had been left in the recovery position.

  53

  I broke away from Hannah and ran over to Taylor, knelt beside him and pressed two fingers against his carotid artery. My fingertips tingled with a flutter that was as gentle as the flapping of a butterfly wing. His chest was barely moving, but it was moving.

  ‘He’s alive?’ Hannah whispered behind me. The question was made entirely from breath. There was no weight to the words.

  ‘Barely. Call 911 again. Tell them to hurry up with that ambulance.’

  ‘Is he going to be okay?’

  I glanced down at Taylor, then looked at Hannah. I didn’t like the way Taylor was breathing. Every time he exhaled, I expected it to be the last time. Every breath was an effort. It crossed my mind to tell another black lie, but I couldn’t do it. ‘I don’t know. Just call 911.’

  I pulled Taylor onto his back, quickly wiped the worst of the blood from his mouth, then started giving him CPR. The taste of metal touched my tongue and it was hard not to gag. I told myself that if the positions were reversed Taylor would have done the same for me. Then I started pumping his chest, counting off the compressions. When I got to thirty, I gave him two more breaths, then thirty more chest compressions.

  ‘Where the hell’s that ambulance?’

  ‘It’s on its way. It’ll be here soon.’

  I fell into a rhythm. Two breaths followed by thirty quick chest compressions. Taylor’s blood was smeared over my lips and my arms were aching. I lost track of time. Hannah was on her knees beside me. She was holding Taylor’s hand and whispering over and over that everything was going to be all right. The promises came out as a stream of words. The way she was talking, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself rather than reassure Taylor.

  A siren in the distance, getting closer.

  My arms were so tired I couldn’t feel them. My knees were numb from pushing into the concrete floor. I didn’t know how long I could keep this up for. And then I glanced down at Taylor and knew I’d keep this up as long as he needed me to.

  More mouth-to-mouth. More chest compressions. More whispered words of encouragement from Hannah.

  The siren stopped. Footsteps outside.

  ‘In here,’ I shouted.

  Two paramedics rushed into the storeroom and I shuffled out of the way so they could do their thing. I felt completely redundant. After all that frantic activity, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Hannah was still on her knees, still whispering, her fingertips touching Taylor’s. The room suddenly felt tiny. There was too much drama going on, too many people crushed into too small a space. It was more than these four walls could hold.

  I slipped outside and the heat hit me. It was like a physical blow, as though I’d been punched in the gut. The contrast of gloom to brightness made my head throb. The harsh sunlight made me squint. The taste of Taylor’s blood filled my mouth. My skin was contracting where it had been coated.

  I walked over to the police cruiser and sank into the driver’s seat, reached up to the sun visor and flipped open the vanity mirror. The face staring back was like something from a disaster movie. There were smears of Taylor’s blood all over my mouth and chin. It was on my hands as well. Red streaks stained the white cotton of my John Lennon T-shirt.

  There were no hand wipes in the car, no tissues or napkins, nothing I could use to clean myself up. Not that I’d expected anything different. This was a cop car. Right now, all I wanted was to get Taylor’s blood off of me. I wanted to get in a shower and run it as hot as I could stand for as long as I could stand, and to stay in there until all trace of it had been scalded away.

  I got out of the car and went over to the ambulance. The back door was unlocked. Twenty seconds of rummaging and I’d found what I was looking for. A tub of wipes, and a blue medical top that was still in its cellophane wrapper. The paramedic business could get messy at times, so it made sense to carry these things.

  I used the wipes to scrub away the worst of the blood. Even when I managed to get a patch clean I could still feel it pulling my skin tight where it had dried. That was the thing with blood. It didn’t matter how hard you scrubbed, you could never get rid of it all. I got as clean as I could and swapped my blood-stained T-shirt for the blue medical top.

  Then I went and found a shady spot and waited to see who’d show up.

  54

  I was sitting in the shadow of a wall when the first cop car arrived thirty seconds later, lights strobing, siren wailing. It screeched to a halt behind the ambulance. The car was a black sheriff’s department sedan with Barker driving and Romero in the passenger seat. Barker was leaner and fitter and got out first. Romero was a good ten seconds slower because of his bulk. Barker spotted me.

  ‘Is he alive?’ he called over.

  ‘Just about. They’re inside.’

  Barker and Romero disappeared into the storeroom and I kept my vigil.

  Over the next five minutes almost every cop in Eagle Creek turned up. I recognised most of the faces from the station house the night before. The area in front of the storeroom soon resembled the parking lot at a cops’ convention. The black sedans and 4x4s of the sheriff’s department were abandoned next to the tan-coloured police department vehicles. It was completely understandable. One of their own had been taken down and they all wanted a piece of the son of a bitch who’d done this.

  All except one.

  Shepherd and Sheriff Fortier arrived together and went inside. I gave it another minute for any latecomers to turn up, then positioned myself where I could see as many cops as possible, both inside the storeroom and out. I thumbed through the call log on my phone, stopped when I reached the number the photograph had been sent from. Then I connected the call and watched for someone to reach for their cell.

  Five seconds passed, ten seconds, then a disembodied voice told me that the phone I was trying to call was switched off. That would have been too easy, but it would have been crazy not to try. It had been a long shot, and like most long shots it hadn’t paid off. This guy was too clever to make a mistake like that. I sighed and rubbed at my face. I could still feel Taylor’s dried blood pinching my skin.

  This was a taunt, the unsub’s way of telling me he was smarter. But he wasn’t as smart as he thought. Even if you were using a burner phone, the smart thing to do would be to withhold the number. This was a sign of overconfidence, and overconfidence was the breeding ground for mistakes.

  Sheriff Fortier came out on his own and stood for a second, squinting in the sunlight, one hand up to shield his eyes. He saw me and walked over. He looked more stressed than ever. Somehow smaller, too. This was someone
who wished he could be anywhere but here. There wasn’t even a glimpse of the young guy who’d signed up to serve and protect all those years ago.

  ‘What can you tell me?’

  ‘Not much.’

  I outlined what little I knew. It didn’t take long. The picture had arrived, we’d called 911, we’d rushed over here as fast as we could and I’d performed CPR until the paramedics got here. That was about it. When I showed him the photograph, he asked to keep my phone as evidence. I told him no. He looked like he was going to argue, then thought better of it. Fortier wanted to know what Hannah was doing here, and I couldn’t see any reason not to tell him. If he was surprised that Hannah and Taylor were a couple, it didn’t show.

  ‘Choat’s not our guy, then?’

  ‘Choat was never your guy.’

  ‘You didn’t think to mention this?’

  ‘I figured you’d work it out sooner or later.’

  Fortier wasn’t happy with this answer, but he didn’t push it. ‘Why send the picture to you?’

  I shrugged. It was a good shrug, one that conveyed the impression that I didn’t have a clue. I underlined my puzzlement with a head shake. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Have you got any idea who this guy is?’

  I shook my head. ‘The profile still stands, though. You’re looking for a white male, five foot nine. He’s in his thirties, slim-built and college-educated. What you can add is that this unsub’s a game player. He’s got a Machiavellian streak a mile wide and right now he’s getting off on the fact that we’re running around like a bunch of headless chickens.’

  Fortier stared up at the massive storage tanks, then turned back to me. ‘Why’s he doing this? What’s his motivation?’

  They were good questions, questions I didn’t have answers to. What happened to Taylor had changed the whole landscape of this case.

  ‘He’s a serial killer.’ I opted for a stock answer, one that I knew I could deliver convincingly. ‘He’s driven by his fantasies. He wants to watch his victims suffer. He wants to control and dominate.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘There’s no why, not really. It’s just the way he’s wired. Yes, you can blame his childhood, and how he was brought up, and, yes, those things undoubtedly have an influence, but not everyone who has a lousy childhood goes on to become a serial killer. The difference is in the wiring.’

  ‘So this guy’s been a killer from day one.’

  ‘Pretty much. When we catch him, ask him if he killed and tortured animals as a kid. You’ll find out he did.’

  There was a sudden bustle of activity over at the door and we both turned to look. A second later the medics came out pushing a gurney, Hannah a few steps behind. Taylor was strapped to the gurney. If anything, the sunlight made his injuries look even worse. By the time I reached them the medics already had the back door of the ambulance open and were pushing Taylor inside.

  ‘Hannah.’

  She turned to look at me. Her face was paler and more drawn than ever.

  ‘You want to stay with Taylor, and I get that, but there’s nothing you can do for him. Whether he lives or dies is down to how good these guys are. I’m going to find the bastard who did this with or without your help. If you help me, I’m going to hunt him down more quickly. The quicker we catch him the less chance there is that someone else will end up hurt or dead.’

  She looked at me in disbelief. ‘You want me to leave him.’

  ‘I need your help.’

  ‘Taylor needs me.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t. He’s unconscious. He might even be in a coma. Hannah, he doesn’t even know you’re here.’

  ‘We’ve got to go,’ one of the medics called out.

  ‘I’m sorry, Winter.’

  The medic went to shut the door and I pushed it open. I stared straight at Hannah.

  ‘When you were nursing your mother you felt completely powerless. She was dying and there was nothing you could do to help her. You would have done anything to take the pain away. You considered killing her, but you couldn’t even do that because there was too big a risk of getting caught, and you knew that no matter how much pain she was in, she’d never forgive you for throwing your life away.’

  The medic told me to move. He tried to push the door closed again, but I pushed back harder.

  ‘Day after day you watched her fading away until there was nothing left. If you hadn’t been there, would that have changed the outcome? The answer’s no. Your mother would still be dead, and you’d still be feeling guilty because you’re convinced there must have been something you could have done differently. Something you could have done to make things better. You have that chance now. Help me.’

  Hannah was staring like she wanted to kill me. I didn’t blame her, not one bit. ‘You bastard,’ she hissed.

  The medic gave me a hard shove and I staggered backwards, landing on my ass. The door slammed shut and the ambulance pulled away, the siren howling, lights flashing.

  I stood up, brushed myself down, then went back to the car. I got inside, fired up the engine and turned the air-conditioning to full. Then I sat there with my cellphone in my hand and counted off the seconds. I reached fifty-seven before it rang. I connected the call, pressed the phone to my ear.

  ‘Where are you?’

  55

  Hannah was waiting in the shade of the guardhouse at the refinery entrance. She stomped over, wrenched the passenger door open, got in, slammed the door shut. I pulled away from the guardhouse and drove out the gates. For a while we just sat in silence and stared at the world on the other side of the windshield. Hannah was lost in her thoughts. I was lost in mine.

  ‘Why did the unsub attack Taylor?’ I asked as we drove up the ramp on to the interstate.

  ‘Don’t you want to know how Taylor’s doing?’

  ‘How’s he doing?’

  Hannah just glared. ‘Don’t you care what happens to him? Even a little bit?’

  ‘Of course I care. Taylor’s a great guy and I hope he pulls through. But there’s nothing I can do to affect that outcome, not a single goddamn thing. That one’s down to how much Taylor wants to live, and how good the surgeons are in this part of the world.’

  Hannah hit me with another icy look. ‘You really are a bastard, Winter. How did you get to be so cold?’

  I could still taste Taylor’s blood, and the ache in my arms would be there for the rest of the day. This had nothing to do with being cold, and everything to do with wanting to catch the guy who did this. I’d never wanted anything so badly. Call it revenge, call it whatever the hell you wanted, but someone was going to pay for this.

  Unfortunately, there weren’t enough words in the world to make Hannah understand that. She was angry and she wanted someone to blame, and I was as good a target as anyone because I was there. I understood that anger because I’d felt it myself.

  Hannah was still glaring. ‘I thought you were supposed to be good at this sort of thing.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve got to say, I’m not impressed. This guy’s been one step ahead of you all the way.’

  ‘He has,’ I agreed.

  For the next few minutes I let her talk herself out. I didn’t listen to a word she said. There was no point. If she was going to be any use to me, she needed to vent. And if I was going to be any use to Taylor, I needed to let her vent without taking it personally. So I just nodded at the appropriate points and offered a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ when she paused for breath and was expecting a response.

  Because Taylor would want me to catch this bastard. That’s the way he was wired. He didn’t do this for the glory or the backslaps or because he wanted his picture in the papers, he did this to put the bad guys away. We were the same in that respect. Kindred spirits recognised one another.

  While Hannah vented, I thought things through, and the one question I kept circling back to was why had the unsub chosen to attack Taylor now? What was the trigger?

  As we approached the outskirts of Eagle Creek
I noticed a change in Hannah. Her anger was gradually shifting from the external to the internal. This was my cue to intervene. She’d be just as useless to me if she was beating herself up.

  I hit the blinker and turned into a residential street that was filled with tidy, well-cared-for detached clapboard houses that were painted in shades of white, blue and grey. I parked at the sidewalk and killed the engine.

  ‘Let’s take a walk. I need to stretch my legs.’

  Hannah stopped talking and looked at me. It was the first thing I’d said in a while, and it obviously wasn’t what she was expecting. I got out of the car, lit a cigarette and started walking away. The street was narrow, the houses squashed up together. It was approaching two and the shadows were short. There was very little shade and absolutely no breeze. The blue medical top was sticking to me before I’d gone even a dozen feet.

  A car door slammed. Hurried footsteps behind, coming closer. Hannah fell into step beside me and I offered her the cigarette pack and lighter. She took them without a word, removed a cigarette, straightened it out and lit it.

  ‘It’s a beautiful day,’ I said. ‘Don’t you just love the feel of the sun on your skin?’

  ‘No, Winter, it’s way too hot and way too humid.’ She sighed. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I should be with Taylor.’

  ‘So, why did the unsub attack him?’

  ‘No idea. Maybe he just did it for the sheer hell of it. Maybe he did it because he could. And anyway, since when does he need a reason?’

  ‘Believe me, there’s a reason behind everything he does. Which leads us neatly onto question number two. Why didn’t he kill Taylor? Now, that’s the real puzzler. He’s responsible for three deaths, why not make it a fourth?’

  ‘Maybe he thought he had killed him. I mean, I thought he was dead when I first saw him.’

  For a second Hannah looked as though she was going to lose it. She struggled to get that last sentence out. She took a deep breath and squashed her emotions down.