"And it's not telepathy," Trey said.
And then, he knew. He didn't know how, or who, or even where.
"No," Trey said, feeling as if his mind was processing information too fast. "He didn't get a message. He delivered one."
Chapter Thirty-Five
1
The first victim's house.
The living room. It's simple, classic, elegant.
Reminds Jane Laymon of a spread from a magazine like House Beautiful. This is the country club area of San Pascal. It's nicer than where Jane grew up.
She sits across from the mother and father.
They've been polite and haunted at the same time.
Fasteau is out in the car. He didn't want to talk to them. He thinks she's wasting her time.
Something about these two people across from her on the beige sofa reminds her of her own parents. These are wealthier people, but they're just people.
And their son was killed four days earlier.
"We've spoken to officers twice now," the father says. "I'm not sure what else we can add."
"There might be some detail we've missed. That's all." Then, she adds, "Thank you for letting me see his room."
The mother sips a cup of tea and looks as if she hasn't slept in the nights since they got the news and had to identify their young son's body.
"That day," the mother volunteers. "That day..." She hesitates. The father gives her hand a squeeze, but she pulls her hand out from under his and rests it on her lap as if it is a thing and not her hand.
"Was there any delivery scheduled?"
The father shrugged. "I was at work. Nothing I knew of."
"Maybe something you ordered?"
The mother closes her eyes. Leans back, sinking further into the plush sofa. Opens her eyes. "Nothing. I mean, the mail came. The newspaper. No packages."
"How about workers? Do you have a gardener?"
"He's a fine man. They've already spoken to him," the mother says.
Then, the father says, "I'm not sure, Officer, if we really can illuminate this further."
"He's got another one, doesn't he?" the mother asks. "You don't know anything. You can't know anything. That's why you're here. He's taken another child. I saw the news last night. He's taking one every day." She leans forward and pulls a paper tissue from the box on the coffee table. She daubs the edges of her eyes. "I imagine the FBI are involved."
"Yes. But I wonder if there's something that you might be forgetting. About that day. That morning."
"I was upstairs, doing some work on the computer," the mother says. "He was just outside for a few minutes. He goes out — " she stops herself. "He was the friendliest little boy. The nicest little boy. I still can't believe it. I can't."
The father puts his arm around the mother's shoulder. "I think we need to stop for now. We need to ask you to go."
"No," the mother says. "Maybe there's something. Maybe there is."
The father rises. "Can I get you anything? Tea? A Coke?"
Jane's throat is a little dry. "Maybe some water?"
"Sure."
The mother begins openly sobbing. The father looks at her, then sits down and embraces her. The mother pressed her face into the father's neck as her shoulders heave.
"I'll get it," Jane stands, and walks across the room, down the short hallway to the kitchen, which she saw when she first came in. She opens up the cupboards, grabs a glass. Then she turns to the sink. Notices the water cooler by the kitchen door. Goes to it, and pushes the blue button, glass beneath the spigot, and pours of the cool water.
She notices the three big bottles of water by the cooler.
Back in the living room, she asks, "When does water get delivered here?"
"Water?"
"For the cooler."
"Oh," the father says. "I don't know."
When the mother calms, she says, "Maybe once a month. No, twice a month."
2
Jane doesn't necessarily think a lot about this until she's back in the car with Fasteau who tells her that he got a call from Tryon, who's not happy that Jane has taken it upon herself to re-interview the families.
"That's okay," Jane says. "Let's check on something else. You get water delivered at home?"
Fasteau let out a laugh. "Sure. Who the hell drinks the water out of the tap?"
"I do," Jane says.
"It ain't always good for you. There's a lot of stuff floating around in the water out here."
"What kind of water do you get?"
He hesitated a second. "Usually Arrowhead. Since I was a kid."
"Ever heard of Moon Lake Spring Water?"
"Sure. It's that little outfit that's been trying to go national. I see their trucks all over the place."
"They get it," Jane said. "Delivered. I asked her if there was one particularly delivery guy, and you know what she said? She had no idea. She said she never even noticed the guy who delivered it. It's like he had no face. She just let him in her house, he goes in with the bottles, spends some time in the kitchen, and then leaves. She said she wouldn't even recognize him or if it was even the same guy each time. All she knows is she thinks of the water delivery guy as Green Shirt, because that's the uniform color. I wonder if the other families get Moon Lake Spring Water, too."
Rain began coming down hard.
"What the hell," Fasteau said.
Chapter Thirty-Six
1
Conroy's office. Gray light from the overhead, from the overcast sky outside. The rain slashing.
"Elise, who does he know on the Outside?" Trey asked. "Who came to see him at Patton? Or up north? Someone visited him. Someone on the Outside knows him. And wants contact. Who is it? Because that someone is either the Red Angel or the person who knows the Red Angel well."
Elise leaned back in her chair, lighting up yet another cigarette. She took a few puffs.
"Who was at the trial? Who came to watch? Who knew him when? That's who this is. This is someone who has known Scoleri before."
"It could be anyone," she said. "Trey, this would take days to go through. We don't have days."
"Shit," Trey said. He wanted to pound the desk and kick something. "I know that he has a way of getting messages out."
"Or in."
"I wish we had more time."
Elise glanced at her wristwatch. A pained expression on her face. She took another drag on the cigarette. "It'll be dark in a couple of hours. Trey. Look, I'm going to go talk to Olsen. I think I can get this arranged. We'll get an escort, get him in the back of one of the transport vans, and just take him out. Get him over to Patton, see if he'll talk."
"Okay. But I have this feeling. I just think...I think if I stay on top of him..."
Suddenly, Elise slammed her fist down on her desk. "Damn it!"
He leaned forward and touched the tips of her fingers with his. "This is a terrible thing, Elise. But we have got to put it in the hands of law enforcement. We can talk to Scoleri to see if there's any information he can give us at this point. But nothing else."
"Here's the thing. I want to give him something small like this. Something inconsequential. If it gets him to talk, that's all I care about."
"You're not talking about roughing him up," Trey said. "I wish you were. I wish you were talking about using sodium pentothal. Or sedating him further and then getting him to free associate before he blacks out. But you're not."
"I wish I thought that would work. I know him well enough, Trey. I know what his demons are. Whether he's getting messages through staff or whether he thinks it's all coming through the ether like a radio, I don't care. He knows things. I want to find my son. The man who took Lucas kills them after sundown. I need him talking. He won't talk this way. He may talk outside this place. He may just need to feel in control for five minutes. To me, that's worth whatever it takes to get information to the police. To save my son. How the hell are you going to feel if sometime before dawn, they find Lucas in the Santa Ana river and that patient kno
ws exactly where this killer is? Jesus," she said, "it's my baby. It's my Lucas. You can't even understand. I would lay down my own life to make sure he gets back alive."
"Give me one more chance," Trey said.
Elise pointed out her window. The rain. "Look at that. That's how I feel on the inside."
"Just one more chance."
"Sometime between sundown and midnight, it happens. I'm guessing that it's an internal clock the killer's on. Lucas is somewhere out in that world and I am sitting here. He'll be dead. I don't care about procedure. I don't care about the law. I have a gun. I can..."
Trey drew back in the chair. "You what?"
"When I went home. I got it. I keep it locked up. I brought it with me. It's in my car now. A Sig Sauer."
Trey tried to quickly piece this together. This was irrational for Elise. I need to get her home. She needs to get away from this. She's too entrenched. She's not thinking right.
"What are you talking about? Elise? A gun? Come on. This is real life. Don't go off like this." He reached over and picked up the phone and held it in front of her. "Call your friends at the police department. Tell them that there's a patient you've been treating who might have a connection to the kidnapper. They'll know what to do. They'll handle this."
She took the phone from him, but set it back down in its cradle. "I spent an hour with them this morning. Trey, they're not even sure that Lucas was kidnapped yet. They keep saying it's a possibility. They don't want to hear from me again. At least not at this phase. Not till they know for sure. By then, it'll be too late."
"Do you know for sure this is what happened to Lucas?"
"I don't even want to go around on this again. I was called in on Friday night by detectives in San Pascal. A body had been found two miles from here, over by some orange groves. It was the first one. A little girl. Then, when I was working up, based on some evidence they'd shown me, they found a boy, same killer, in Little Orange. Bannock. Every day, another one. I am telling you, Scoleri is communicating with this killer. Somehow, some way."
Trey glanced around trying to take in everything, hoping that something would catch his eye. Desk. File cabinets. Telephone. Wastebasket. Water cooler. Bookshelves. Books. Magazines. Computer. "The trash can. You threw something out. Notes? A phone message?"
Elise sighed. "Enough. I don't even care anymore. Here's what I do know. Here's what I care about. Lucas. Scoleri knows the Red Angel took him. Do you know what this killer does? He kills them. Drugs them, then drowns them. Then, he takes a coat hanger and twists it around their neck. He cuts off bird wings and sticks them on the wire ends of the hangers so that they look like angels. That's why they call him the Red Angel — blood on the wings. He's making little angels out of them. When I spoke to the detectives today, they tried to keep me calm, but there's another detail. He's biting them. The last one found, this morning, her face was chewed up, her arms and torso bitten all over. I know what this is. He's been resisting doing it. But he's building up to it. The first one, nearly untouched. The most recent one, torn up like a dog got to her face. I've seen this before. So have you. With all the cases that come through. He's testing. He's trying out. He's getting more and more violent as he goes. Trey, his life is falling apart and he's taking it out on these children in monstrous ways. Jesus, I know this pattern of behavior. I've watched it before. I can't just sit and wait for these cops to find my son alive. It won't happen. He'll be dead. He'll have been tortured, too. He'll have the worst kind of death. Not my baby, Trey. Not my beautiful little boy. Not my angel."
2
"Call Olsen, then," Trey said, gently, after she'd composed herself again. "Get the transfer set up. Get at least two COs in the back of the van with him. I'll go in the front, and we'll make sure the driver is armed. I don't trust him. You can sit in the back with him, so long as there are shackles and cuffs. A neck brace if you really want to make sure he won't try anything. Don't ever forget he's labile."
"You've known him one day," she said. "I've known him longer. I know what to expect from him. I know what he's like."
"I'll back this all the way. I'll get to Brainard and get him signed off on this. Then, we'll meet at the pod, and get this going. It'll take about an hour. But if this is really what you think will help, we'll do it."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
1
Hanging from the wall on a hook, large bird wings, blood dripping from them.
On the ground, a large dead duck.
Lucas was still crying because of what he'd just seen, but he fought to dry his tears. He felt stunned, but something in his brain was beginning to switch on. Something that was overcoming his fears.
It was a small gasp of a survival mechanism.
Duane had untied him, pulling off the tape. It had hurt, but it felt better than having it all over him so that he couldn't really move. He had to rescue Stuart, his hamster, too. He had to somehow get out. Somebody would come for him. He was sure. His Mom or Dad would be there. Lucas knew it. He also prayed to God to send someone to help him. He knew that if he prayed hard enough, it would all work out. He just knew something would happen that would rescue him, just like on TV or in some of the books he read. Everything always worked out. He was sure of it.
But he shivered nonetheless and felt as if every moment made him more and more scared.
"You're in the Mad Place," Duane said to the boy. He seemed friendly again. It weirded Lucas out to see him like this. It frightened him too much. His head hurt from trying to understand it.
"Do you remember me?"
Lucas nodded. "You're Duane. The water man."
"No," the man said. "It was Duane. But it is the Beast now. It is the Devil. Do you understand? You are the angel I need to send to God. God needs to know. The War is about to begin. Are you aware, little bird? Between Heaven and Hell, on Earth, it will begin. I am the Omega. I am the Last. You are my messenger."
Duane’s look changed slightly. Lucas was worried that this was a bad thing to ask. Duane’s face scrunched up, not like he was mad, but like he was confused. He looked over at the bird wings hanging there. He stomped over to the small bed, and touched the tip of one of the wings. There was blood on it. He wiped it on his fingers, and then wiped his fingers across his mouth.
Fear clutched at Lucas’s heart, and he stepped backwards, tripping on something on the stone floor.
Then, he saw what he’d tripped over.
It looked like a rubber doll’s head, larger than it should’ve been. Large, and distorted, with fine wisps of hair off its scalp.
Attached to a body.
It made a noise that sounded like a crow cawing.
2
“You boys have been bad again! It’s time to find your salvation before the demons gets you! You want the demons to find you? The Devil is inside you. The Devil won't leave. The Devil is coming out!” Duane shouted, only Lucas was no longer certain it was Duane because his face had turned all red, and the sweat shone across his forehead, and his eyes were large and wide. Suddenly, Duane clutched himself around the middle. His throat seemed to get larger—Lucas had never seen anything as horrifying in his life—it was as if his throat were twisting around on itself and growing. Then, a deep voice boomed from within Duane’s throat shouting obscenities.
The voice grew soft.
Light.
Then, the worst thing happened as far as Lucas was concerned.
Duane fixed his awful gaze upon him and whispered, “Do you know that demons live inside my flesh?”
Duane began ripping at his own face with his bare hands, his fingernails slicing away at the skin beneath his eyes.
3
In its mind, it felt the presence of greatness, of the Beast rising in his blood, taking over the hands that tore, the teeth that bit, the very soul of the It known as Duane Cobble.
The past and the present mixed together in his memory:
His foster brother, God, who had taught it about his inner nature the sam
e way that his daddy had, about the Other One, The Beast, the Great Darkness known as 666, within its cage of flesh and bone. Its destiny marked by his little angels, sent to God to warn the Almighty of the coming fires of the world and the emergence of Hell.
Memories of daddy holding it down, in the hot water of the spring in the Mad Place, praising Jesus while he tried to cast out its demons, praising Heaven while slamming and dunking his head beneath the too hot water. "You are an It! You are less than a worm! You are not worthy of the evil sinful serpent from which you came! Your serpent is strong, but I will cast out the Devil from you! Do you hear me? Do you?" His daddy cried out.
And then, beaten so badly that he could only crawl, beaten with Ruthie lying there, her eyes blank and staring.
Locked in the Mad Place for weeks at a time, he lay and ate the scraps thrown down to him, and drank the cold water along the ground, hearing its daddy reading the gospel to it from on high, hearing its daddy ranting in the dark about the demons its wicked mother had given birth to — given form — "From her cursed place, you crawled, you whore, and then the it followed, a child of darkness, a child who was not human, but was full of sin! The mark of the Devil upon you! Dear Sweet Lord, save these two sinners, save them from the foul creatures who inhabit their bodies! Save their eternal souls! Keep them from the fires of perdition!"
His two foster brothers with him, screaming as they watched his father break Ruthie's legs, but he knew that its daddy was right. Ruthie was the Whore of Babylon. She was the beginning of sin, and if daddy did not subdue her — trod upon her as the serpent underfoot — then the last days would come.
Inside the Mad Place, bound for a thousand years, the world was safe from the Devil.
Criminally Insane: The Series (Bad Karma, Red Angel, Night Cage Omnibus) (The Criminally Insane Series) Page 33
