Despite their breakneck speed, Ruth stared out the window blankly, her eyes flickering back and forth, rewinding the tape of what went down in the dingy storeroom. Paxton had to do something to pull her out of it before they arrived.
“Are you sure we are heading to the right YMCA? The store owner wasn’t sure which one Darby went to.”
Ruth seemed as if she were waking up from a nap. “Oh, here.” She consulted the map on her phone. She seemed her steadiest with a task at hand. “This west-side location is on his route between the halfway house and the bookstore.”
Paxton pretended to look at the map, but she pulled it away.
“But you already knew why we were going to this particular YMCA,” Ruth said, with a halfhearted smile. “Look. I’m fine, really.”
Well, she’d best be, because they were at the YMCA. Paxton hit the brakes as they careered into the parking lot. He pulled them to a stop across two handicapped parking spaces. One of the few perks of the job. You got to flout parking placards.
Ruth exited the car first—wanting to put as much physical distance between herself and the bookstore incident as she could. They were through the door and to the check-in counter within steps.
Ruth flashed her badge, all the shakes gone. “Detectives Matte and Prover. Do you have a sign-in roster?”
The skinny guy behind the counter froze, his eyes darting left and right, like a mouse trying to plan an escape from a cat.
“We’re not here for you, dude,” Paxton tried to reassure him. “The sooner we are on to someone else, the less time we will have to look at you.”
That seemed to break through the guy’s panic. “Yeah, sure. Here it is.”
He pushed a plant out of the way to reveal a clipboard with a pen tied to a string. Very classy. Ruth’s finger went down the page until she tapped a name.
Darby’s name.
“Has he left yet?” she asked.
The guy looked down at the name. “You mean the fat guy with all the crosses?”
“Yep, that pretty much describes him,” Paxton replied.
“I saw him hit the showers a few minutes ago.”
“Where are the showers?” Ruth asked.
The guy pointed down a long corridor. “The locker room is down that way and the showers are all the way in the back.”
Without a word, Paxton and Ruth broke into a run.
Hopefully, there weren’t any deaf guys looking to take a shower this morning.
* * *
Leaving the hustle and bustle of the locker room, Arnie felt the steam hit him in the face as he entered the dry sauna. Yet, it wasn’t hot enough for him. He crossed over to the bed of heated rocks and poured more water over them. The moisture crackled and popped, dancing along the black surface. A loud hiss filled the foggy room.
Dipping the ladle into the water, he scooped more onto the rocks. He wanted the humidity to last. His workout had kicked his ass, and he wanted to sweat it out. Otherwise, he would be as rickety as his old man in the morning.
Pulling the towel from around his waist, he laid it out onto the wooden bench, then followed suit. Closing his eyes, Arnie let the heat soak into him. He really shouldn’t have done a third set, but that cute chick in the tight unitard had set up shop right next to him. What could he do but show off for her?
Suddenly, the light went out.
“Damn it! Who did that?”
He hadn’t heard the door open. It must be bad wiring. He really needed to get a raise from the pizza place so he could afford to go to a real gym.
Arnie contemplated just leaving the lights out, but he really didn’t want another guy coming and tripping into him. He wasn’t a homophobe, but come on—he really didn’t want another naked dude on top of him.
In the dim light leaking under the door, Arnie swung his legs over the bench, got up, and groped for the light switch. He finally felt the cool plastic of the switch, but before he could flip it, he felt a sharp pain.
Gasping, he jerked his hand back. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Or didn’t see. His pinkie was missing. It was gone! Blood spurted from the wound, splattering and hissing on the rocks.
How could his finger be gone?
The reality hit him, though. No matter how, his finger was gone. Arnie screamed as he went for the door, but that same stinging sensation slid across his throat. Blood gushed from his neck, raining down on the rocks. A pink steam rose up. Arnie grabbed for the wound, but not even his hands could stanch the bleeding.
Slumping to the floor, Arnie saw a pair of dark shoes move out from under a black cape.
“Please, no,” he tried to whisper.
“Oh, please, do beg,” a mechanical voice replied. “It makes it all the more satisfying.”
* * *
Ruth went to open the door to the men’s locker room, but Paxton put a hand on hers.
“How about if I go in first?”
“I said I was fine,” she answered, getting a bit miffed at his overprotectiveness. She wasn’t really fine, but she hated being reminded of that fact.
“No, I was more talking about the whole ‘bunch-o-naked’ guys in there.”
She raised an eyebrow. “After ten years on the job, I think it’s a little late for modesty.”
Paxton still shook his head. “No, I meant you going in there is going to cause quite the stir, and we probably don’t want to tip off Darby.”
She went to argue, but a man burst out the door screaming, “Help!”
Before either of them could react, three more half-dressed men rushed out after him. Paxton frowned and pulled his gun.
“Police! Make way!”
As Paxton shoved another panicked man out of the way so that they could get into the locker room, Ruth could see the look on his face. He’s here. Pulling her own weapon, Ruth tried to block out the memory of the deaf man’s terrified face. How she had nearly killed an unarmed man.
But with the screams and shouts, Ruth doubted that whoever was in the locker room was unarmed. Men streaked by, literally, as they fled the locker room. She grabbed one of them by the arm, his skin still slick with soap. “What happened?”
Panicked, he shook his head—spraying her with water. “I don’t know. But they said they found a body in the steam room.”
Ruth let him go on as they made their way to the flickering “Sauna” sign. Paxton arrived first and waited until she was in position to back him up. Ruth gave him a firm nod. She wanted him to know that she had his back, no matter what they found on the other side.
Paxton jerked the sauna door open. “Police!”
Once inside the sauna, it was difficult to see. A pink fog permeated the room. The bitter tang of iron hit her nose as she tried to make out what had happened.
“Freeze!” Paxton barked. She followed his gaze down as the ruddy fog swirled. It parted to show Darby on his knees next to something. Darby rocked back and forth, mumbling a prayer.
Apparently, Paxton did not want to repeat the near mistake from earlier in the day as he grabbed the suspect by the back of the collar and hauled him backward.
“No!” Darby yelled. “You need to let me finish!”
As Paxton secured the suspect, Ruth moved toward the object on the floor. As the fog thinned, Ruth slowed. This was no mannequin.
It was a man, eviscerated.
Bowel was strewn across the tile floor. The pooled blood was bubbling in a sickening rhythm. Ruth suppressed a gag as she knelt down to check a pulse. It seemed extremely redundant, but she had to be sure.
Of course, she found no heartbeat under her fingers. She looked up at Paxton, who gulped and looked away.
“He’s dead.” She scanned the room. For all the blood and the ragged wound, there was no knife. Rising, she turned to Darby. “Where’s the weapon?”
The man seemed in a sick trance as he rocked back and forth. “It is in God’s hands.”
Paxton swung Darby around to face him. Anger radiated from her partner. “We nee
d something a little more specific, asshole!”
Darby made a futile attempt to rush toward the body. “You must let me finish!”
“Um, that is so never going to happen, perv,” Paxton said as he slammed Darby against the wall. As some of the braver men gathered at the doorway, Ruth put a hand on Paxton’s arm.
“Just read him his rights, Pax. We don’t want any wiggle room in his confession.”
Her partner’s nostrils flared as he looked down at the defiled body. She squeezed his arm. Ruth understood exactly how he felt, but she did not want a major conviction, another major conviction, overruled because of allegations of police brutality.
Finally, Paxton loosened his grip on Darby, nodding. “Yes,” he said slowly, and then with more passion, “we want the death penalty to apply.”
Ruth did not feel in the mood to disagree.
* * *
Cecilia looked up from checking her emails on her phone to find that Michael cruised right past her block.
“Um, my house is in that direction.”
Next to her, Michael just shrugged. “I figured I would drop you off on the way back, if that’s okay?”
It wasn’t okay, but Cecilia did not want to make a fuss and draw even more attention to the awkward silence. Ever since they had dropped off Francesca, Helen had been unable to engage either one of them in conversation. She sat pouting, even worse than Cecilia, in the backseat.
As they pulled up to Helen’s driveway, her friend could not help but give it one more try. “Are you sure that I shouldn’t come over and help you with your trig homework? I know how much trouble you have with proofing.”
Cecilia cocked her head. “I think you’ve helped enough, Helen. I will call you tomorrow.”
With a sigh loud enough to be heard across the block, Helen got out of the car and stood at the curb as Michael pulled the car away.
“Tonight!” Helen yelled as they made their way down the block. “No. Call me as soon as you get home!”
Cecilia tried to pretend she didn’t know exactly why Helen wanted her to call. This was the first time she had been alone with a boy since her dad died. She knew her friends meant well, but she really did not see how a hookup, or even a full-fledged boyfriend, would make her life any better. As a matter of fact, she dreaded having to explain half the crap that happened at her house to an outsider.
Michael went to speak, then coughed, then had to clear his throat before he finally was able to get his words out. “So, I take it you’re not a huge Diana Dahmer fan?”
Trying to be polite, Cecilia answered, “You could say that.”
“Is it the beat, or—”
“Look,” she said, stopping him. She squirmed a bit in her seat, regretting accepting the ride. If she had any notion that Michael was going to change the route and drop her off last, she never would have gotten into the car, let alone the front seat.
“I appreciate you driving us all home and everything, but we have absolutely nothing in common to talk about.”
“Okay …” Michael said, as he focused back on the road in front of them.
Relaxing back into the seat, Cecilia counted the blocks until she was home.
“Um,” Michael continued, thoroughly dashing her hopes of a silent ride home. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”
“Well, to my knowledge, I don’t think we have really exchanged more than a ‘Yo’ in the hallway, so how do you know that we have absolutely nothing in common?”
His eyes slid over playfully to her. “I mean, what’s your position on alpaca farming?”
“I guess, well, I didn’t even know they farmed them,” Cecilia answered.
“See? I didn’t, either.”
In spite of herself, Cecilia felt a grin spread across her lips. She was even a touch sad that he pulled up to her driveway. Michael smiled back as he put the car in park. He turned to her, his blue eyes flashing with humor.
“So, now that we’ve established such a broad base of similarity, how about you come along to the concert tonight?”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she answered, but not quite as forcefully as she might have a few minutes ago. Still, the smile fell a bit on Michael’s face, so she rushed on. “But thanks. Really.”
She opened the door and got out before her resistance was worn down any more. Michael leaned over the seat. “If you change your mind …”
“I won’t,” Cecilia said.
But Michael only smiled. “Stranger things have happened.”
Perhaps they had. However, she had three loads of laundry, a sink full of dirty dishes, and one scary-messy garage to clean up. But she did wave as he left. Michael deserved that much. It wasn’t his fault that her life sucked big time.
* * *
Panting, the killer scaled the last of the roof and squeezed his frame through the open window. The thrill of nearly being discovered coursed through his body.
Talk about a thrill rush!
He tossed the bloody knife onto the plastic sheet he had just for this purpose before he stripped off his red-smeared clothes and mask. The gilded hawk nose of the Inquisition mask stared back up at him. Daring him to complete his plan.
Oh, he was going to complete his plan, all right. This near miss only galvanized him to action. Lastly, he tossed two spanking new tickets to the All Hallow’s Eve bash down onto his bed.
Tonight was going to be the night of his life. Tonight, they would all see what he was capable of.
If they were freaked out by the previous murders, well…
The killer smiled as he wiped the blood from his hands.
* * *
Paxton tried to keep his attention on the report he was typing, but Darby just wouldn’t shut up. He rattled the bars of the holding cell.
“You can’t keep me here!”
“Watch me,” Paxton answered flatly.
“I’m claustrophobic!”
Paxton rolled his eyes, making sure that Ruth was catching all this great wacko action. “Yeah, right.”
Darby’s tone lowered, almost pleading. “I only gave that poor man his last rites. I did nothing to harm his corporeal shell.”
“Sure, you’re just the picture of civic pride.”
Ruth frowned, “Paxton…”
He gave an exaggerated shrug. “What?”
“You know what the DA instructed.”
Paxton did. However, he was finding it harder and harder to comply. But having a suspect with known mental illness, even though he had waived his right to counsel, presented a sticky situation. If Darby were not completely mentally capable at the time he signed such a waiver, it would be null and void. Which meant anything obtained during questioning could be thrown out at trial.
It hurt Paxton’s brain to think crap like that through. Thankfully, the guy had basically confessed as soon as they walked into the sauna. A classic spontaneous utterance. Sane or crazy, those usually held up in court pretty darn well.
But until a shrink showed up to assess Darby’s mental status, they were not allowed to question him, or even talk to him really, but Paxton was pretty sure making fun of the guy was okay.
He went to tell Ruth that much, but her frown deepened, and she said his name more like a growl than a word. “Paxton.”
Behind him, Darby pleaded, “Please, there was a devil in a cape. It was he who sundered that poor soul.”
Paxton snorted. He didn’t think that was off-limits by the DA, but Ruth’s frown only worsened. She tapped her pen on the desk across from him. “You know, two other witnesses did mention a costumed—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He knew this side of Ruth. The self-doubting side. She questioned every piece of evidence. Every word of a confession. She weighed it all, trying to find a flaw. Paxton knew her history, and especially after the bookstore incident earlier, he knew that she did not want to get “caught with her pants down” again, but damn, it wore on his nerves. For once, th
ey had an open-and-shut case.
“It’s Halloween week, and in that part of town, I think we can assume that a few dozen people were running around in costume.”
Ruth got up from her side of the desk and sat next to him. Was that a universal chick thing? That having her body so close would distract a guy and convince him to do what she wanted? As the smell of fresh strawberries drifted over from her form, Paxton was pretty sure that it was universal—and that it worked.
“I totally get the whole Halloween thing,” Ruth said, “but we really didn’t investigate the crime scene very thoroughly.”
“Um, because we caught the killer red-handed. Like literally, blood-smeared red.”
Ruth seemed undeterred, though. “But what if he had an accomplice?”
Paxton looked over at the crazed man. “First off, who’s going to team up with that? And second, we may not have gone over the crime scene, but forensics went over that sauna and locker room with the proverbial fine-tooth comb.”
She nodded. However, Paxton didn’t feel like she agreed with him at all.
“But aren’t you just the least bit interested in who was in full costume in the Y’s steam room?”
“Nope. Not at all. But hey, if you want to head out, go for it.”
Unfortunately, Darby decided that this was the perfect moment to begin howling. Not just uttering loudly—actually howling like a wolf.
Ruth indicated the holding cell. “So, you could go back to the YMCA with me and poke around, or listen to that all night, alone.”
“Damn you, woman,” Paxton grumbled as he unlocked his drawer and got his gun. “And your lesser-of-two-evils logic.”
Ruth grinned as she headed toward the door. Watching how her pants hugged the curve of her rear, Paxton was suddenly glad he decided to go along.
CHAPTER 4
Cecilia folded yet another school shirt. She really should do laundry more often, but then that would involve going into Jeremy’s room and—ugh—her mom’s room. Which would be fine if their dirty clothes were actually in their clothes hampers. Of course, that would be just too easy. Instead, Cecilia always ended up crawling under beds and chairs.
Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) Page 36
