Donovan Creed 11 - Because We Can!

by John Locke

  She hurries back to Kathleen’s garage, but finds an empty spot where Kathleen’s phone should be. She doesn’t go crazy, searching all through the garage and house like some maniac. She doesn’t do that because she knows she never touched the phone. And because she saw it a few minutes ago while staging the crime scene.

  She’s well aware someone took it.

  But who?

  Her own cell phone rings.

  She pulls it from her back pocket, checks the screen, recognizes the caller.

  It’s Kathleen.

  She glances at Kathleen’s body.

  The caller’s clearly not Kathleen. But it is her cell phone.

  Callie answers.

  “Miss Carpenter, I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Ryan Decker.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Right down to business. I like that.”

  “Like you said, you caught me at a bad time.”

  “Very well, I’ll get straight to the point. I want you to join my urban army.”

  “In return for?”

  “Keeping your secret.”

  “About?”

  “Meeting with Kathleen today. And killing her just now.”

  Callie frowns. “Call me back in ten minutes.”

  Decker says, “You’re hanging up on me? Seriously?”

  22.

  CALLIE HANGS UP on Decker and searches the garage till she finds the pinhole camera. She rips it out, shoves it in her pocket. She’d like to search the house, but knows her time is limited. The lady keeping Addie will eventually show up, or have a neighbor check to see if Kathleen’s home.

  Callie goes to the kitchen, searches the drawers till she finds an indelible marker. It’s not a grease pen, but it’ll get the job done. She carefully approaches Kathleen’s corpse, taking great pains not to step in the pooled blood.

  Kathleen’s lying on her back.

  That’s good because Callie can unbutton her jeans and pull her pants and panties to her knees. But it’s also bad news, because she’s been dead long enough that the coroner will be able to tell she was turned over long after the murder.

  Wait. Could that work to her advantage? Maybe it’ll convince the cops there was more than one perpetrator, or that the crime scene was contaminated by a second person thirty minutes after Kathleen’s death. It might create loose ends that could send the investigation in a number of different directions.

  Another good thing is the blood has pooled around Kathleen’s head, and not so much beneath her torso. By working slowly and carefully, Callie should be able to flip her onto her stomach without getting blood on her own clothes—meaning the clothes she stole from Kathleen.

  She pulls Kathleen’s pants and panties down to her ankles and stares at her crotch for a full minute, especially the area Creed calls her vertical smile. What she’s thinking, Creed’s been here. He’s spent many happy hours in this bronze-tufted triangle, and liked it. And because he enjoyed it so much, Kathleen’s dead.

  And there’s a video somewhere that proves Callie killed her.

  And Ryan Decker has it.

  She stares at Kathleen’s crotch some more and starts fuming. It’s all she can do not to mutilate her. Of course Kathleen would be stupid enough not to notice the hidden cameras, and of course Decker saw and recorded everything. The meeting this afternoon, her threats, their kissing…

  Is Callie slipping? Should she have thought to check for cameras?

  No.

  There was no reason to suspect this mundane school teacher had been targeted by Decker, or anyone else. And Callie knew nothing about Decker till this morning.

  It just happened.

  She keeps her cool, figures she’ll deal with Decker when he calls, and do all she can in the meantime to mitigate her mistakes. She starts by flipping Kathleen facedown, so she can write BWC on her ass.

  Except that…when she flips her over she sees…Kathleen already has BWC written on her ass!

  With a grease pen.

  But how?

  Callie thinks a minute. Kathleen died on her back. Decker couldn’t have turned her over to write on her ass after the fact. If he had, Kathleen’s forehead and face would have been smeared with blood.

  And they weren’t.

  He wrote BWC on her ass before she died. Which means he was in Kathleen’s house when Callie killed her. He must have paid Kathleen a visit after Callie left the first time. Then wrote on her ass and forced her to call Creed, hoping Callie would come back to kill her.

  Decker set them up. Orchestrated the whole thing. Delivered Kathleen to her death. Not that it matters now, but Kathleen may have intended to stick to their deal, which means Decker’s a formidable foe. He tricked Callie, used her, and now he owns her.

  Callie’s phone rings.

  “It’s been ten minutes,” Decker says. “And I’ve lost my video feed to Kathleen’s garage. Any idea how that happened?”

  “Why did you write BWC on her ass?”

  “You found that? Good for you. I did it to prove I’m willing to take credit for her death if I have to. And I will, if you agree to work with me.”

  “What would I have to do?”

  “Two things. First, agree to never help find or kill me. Second, convince Creed to accept my demands.”

  Callie pauses. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Because you know I could use this against you in so many ways.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  Decker laughs. “After seeing you naked on camera just now, it was extremely hard not to demand sex.”

  “Why didn’t you? I would have done it.”

  “I know. But please don’t say that again, because I find you stunningly attractive, and it’s already eating me alive. Not taking advantage of you is something I’ll probably regret for a long time.”

  “Well, if it means anything, I appreciate it. Very much.”

  He pauses. “It means a lot, Miss Carpenter. Please know I have the utmost respect for you and Mr. Creed, and have no desire to blackmail you or harm your chances for happiness. For me this is about the money, nothing more.”

  “Since you broached the subject, how much are you demanding?”

  “Don’t laugh. A billion dollars.”

  “That seems awfully high for a guy who writes graffiti on people’s asses.”

  “I agree. Which is why I need your help getting Creed to say yes.”

  “Creed will do what he thinks is right.”

  “Of course. But if he happens to ask your advice?”

  “I’ll tell him to pay the money.”

  “Good girl. And the other part?”

  “I’m in. You have my word. I won’t help them find or kill you.”

  “Good.”

  “What’s your backup plan?”

  “If Creed says no, I’ll have to take my case to the public. Unfortunately, lives will have to be lost before the media takes me seriously.”

  “Of course. So. What happens now?”

  “After you leave, my people will hustle over to Kathleen’s garage and clean the crime scene.”

  “And the body?”

  “—Will never be found.”

  “And her cell phone?”

  “—Is already in your rental car.”

  “And the cell tower records?”

  “Hopefully you can do something about that. But the tower itself will be gone by midnight.”

  “And the videos you made of me and Kathleen?”

  “I hope you’ll understand why I need to keep those.”

  “Insurance.”

  “Exactly. If something happens to me, the tapes will go public around the world. But please believe that will never happen unless you go back on your word.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Thanks. That also means a lot to me.”

  Callie finds
Kathleen’s cell phone in the console of her rental car. She removes the battery, puts it in her handbag, and checks into a different hotel, using a name and ID Creed has never heard of. She changes clothes, leaves the hotel, drives a few miles, tosses the clothes she borrowed from Kathleen into a dumpster. Then she drives back to the hotel, goes to her room, orders room service. While waiting for her dinner to arrive, she puts the battery back in Kathleen’s phone and investigates the contents. Sees the photos of Addie she expected to find. Checks the text messages, finds nothing strange or unusual. She hooks the phone up to her computer, runs a scan on the deleted photos, and sees something that turns her world upside down.

  23.

  KATHLEEN’S CELL PHONE contains recently deleted photos of Donovan Creed!

  In this one he’s lying in bed, sleeping. In this one he’s completely nude, with his back to the camera, walking toward Kathleen’s bathroom. In this one, he’s sideways, taking a shower. In this one, a close up of his penis is taking a shower. Creed seems completely oblivious to the photos being shot, and normally Callie wouldn’t make a big deal out of a former girlfriend capturing private moments of her lover and his anatomy on a disk years ago, even if the former girlfriend decided to keep the photos for her personal enjoyment.

  Except that when Kathleen was dating Creed, he had a different face.

  These photos show his current face. The one Kathleen was supposed to have seen for the first time at dinner last night. Now that Callie thinks about it, when Kathleen greeted Creed she said, “Hello, Donovan.” What she should have said was, “Nice face!” or, “I never would have believed it was you!” But she didn’t make any comment about his face.

  Doesn’t that seem strange?

  It does, now that Callie thinks about it.

  How did she fail to pick up on it last night while listening to their conversation?

  Simple. She wasn’t expecting Kathleen to be at the dinner. She was expecting a possible ambush. Then she got sidetracked by Rose and the very pregnant Miranda.

  Callie’s the first to admit she jumps to conclusions. But these photos aren’t an example of her imagination running wild. They’re camera specific. They weren’t transferred from Kathleen’s original iPhone. They were taken from her iPhone 5.

  They didn’t have iPhone 5’s when Kathleen and Creed were dating.

  Not to mention these particular photos are time-and-date stamped, which proves they were taken eight weeks ago. Which means Creed fucked Kathleen exactly two days before Callie told him she loved him and made the decision to share his life.

  Callie feels the rush of boiling blood flooding her system. Feels the adrenalin kick in. She stands and flips her desk over. Throws a chair across the room so hard it smashes against the wall. She reaches for the standing lamp but hears her cell phone vibrate. She glances at the display and sees that Decker has sent her a video attachment.

  Callie’s not in the mood to watch a video. She’d rather trash her room and kill whoever bangs on the wall to complain about it. She picks up the mangled chair and smashes it repeatedly against the wall.

  No one complains.

  The fucking chair has been reduced to kindling and no one’s complaining about the noise? What’s the matter with people?

  She opens the door that connects to the adjoining room. As expected, there’s a second door locked from the other side. One kick to the left of the lock is all it takes to weaken the frame. Two more kicks and she’s in.

  Someone got lucky. The room is vacant.

  She looks around. What would an angry rock star do?

  Trash the room.

  She grabs the desk chair and flings it into the giant-screen TV. Tries to lift the bed, but finds it bolted. She screams in frustration. Then spots the floor-to-ceiling window, and decides to take her life.

  She throws herself full speed into the window, expecting to crash through and plummet to her death, but—damn it to hell!—it’s safety glass. The impact makes the whole room shudder, but the glass holds, and Callie rebounds painfully to the floor. She lies there a moment, on her side, then rolls onto her back. Her chest is heaving with violent intentions.

  This would be a bad time for someone to complain about the noise.

  A very bad time.

  She wonders why no one’s called the front desk. That’s how it works, right? Some asshole tears up a room at night, guests call the front desk to complain, the front desk calls the room to warn or threaten them…

  If someone working the front desk calls she might go downstairs and create a bloodbath.

  She pictures herself vaulting over the front desk counter, slashing throats, going from one office to the next, slaughtering employees and managers alike.

  There are few sounds Callie enjoys more than a razor-sharp blade slicing through a meaty section of human flesh. But one is the initial strike of a non-fatal stab. In order for the sound to be right, the knife must enter the body all the way to the front quillon without hitting ribs, bones, or vital organs. If you plan to stab someone for the sheer enjoyment of hearing the sound, you need to know anatomy and strike angles, because it’s harder than you think to stab a human with a proper knife and not hit bone.

  Callie has a proper knife.

  And the knowledge and desire to use it.

  She hears a small chirp from the next room that reminds her Decker sent her a video file.

  She gets to her feet, walks to her room, clicks on the file and sees a short video of a recent rally, where an unseen Decker instructs his troops in the use of spray cans to render policemen and park visitors unconscious. He explains how they need to work in teams. Four per cop, three per civilian. One distracts the target, one sprays the target’s face, one or two catch the targets as they fall. One pulls the pants down, one writes BWC on the ass.

  What makes the video unique, it wasn’t made before the Central Park attack. And the troops aren’t college-aged men.

  They’re college-aged women.

  And the attack is scheduled for 9:00 a.m. tomorrow, in Jackson Square, New Orleans, less than a mile from the Rose Dumont Hotel, where Creed is staying tonight.

  It’s a test.

  Callie’s so pissed about Creed’s affair with Kathleen she has half a mind to warn him about the impending Jackson Square attack. If she does, Decker will send Creed the video of her killing Kathleen. The question is, does Callie really care if Creed finds out?

  She thinks about it.

  Yes, she does care.

  Because she’s won.

  True, Creed never told her he’d been sleeping with Kathleen, but fucking Kathleen doesn’t necessarily mean he had feelings for her. What really counts is two days after the photos were taken, when Callie said she wanted to be with him, he said yes and dumped Kathleen.

  Callie now realizes killing Kathleen was the right thing to do. She would have been a perpetual threat to their happiness, because couples argue. It’s unavoidable. If Creed had kept Kathleen in his back pocket, he might have contacted her during the tough times. If Callie and Creed had a verbal or physical argument at some point, it would be human nature for Creed to seek comfort with the woman who loved and adored him all these years.

  And she would have spread her legs for him without a moment’s hesitation.

  But Kathleen is no longer an option for Creed. No future threat to their relationship.

  Ding Dong, the witch is dead!

  Callie will keep Decker’s upcoming attack a secret. And why not? What’s the big deal about park visitors getting some grease on their asses? If Decker can wrangle a billion dollars for what amounts to a college prank, more power to him. And if Creed somehow finds out that Callie killed Kathleen, maybe that won’t be such a big deal, either. Creed had to know he couldn’t have possibly made a life with that nagging frump. If Creed finds out, Callie will apologize, promise never to kill his other girlfriends, and eventually, he’ll forgive her.

  Because Callie’s going to be the best girlfriend he ever ha
d.

  If she can get over the fact he was fucking Kathleen behind her back.

  She calls Decker and says, “Nice video.”

  “Thanks. Are you still on board?”

  “Yes. Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where’s Kathleen?”

  He pauses. “You don’t expect me to answer that, do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Over the phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I need closure.”

  He laughs. “You’re something else. Stay tuned.”

  Two minutes later Callie’s phone chirps with a text message.

  24.

  THE DISPLAY ON Callie’s phone shows the call came from a different cell phone. Obviously a disposable, untraceable, pre-paid one, which makes sense, given the message: Fresh, Shallow Grave, and the coordinates, which shows Kathleen’s body is located 80 miles from Callie’s hotel.

  She quickly packs her clothes, a sheet, and her personal items, and heads down the hall toward the elevators. On the way, she nods at the security cop who’s heading to her room to complain about the noise.

  If only he’d come sooner.

  Another lucky bastard gets to live another day.

  Callie takes the elevator to the parking garage, loads the coordinates into her GPS, and follows the verbal directions. When the voice says, “You have arrived at your destination,” she leaves her headlights on and walks 11 yards before finding the mound of dirt where Kathleen’s buried. She places the sheet on the lower half of the mound and lies on it. Then takes her knife and plunges it into the center of the mound.

  And feels nothing.

  Not so shallow after all.

  She stands, pulls the sheet away, looks for the shovel they would have left at the scene after removing any finger prints. Decker’s people would be smart enough to know you don’t transport a dead body in a vehicle, and then keep the shovel that dug the grave. Because if for some reason they were stopped by a cop, the shovel could lead to questions that could be answered by a cadaver-sniffing dog, followed by a soil analysis that could match them to the grave site.