Mortal Fear m-1

by Greg Iles

  “Just talk to him long enough to look for typos,” he says. “If he’s back in New York, we’ll have him.” His voice drops in volume. “Baxter’s wasting his time in Connecticut. The killing house is here, Harper. Somewhere close to the medical school. I’ve already found people who’ve seen Berkmann before. Washington Heights people. I’m on 169th Street right now.”

  I hesitate. “Dr. Lenz said Drewe and I should split. Get somewhere safe.”

  “Yeah? Where’s that?”

  When I don’t answer, Miles says, “Safe for us is a function of Edward Berkmann no longer breathing. At some level you know that.”

  “Okay… damn.”

  Not giving myself time for second thoughts, I hang up and log into the system as HARPER/SYSOP 2, then click into the Blue Room. It’s empty. I type a quick query-Where are you? — route it to SYSOP 1, then activate the voice-recognition program.

  Almost immediately, “BERKMANN/SYSOP 1” appears in the top left corner of my screen under “WHO’S HERE?” Then, like a voice from the grave, the now chilling digital baritone fills the office as letters appear on my screen.

  BERKMANN› Hello, Harper. How did you like my little film?

  This final proof that Berkmann is alive starts my heart pumping like a fist clenching and unclenching in my chest. Fighting fear, I pull on the headset and begin speaking-not as Erin this time, but as myself.

  HARPER› Not as well as the FBI did.

  BERKMANN› Don’t lie, little ankle biter. You didn’t show that tape to anyone.

  HARPER› Where are you, Doctor?

  BERKMANN› South of the border, north of the Antarctic. I’m quite safe, as I told you I would be. That’s why I’m not worried about being traced.

  HARPER› A lot of people thought you died in a plane crash.

  BERKMANN› Very gratifying. It took a bit of effort to create that illusion.

  HARPER› Why bother creating an illusion? Why not use the plane to run?

  BERKMANN› Obviously Daniel Baxter told you to keep me on the line. I’ll oblige. You deserve a little entertainment before the remainder of your pathetic life turns to shit.

  HARPER› What does that mean?

  BERKMANN› The mills of the Gods, remember? When I left your house, I managed to reach the plane all right, and get airborne. But the plane developed engine trouble. I considered ditching in the river, but my nerve failed. I ended up setting down on a spur levee. I’d heard of a Venezuelan crew that landed a 727 on a levee near New Orleans in an emergency. It was simple enough. The difficult part was taxiing down the slope and into the water. Amazing that the plane turned up, though. Very dramatic. The Lord taketh away my engine but giveth confusion unto mine enemies.

  HARPER› You don’t believe in God.

  BERKMANN› You are not qualified to discuss the concept of God with me.

  I’ve yet to see a single typo in Berkmann’s words, but I want to be absolutely sure I’ve given him enough time.

  HARPER› I’ve asked Baxter to let me view your execution. He said he’d do all he could, but there’s a long waiting list. It’s the gas chamber here in Mississippi, you know.

  BERKMANN› Empty words. I honestly can’t believe you fooled me for a minute. But you did, didn’t you? You and your Southern charm. It turned out to be as hollow as Southern honor.

  The sudden ring of the telephone jars me. Hitting the space bar to mute the mike, I answer it.

  “Well?” says Miles, as Berkmann’s voice continues from the speakers.

  “I’m on with him now.”

  “Any typos?”

  “None yet. Two screens worth of text.”

  “He’s back in New York!”

  “He says he’s outside the country, Miles. Sounds like maybe South America.”

  “Out of the country? Shit. How could he get out?”

  “Same way he could get back to New York.”

  “Keep him on as long as you can.”

  “I don’t want to talk to him!”

  “Please, Harper. I’m getting close to him. I can feel it.”

  Berkmann’s voice shocks me back to reality.

  BERKMANN› Having a nice chat with Daniel Baxter?

  HARPER› My mother-in-law was trying to come into the office. I had to get her out.

  BERKMANN› Another lie. She wouldn’t be speaking to you at all. Not after you got her daughter killed.

  The ringing sibilance of water rushing through pipes breaks my concentration. Drewe is taking a shower. I guess I can put up with Berkmann’s crap for a few minutes in the hope that Miles could be right about the killing house.

  HARPER› Did you really try to save Erin?

  BERKMANN› Yes. There was no need for her to die. Were it not for you, she would be alive tonight.

  HARPER› Turn yourself in, Doctor. This game’s over. They know who you are. It’s just a matter of time.

  BERKMANN› No, no, no. I still have much to do.

  HARPER› Such as?

  BERKMANN› I am smiling, Harper. Smiling with cosmic humor at fate’s great joke. You lured me to your house to capture me and instead led me to the threshold of my apotheosis.

  HARPER› I don’t understand.

  BERKMANN› How could you? You are a polyp of fetid protoplasm in the cesspool of the herd. I speak to you for only one reason. You have something I want. And very soon I shall have it.

  Lenz’s warnings echo in my head like the shouts of an unheeded prophet.

  HARPER› What do you want?

  BERKMANN› Don’t you know? I want Drewe.

  I have to squeeze my hands together to stop them shaking.

  HARPER› What connection do you think you have with Drewe?

  BERKMANN› What connection do we not have? Erin was an illusion. A Caucasian Kali, expanded into symbol by your imagination. But Drewe is real. Everything that has happened, each apparent mistake, every seeming obstacle was but a waypoint on the road to Drewe. She is my mother and my father together. She is Apollonian woman, pale and proud, Aryan, brilliant, uncontaminated by your corrupt seed because she is incorruptible. She is a vessel full yet waiting to be filled. She is OMPHALOS, a navel of the world. Through her loins I SHALL CONQUER TIME. For years she has waited, uncertain why. But soon she will know. And she will come to me like the moth to the flame.

  HARPER› She’ll laugh in your face. Or spit in it.

  BERKMANN› You tremble at every word I speak. You KNOW she is a seed you have not brought to flower. Because you are unequal to her. How she must have dreaded your clumsy carnal attentions. It SICKENS me.

  HARPER› How do you plan to bring her to flower?

  BERKMANN› By separating her from you.

  HARPER› How can you do that?

  BERKMANN› With the truth. We are broken from within, remember? Your life holds the key to its own destruction. You are a liar and a coward. The truth of your betrayal with Erin, and her child, will separate you from Drewe as certainly as prison walls. When she delivers my issue from her pure womb, you will feel pain as of nails being driven through your skull.

  From a whirlwind of fear, a lifeline of hope. The sword Berkmann thinks he holds over my head hangs over his own. But there’s no reason to let him know that.

  HARPER› You’ll never get close to her, you piece of shit.

  BERKMANN› Do I need to? What is truth but information? And that is the easiest thing in the world to move.

  HARPER› She’d kill herself before she’d let you touch her.

  BERKMANN› Keep telling yourself that. By tonight she will be trying to reach me.

  HARPER› You’re amazing. You’re a fucking parasite. A second-rate quack who spent his life stealing other people’s research and dreaming about his dead whore of a mother.

  This finally stops Berkmann. At length, as if he has regained his composure, he replies:

  BERKMANN› I AM to you as the SUN to a GRAIN OF SAND. As the EAGLE to the WORM. I had your friend Turner like a WOMAN.
I swam in Eros like a shark in a tidal pool, feeding on what I chose. I delivered Lenz’s wife to the knife, and it was a MERCY KILLING. I am the WILL TO POWER made FLESH upon the EARTH. I AM AN ARROW TEARING THROUGH THE VEIL OF TIME.

  I’ve had enough. The line about Miles rattled me, but not enough to give Berkmann the last word.

  HARPER› You spout Nietzsche like a college sophomore. Fitting, since he died eating his own excrement.

  BERKMANN› I shall be here when Drewe calls me.

  I slam down the ESCAPE key and terminate the conversation. My hands are shaking with rage as I dial Miles’s cellular.

  “Harper?”

  “Not a single typo. Are you anywhere close to finding his place?”

  “Maybe. I’m waiting for a guy now. A homeless guy named Leonardo. He’s a sidewalk artist. Leonardo. You believe that? He’s supposed to know something.”

  “Like what?”

  “I won’t know till I see him, will I?”

  “What about Baxter? He found anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Damn! You’ve got to find him, Miles. He wants Drewe.”

  “Drewe?”

  “He’s fixated on her, obsessed. Like he thought he was with Erin. He bragged about you too. Helaughed. He’s the most arrogant son of a bitch I’ve ever seen.”

  The silence on the other end of the phone is absolute. I know I’ve wounded Miles deeply, but maybe I wanted to. Maybe I want him in a state of fury when he finally faces Berkmann.

  “Harper?”

  Drewe’s voice sends a shock through my nervous system. I turn to my right and see her standing three feet inside my office-the room she has not entered for seven weeks-wearing nothing but a white terry bathrobe and a damp towel wrapped around her hair.

  “What’s happening?” she asks. “Who wants me?”

  “I’ve got to go, Miles.”

  “Wait! I need you to keep him on-line.”

  “I can’t do it. You be careful.” I break the connection with the finger button.

  “Harper?” Drewe says again.

  I consider lying, then crush the impulse. “Berkmann’s alive, Drewe.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just talked to him on EROS.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “His text isn’t showing any errors, so at least he’s back in New York. Miles is trying to find him right now.”

  She folds her arms across her chest as if suddenly cold. “I heard my name through the speakers. I heard him say my name.”

  Jesus. “He’s just playing games. You don’t need to know this stuff.” I move toward her, but she takes a step back.

  “Don’t patronize me like that. What did he say about me?”

  “He’s obsessed with you. He’s nuts. Let’s get out of here.”

  “What video were you talking about?”

  “Drewe-”

  “What video?”

  I sigh wearily. “He left a video here after Erin’s murder.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I sent it to the FBI this morning.”

  Her eyes never leave my face. “But you kept a copy. You don’t trust anyone enough not to keep a backup. I know you.”

  “I didn’t, Drewe.” No one in the world could fault me for that lie.

  “I know you’re trying to protect my feelings,” she says. “But we’re past that. I want to see this man.”

  I take her hand and squeeze it hard. “No, you don’t. You don’t want those pictures knocking around in your head for the rest of your life.”

  “Did he have sex with Erin’s body like he did with the other victims?”

  “No. But he danced her around the room after she was dead. He showed me her ovaries. He pissed into one of my guitars and hung it back on the wall. I took it outside and burned it. You don’t want to see this tape.”

  She closes her eyes. “Get it.”

  “Drewe-”

  “Get it! The man who butchered my sister is still free, he has some kind of obsession about me, and you think I’m not mature enough to watch his pathetic cruelty? I’m a doctor, Harper. Get the goddamned thing!”

  I go silently to my desk, retrieve the eight-millimeter original, and hand it to her.

  “I’ll see you when it’s over,” she says, her face resolute.

  “Drewe, please.”

  “I know how to work the camera. Please get out. This is something I have to do alone.”

  CHAPTER 47

  While Drewe watches Berkmann’s video in my office, I pace around the kitchen like a caged ape. When I can stand it no more, I call Miles from the kitchen telephone. He sounds relieved to hear my voice.

  “I’m still waiting for Leonardo to show,” he says in a loud whisper. “It better be soon too. It’s getting dangerous up here. I just had to take down a couple of kids.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Couple of brothers backed me up against a wall and told me I was the wrong color for the neighborhood. I thought they wanted to rob me-I’ve been handing out cash like Santa Claus up here-but they just wanted to fuck me up. They weren’t interested in how many black friends I have either. I had to kick them a few times.”

  “Kick them?” I echo, in the same moment remembering Miles’s martial arts training, the assault charge Lenz told me about.

  “Berkmann must be crazy to live up here. Maybe it’s like a warehouse, where he can just drive right into the building.”

  “He looked to me like he could take care of himself, Miles.”

  “We’ll find out, won’t we? I just hope I find the place soon. It’s nearly dark up here.”

  Which means it will be dark here soon.

  Miles is talking again, but I no longer hear him. Drewe is standing in the kitchen doorway. The towel is gone from her head. Her hair is a storm of copper tangles, her eyes blank circles shot with blood.

  “I’ve got to go, Miles.”

  “Again?”

  I hang up the phone and pull Drewe into a tight embrace. Her arms hang limp at her sides. Her body seems without breath. The robe is wetter than before, with sweat now rather than shower water. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I tried to tell you.”

  “I want to talk to him,” she says in a dead voice.

  “What?” I pull back far enough to look into her eyes.

  “I want to talk to Berkmann on the computer.”

  “I won’t let you do it.”

  “I read your last conversation with him,” she says. “In the Blue Room. I want to talk to him.”

  “If you read that crap, why do you want to talk to him?”

  “You can’t figure it out?”

  “No.”

  “You will.”

  I feel myself shaking her, as though I could somehow rattle sense into her, but she doesn’t flinch. “Drewe, that’s exactly what he wants! He told me you’d be talking to him by tonight!”

  “I know.”

  “So why do it?”

  “Because it’s the only way to get him.”

  As I stare, uncomprehending, my office phone rings. I ignore it, but Drewe says, “Answer it. It’s probably Miles.”

  “Drewe-”

  “Then I’ll answer it.” She pulls away and starts for the hall.

  I push past her at the office door and pick up the cordless.

  “Leonardo came through,” Miles says in a breathless voice. “I’ve got an address. It’s between Harlem and Washington Heights.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I don’t have a building number, but I’ve got a block and a description. It’s a warehouse, like I guessed. Leonardo has actually talked to Berkmann. People around here think he’s mob connected or else a heavy dealer. They leave him alone.”

  “Have you called Baxter?”

  Miles hesitates. “No.”

  The implications of this are obvious, yet I feel no urge to argue. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not
.”

  I say nothing.

  “It would help if you could keep Berkmann at his computer,” he says. “Leonardo’s taking me over there now.”

  I grunt neutrally.

  “If he’s at his computer, he’s occupied.”

  “Dr. Lenz told me you had a certain item registered in your name in New Jersey. Are you carrying that item?”

  “Could be.”

  A screech of brakes from the receiver makes me pull the phone away from my ear. “Are you in a cab?”

  “Are you kidding?” Miles says, breathing harder. “No cabs up here. We’re on foot, three blocks from the warehouse. What about it? Will you keep him busy?”

  “I won’t have to,” I reply, my eyes following Drewe as she sits down at the EROS computer. “Drewe can’t wait to talk to him.”

  “What?”

  “She watched Berkmann’s video.”

  “Oh, man.”

  “She’s way ahead of you.”

  “Let her at it, then.”

  “Just get this asshole, Miles. Fast.”

  “I’ll call you. I’m hanging up now. White guys with cell phones don’t exactly blend in up here.”

  I hang up the cordless and walk over behind Drewe. She hasn’t used EROS for six months, but she is flying through its screens like a professional software evaluator.

  “Looks like you remember it pretty well.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Miles has an address on Berkmann. He’s headed over there now. He wants you to keep the bastard on-line.”

  “What about the FBI?” she asks, clicking the mouse through the live-chat area.

  “He hasn’t called them.”

  Her frenetic movements cease. “Good,” she says finally. “Good for him.”

  “Drewe-”

  “All I need to do is send a Quick Message telling Berkmann to meet me in the Blue Room, right?”

  “Right.”

  “What’s his User ID?”

  “Send it to SYSOP 1.”

  As she types, she says, “He thinks he’s going to destroy our marriage by telling me you’re Holly’s father.” She looks back over her shoulder. “Think what might be happening right now if you hadn’t told me the truth.”

  This thought is enough to make me feel lightheaded. Mercifully, she turns back to the screen. I start to read what she is typing but sense that I’m crowding her. I back up.