Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“They just do,” he says, flicking a wink. He seems to have completely forgotten his concern of earlier. Or maybe it was never really concern at all, just a warning to keep me where he wants me.
I was abducted. There’s no doubt about that. Well, a little doubt because I don’t really remember it, but I have the feeling something bad happened, and the vehement expression in his eye makes me think he wasn’t lying about that part. The best lies have a kernel of kidnapping in them, after all.
Sam
There are a lot of police at the twenty-four-hour gym on the nice side of town. I’m sure they’re putting the regular clientele very much off leg day and every other kind of day, much to the manager’s chagrin. The crime scene tape across the door is going to remain in minds for quite some time, I imagine.
“Gentlemen,” I say as I bow under the tape, lifted for me by an obliging officer.
They’ve called in the Feds because small city cops don’t know what to do when a head is found perched at the front of a treadmill. Run of the mill shooting and stabbing and general carry-on they’ll deal with easily, but this has an element of ritual to it that puts them automatically ill at ease.
The Feds have called me in, because I am an expert in violent crime. Funny how that all works.
The head is still where I, I mean, the responsible party left it. It is quite firmly affixed to the treadmill, a fact they will discover when they try to remove it later on. For the moment, I feign a small amount of shock and disgust. Not too much, of course. These people expect me to have seen all this before, and indeed I have—not seven hours ago.
“Victim is law enforcement,” the detective in charge briefs me. His name is Victor Wider, and he’s the sort of man who is completely unreadable, even to me. I like him. I respect him. He’s good at his job, and if I were sending someone to catch me, he is precisely who I would have chosen for the job.
“The man’s head was found on the treadmill in his wife’s gym.”
“That’s terrible,” I say calmly.
“Yes,” he says. “It is. And if we were to uncover evidence as to who were responsible for that atrocity…”
My heart does not so much as skip a beat. Sometimes I envy those who experience fear. It must be thrilling to go through the world constantly on edge, living in a state of low-grade horror at the smallest of things. One of my clients is afraid of pressing the buzzer at an intersection. I wish my body would respond with such ardor to such little things, but I require much greater conquests to make my blood run.
“They would be facing the death penalty, I imagine,” I say. “Which makes it all the more interesting that the killer has chosen to make this a very public display. This person is brazen, practiced, and supremely confident in his or her ability to get away with the most heinous of crimes.”
He looks at me with dishwater eyes. His mustache twitches slightly.
“His or her?” he says. “Takes a man to remove a head from a body.”
“Not necessarily. Not if the right kind of power tool is used.”
Victor winces. He’s a good man underneath all that alleged nothing. This work must pain him. The yellowing of his eyes tells me he’s been drinking a lot of his sorrows and horrors away. The whiskey bottle will be getting another workout tonight, I imagine.
“I would keep your canvas open, Detective,” I say. “This killer likes to paint with a bloody brush.”
“Are you saying there will be more like these?”
I give a shrug. “Depends on the motive. Depends if the officer in question drew attention to himself directly, or if he was part of a wider project. It may be worth looking into recent missions and seeing if anybody leaps out.”
I am pointing the finger directly at myself now, but I am willing to bet that little bus stunt was never officially signed off on. They borrowed a bus, found an empty warehouse, and decided to fuck with me. I’d say I hope they learn their lessons, but they won’t have long to put those lessons into practice. I intend to end each and every person involved, one at a time.
“I will write up a report and send it to you,” I say. “I have classes today, but will make this my absolute priority. Reach out to me if you need anything in the meantime.”
I shake his hand and leave him to clean up my mess. They’re going to have an interesting time removing the head from the dash of that machine. I used a highly specialized bonding agent to attach it. They’ll end up taking the whole treadmill, I imagine, and the whole thing will sit in an FBI forensic chamber looking like a modern art installation.