Authors: J. A. Konrath
S
COTT HAJEK’S EYES
bugged out when he saw me, and they practically escaped his skull when he noticed Phin. He tried to slam his apartment door, but my new Nikes were faster and I blocked the attempt.
“You can’t be here.” Hajek’s face pinched. “The Feds are after you both.”
“You found that out pretty fast.” I pushed my way in. “Do you listen to your police scanner on your nights off?”
Hajek folded his arms. “Yes. I do.”
The apartment was furnished in 1980s male fanboy, science fiction posters and paraphernalia of the
Star Wars
and
Battlestar Galactica
variety everywhere I looked. Phin followed me in and closed the door. I briefly wondered what his apartment looked like, and would have bet some serious money he didn’t own a single collectible figurine.
Hajek reached for a
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
phone, and Phin stepped in front of him, fists raised.
“You’re a fugitive. I’m calling the police.”
“You are the police,” Phin said. “You want to read me my rights?”
Hajek persisted in his quest for the phone. “I’m calling for backup.”
Phin caught his wrist. “No, you’re not.”
“Or else, what? You’ll beat me up?”
“That sounds about right.”
Hajek thrust his lower jaw at Phin.
“You’re not going to lay a finger on me with the lieutenant watching.”
“Jack,” Phin said. “Close your eyes for a second.”
I turned away, heard the fist connect with Hajek’s face. Not the way I wanted to play it, but I didn’t want Scott to get into trouble for helping us. If he had a black eye, that was proof we’d forced him. Not a shining moment in my career, but we only had a little less than six hours to find and save Lance.
“Want me to turn away again?” I asked.
Hajek had his palm pressed to his right eye. The defiance had drained out of him.
“What is it you two want?”
I walked over. “You’re writing a book about Alexandra Kork.”
“I’m compiling notes, mostly. Haven’t written much yet. Did he have to hit me?”
Phin picked up a replica
Death Star
bookend and whacked Hajek across the knuckles.
“Jesus! What the hell is wrong with you!” Hajek took the hand away from his eye to cradle the new injury.
“We made you give us information,” Phin said, “but you fought back like a tiger.”
Hajek looked at the blood on his fingers and grinned.
“Yeah, I did. Could you smack my other hand too? Make it look like I went all Charles Bronson on you?”
“Maybe later,” Phin said.
“We should get some of your blood on my carpet. Maybe on my shirt too. For the DNA match. It will look like I really kicked your ass before you subdued me. I think I’ve got a syringe someplace.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Okay. Can you spit on me, maybe? We can get DNA from that. Or when you’re working me over, I can spit on you. Get in your face and be all
You can’t make me talk.
”
“No one is spitting on anyone,” I said. “We need your help, Scott.”
Scott held out his hand. “I should put some Neosporin on this.” He eyed Phin. “You think Bronson used Neosporin?”
“Sure,” Phin said. “Those punks he beat up were probably lousy with germs.”
“Do you have germs? I mean, I don’t want to imply that you’re germy or anything. You’re not germy, are you?”
I tapped his shoulder. “Scott, focus for a minute. I know more about Kork than anyone else. I could tell you things not in any files or newspaper stories. That’s why you wanted to have dinner with me, right?”
He squinted at me with his good eye. “Partly. I also used to find you attractive, until you started bullying me around.”
I took out the cell phone, showed him the picture of Lance on the bed, along with the text message.
“Ever see this guy in any of your research?”
“No.” He rubbed his chin. “But that’s a pigstick. They use them on bomb squads.”
“We think he’s an EOD cop. He’s only got a few hours left to live. We need to save him.”
I reached out, touched Hajek on the shoulder. He flinched a little.
“He might be from Alex’s past, Scott. You’ve read the files. Did she know anyone named Lance?”
“I dunno. I can’t remember.”
“Can we see your notes?” Phin asked.
“Sure. They’re in the study. I should get my Neosporin first.”
“Notes first.”
“That works too.”
We filed into the study. Scott rubbed his knuckles on his computer screen, and across the top of his keyboard, but the bleeding had already stopped so I doubted the CSU would pick up anything.
“Can I have a few hairs at least?” he asked Phin.
Phin sighed, then bent down, allowing Hajek to pluck out a few blond strands and sprinkle them across the desk.
“Scott? The clock is ticking. We need those notes.”
“Okay. I’ve scanned in a lot of Alex’s files and used an OCR to turn the text into a Word document.”
His screen saver, predictably, was Xena, but his computer desktop background surprised me.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean for you to see that.”
Phin gave me a small nudge. “That’s a good picture of you.”
It was candid shot, at a crime scene. A close-up of my face. I was talking to someone out of frame. The detail was very good, and I looked closer and saw he’d used some computer program to airbrush out my crow’s-feet.
“I took it a while ago,” Scott said. “I think it captures the lieutenant’s professionalism while also showing a softer side. She was breaking the news to the victim’s mother here. If you look closely, at her left eye, you can see the underlying sadness, even though the face is all business.”
Phin leaned in closer.
“Yeah. I see it. You see the sadness there, Jack?”
“The notes,” I repeated.
Hajek pressed some keys, opened a word processing program. I wondered how many other candid shots of me were on the computer, and whether I should be flattered or paranoid.
“I’m searching for
Lance.
And here we are.”
We all read the sentence. In some notes taken by Alex’s court-appointed psychiatrist, she’d mentioned a relationship with a man while still in the marines and stationed at Ft. Geiger. But Lance wasn’t his name. His name was David Strang, and he was a lance corporal.
“Can you find out anything about him?” I asked.
“I’m crawling the search engines now. Okay, here’s a newspaper article. He’s a cop in Milwaukee. Bomb Squad. No picture, but let me look for images.”
Hajek found Strang’s police ID photo. He was late thirties, mustached. I held up the picture on the cell phone and we compared the two.
“Same ears,” Hajek said. “It’s him.”
We could be in Milwaukee in about ninety minutes. That left about four hours to find Detective David Lance Strang before the shotgun shell in the pigstick blew his head off.
“Thanks, Scott.” I tugged Phin’s arm. “We have to go.”
“Wait!” Scott said, so loud I stopped in my tracks. “I, uh, maybe I should have a few strands of your hair too, Lieutenant. So they believe the story.”
“You’re not touching my hair, Officer Hajek.”
Phin nudged me again. “Other ways to leave some DNA evidence, Jack. Give the little guy a break.” He puckered his lips and made a kissing sound.
I sighed, then plucked out a few strands of my hair, offering them to Hajek. His eyes lit up like he’d just been handed the Holy Grail.
Phin led us out of the apartment. I could have told Hajek to contact the Milwaukee PD, but I knew he was on the phone before the door even closed.
“I think he likes you, Jack.”
I followed Phin into the stairwell. “Do you know the quickest route to Milwaukee?”
“Did you know he was pining for you like that?”
“He’s not pining.”
“He looks at you every time he turns his computer on. That’s either pining or stalking.”
“He admires the job I do.”
“He admires more than that. I think you came close to giving him a heart attack when you gave him some of your hair. I bet he’s building a shrine to it right now.”
We exited at the lobby, and I nodded at the doorman who’d let us in.
“So far, Alex isn’t lying to us. She was telling the truth about being in Milwaukee, and the cop’s name isn’t Lance, but I bet the nickname has stuck with him.”
We hit the sidewalk. The rain had started up again, even colder than before.
“You’re shivering. Anything I can do to warm you up?”
I frowned at him.
“Phin, you and me, it’s not going to happen. I almost shot you on the bus.”
“But you didn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter. There are some trust issues here. I’m flattered you’re interested, but I’m a mess right now. Christ, I just buried my fiancé. My career is probably over. And we’re chasing a psychopath who is sending me pictures of people she’s going to kill. This isn’t a good time to start a relationship.”
My opinion apparently didn’t matter much to Phin, because he tugged me close, his arms snaking around my waist and holding me so tight I could feel his heartbeat, and kissed me. For a few seconds everything wrong with the world vanished, and we existed only to feed our senses. The cold rain on my cheeks, Phin’s warm tongue on my lips, his strong hands pressing into the small of my back, the sounds of our breathing lost in a thunderclap overhead, the taste of the cinnamon gum he’d been chewing, the ache in my jaw from when I hit the bus and a much different kind of ache building up between my legs.
“We’ll take I-94,” he said, breaking the kiss.
I was a little weak in the knees, and a little out of breath, and I hated him for that but didn’t trust myself to say so. Like everything else that happened that day I’d have to file it away and figure it out later, when I had time.
I followed Phin to his Ford Bronco, climbed into the passenger seat, and didn’t look at him until we reached the expressway.
“
G
OOD CALL ON THE FISH, CYNTHIA
. The prime rib was too well done for my taste. Sure you don’t want any?”
Cynthia shakes her head, the napkin flapping in her mouth like a flag.
According to her driver’s license, her full name is Cynthia Paulino, and she lives in Illinois. After the movie—a cute romantic comedy with Matthew McConaughey—Alex searched the room while asking Cynthia questions about her life. She didn’t remove the gag, so the questions were all yes or no. But Alex was still able to determine that Cynthia was single, had a boyfriend who didn’t want to commit, worked for a company that sold polymers—which are plastics—and was in town to run a trade show booth. The booth gig was boring, and resulted in very few sales, but Cyn liked it because it got her out of the office and the company picked up expenses.
Alex shared as well, talking about what she had done to Lance, what her big plan was, and how she might be obsessing a tad about Jack Daniels.
“She killed the man I loved, I killed the man she loved, so we should be even. But I still can’t stop thinking about her, Cyn. Maybe part of the problem is that I like her. I mean, her sense of morality is really,
really
infantile. But she’s a good dresser, good with a gun, good with her fists. Kind of like an older sister. You know, before she figured out I was a serial killer, we got along pretty good. Do you have any enemies, Cyn?”
Cyn nods.
“Someone at work?”
Another nod.
“If you want to talk about it, I’ll take your gag out. But a warning first: If you start begging for your life, or try to scream for help, I’ll cut you from your crotch to your breastbone. Got it?”
Cyn bobs her head up and down, then spits out the napkin.
“Can I have some water?” she asks, voice horse.
“No. I like your voice that way. Kind of sexy. Now tell me about this enemy.”
“Her…her name is Gina. Works in Accounting. Has been a real bitch ever since I started there.”
Alex flips onto her stomach, gathering a pillow under her to keep her head propped up.
“What did she do to you?”
“Little things at first. Like asking me really rudely if this is my natural hair color. I mean, of course it isn’t. But she waits until there are people around to try to get a laugh.”
Alex nods. “I hate her already. What else?”
Cyn’s lower lip quivers, but she manages to work through it. “Every time I do one of these trade shows, she acts like a Nazi with the expense account. I mean, if I skip lunch and get a bigger dinner to compensate, she won’t allow it.”
“I bet she’s tough with booze too.”
“No liquor at all, even if I’m taking customers out. They want me to get sales, but they don’t want me to buy a round of beers first? That’s stupid.”
Alex agrees. “Bitch. What else?”
“I can’t be sure, but I think she started a rumor…a rumor…”
Alex reaches out, wipes a tear off Cyn’s face. “Don’t cry. It’s okay. Everywhere I go, people talk about me in whispers. Right in front of me, like I’m blind and deaf as well as scarred. Words can hurt, Cyn. Sometimes they can hurt worse than anything.”
“Please…oh God…please…I don’t want to die…”
Alex frowns, only half of her face responding to the command her brain sends to her mouth.
“Cynthia, we’re having a nice conversation here. Don’t ruin it.”
“Gina…G-Gina doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Nothing matters. It’s all…all bullshit. I still want to get married, have kids. I don’t wanna—”
Alex sighs, stuffs the napkin back into Cynthia’s mouth. She wonders if Jack’s ex-husband is in his room yet, and uses the phone to try him. It rings and rings. Earlier, Alex had called from the lobby phone and let it ring, so she should have gotten a busy signal. Does that mean Alan is in his room and answered the phone earlier? Or that someone in the lobby found a phone off the hook and hung up?
After five more rings, Alex hangs up. She yawns, exhaustion washing over her. A few hours of sleep would be a smart idea. Especially since she wants to tune in and watch Lance during his last moments, which will happen in less than five hours.
Alex looks at Cynthia.
“I’m bushed. How about you, Cyn? Must have been a long day for you. Want to get some shut-eye?”
Cyn looks uncertain, but she nods.
“You should probably go to the bathroom first. If I untie your legs will you walk to the bathroom without giving me trouble?”
A nod. Alex uses the steak knife to cut the nylons binding Cyn’s legs. Cynthia stumbles when she tries to stand, but Alex catches her under the arm and helps her keep her footing.
Cyn looks at the toilet, then looks at Alex. Alex laughs.
“No, I don’t want to watch, Cyn. I’m not a pervert. Let me help you with your pants.”
Alex reaches down and shoves Cyn backward, into the shower. Less mess there.
With her hands tied Cyn lands hard on her butt. As she starts to scream Alex forces the steak knife between her ribs, the blade twitching in her grip as Cyn’s heart tries to keep beating.
Alex checks her uniform, happy that she managed to keep it blood-free. As Cyn dies, feebly trying to remove the knife—impossible because suction is keeping it in—Alex drops her pants and urinates in the toilet.
“Now who’s the pervert?” she says, closing the shower curtain to block Cynthia’s staring. Then she wanders back to bed, undresses, orders a wake-up call for five a.m., and sends Jack the latest picture of Lance, along with another text message. She falls asleep to a pay-per-view slasher movie, amused because the writer got the violence all wrong.