Dark Revelations (22 page)

Authors: Duane Swierczynski,Anthony E. Zuiker

“To be continued,” she said.

One cab ride later they were being escorted into the police warehouse where the NYPD forensic teams had set up an impromptu workstation. They were all still skittish about explosives after the LAPD attack. Natasha made quick introductions and asked to see the contents of the package. A tech handed Dark the latest riddle, sealed in a plastic evidence bag:

MY BODY TAPERS NICE AND NEAT
WITH BUT ONE EYE I AM COMPLETE
YOU’D JUDGE ME BY MY EQUIPAGE
THE GREATEST WARRIOR OF THE AGE
FOR WHEN YOU HAVE SURVEYED ME ROUND
NOTHING BUT STEEL IS TO BE FOUND
YET MEN I NEVER WAS KNOWN TO KILL
BUT LADIES’ BLOOD IOFTEN SPILL
WHAT AM I?

Dark nodded, then handed the riddle to Natasha. “What else came with it?”

“A really old laptop. I mean, a piece of gear I haven’t seen since grade school.”

The tech pointed to the machine, which was resting on the table. Almost two decades old, if Dark had to guess. The thing looked like a giant slab of hard plastic.

“The worst thing is, he doesn’t seem to be giving us any time at all,” the tech said as he lifted the screen to reveal a crude digital timer, ticking down....

2:28:41 . . .

2:28:40 . . .

2:28:39 . . .

“What was the starting time?” Dark asked.

“Three hours exactly,” said the tech.

Labyrinth was giving them the smallest window yet to prevent his next act of violence. This troubled Dark. The other time periods—relatively generous. The more time you gave the police to solve the riddle, the more fun the taunting. Why was he now playing this one so tight?

Because he knows you’re close. He sped up the clock to keep things interesting.

“What was the third item?” Dark asked.

“A legal document from the 1840s. We’ve got a pair of guys from NYU on their way now to analyze it, but apparently this thing claims that the City of New York once paid thousands of dollars—which was a lot back then—in exchange for protection from a Bower gang. The Knife Boys. The historians said the gangs sound real, but they’ve never heard about the city paying them off.”

Dark pondered this. Protection money. A government made to look bad. A riddle that mentioned ladies’ blood. A document from the 1840s, and a laptop computer from twenty years ago. What connected them all?

Natasha approached, riddle in her hand.

“You know the answer to the riddle?” Dark asked.

“At my liberal arts boarding school I was required to take a sewing class,” she said. “And nothing pricks like a needle. Question is, who will Labyrinth be pricking in a little more than two hours?”

“If he continues his pattern, then he’s going to find someone in the financial world guilty of some perceived sin. We need a list of Wall Street types who have made a fuckload of money thanks to some shady backroom deal.”

“Great,” Natasha said. “Our victim list now includes thousands of people.”

“We can narrow it down. Think about the first four victims. All of them had secrets that Labyrinth exposed. The actress and producer—guilty of incest. The oil executive—guilty of spoiling the planet. Talbot—her embezzlement. This will be someone who hasn’t been caught yet. Maybe there are investigations under way, which is how Labyrinth heard about it and chose his victim. But the public won’t know about it.”

“I’ll have O’Brian spin through the files of the SEC. How else can we narrow it down?”

“Don’t forget Labyrinth’s love of celebrity. He chooses his victims because they’ll make great examples. He’s hoping people will cheer him on because they’ll hate the victim, too, and love to see them suffer. So his victim will be prominent. Not a household name necessarily, but on Wall Street, he’ll be a virtual rock star.”

“One thing keeps tripping me up in that riddle,” Natasha said.

“What’s that?”

“The part about never killing men, but spilling ladies’ blood. Maybe the man we’re looking for is a notorious ladies’ man?”

Dark nodded. “Could be. Or it’s the opposite. A prude who keeps his kinks in the dark. And Labyrinth’s trying to drag them out into the light.”

chapter 38

LABYRINTH

S
how me a man without a vice and I’ll show you a liar.

Shane Corbett is a liar.

He’s proud of the fact that he doesn’t drink.

He doesn’t smoke.

He doesn’t do drugs.

He doesn’t consort with whores.

He doesn’t watch online pornography.

He doesn’t eat junk food.

He doesn’t even cheat on his taxes.

Nonetheless . . .

Shane Corbett has a vice.

He’s just very, very good at hiding it from the world.

But not from me.

I can pry secrets out of anyone.

I’m sitting at a table near the front of the restaurant, alone, sipping a latte, when Shane Corbett enters, black umbrella tucked under his arm, slender white phone in his hand. He looks impatient. He’s here for an important business lunch. I know this, because I’m the one who arranged this lunch, through one of my many false identities.

I called and made the reservation.

I chose the specific table—the most high-profile one in the place.

And just a few minutes ago, I walked by that table and squeezed an untraceable liquid into Shane Corbett’s water goblet.

Shane Corbett, having no vices whatsoever, is an absolute fiend when it comes to water, drinking it compulsively, as if the fluid can wash away at the evil corroding his veins.

Ha.

Shane Corbett is shown to his table and chooses the exact seat that I predicted he would choose. (Shane Corbett hates having his back to the entrance of any eating establishment.) After handing his black umbrella to the hostess without so much as glancing at her, he smooths out a few minor bumps in the tablecloth with his long, manicured fingers and compulsively glances at his watch.

And then he takes a large gulp of water.

Even a little would have been enough.

I suppose that if something as simple as murder had been on my mind I could have taken his life at this very moment.

But I have something special in mind for Shane Corbett, the man with no vices.

Look at him.

Fist up to his mouth, as if to stifle a burp.

No, not a burp.

Something worse.

The rumbling in his stomach has started in earnest now, the panic flits across his face—

He’s not sure he’s going to make it.

He bolts from the table, his hips knocking into other tables as he goes, rattling goblets and silverware, but Shane Corbett doesn’t care about anything right now except getting inside a toilet stall immediately.

I put down my latte, stand up, straighten my trousers, stretch my back a little, then casually follow him into the men’s room.

The sound of Shane Corbett’s retching assaults my ears as I open the door. There is an embarrassed executive at the sink, pumping pink foam soap and pretending like he doesn’t hear the pitiful hurling and gagging.

I shrug my shoulders and roll my eyes a bit. I tell the executive,

Some people just can’t handle their Bloody Marys.

The exec relaxes, returns a polite smile, takes a paper towel from the basket.

I call out,

Come on, Charley. Let’s get you to your room.

I find Shane Corbett in the third stall, the one closest to the tiled wall. He is delirious, vomit and drool hanging from a trembling lower lip. He doesn’t know me, but he’s so far gone he’ll trust anyone who can possibly take away his suffering. So it is easy to guide him to the sink, wipe his mouth, then guide him back out into the lobby toward the elevators.

I tell him,

We’ll take care of you.

The elevator doors close silently.

[To enter the Labyrinth, please go to
Level26.com
and enter the code: revenge]

chapter 39

LABYRINTH

I
leave the hotel room, listen to the door quietly
snick
shut in my wake. I check the sleeves of my suit to make sure none of Shane

Corbett splattered on me. Vomit, blood, or otherwise.

I kept my distance the whole time, but the ladies were
quite
motivated.

Things got a little out of control, I must admit.

Understandably so, from the viewpoint of the ladies.

You see, Shane Corbett
does
have a vice. He’s had it since middle school and it almost sidelined his academic career. Now that he’s older and has piles of money to burn, he can afford to indulge it and no one ever has to know about it.

Except me.

And the women he’s destroyed.

I worked with these women for quite a long time.

A few months, actually, on and off.

They were not hard to find or befriend. Their minds opened up to me willingly, almost eagerly, because their confidence had been shattered at a very young age, leaving them impressionable and constantly seeking those who purport to keep them safe. Truth is, they end up gravitating toward the opposite. Those who exploit their weakness and manipulate them into playthings.

I do not exploit them.

I remind them of how strong they once were.

How they once lusted for life instead of running away from it.

And now, after all of these months, they’re good.

And they’re
ready to set things right
.

The women in this room had every reason to repress it.

The parents.

The lawyers.

The money the lawyers gave to the parents to keep them quiet.

As they got older they buried it deeper still, but it was still there, gnawing away at the insides, and once a month they received a vivid reminder of their one and only date with Shane Corbett.

Bury it deeper.

Repress it.

I helped them dig those memories out.

I taught them how to harness it and channel it into pure unadulterated rage.

I even paid for their flights, hotels, and incidentals.

They were ready.