First Time Killer (35 page)

Rick watched, transfixed, as Garth’s right foot landed on the seat of a chair. He extended his leg, and stood, stretching his big frame high up into the air, bringing it back from the brink. “Thought you had me, huh? I’m not done yet.” Garth snarled down at Rick from above.

Rage propelled Rick. He sprang forward again, crashing into Garth’s legs, pinning them against the safety barrier. Then he pushed upward as hard as he could, getting his right shoulder under the big man, pushing him up and out and driving, driving, driving, legs pumping, arms heaving, with every ounce of strength he possessed. The big man teetered and seemed to hang on the railing for several seconds, face contorted, then flipped over, down into the abyss. A loud thud rose up from the atrium floor. The surprised look on Garth’s face as he realized his fate seared into Rick’s memory.

He steeled himself for a quick glance over the side. First Time splayed across the stage, head canted at an impossible angle. A few people approached the body. One looked up and pointed. Shouts from below began to intensify.

Rick spun around, ran to where Livvy lay on the ground, scooped her up in his arms. “Honey. Oh Livvy. Are you okay?” Tears welled in his eyes.

Livvy nodded, eyes red and wet, then burrowed her head into Rick’s chest. Blond ringlets tickled his nose, and the faint smell of baby shampoo brought a thankful smile to his lips.

“O
NCE WE MEDICATED
Dimitri, he spilled like a breached oil tanker. And just as vile, putrid, and oily,” Adams said, without a trace of theatrics in his voice. He’d called Rick earlier, asking to come over to fill them in. Personally. In the comfort of their home, away from the horde of reporters eager to grab Rick and not let go until he’d been reduced to mush. Rick was grateful for the cop’s personal touch.

“More coffee, Detective?” Barb asked. Yesterday, she’d cried non-stop for ten minutes when Rick had told her what happened. Tears of relief, mostly, but Rick knew there were some “what-if” tears, too. What if Livvy had been hurt? What if they’d both been killed?

“No, thank you, ma’am.” Adams glanced around the living room. “You’re very kind. Anyway, turns out, Dimitri and Garth were buddies. Met during some remote a few years ago. They shared common interests—electronics, computers, other stuff. Hung out together. That’s where all the inside stuff from his website came from—Garth. From how Dimitri describes things, it seemed like he idolized Garth at first. Being around the
Circus
and all. Thought he was the be-all and end-all.” Adams shook his head. “But as their ‘relationship’ grew, Dimitri became the dominant one. Found out what Garth’s buttons were. And pushed them. Hard and often.” Said to Barb, “You know, I do think I’d like some coffee, if it’s okay.”

Barb got up and poured him a cup, brought the steaming mug back to the table.

“So Dimitri knew Garth? That’s an unlikely pair, if you ask me. Although they both are plenty weird,” Rick said. And demented.

“I’d have to agree with that. Two unstable personalities, feeding off each other. Discussing abominable things for so long they sounded reasonable. Must be some kind of case study in abnormal psychology or something.” Adams ran a hand over his bald head.

“Hard to believe they could pull it off,” Barb said.

“Well, they were sick, but they weren’t stupid. Quite intelligent, in fact. Bought the voice-disguising equipment. Even modified it some. Dimitri said he and Garth also figured out how to confound us when we tried to trace their calls. Used a combo of pre-paid phones, fake ids, and electronic trickery. Said they came up with the whole sick plan together.”

“Why?” Barb’s mouth trembled. Rick knew it would take some time for her to get over this.

“Money. One of the more popular motives for all crimes. Garth’s piece of the show could be worth millions.” Adams took a sip of coffee, then set the mug down quickly, clanking it on the table. “But there were some other factors, I’m sure. According to Dimitri, Garth felt inferior. Like everyone thought he was a piece of crap. Dimitri said he was always whining about it, always fantasizing about ways to get revenge. Mostly railed at people from the station. He hated just about everyone there.” He glanced at Rick, holding his eyes for a moment. “Except you. He thought you were going to give him a fair shake. And you did, for a while. Then you turned on him. When you—”

“He did not turn on him,” Barb said, face coloring slightly as she defended her husband.

Adams held his hand up. “I’m just saying that’s how Garth felt. He was always imagining slights and offenses. Magnifying things.”

“Garth was out there, but he just didn’t strike me as a murderer,” Rick said.

“Well, if you can believe it, I think Dimitri egged him on. Fed him stories about what would happen. What
could
happen if he killed a few people.” Adams took another sip, a longer sip, of coffee.

“Why would Dimitri want to be part of it? Surely he must have considered the notion he’d get caught,” Rick asked.

Adams barked a small laugh. “Criminals never think they’re going to get caught. They’re
too smart.
But Dimitri’s whole world was the
Circus
. And the website he developed. If your show went under—a strong possibility after the Rhino died—then he’d have nothing. No so-called celebrity, no purpose in life. He needed the show to continue. He needed big ratings. And what better way to guarantee big ratings than to cover a crazed murder spree from the inside.” Adams shook his head. “Plus, Garth was going to give him a cut of the payoff, no doubt.”

It was all a bit much for Rick to swallow. Murdering people to get ratings? That was even beyond Celia’s imagination, although she did run with it once it plopped into her lap. Not for the first time, he was embarrassed to be in the radio profession.

“The lure of big money was too great. Dimitri said he dangled the money in front of Garth, every time he’d question if what they were doing was the right thing. Dimitri really had him tied around his finger.”

“Incongruous. He’s so small and Garth was a hefty brute,” Rick said. “What about Garth’s cousin? Was Linc involved?”

“We interviewed him for hours. Claims he was in the dark. ’Course, Garth designated him as the beneficiary for his equity share. So we think he planned to contact Linc some time after the satellite deal had gone through, looking for his money. You know, ‘Howdy cuz, I’m back from the dead. And by the way, where’s my cash?’ Something like that.” Adams shook his head. “Crazy, for sure.”

“Man. He didn’t seem crazy. A little weird, but more counter-culture than crazy,” Rick said.

“His insanity was on the inside—he hid it well. Sociopaths do that. He and Dimitri worked well together, too. They’d take turns calling in as First Time, using their device to alter their voices, make them sound the same. That way, one could call while the other had an alibi, and vice versa. I even vaguely recall seeing Dimitri at the Francis Park show.”

“Whose ear did I unwrap?” Rick asked.

“Danzler’s. Garth cut off his arm and put it in the trashcan. Then hacked off a few body parts to keep, just in case. We’re still trying to hunt them down—Dimitri’s being a little cagey about that. They staged Garth’s death to remove any suspicion we might have. And it worked. Although once we got back the DNA results on the ear, we would have known the truth. According to Dimitri, the selection of Ashlee and Tubby as victims was completely Garth’s idea. Some sort of vengeance deal.” Adams’s face clouded. “How’s Winn?”

“Recuperating. Doctor says he should be fine, although he’ll have a nasty scar. And the blade nicked his larynx, too. His voice will never be the same,” Rick said.

Rick sat on the edge of the baby-blue vinyl chair, trying to ignore the whirs and beeps of the machines monitoring Winn. He’d been weaned off most of them, but a few hummed and whistled every so often, reminding Rick where he was.

Not that he needed the reminder. The temperature in the room wasn’t hot, wasn’t even what a normal person would consider warm. But a thin layer of sweat glazed Rick’s body. His pulse sped up and slowed down erratically, and he felt if he spoke too loudly, someone in a nearby room would code out. He’d never liked hospitals, but Sarah Sue’s stay in them ensured his hatred for life.

“You’re looking better, sport,” Rick said, and he meant it. If you ignored the bandages covering most of Winn’s lower face. After a rocky couple of days, Winn had made some amazing strides.

Winn tipped his head forward slightly—about as much as he could, Rick guessed—and scribbled something on a dry-erase board one of the nurses had given him.
How’s Livvy?

“She’s fine. A little spooked still, but she’ll be fine. She’s plenty spunky. Just like her godfather.” Rick felt tears forming. He hadn’t told Winn about his suspicions. Never would. It was amazing what the fear of losing a child could do to one’s judgment. He hoped he could get past it; living with guilt was a terrible thing.

Winn wiped off the board with a ratty tissue. Wrote something else.
Barb?

“She’s okay. Feels a little guilty for making you leave your gun behind,” Rick said. “Considering what happened, and all.” When Winn had joked to Barb that Livvy would be safe at the mall because “he was packing,” she’d read him the riot act and refused to let Livvy go until he gave up the gun.

Winn’s eyebrows shot up.

“Well, maybe guilty’s not the right word. Conflicted. She hates guns, you know.”

Winn nodded, scribbled something else on his board.
How’s the show?

“Brewster cleaned house. Got rid of Marty and Celia in one fell swoop. Sent Tin Man back to Jersey, too.” Rick grinned. “SatRad said they’ll keep the deal alive. See how we do over the next six months before making it official.”

A small smile twitched the part of Winn’s moustache Rick could see.

Rick cleared his throat. “And you’re looking at the new PD. If I want the job, that is.”

Winn set the board down on his stomach and applauded softly. No easy feat with a tube running into one arm.

Rick leaned forward and took the board from Winn. “Thanks. But you need to take it easy. Don’t worry about anything except getting better. First Time is dead. Livvy and I are fine. And you’ll be fine too, after a few weeks recuperating in this nice spa.” He smiled, then his expression turned serious. “Thanks, Winn. For going after Livvy. If you hadn’t slowed him down, no telling what might have happened. I owe you. Big time.”

Winn gestured with his hand for the board. Rick held onto it, but Winn’s gestures became more animated. Finally, he gave the board back.

It took Winn a moment to scratch out his message. “We’re even. And where’s my waitress? I need a drink.” Next to the note, Winn had drawn a smiley face.

It takes a whole lot of people to get a book on the (virtual) shelves. My sincere gratitude goes to:

Dan Phythyon and Ayesha Court. Megan Plyler and Dorothy Patton. Mark Skehan and Doug Bell. John Stevenson, Jill Balboni, Kim Stevenson, and Samantha Stevenson.

Steve Orr and Mike White.

Don & Mike, Howard, and the Greaseman.

Melanie Hooyenga and Natasha Fondren.

The P.J. Parrish sisters (Kris Montee and Kelly Nichols), Reed Farrel Coleman, Elaine Raco Chase, and Ann McLaughlin.

Donna Andrews, Ellen Crosby, John Gilstrap, and Art Taylor.

Noreen Wald.

Kathy Green.

My extended family.

My children and my wife.

Thanks!

Zak Allen is also the author of
THE TASTE
, a horror/thriller available exclusively in digital form. Here’s a summary:

After his mother dies, Jake Wheeler returns to his birthplace of Dark Springs, West Virginia, seeking solace among his kin. But his family’s unique comfort food includes some ingredients Jake's not sure he can stomach.

They eat dead people.

Discovering that skeleton in the pantry and adjusting to a new diet turn out to be the least of Jake’s worries. Storm clouds have gathered over Dark Springs, threatening the family’s peaceful existence. Ax-wielding clan patriarch Dallas Pike and his band of renegade followers have decided upon a violent plan to increase the dwindling food supply. Why wait for your next meal to die naturally if you can hunt it down instead?

With the survival of the entire clan at stake, Jake wages war against madman Pike.

He also battles an even more terrifying opponent.

Himself.

After all, Jake has THE TASTE.

THE TASTE
is a full-length (82K words, approx. 325 pages) original horror novel in the tradition of Stephen King and Dean Koontz.

Zak Allen is the darker pseudonym of Alan Orloff, author of the Agatha Award finalist DIAMONDS FOR THE DEAD (2010) and the Last Laff Mystery series (KILLER ROUTINE (2011), DEADLY CAMPAIGN (2012)), from Midnight Ink.

Before Alan stepped off the corporate merry-go-round, he had an eclectic (some might say disjointed) career. As an engineer, he worked on nuclear submarines, supervised assembly workers in factories, facilitated technology transfer from the Star Wars program, and learned to stack washing machines three high in a warehouse with a forklift. He even started his own recycling and waste reduction newsletter business. Now he writes fiction.