Serial Date: A Leine Basso Thriller (18 page)

Chapter 27

Peter was about
to step into his office when Paula called to him from the end of the hall.

“Wait up, Peter.”

He stood at the door, impatience nibbling at him. He had way too much to deal with right now. Not only did he need to handle the fallout from Heather's drowning, Brenda's abrupt resignation from the show, and Tina's incessant whining, but Edward had appeared listless and depressed the last time Peter visited. Being locked inside the house all day wasn't any way to live and Peter knew it, but he hadn't yet figured out what to do with his brother. Dr. Shapiro prescribed stronger meds, but getting Edward to take them was another matter.

Paula caught up to him and handed him an envelope.

“A package came for you early this morning. I put it on your desk. The woman asked me to hand deliver the note.”

“Thanks.” He glanced at the envelope. “Is that all? No more emergencies, right?”

Paula shook her head. “No, no more emergencies. I wanted to get this to you before you saw the package and wondered who it was from.”

“Okay then.” Peter opened his office door.

“You probably want to get to work—” Paula started to say as he shut the office door in her face.

Peter dropped his briefcase on the desk, next to the box. It was large, two-feet wide by two-feet high, and had his name written across the top. Peter opened the top drawer and found a pair of scissors which he used to cut through the packing tape on the box. He lifted the top and looked inside.

His breath cut short and he set the scissors down. His knees buckled as he dropped into his chair.

Inside the box rested a large cantaloupe on a gold-rimmed china plate supported by a gold charger. An elegant set of silverware wrapped in a linen napkin and secured with a shiny gold napkin ring lay to one side. On top of the melon lay a bloody scalp of shocking white hair. Two holes had been cut from the front of the fruit, into which had been placed a pair of human eyeballs. Blood had pooled and dried at the base of the sculpture, leaving a brick-red gash across the white china's gleaming surface.

Peter stared at the bloody white hair with dread. How did Edward escape? He'd visited him the day before and checked the locks and video cameras, made sure everything was secure. Peter had the sole set of keys. The only other way out of that house was to open an upstairs window and jump two stories to the ground.

With shaking hands, Peter opened the envelope and slid the piece of parchment free. Anxiety gnawed at his stomach with every sentence.

Dear Peter,

I realize Tina's untimely demise may come as a shock to you. Please accept my condolences. Her death was imperative, as the dialogue on the series had degraded to a point at which it was painful to watch. I was so alarmed by the latest promotional video that I realized at once the need for a fresh culling. I would have chosen the writers responsible for the scripted detritus that issued forth from her mouth, but soon realized all of them are much older than I prefer. You really must allow me to consult with them. I dare say it's painfully obvious there is nothing remotely real happening on this 'reality show'.

You shouldn't have too much of a problem replacing the woman. Besides, she wasn't getting any younger and would soon be past her pull-by date.

There's no need to thank me- your ratings should skyrocket as long as you use this opportunity to relentlessly promote her death. You mustn't allow it to be in vain.

Sincerely,

A concerned citizen

P.S. I've allowed things to slide with Stacy due to my increasingly heavy schedule. Should you decide not to publicize my latest endeavor and assign credit where due, I will take matters into my own hands and continue the culling, post haste.

Peter placed the letter on the desk, his mouth suddenly dry. He wouldn't be able to cover up Tina's disappearance. She was too popular. Besides, there'd been too many deaths and disappearances connected with the show. It wouldn't be long before the cops would be back to investigate. He raked his fingers through his hair. He'd have to report this. They'd never let the show continue. Peter's heart began to palpitate in his chest and spots appeared in front of his eyes. He reached into his desk drawer and brought out a bottle of vodka, poured himself a stiff drink and tossed it back in one swallow.

The familiar burn of the alcohol calmed him. He took a deep breath and carefully closed the box. Did Edward want to be caught? Was that it? And what about the letter? He'd never heard Edward talk like that, so articulate. Dr. Shapiro said the possibility was strong that Edward may have multiple personalities. Many cases reported at least one personality presenting as far more educated than the original patient. He shuddered at the thought of the fallout Tina's murder would bring. The show was over. Peter's career was over.

His passport was up-to-date, thank God, but what about Edward? He couldn't just leave him to fend for himself. Of course, if the evidence pointed to his brother, who was he to stand in the way of his arrest? At least then he'd have a place to stay and Peter could skip town, head for his villa in Croatia. Edward would never get the death penalty. Dr. Shapiro would ensure it by testifying that he was insane. He could then live out his days in a hospital somewhere with food, warmth and companionship. Not a bad deal, Peter thought.

But shouldn't he at least try to save the show? He'd worked so hard. Everything he'd done, everything he'd sacrificed, would be worth nothing. It wasn't right that Peter had to abandon all he'd built. At least there'll be no more trips to Bountiful.

There was a knock at the door. Startled, Peter looked up.

“What is it?”

“It's Gene. I need to talk to you.”

Peter sighed and pressed the release for the door. His expression grave, Gene walked in and sat at one of the chairs next to the desk.

“We got a problem. Tina's a no-show.”

The laughter bubbled up through his chest and out through his lips before he could stop. Gene watched him with a puzzled expression that bordered on alarm. Tears streamed down Peter's face as each time he tried to stop laughing he'd be overcome with a fit of the giggles.

“What's so funny? Tina's missing. She never misses camera time.”

The tears were real, now, but Peter wasn't about to let Gene know he was cracking up. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and shook it off, taking several deep breaths.

“Sorry. I don't know what came over me. Have you checked the house?” Another giggle escaped. He avoided looking at the box on the desk. He hadn't decided what to do, yet, and wasn't sure he could trust Gene to keep Tina's death quiet.

Gene nodded, eyeing the box. “Yeah, we checked the house. I asked Julian when he saw her and he said last night. Nobody's seen her since then.”

“No note or anything?”

“No note. Think he got her, too?”

Gene's anxiousness annoyed Peter. Better that he didn't tell him about the scalp.

“I'm sure she's probably out somewhere. Let's wait until this afternoon, see if she surfaces before we involve the LAPD.”

“Man, you gotta call the cops if she doesn't turn up. I mean, there ain't many contestants left. You know what I'm sayin'?”

“Of course I do, Gene. I'm not an imbecile.” Peter stood and grabbed his briefcase. “Keep this under your hat for now.” By the look on Gene's face, that was the last thing he wanted to do. “Do this one thing for me, okay? I've got someplace I need to go first. Then, I promise, if she's not back by this afternoon, I'll make the call. Deal?”

Gene mumbled, “Yeah.”

Peter clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks. I appreciate it. We'll do right by her, I promise.”

Gene rose to leave, his gaze drifted once again to the box. “What's in the box?”

Peter glanced at it and shrugged. “A gift from a fan of the show.”

***

Peter unlocked the back door leading to the kitchen, then closed it gently behind him. Careful not to make any noise, he crossed the floor, following the sound of the television to the living room.

Edward was asleep in the lounger, a glass of milk next to him on a tray table. The remote lay on the blanket in his lap. His facial expression held the trust and innocence of a toddler. Peter glanced at the pillow on the couch. Things would be so much easier if Edward wasn't around.

He took a step toward the couch, but thought better of it and continued through the living room to a small utility closet, which he opened with a key from his pocket. He hit the review button on the monitor and watched the previous day through to present time. No one came into or went out of the house. He'd scoured the grounds and the garage prior to coming inside. There was no body, no blood. He returned to the lounger and examined Edward for signs of anything that would tell him his brother had recently murdered someone.

There was nothing.

He walked over to the stairway and took two at a time to the second floor. None of the windows were broken. All were locked and secure. He went back down the stairs and sat on the edge of the couch.

What if it hadn't been Edward at all? He'd been operating on the assumption his brother committed the murders. This was the first time he'd even considered another possibility. Peter put his head in his hands. He'd made his brother a prisoner and it was distinctly possible he hadn't done anything wrong.

Except for the frozen ears. That wasn't exactly normal behavior. Peter shook his head to clear it. He'd just now considered getting rid of his own brother, permanently. What was happening to him? He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to breathe. He needed another drink.

A snuffle emanated from the lounger as Edward turned onto his side. He opened his eyes briefly and mumbled, “Hi, big brother,” before drifting back to sleep.

Peter stood and walked to the front door. Unlocking it, he went out through the porch, down the steps and over to the first set of shutters, unlocked them and threw them open. He did the same with the rest of the windows, throwing each one back with more force than the last. Back inside, sunlight streamed through the windows. Edward sat up, a puzzled look on his face.

“What are you doing, Peter?” His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath. “Can I go outside now?” Smiling, he got up off the lounger and ran to the door. He looked back at Peter as if to make sure it was okay. Peter nodded his head.

“Go ahead. You've been inside long enough.”

Edward laughed and bounded down the stairs, then dove head-first onto the front lawn and tried a couple of wonky somersaults. He lay on his back, his breathing heavy, and smiled up at the sky. Then he rolled onto his side and down the gently sloping hill to the driveway, giggling like a little kid.

If only he could be like this all the time, Peter thought to himself. The blackness would be back. It always came back. Especially if Peter couldn't find another job once they shut down the show. The meds were expensive. Maybe he'd talk to Dr. Shapiro, see if there was somewhere they could place Edward that wasn't too expensive or too far away.

Peter watched him for a couple of minutes more before getting in his car.

Chapter 28

Leine was finishing
her Spanish omelet at a nondescript diner in West Hollywood when her phone went off. She glanced at caller I.D. It was Gene.

“Hi, Gene.” Wary from their last encounter, she kept her voice neutral.

“We need to talk.”

“I'm in the middle of something right now. Can I call you back?” She didn't want Azazel listening in on their conversation.

“Yeah. Don't forget.”

Leine finished her breakfast and paid the cashier, then went out to her car. She'd picked up another disposable phone and called him from that.

“What's so important?” she asked.

“Where are you?”

“West Hollywood.”

“Meet me at the park in twenty minutes. By the slides.” He disconnected the call.

Leine checked her gun to make sure it was loaded and slipped it into her waistband.
What was Gene up to now?
She shifted the car into gear and headed for the park.

***

She beat him there and parked in the shade near the slides. The tablet lay on the seat next to her. So far, there'd been no response from Cory. She checked her email for the tenth time.

Still nothing.

Azazel hadn't called yet. Leine grew more nervous as the hours passed with no word on April. He was letting her sweat. She had to believe he wouldn't kill her until he had Leine.

The familiar melody of her smartphone broke into her thoughts. Leine checked to see if it was Azazel. Jensen's number appeared on the screen. She ignored the call. Maybe I'll be able to explain all this to him, someday. She imagined the scenario, took it to its natural conclusion.

Yeah, and he'll understand why you didn't trust him enough to tell him what was going on
. She doubted he'd be willing to see it from her side. Experience told her men felt betrayed when you didn't ask for their help. She figured it'd be doubly true for a cop.

She got out of the car and walked to a vacant picnic table to wait, away from the mothers watching their children play on the Jungle Jim. The kid's shrieks of happiness brought her back to better times with Carlos and April
. Stop, Leine. Don't go there. Not now
.

Ten minutes later, Gene pulled alongside her car and got out. As he walked toward her, Leine searched his face for his intent and scanned his body for obvious bulges, indicating a weapon. The bags under his eyes were pronounced. He put his hands up.

“I'm unarmed.”

Still wary, Leine slid over to make room for him to sit.

“Tina's missing.”

“What happened?” Her stomach churned with the thought of the unanswered phone call the night before.

“She never showed up for the promo. You know Tina wouldn’t miss camera time.” Gene turned to look at Leine. “She's dead, isn't she? He's gonna kill all of them.”

“How do you know it's the same guy? You don't know she's dead, yet.” Not that she believed it, but it was always possible it could be someone else. L.A. was a big city.

“It's the same guy. Peter had a box on his desk. The writing was the same as what was on a box I got earlier. From him.” His shoulders slumped. “I was just trying to protect Brenda.”

Gene got one, too? What the hell was Azazel trying to do? “Brenda? I thought Ella came and got her? She'll be fine. She isn't with the show anymore.”

“There's more to it than that. A lot more.”

Leine stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“He contacted me. Right before I called you about the job.”

“Who? The killer? You mean you knew what he was going to do?”

“No, no it wasn't like that. He called me and told me he was watching Brenda—” A sob escaped him. Gene clamped his mouth shut, obviously struggling for control. A moment later he continued, his voice shaking. “He was gonna kill her unless I found a way to get you back to L.A.”

“Me? How—what are you saying? I came down here after he killed Mandy. You guys needed additional security.”

“He planned all that. I was supposed to suggest hiring you to Peter. If he didn't go for it, he was going to figure out something else. Jesus, Leine, I was so afraid. He told me where I was, all the time, like he had someone tailing me. He even knew who I talked to. Repeated my conversations back to me. When he threatened Brenda, I didn't know what else to do.” Tears streamed down his face and dripped off his chin onto his slacks. “I'm so sorry.”

“Where is he now?” Leine grabbed onto Gene's shirt and pulled him to her so her face was less than an inch from his.

“I don't know. He only called me. I've never seen him.”

“Where's your phone?”

Gene looked confused. “My phone? It's in the car, why?”

Leine glanced at his wrist. He wasn't wearing a watch. Good. “It's probably bugged.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Shit. So that's how he knew.”

“How did he get into the studio?”

“I-I left a key.”

“Did you know he was going to kill Mandy?”

Gene hesitated. “Yes. But he said he only needed one.”

“You knew he was going to murder Mandy and thought he'd just stop? How fucking stupid are you?” Leine let go of his shirt in disgust. She pushed herself off the table and started to pace.

“Look, I know I screwed up, Leine, but you gotta understand—”

Leine spun on her heel, covered the distance between them in two strides and grabbed Gene by the throat. Gene made a choking sound and grabbed at her hand, but she had an iron grip on him and wouldn't let go. She looked deep in his eyes, the rage from days of frustration reaching its boiling point.

“He has my daughter.” Her voice came out low and guttural.

Gene's face was turning red and his eyes had bugged out. She pushed him away.

He sucked in a breath and coughed, massaged his throat. “Jesus, Leine. I'm sorry. I-I didn't know she was in town. I thought you and April weren't getting along—”

Leine turned on him again, her fury not yet abated as she moved toward him. She reached behind her and pulled out her gun, keeping it concealed under her button down shirt, but allowing Gene to see it. He slid off the table and started to back away.

“Whoa, there, take it easy,” he said, putting a hand up. “Killing me won't help anything. Maybe—maybe I can help you find her.”

Leine stopped her advance, waiting for him to continue.

“I mean, he doesn't know I told you all of this, right? Maybe there's some way we can fix things—bring him out in the open.”

“Okay, say we manage that. How do I find April if we kill the son of a bitch?” One shot, Leine thought, her finger itching to pull the trigger.
Just one—I know it'll make me feel better.
Sense got the better of her and she relaxed her grip on the gun.

Gene frowned. “I hadn't thought of that. There's got to be something I can do to make up for this.”

“There might be, Gene.”