Johnny Gruesome (23 page)

Murdered,
she thought.

Who could murder a teenager?

Another teenager?

She shuddered, thoughts of Columbine and Virginia Tech creeping through her mind. Gazing past the throng of students, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she saw the news van for the local PBS station. Ed Holder, publisher of the
Red Hill Gazette,
leaned against his parked station wagon, an old-fashioned 35mm camera slung around his neck. So far, the police officers stationed out front had managed to prevent the media personnel from entering the school.

“Carol?”

She heard her husband’s soft voice behind her. Turning her head, she saw him standing in the hall, out of the students’ sight. She took a discreet step backward. “What’s happening?”

“We haven’t found it yet,” Matt said. “I don’t think we’re going to, either. But we’re going to keep this school locked down until the end of the day.”

“Do you know who it is yet?”

Matt’s expression turned grim as he nodded. “Todd Kumler’s unaccounted for.”

“Todd—?” She recalled breaking up the fight between Todd and Johnny just the week before. Now both boys were dead, one in a reckless car accident, the other in a grisly homicide. “Oh, God.”

“There’s no ID on the body, but we found Todd’s gym bag in the locker room. His parents reported him missing this morning.”

“Do they know?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. I’ll tell them soon. I have to go now.”

Carol’s hand slid down to her chest. “You know who did it, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Please be careful.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Holding her hand out of sight, he kissed it. “I’ll call you when I can.”

She watched him stride down the hall toward a side exit. Outside, Ed Holder cornered him, and a cameraman and TV newscaster rushed out the van’s sliding door.

J
ohnny lay in bed, tossing his switchblade into the air. He watched the illegal weapon flip end over end, just missing the ceiling, then waited while it plummeted to within inches of his face and snatched it before impact. He’d used Gary’s switchblade to kill Todd and hack off his head, but as soon as he’d come home he removed his own blade from its hiding place beneath his mattress.

Even though he now had the run of the house, he planned to remain in his room until sunset allowed him to prowl the streets unnoticed. He’d discovered his father’s body at dawn, when the man was usually in a deep, alcohol-induced slumber. Standing over Charlie’s corpse, he’d allowed himself to experience a few moments of grief. He had expected the old man to get trashed downtown, just like he did every night. How was he supposed to know Charlie would come home early for once? Before he got too choked up, he told himself that Charlie had been on this path for a long time, and it had just been a matter of time. Had his father experienced the golden light? He hoped so. Looking at the big-screen TV, he sighed. He couldn’t imagine watching the boob tube with his father’s corpse at his feet.

He heard the sirens later that morning, and from the safety of his window, had watched Red Hill’s finest racing along Main Street to the high school. Imagining the chaos that must have followed the discovery of Todd’s body, he smiled. What had Gary’s reaction been when he opened his locker?

He continued to flip the knife, pleased that he’d regained so much control over his atrophied muscles. A lot of willpower went a long way.

The switchblade had belonged to Uncle Nate, his mother’s brother. Johnny had discovered it in one day when he’d been nosing around Nate’s old army footlocker. Nate had moved away from Red Hill one year after Helen Grissom’s funeral, and must not have realized an item had disappeared from the footlocker. He’d never brought it up, either.

The blade spun higher into the air, grazing the ceiling, then dove straight at Johnny’s face. He snagged it at the last possible second, the sharp tip so close to his right eyeball that his vision turned fuzzy and out of focus.

He remembered showing the switchblade to Eric on one of their excursions to the cemetery. That had been right after Father Webb had—

Shick!

Lost in memory, Johnny had reached for the switchblade too late and the blade pierced his right eye.

“Goddamn it!”

Johnny leapt from the bed and staggered to the full-length mirror on the closet door. The knife’s hilt protruded from his lower eyelid, wedged between his eye and its socket. Grateful that he had not sliced the orb, he eased the blade from his skull and formaldehyde trickled out like teardrops running down his face. The gash below his eye did not add to his glamour.

Shaking his head, he closed the blade and slid it into his back pocket. He would have to find other ways to amuse himself until sunset, when he could go out without fear of being recognized. Wandering over to his makeshift bookcase, he ran a dead finger across the spines of his DVDs. Scanning the titles, he almost wanted to skip his plan and spend however much time he had left watching movies and playing video games. He decided to avoid anything too sexy, seeing no point in making himself horny. His penis fit into his plans, and he didn’t want to risk it coming off in his hand if he played with himself.

I’m never going to get laid again!
Anger filled his rotting shell. He resisted the urge to watch the Holy Trinity: George A. Romero’s
Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead,
and
Day of the Dead.
He loved the classics, and didn’t count the remakes or
Land of the Dead
among them. But he had no desire to watch flicks about mindless, flesh-eating zombies. He settled on two revenge classics:
Deathdream
and
Creepshow.
Opening the case for
Deathdream,
he removed the shiny disc and froze in midmotion. For an instant he glimpsed his discolored flesh on the disc’s reflective surface. Rotating his wrist, he exposed more of his horrific features. Then he grinned and fed the DVD into his player.

Showtime.

M
att pulled over to a snowbank flanking Canary Street, in one of Red Hill’s less attractive neighborhoods. The twostory houses lacked any sense of architectural grace; concrete steps, composite shingling, and unpaved driveways added to the blue-collar splendor. Matt waited for Dan and Ricky to pull up behind him before he exited his vehicle. They met in the middle of the street, and Matt gestured to a plain white house.

“Dan, go around to the back of the house. Ricky, I want you in the driveway. Both of you keep an eye on that side door. Be ready to kick it in if necessary.”

Matt watched his men take their positions, then peeled off his gloves and mounted the concrete steps. He heard nothing after pushing the doorbell, so he rapped on the metal door with his knuckles, then rested his hand on the handle of his holstered revolver. The Red Hill Police Department had no use for Glocks.

He heard shuffling behind the door, then the tumbling of locks. The door swung open, and a gray-haired woman with pronounced cheekbones opened the door. Matt could not tell if the rumpled garment she wore was a nightgown or an old dress.

“Mrs. Bower? I’m Chief Crane. Is your son home?”

Eileen Bower peered at Matt. “Walt Butler is the chief of police around here.”

“Walt is in the hospital, Mrs. Bower. I need to see Darryl.”

“He just fell asleep. He works nights …”

“Yes, ma’am, I know. But this is important. Please get him now.”

Reading Matt’s grave expression, Eileen nodded. “All right, I’ll get him. Wait here.”

She started to close the door, but Matt held it open as she receded into the shadows. He nodded to Ricky, who in turn nodded to Dan. Darryl emerged, sleepy eyed and shirtless, his long brown hair hanging past his slender shoulders. He rubbed his arms for warmth while Eileen lurked behind him.

“Yeah?” He stared at Matt with the glassy eyes of a stoner. His droopy mustache offset his delicate lips and smooth skin.

“Darryl, I need you to get dressed and come down to the station with me to answer some questions.”

Darryl’s expression turned quizzical. “About what?”

“Something happened at the high school early this morning. We need to find out what you know about it.”

Darryl’s eyes turned alert. “What happened? I don’t know anything.”

“Get your shirt, son.”

Shaking his head, Darryl obeyed Matt.

When Matt, Dan, and Ricky escorted Darryl into the police station, Bunny Robbins looked up from the counter, her orange hair in curls. She glared at Darryl as if he were the devil.

“Anything new from the school?” Matt said.

“They haven’t found anything yet,” Bunny said. “Hennessey and Novak are still looking, though. They want to bring in dogs.”

“After school.” Matt took off his coat. “Darryl, Officer Heller will escort you to the interview room. I’ll join you there in a minute.”

As Dan guided Darryl behind the counter and through a side door, Darryl said, “I didn’t do anything, man.”

Matt filled a paper cup at the watercooler.

“The mayor’s been calling every twenty minutes,” Bunny said.

“I’m sure he has.” Matt sipped the cold water.

“So have the Kumlers.” Bunny held up a stack of phone messages. “Most of these are from news stations in Buffalo and Erie.”

“Don’t tell anyone except the mayor that we have a suspect in custody. Tell the TV stations we’ll issue a statement in time for the evening news. I’ve already sent Ben over to the Kumlers’.” He tossed the empty cup into a wastebasket.

Matt entered the square interview room with a large manila envelope in one hand. Darryl sat smoking a cigarette at the table, with Dan standing in the corner. Matt sat at the opposite side of the table. A digital video camera on a tripod overlooked them.

“Darryl, how long have you been a janitor at the school?”

“Assistant custodial engineer,” Darryl said in a sarcastic tone. “Almost a year.”

“What time did you work yesterday?”

Darryl stared straight into Matt’s eyes. “Twelve to eight. That’s my shift. My uncle works from eight in the morning until four. We overlap for four hours, when the school is busiest.”

Darryl’s uncle had been the head custodian at Red Hill High for twenty years. “So you left the building at 8:00 p.m.?”

“Thereabouts.”

“Did you clean the main gym?”

Darryl hesitated. “Yeah, I always do.”

He’s lying,
Matt thought, holding his gaze. “Do you remember locking the gym doors before you left for the day?”

Darryl fidgeted. “Not really.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Darryl sighed. “This kid was in the gym later than he was supposed to be, so I left it unlocked while I did the floors upstairs. When I came back down, the doors were locked. I figured my uncle took care of them, even though it was his night off. He always does things like that. Can’t stand it when I do things in a different order than he does.”

Matt made a note to call Frank Bower. “Who was this kid you mentioned?”

“His last name’s Kumler. He’s on the wrestling team, but he likes to shoot hoops after practice.”