Killing Spree (42 page)

“This is the part in your mother’s book when the hero caresses the girl’s hair.” He laughed. “Did you hear that? Freudian slip. Actually, he’s the
villain
, but to me, her villains are always the heroes. Anyway, it’s at this point in
Black Ribbons
when he caresses the girl’s hair and tells her his sexual fantasies. But I’m not doing that with you. Then again, maybe you’d like it if I did, since you’re gay.”

“No, I wouldn’t like it,” Ethan said quietly.

“Well, don’t try to tell me you like girls, because I’ve seen you at school. I’ve heard them calling you a
fag
in the playfield. I’ve watched you when you thought no one was watching, Ethan Tanner. I’ve followed you into bookstores, and magazine stores, and card shops. I’ve noticed the kind of things that catch your eye in those places. I’ve seen you look at other guys when you thought no one else could see you. I know you better than anyone.”

Ethan felt so exposed and humiliated. He stared at the man, sitting close by him on the floor. Ethan’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could see his face now. He was in his late twenties, with receding hair, and a handsome, but kind of smarmy, dumb-jock look to him.

Though chilled to the bone, Ethan tried not to tremble. He listened to the tarp flapping in the wind outside. It became particularly loud during strong gusts, and the room seemed to sway a tiny bit. Beyond the heavy fluttering sound, he couldn’t hear anything else at all—no people talking, no traffic in the distance. Ethan wondered if they were out somewhere in the country.

The guy talked about seeing so much. But he couldn’t see behind Ethan’s back. He couldn’t see how Ethan was trying to loosen the rope around his wrists.

“What are you going to do to me?” Ethan asked, eyeing the scissors in the man’s hand.

“If you have to ask that, you haven’t read your mommy’s new book.” The man laughed. “It’s trite and very clichéd in spots, but not so bad. I certainly don’t see a best-seller there. You know, she could have had one two years ago. I gave her a chance for a runaway hit, but she turned it down. I thought we could be a team—write together, fuck together. I created the Schoolgirl Murders for her.”

Ethan squinted at him. “I thought some ex-priest killed those women.”

“No, but he was the perfect patsy. I picked him to take the fall before I even picked out any of the victims. I broke into his place a month before my first kill. I gathered hair samples from his hairbrush, and even took some fibers from a mat in front of his door so I could plant them at the crime scenes. I really knew this schmuck. I knew his past too. Hell, if your mother bothered to research for her books as much as I have for my kills, she’d be putting out fucking masterpieces. I found out about this girl old Father Farrow dated from one of his classes. I knew if she ended up dead in a certain way, he’d eventually take the rap. It was beautiful. And I did it all for your mother. I thought it would inspire her. I thought she was the only one worthy of documenting my work. But she shot me down. Stupid, stupid bitch…”

Ethan kept tugging and twisting at the rope. The skin around his wrists burned from all the friction, but he didn’t stop.

“I tell you, Ethan, it pisses me off when I think about doing all that for her.” He shook the scissors at him as he spoke. “She told me I had talent. But she was saying the same thing to my idiot classmates. Goddamn liar. Did you know that about your mother, Ethan? She’s a goddamn, fucking liar. She told me if I kept writing and worked hard, I could get published. So I figured I’d show her. I’d show them all. Success is the best revenge, you know. I was going to finish my novel and get it published.”

Ethan nodded attentively. All the while, he kept wringing his hands and pulling at the rope around his wrists. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the rope seemed to be loosening, stretching a bit.

“Well, I guess the joke was on me, because no one wanted to buy my book. They wouldn’t even fucking look at the outline. Meanwhile, your mother continued to churn out that crap every seven or eight months.”

“You know, it took her a really long time to publish her first book,” Ethan said, rushing to her defense. “It wasn’t easy for her—”

“Oh, blah, blah, blah. You sound just like her. She said I could get published if I worked hard enough. She led me on—in every way. Goddamn tease. How much rejection and humiliation is a guy supposed to take? I suffered, and your mother needs to be accountable for that. She has to suffer too, and realize her actions have consequences. The
words
she writes have consequences.”

Ethan tried not to shake. “Did you kill my father?”

He nodded. “Your mother told me how to do it—in one of her books. You see, Ethan, she needs to understand just who her best pupil is. It’s me.” The man scooted closer, and tickled Ethan’s throat with the scissors point. “And now, I have a question for you.”

Ethan stared at him apprehensively.

The man grinned. “Doesn’t it chafe your wrists when you try to wiggle out of the ropes like that?”

“I wasn’t trying to wiggle out of the ropes,” Ethan said. “I’m cold, and I’m trying not to shiver, that’s all. I don’t want those scissors to nick me. What—what’s this book of yours about anyway?”

Chuckling, the man pulled the shears away from Ethan’s neck. “Huh, smart kid. But your stall tactic isn’t going to work, Ethan. I have a schedule to keep tonight.” He pushed at Ethan’s shoulder. “Now, I need you to lie down and roll over on your stomach for me.”

Ethan couldn’t help recoiling a bit at the man’s touch. He heard himself whimper for a second. His whole body stiffened as the man pushed him down to the floor and rolled him over onto his stomach. In this dark, empty room—in a house in the middle of nowhere—he knew he was going to die.

“I know you’re scared and uncomfortable, Ethan,” he heard the man say. “I’m sorry. I really am. You can blame your mother for this. It was all her idea.”

“Please, don’t spend any of your time or manpower looking for us,” Gillian told Detective Wright. He’d been the officer in charge outside Ruth’s house, and this was his second call to Jason’s cell phone. “I’d rather you focus on trying to find
my son
. We’re sorry about the patrol car window. We’ll pay for it. I have a lead I’m going to follow, but I need to do it alone. Just give me an hour. Then I’ll call and tell you everything. Please don’t phone us again unless you have some news about my son.”

“Mrs. Tanner, I can’t let you—”

Gillian clicked off the line, then handed the phone back to Jason. From the crowded passenger area on the ferry’s upper tier, they stepped out to the bow. A cold gust of wind hit them, and Gillian automatically put her arm around Jason. They could see the city lights, and Bremerton ferry terminal ahead. They could also see some police cars parked near the harbor.

“Do you think those are for us?” Gillian asked. Detective Wright hadn’t let on that he knew they were on the Bremerton ferry.

“I’m sure someone back in Seattle saw us running for the ferry terminal, and told our driver. Thanks to me, we didn’t make a very subtle exit.”

Gillian counted three police cars. It was possible they were there for routine security, but she hadn’t noticed this kind of police presence in the Bremerton terminal when she’d come back from Chase’s house on Saturday afternoon.

She glanced toward the passenger seating area behind them. Through the windows in the doors, she saw people heading for the stairwells to go down to their cars.

She turned to Jason. “The police will be looking for us on foot, won’t they?”

Ten minutes later, the ferry was pulling into Bremerton. Gillian and Jason walked through the ferry’s vehicle level, a floating parking lot—with very little room to navigate between the cars. Exhaust fumes mingled with the fishy odor from the harbor. Gillian passed several cars before she spotted the two young men in the front seat of a slightly beat-up Geo. They looked like they were in their twenties. It was a safe bet that two young men wouldn’t be worried about giving a ride to a couple. Gillian pulled a twenty out of her purse, and knocked on the driver’s window.

The window came down, and the young man with a blond crew cut glanced up at her. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked.

“My boyfriend hurt his foot, and he doesn’t want to hobble off the boat. Could you guys maybe give us a lift—just a couple of blocks to town? We’d really appreciate it. There’s a twenty in it for you.”

The two men in the Geo were near the front of the line. They were both in the Navy, and very polite. They had “Bruce Springsteen’s Greatest Hits” on the CD player. Gillian sat in the backseat with Jason. She kept her feet to one side to avoid stepping on the twelve-pack of beer. As they rolled off the ferry onto the pier, she spied the police checking the line of passengers at the terminal gate. A secret look passed between her and Jason.

“We can drive you folks wherever you need to go,” the sailor at the wheel told them. “We’re not in a hurry.”

“The center of town is fine, thanks very much,” Gillian said.

Traffic moved at a crawl due to everyone pouring off the ferry. They inched through a section of town that was all taverns, greasy spoons, and pawnshops. “Actually, right here is perfect,” Jason said, pointing to a pub called The Meet Market.

As they climbed out of the car, Gillian tried to give the driver the twenty-dollar bill. But he refused it. “Thank you, guys,” she said. Gillian didn’t want to say anything in front of them, but she wondered why Jason wanted to be let out at this crummy-looking bar.

He waved to the young men in the Geo as they drove off. Then Jason nodded at the store next to the tavern. On the window, there was a very detailed rendering of a United States flag rippling in the breeze, and above it in silver letters:
MILT’S GUNS
&
AMMO CENTER
. “If you really think Chase is expecting us,” Jason whispered, “we better not come looking for him empty-handed.”

With all the hunting in Montana, Jason knew something about guns. The long, narrow shop was lined with glass cases full of handguns and knives. The walls displayed scores of rifles on brackets. Gillian remained behind Jason while he quickly looked over the merchandise. The place smelled a bit like old fried chicken. Country-and-western music serenaded them over the radio. The people who ran Milt’s were sticklers about the five-day waiting period for handguns. But after a glance at Jason’s out-of-state license, they sold him a Winchester Marlin 30–30 rifle and a box of ammunition for $229. They dug a box out of the stockroom for him to carry it in. At Gillian’s suggestion, he also bought a flashlight.

They had been in the gun store for only ten minutes. But for Gillian, it seemed to be taking forever. She’d felt the same way on the ferry. Every minute counted. Ethan had been Chase’s hostage for over three hours now.

She wondered if they were really doing the smart thing by not letting the police handle this. She knew what Ruth would tell her to do. Still, Gillian had written the book Chase was using for his guidelines. He would be prepared for the police, and many people could die. She couldn’t have that on her conscience. Ethan wouldn’t want it either.

While the man behind the counter at Milt’s gave Jason his gun, ammunition, and all the paperwork, Gillian phoned for a taxi to take them to Chase Scott’s house on Overlook Drive. If she didn’t see what she expected to find near Chase’s house, she would call the police.

Their plan was vague and haphazard at best. They were going to look for a dark green SUV parked somewhere near an abandoned mansion in Chase’s neighborhood. That one recently built house now under repair was the most likely spot for Chase’s
holding area
. But she might be wrong. Their search could waste hours of valuable time. And the brief presence of a dark green SUV in Ruth’s driveway was something unsubstantiated from one of Ruth’s neighbors. Even if Chase had packed Ethan away in that SUV over three hours ago, he could have switched cars since then. She was operating on a hunch—and a lot of hope.

The ferry traffic through town had subsided a bit, and the cab arrived within five minutes. Gillian had thought the driver might balk at someone coming out of a gun store with a rifle—even if it was in a box. But it didn’t seem to faze him. He took them up to Overlook Drive.

Gillian squeezed Jason’s hand as they passed the little lookout point. Her stomach was in knots. She had the window cracked open, and could hear a flapping sound as they approached the big house on stilts, half-covered in tarps. “Could you slow down here, please?” she asked the driver. She rolled down the window and gazed out at the house. It was completely dark, without any sign of activity. She’d hoped against hope to see a dark green SUV in the driveway, but there was nothing.

Her heart sank a little. This wasn’t going to be an easy search. They would need to take a closer look around the house—but not now.

“Thank you, driver,” she said. He continued on up the street. Gillian spotted Chase’s address ahead. “It’s on the right, but you can just pull over and let us out on the road.”

The driver slowed down and turned into Chase’s driveway. “No, please! Stop!” Gillian cried, leaning forward. “Just—just right here is fine, thanks.”