Pure Hate (23 page)

City Hall loomed above them, covered in
gargoyles, angels, thousands of pigeons that seethed as if the building itself
were alive and breathing, and of course the monolithic statue of Benjamin
Franklin watching over the city like a silent golem. Beneath the famous statue,
a single vehicle rolled down Broad Street, past the clothing stores, record
shops, and hotels where young urban professionals sipped martinis in posh
restaurants. Violin music floated like a funeral procession of one.

CC watched a couple laughing in the
window of an expensive seafood restaurant. The woman threw her napkin at her
companion who caught it and laughed even louder. CC’s eyes clouded with tears. The
last man who’d made her laugh like that was about to be murdered then she would
be murdered as well. She was certain of it.

Rick might think he was Malcolm’s
accomplice, but CC saw the way Malcolm looked at him. She saw the way he spoke
to Rick. There was no respect there, no warmth. There was a distance between
them that Malcolm carefully maintained and he was widening it by the second.
There was only one reason for that.

CC had no illusions about what was
going to happen to her once they reached their destination. Hers would not be a
quick, painless death. She, like everyone else in Philly, knew all about
Malcolm, and what he did to his victims. She’d seen the TV reports, read the newspapers,
imagined the horror his victims must have felt, the pain, the helpless woe. She
knew how he tortured his victims, ripped them apart with those gruesome silver
fangs while they were still alive and conscious.

One news reporter had commented that
he apparently “. . . had no taste for carrion.” The horrifying accounts of his
rampages had replayed every evening in her nightmares. The news stories had
disturbed her so much that she’d stopped watching television altogether.

Now, she was about to become one of
those gruesome stories. The thought paralyzed her. The tale of her death would
doubtlessly keep some lonely housewives awake at night. Her stomach rolled in
revulsion as she imagined those silver fangs shredding her breasts.

They passed the steps of the Art Museum, made
famous by Rocky Balboa’s triumphant run, and CC remembered sitting with a
handsome law student beneath one of the many ancient statues standing guard
over the Art Museum’s ornate courtyard. It was the Fourth of July, nine years
ago, and they were there to see the fireworks display. Now, that handsome law
student would be an accomplice in her murder.

CC turned her thoughts away from what was about
to happen. She could see no way to avoid it, so there was no sense dwelling on
it. She wanted her last moments before the end to be as happy and peaceful as
possible. She sought refuge in her memories, deep within her own mind. She
transported herself away from Rick and Malcolm and back to her wedding day, the
happiest day of her life, when she’d been hopeful, confident of a future filled
with love and joy. When that memory faded, she thought of Detective Bryant, how
he’d held her, kissed her, made love to her. She held on to his memory, like a
talisman against the evil that surrounded her, and held on to the slim hope he
would save her.

The house was empty when Reed smashed
through the front door, brandishing the Glock in a shooter’s stance. He called
out for Malcolm, but heard no reply. He rushed from room to room with the nine
millimeter held out in front of him. He dashed up the stairs into the master
bedroom and found it empty. Reed was screaming Malcolm’s name at the top of his
lungs or rather, he thought he was. When he realized that he hadn’t uttered a
word, that it was the voices in his head screaming for blood, he was already
past caring.

He turned around and headed to the
little guestroom. He stopped abruptly, just outside the room. There was someone
in there. He’d heard a noise, a muffled cough. Malcolm was in there, waiting to
ambush him. Reed aimed the Glock at the door and fired half of the fifteen shot
clip through it. He waited a second and listened. This time he heard nothing.
He kicked open the door and looked around for Malcolm’s bleeding corpse. What
he found was a naked woman bound to the bed with electrical tape, her eyes wide
in terror. He recognized her immediately. It was Natasha. She looked exactly as
he remembered her, her slight, delicate body that appeared only recently
matured, frozen between childhood and womanhood, like some kind of sensuous
changling.

Her eyes, even while terrified, still
had that glint of mischief and sexual energy. She’d always been wild. It
wouldn’t have surprised him one bit to discover that her current predicament
was consensual. There were two bullet holes in the headboard. One was less than
two inches from her head. Reed scanned her body for bullet wounds. He could’ve
killed her, shooting through the door like that. But she seemed to be unhurt.
At least unhurt by him.

Reed was amazed at how seemingly
unchanged she was. She looked only slightly older than when he’d last seen her,
fifteen years ago. Her body was still that of a teenager. Her pubic hairs had
been shaved cleanly, making her look even younger. Reed wondered if Malcolm had
shaved her or if she just kept it that way herself.

A trickle of blood dripped down from
her shoulder where Malcolm’s fangs had bitten into her skin. Again, Reed
checked to make sure he hadn’t shot her. There were no bullet wounds that Reed
could see. It looked like two of the bullets had hit the ceiling and three
others had buried themselves in the floor. His nervous breathing had caused his
gun hand to bounce up and down, sending the bullets high and low. If someone
had been standing right in front of the door only one or two of the eight
bullets he fired would’ve hit. Reed was not confident that two bullets would’ve
been enough to stop Malcolm.

Reed looked back at Natasha, bound
and helpless.
God she was beautiful!
A look of impatience came into
Natasha’s eyes and she began struggling against her bonds. Still, Reed stood in
the doorway, staring at her exposed breasts. Even lying on her back, they
didn’t sag much. Her hard pointy nipples pointed skyward.

Malcolm had bound her legs, one to
each post, so that she was spread-eagle on the bed. Reed grazed her smooth legs
with his eyes, and a hunger started to rise in him. He knew he was staring at
her naked body for too long and that his pants were ill equipped to hide his
growing excitement, but something about seeing her bound and gagged, helpless,
was turning him on. He snapped free of the spell and stepped forward to free
her, feeling ashamed for that unbidden response.

All fear had left Natasha and she was
staring at Reed with a look of impatience and annoyance. She knew what he’d
been thinking. Reed flushed with embarrassment. He knew how inappropriate those
thoughts were with her terrorized and raped by a madman. Reed made sure that he
removed the tape from her mouth last and gently.

As soon as she was free, Natasha
jumped up and threw on some baggy pants and an oversized sweatshirt that hung
to her knees. Reed looked at her quizzically.

“These aren’t my clothes. They ripped
off all my clothes back at my apartment. These are Rick’s.”

Reed wanted to ask her what they’d
done to her, but it was obvious from her attitude that she wasn’t interested in
reliving her recent torture, She was putting on the same tough front she’d
maintained in high school. Back then, he’d believed that she really was that
tough. Now, he knew better. Nobody was that tough.

“Where’s Malcolm?”

“I don’t know. He probably went
after you. He’s obsessed with you. He told me he was gonna pull your heart out
and feed it to me.”

Natasha looked away from Reed as she
finished the rest, “I was laying here, trying to work up the nerve . . . uh . .
. to get myself ready to . . . I uh . . . I was thinking that if he did try to
feed me your heart and I ate it he’d . . .”

“Yeah, maybe he would. Or maybe he’d
cut you up anyway.”

Reed tried to catch her gaze, but she
refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she busied herself trying to stuff balled up
tube socks into the toe of Rick’s sneakers so they’d fit her feet.

“We’d better hurry up. Who knows when
they’ll be back?”

“You go. I’m staying. I’ve got to end
this.”

Now, Natasha did look at him. Her
face filled with shock and then concern. She opened her mouth to speak, to try
talking him out of staying, out of confronting Malcolm, then her expression
changed to solemn acceptance, and she turned away and gathered up Rick’s ski
jacket. She shrugged it on and zipped it up, turned to leave.

“You came here to die, then.”

“Maybe,” Reed said.

Natasha was halfway out the door when
she stopped and looked back at Reed.

“That’s why you came here, huh? For
Malcolm? Yeah, how could you know I’d be here? You always seemed to be in the
right place at the right time, but it was all just a coincidence wasn’t it? You
were never the type to make things happen. Things happened and you just got
caught up in them. When we made love back then, I was just looking for a way to
make Malcolm notice me and there you were. Right place. Right time. Now you’re
caught up in this, another situation you can’t control. You can’t win here,
Reed. Just get out. You don’t have to do this.”

“It’s too late now.” Reed whispered.

“You spent all of high school
following Malcolm around. You don’t have to follow him anymore. Malcolm brought
you here. He
wants
you here. And if you stay, you’ll die.”

“Or he will.”

Natasha looked down at the nine
millimeter clutched in Reed’s hand and shook her head with what looked like
pity. She slipped out the door, walking quickly down the stairs. Reed heard the
front door slam and her footsteps down the street, running. He knew she’d go to
the police, and he knew that they would interfere. They’d want to arrest
Malcolm, put him on trial and execute him legally, humanely, but that could
never happen. Reed had to see this out himself. It had to end.

James was not doing much to hide his
boredom. In fact, he was doing everything he could to let it be known. “Big
Bird” Woo was briefing the taskforce on the newest developments in the Family
Man case.

Among others, James felt his time
would be better spent out on the streets, looking for Malcolm. He’d heard
everything the lieutenant was saying before. After all, most of it came
straight from his notes.

“We know that Malcolm has some type
of vendetta against Reed Cozen stemming from their high school friendship. This
friendship ended when Mr. Cozen had an affair with both of Malcolm’s first two
girlfriends. For some reason, Malcolm has never gotten over this betrayal and
has come back to ruin Reed Cozen’s life. This is the most likely scenario. How
all of that ties into the Family Man murders, we are not entirely certain and
perhaps only Malcolm himself can explain that to us. We do know that all the
victims in each case bare an uncanny resemblance to Reed, including Paul
Cooper, Malcolm’s former roommate, accomplice, and most recent victim.

“Another scenario we have to consider
is that Reed and Malcolm are somehow working together. That Reed Cozen contacted
Malcolm to kill his family. I think we’ve pretty much discounted this theory,
however we still have to keep it in mind as a possibility, especially
considering the fact that Reed is currently missing and armed with Detective
Baltimore’s gun. We are going to search the Germantown area thoroughly in the
hopes that Reed is heading there to find Malcolm. We are also going to stake
out Renee’ Volare’s house on the possibility that either Reed or Malcolm may
show up there.”

Detective Trinidad raised his hand
and Lieutenant Woo acknowledged him with a nod.

“What about the other woman . . . ummm
. . . Natasha? Has anyone located her yet?”

“No. Still no luck there. We are researching her
social security number in case she changed her name, but she has probably left
town. Maybe, with the help of the FBI, we can cut through some of the red tape
at the IRS and get copies of her tax forms. That should at least tell us where
she works.”

“The FBI?” all the detectives seemed to speak in
unison.

“Yes, the FBI. As soon as a police officer was
murdered this became a federal matter. So now, the Feebs are in. They are not
going to take over the entire investigation. They are going to work with us to
bring this whole thing to a speedy resolution.”

“Yeah, bullshit.” James barked.

“Excuse me, detective?” There was obvious
annoyance in Lieutenant Woo’s voice.

“I said bullshit. The Feds don’t assist. They
commandeer! They’ll have total access to all of
our
files and we won’t
have access to any of
theirs
! They won’t tell us shit about what they
find. We’ll wind up being their fucking errand boys, doin’ all the work while
they take the credit.
We
lost a detective, not
them
. This should
be our case. They’ll muscle their way in and squeeze us out like they always
do.”

“I promise you, that will not
happen.”

“Yeah, right,” James grumbled and this time Woo
ignored him.

Captain Kelly stood up and, in a voice that for
anyone else would’ve been a whisper, but from him sounded like the roar of a
full grown male lion, addressed James directly.

“You’re worried that they’ll take
over the investigation? Well, your new job is gonna be to make sure that
doesn’t happen. Meet your new partner, Agent David Malcovich of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation.”

James stood as the man who’d been seated beside
the podium, next to the Captain and Lieutenant Woo, rose and took the center of
the room.

“What tha fuck are you talking about,
partner
?”
James asked.

Agent Malcovich was another tall, slender,
non-descript white boy whose beady eyes, weak chin, skinny neck with comically
large Adam’s apple, and crooked front tooth would forever keep him from being
called handsome. He was average. He was the type of average that people pass
every day in the halls at work. The guy people pass on the street, in the
aisles at the grocery store, and think that they might know him or that they’ve
seen him before only to realize that he just reminds them of every other
average looking guy they see every day.

“This was the Lieutenant’s suggestion and I
support it,” Captain Kelly said.

“This is the best way for us to share information
on this case. Agent Malcovich is going to be partnered with you for the
duration of the investigation,” Lieutenant Woo added.

“Nah, Fuck that!”

“Detective!”

For the first time since James had known him,
Lieutenant Woo’s eyes blazed with genuine fury. It was one thing to talk about
him behind his back or to disrespect him in private, but to show such blatant
disrespect in front of the whole task force and the FBI was going too far. Woo
started down from the podium moving at James as if he were about to tackle him.
Reflexively, James stepped back into a boxer’s stance with his fists clenched
and his jaw set waiting for the blows to fall. Captain Kelly stepped between
the two men, instantly neutralizing them.

James dropped his hands and hung his
head. He knew he was out of control, but he couldn’t pull it together. He still
wanted to hit someone. He just didn’t know who.

Malcolm was killing cops and James
was now saddled with an FBI agent who, to him, was no better than a rookie. The
FBI may handle the big jobs, but those are few and far between. They spent
years on a single case. The average first year rookie metropolitan police
officer got more experience from six months on the street than an FBI agent got
in six years. As a matter of principle, Philadelphia PD looked at the Feebs as
glorified desk jockeys fighting crime from a computer keyboard.

Lieutenant Woo had already regained his
composure. He straightened his meticulously pressed jacket and turned to retake
his place behind the podium. Captain Kelly was breathing heavily and glared at
both of them. A uniformed officer stuck his head inside the door and looked
around, instantly absorbing the tension and hostility still boiling in the air.
His body language said retreat, but he seemed to steel himself, at least enough
to stutter out his message.

“Um, uh, Captain?”

“What!?” The Captain growled and the young
officer literally turned as if to run out of the room before he caught himself
and turned around to continue. No one in the room would’ve made fun of him if
he had bolted out of there. They all knew exactly how he felt.

“Um, uh, there’s a lady downstairs who says she
knows where Mr. Cozen is. She said that Malcolm kidnapped her and Mr. Cozen
rescued her.”

Led by Captain Kelly, Detective Bryant,
Lieutenant Woo, and Agent Malcovich, an avalanche of detectives rose like one
living thing and thundered through the door. This time the officer did bolt
from the doorway just in time to save himself from being trampled.

Sitting in the “nice” interrogation room, the one
with the coffee machine, the water cooler, and the comfortable chairs that was
actually more of a detective’s lounge, Natasha sipped a cup of pungent black
coffee, and tapped her foot like a drum machine as Captain Kelly and James
funneled through the door, followed by Agent Malcovich of the FBI. James
recognized her immediately. They’d been trying to locate her all day.

The captain and the FBI agent stood in opposite
corners of the room. Detective Bryant pulled up a chair directly across from
her. He fixed his expression into the hard expressionless mask he used when
interrogating suspects then, when his eyes met hers, his face softened into a
friendlier more understanding expression, the one he used when consoling
victims. He’d done it just this way a thousand times before.

James looked into her eyes and could see that
she’d been through hell. He knew enough about Malcolm now to guess some of what
she’d suffered. How she’d managed to survive amazed him. That she was somehow
coping with it, that she wasn’t suffering from shock, that her mind hadn’t
completely shut down and left her catatonic, was what impressed him.

“Natasha Little?”

“It’s Natasha Green now.”

“Married?”

“No. Just hiding from Malcolm.”

“So, tell me what happened to you?”

While James listened intently, taking notes and
interrupting occasionally to ask for detail, she told him how she’d come home
to find Malcolm and Rick in her apartment. How they’d dragged her to Rick’s
house and raped her. She told how they’d left her tied to the bed and how Reed
had found her and set her free, about how he was going after Malcolm. James
passed a look to the captain. She was holding something back. He could see her
choosing her words carefully, deciding what to tell and what to withhold.

“Why did Malcolm leave?” The FBI agent spoke from
his corner of the room.

“I don’t know. What do you mean, ‘Why?’”

“I mean, why are you still alive? Why didn’t he
stay and finish you off?”

James studied her face as she looked at the agent
then she dropped her eyes to her lap where she was twisting and wrenching her
hands.

“What? What is it?” An unexpected sense
of dread washed over him, as if deep down he could sense what was coming.

“He’s got CC,” She whispered

James leaped from his chair and grabbed Natasha
by her shoulders. The chair fell over and struck the hard tiled floor with a
loud “clack” that filled throughout the small room.

“What did you say?”

“CC is Rick’s wife. Malcolm’s got her and he’s
coming after you. He’s probably on his way to your house right now.”

James backed away from Natasha, reaching for his chair as his legs
went numb and threatened to give out. Not finding it, he continued to back
away, shaking his head and seeing a montage of Malcolm’s ripped and ravaged
victims. They all had CC’s face except for a few, those bore his. He tripped
over the toppled chair and plopped down on the floor in the lotus position. He
sat there, staring at Natasha, trying to deny what he’d just heard. Captain
Kelly waved off Agent Malcovich moving forward to help.

“Agent Malcovich would you take Ms. Little . . . uh
. . . Green out and get a statement from her please?”

Kelly knelt down and put a hand on James’s
shoulder.

“You wanna tell me about it?”

“Do I have a choice?” James was still staring at
the seat vacated by Natasha.

“No, not at all. You can certainly put the idea
of going after Malcolm by yourself out of your head. And if I were you, knowing
that I know how emotionally involved you are, I would be working hard to
convince me to keep your black ass on this case. The suspect has killed your
partner and has now kidnapped a woman I can only assume is your girlfriend. By
all rights, I should sit you at a desk until this case is over.”

“But you need me. None of those other clowns out
there has a prayer of catching Malcolm. “

“Malcolm is self-destructing. He’ll catch
himself.”

“And how many more people will he kill when he
explodes? How many cops?”

“Okay, then tell me about this girl?”

“I met her in a strip club.”

“Jesus, James! What is it with you?”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Go ahead.”

“We started dating a week ago. Things were getting
pretty serious pretty fast. I think . . . I think I love her.”

“Did you know she was married?”

“Yes.”

“You fuckin’ asshole.” Captain Kelly wiped his
palm down his face as if wiping away a sheen of imaginary sweat. He paced the
floor, casting looks of disgust and disappointment at James.

“Did you know she was married to
Malcolm’s fucking best friend?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Well shit, James. I don’t see how I can keep you
on this case.”

“What?”

That woke James up. He leaped to his feet with a
look of anguish and desperation stenciled across his features. His arms were
flung out in supplication as if he were preparing to drop to his knees and beg.
His eyes were wild in his head, darting around in amazement as his mouth worked
soundlessly, trying to find the words to convince the captain, to make him see,
make him understand. Finally, he let his arms droop limply at his sides.
Closing his eyes, he took a long deep breath. His whole body shuddered with
emotion, stiffened, hardened, and settled, like molten ore cooling into iron.
When he reopened his eyes, iron filled them as well.

“Captain, I don’t see how you can
keep me off of it.”

“If you get killed don’t expect a police
funeral.”

“What tha fuck does that mean?”

“It means, that you are officially off this case
and if you go near Malcolm, you are officially fired.”

James didn’t bother to argue. The captain knew he
would do what he had to. He had no choice in the matter. His destiny was
scripted by his nature. It was not in his nature to sit on the bench when the
game was in its final quarter.

James turned his back on Captain Kelly and
stormed out into the station house where Agent Malcovich was seated at his desk
with Natasha. He stepped behind his desk, glaring at Natasha intently and
started to take his seat. With obvious embarrassment Malcovich scrambled out of
the detective’s chair before James sat right on top of him.

“Are you sure they’re going to my house?”

“He’ll go there. And if you’re not there he’ll
wait for you. If you are there . . . he’ll kill you.” Natasha felt it was only
fair to warn him.

“What about Reed?” James continued to question
her, ignoring her fatal prediction.

“He’ll still be at Rick’s house, waiting for
Malcolm to come back.”

James turned to Lieutenant Woo, who was still
standing by his desk looking like a lap dog who’s suddenly discovered it could
bite, trying to decide if it should.