The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (65 page)

Still no reaction. “I know someone who’d notice. And you would be the obvious suspect.”

“What? Your friends would pick up where you left off?”

“They would. Dr Sterne would make sure you were arrested, tried and convicted.”

“Sterne? The goon who has his hands on - and in - dead bodies all day. Imagine getting
paid
for that, what a great job.” Garrett grinned, but Ash refused to react. Insinuating now: “What did he do to those dead boys you found, after the killer finished with them?”

“If you’re trying to discomfort me, that’s not the way to do it, Mr Garrett.”

Serious advice, one man to another: “He’s nothing but a forensic pathologist, Ash. If he hasn’t provided you with the evidence you need with all these other murders -
fifteen
of them - then how far would he get with just one?”

Ash considered him across the table, apparently unmoved. He took a last sip of his beer, and put the can down, then commented, “You must be scared, Garrett, to threaten me like this.”

Garrett shrugged, endeavoring to appear as relaxed as the other man. Difficult, when all he wanted to do was throttle this guy - slowly, so Ash had plenty of time to realize he had lost. How would the fear look in Ash’s eyes when he saw the darkness coming to claim him? Garrett shrugged off the lovely image, said, “I’m simply warning you to be careful who you’re dealing with.”

“You’re scared, all right,” Ash repeated. His voice was quiet, but full of confidence. There was the smallest damned smile on his face. “I  guess you know who you’re dealing with, too.”

The crazy thing was for that moment he didn’t know how to respond. Garrett watched the man, waiting, almost as if mesmerized. The lull in the conversation became full of suspense. Garrett wanted to shake himself out of it, but couldn’t. He wanted to push the table out of the way and feel Ash’s throat under his palms, but didn’t.

And Ash abruptly leaned forward, slammed his hand down on the table - the sharp noise cracked the silence apart - “You’re scared because
this
is the end of the line, Garrett.
I
 
am the end of the line.” Ash didn’t raise his voice, but the sudden focus to his intensity had the same effect. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me because I’m on the side of law and order. Don’t think there’s anything I won’t do, don’t imagine I’ll draw the line anywhere. I  am prepared to do anything it takes to bring you to justice.”

Impressed despite himself, Garrett protested, “There’s no need for all this drama, Mr Ash.”

“It’s not drama, Mr Garrett, this is real. You’re not the only one acting without limits.”

About to retort, unsure of what to say, Garrett was interrupted saved by a younger voice: “What’s all the racket?”

It was Steve, of course, standing in the doorway to the living room in nothing but his jeans. The kid was stretching, sleepily provocative but Garrett found far more of interest in the sight of Special Agent Fletcher Ash: there were
shock horror
headlines written all over him. He glanced at Garrett, back at the boy, and then fixed his gaze on Garrett again. Accusing. Afraid.

Garrett could hardly stop laughing. He managed to ask, “Didn’t your friends tell you he was here? Didn’t they put out a red alert?” He beckoned the kid over, slipped an arm around his waist. “Steve, this is Fletcher. He’s looking like that because he thought we were alone.” Garrett chuckled some more. “Fletcher, this is Steve. He works for me.”

“Hey.” Steve murmured a lazy greeting, propping himself on Garrett’s shoulder as if he were still too stoned to stand.

Ash nodded once. If Garrett’s laughter was getting in the way of speech, Ash’s fear was having the same effect. He finally said, “Hello, Steve.”

“Actually, your friends didn’t miss him,” Garrett explained to the FBI agent, in a reassuring tone he knew would only add annoyance.
Too clever for you.
“I  gave Steve my keys, told him to let himself in this afternoon. Didn’t want you all leaping to the wrong conclusion.”

“I see,” Ash said with great disapproval.

“That’s a cool name,” Steve was saying, somehow not picking up on all this tension. Idiot. “Fletcher, like Fletcher Christian in that movie, right?”

A brief silence, and then Ash smiled with a great deal of effort. “My father was a writer,” he said to the boy. The words were halting, this was unexpected. “He has a writer’s imagination. My brother’s called Harley, but our names have nothing to do with motorbikes or
Mutiny on the Bounty
.”

“It’s still cool.” Steve leaned in even closer to Garrett. “Hey, John, I’ve got the munchies real bad. Can I raid your fridge?”

“Help yourself. And get me another beer, kid, all right?” Garrett turned to Ash, almost laughed again - Ash was still looking surprised. “How about you?”

“No.”

Garrett waited until he had the beer and the kid’s attention was solely on the contents of the fridge. It had been amusing enough to get Steve here behind Ash’s back but the special agent’s reactions were even funnier. Garrett leaned across the table to share the joke, said, “Gave you a scare, didn’t  I?”

Ash leaned in close, too - odd because he’d physically avoided Garrett at the interview, hadn’t loosened up since. He said, very low, “If you think I’m going to let you hurt even one more young man, you are gravely mistaken.”

“Gravely,” Garrett echoed. “That’s very good, under the circumstances.” He laughed again, defying Ash’s taut expression, which demanded silence.

Steve soon wandered over with a plate of haphazard sandwiches, and sat down at the table. Garrett hauled his chair closer to the boy, sliding his arms around the slender waist. The kid began eating - but Garrett, in a merry mood, nuzzled into Steve’s neck, mouthing and biting the flesh, threatening to tear at the skin with his teeth. The boy rolled his head back, still chewing away while happily accepting these advances. “Hey, John,” he murmured, “let me finish this first, okay?”

“Sure, kid,” Garrett replied. “Then we’ll have some fun.” Plans for this boy rapidly unfolded in his imagination; beautiful, thoroughly cruel plans. Blood surged at the power of it, amusement fading to nothing. Heedless of Ash, Garrett almost groaned in need. This time would be even better than all the others. Experience counted for so much.

The coldest of tones, the FBI agent said, “We have business to discuss, Mr Garrett. Why don’t you leave Steve alone?”

Garrett looked over at Ash, about to protest, but was instead distracted by the man’s expression. The shock and the fear had been joined by fascination. Ash was sickened but he knew what Garrett was wanting to do with this boy. Yes, Ash knew, and in glorious detail. Garrett murmured, “You told me what you saw in my eyes, Ash, now I’ll tell you what I see in yours.”

Silence. Steve continued eating, oblivious to all. Ash seemed to be holding himself very, very still.

“During that interview, describing all those terrible things. And right now. You understand, don’t you, Ash?” Garrett laughed at the thought of it. Of course, Ash had managed to track Garrett down because he had an idea of what sort of man the killer was. “Interesting. That’s why you’ve been so obsessed with this case, isn’t it? Because you know how it feels to do those things. Tell me.”

“No,” Ash said flatly. He was tense, as if still but wanting to leap into action. Did he imagine Garrett would rape Steve here and now, on the kitchen table? Surely he knew Garrett had more finesse than that. The question became whether he would leap in to protect Steve, or to join Garrett.

“No,” Garrett echoed, considering the man. “No, you’re right, you don’t exactly understand. Because you’ve never actually done it. So why don’t you try?” Without facing the boy, Garrett said, “Steve, can you handle two of us tonight?”

“Sure,” was the immediate reply, with a wolfish grin.

Fierce, Ash said, “Tell him what you mean, Garrett. You’re not just after sex, are you? You want more, far more than Steve would be willing to give.”

Garrett glared fury at the man, and sat back.
Don’t spoil our chance, Ash.
He let Steve go, just a hand on his waist. “No need to scare the kid,” he protested. “Anyway, he likes it rough, don’t you, Steve? Don’t get prudish on me, Fletcher.”

“There
is
a need to scare him,” Ash contradicted. He reached into a pocket, placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “Steve, here’s some money. Call a cab from the phone booth round the corner and go home. Mr Garrett and I have some things to discuss.”

The kid frowned, turned to Garrett. Once he’d swallowed his mouthful of sandwich, Steve said, “You want me to leave? I  thought we were gonna have a good time. I  don’t mind if it’s both of you.”

Garrett thought hungry about what the good time would have involved. Ash better make this worth his while. “I  thought so, too, kid. In fact,” Garrett turned to Ash, “perhaps Fletcher should be the one to leave.”

“You know very well that I won’t,” Ash said with his flat determination.

“All you want to do is discuss business. That’s not half as much fun as Steve staying here.”

Ash stared at Garrett, anger fierceness adding fire to the direct gaze. That had provoked him, sure enough. “You’re right,” Ash said at last. “I  understand. I’ll talk about that with you if you want, but Steve doesn’t have to know. There’s more than business for us to discuss, Garrett. Let him go.”

That was the offer he wanted. Always the urge to get away with all this pain and death, and then tell the world about it once he was done. Enough in itself to achieve so much through his charm and wits - but Garrett also wanted people to realize what he’d accomplished. To be in awe of it all. And here was someone who could understand, who could see the perfection of it. Someone who knew how clever Garrett was to avoid getting caught. Garrett could leave his story to this man. If Ash survived he would tell the world. For that, Garrett could do without the boy. For now. “Steve, take Fletcher’s money, and go home.”

Shrugging, though he was disappointed, the boy said, “Well, all right.” He stood, collected the last of the sandwiches in one hand, and stuffed the money into a hip pocket with the other. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, John.”

“Sure.” Garrett managed a smile when the boy leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead, then waited impatiently until Steve had located his shirt and shoes, and the front door closed behind him.

“You’re a clever man, Garrett,” Ash said once they were alone. “You like the fact you’ve gotten away with fifteen murders. You’d love to get away with one more, right under my nose, wouldn’t you? That would have been quite something for you, killing a boy, with an FBI agent sitting outside the house.”

Silence. Time for confession, time for truth. Garrett said slowly deliberately, “Yes. That would have been something.”

Ash nodded. “You’ve been clever - but you’re losing control, Garrett. You’re making mistakes and have been for years. You can’t afford to be that daring. It’s hardly smart to prey on a boy I could link to you through your business here, when I’m watching you so closely.” And he leaned forward again to make his point: “The control was important to you, wasn’t it? But it’s gone now. You’ve lost it.”

Not bothering to reply, Garrett considered the man for a while. Ash should be glad they finally had the truth between them. Instead he just accepted it with the same matter-of-fact manner he’d used with Garrett since the interview. Eventually, Garrett prompted, “Tell me, Ash. Tell me what you think this is, if you understand it so well.”

Barely hesitating, and with the direct gaze never faltering, Ash murmured, “I  understand what it means to you. That their death be slow, that their terror be great. That their fear and your joy, their pain and your life, be one and the same. That your control over them be absolute. That they suffer like you’ve suffered.”

“Sounds like poetry, Fletcher. You’re a writer, like your father.”

“No.”

Garrett suddenly leaned forward, too. “How can you understand it that well, and not
do
it?”

“I understand, but I want you to tell me about it. I  want to know all you’ve done.”

“Better to show, not tell,” Garrett suggested, sly but serious. “I’ll go call the kid back.” He remembered the boy’s name with an effort. “Steve, I’ll get Steve back here.”

“No,” Ash said again. “Tonight it’s just you and me.”

“Then I’ll show you, Fletcher, I’ll show
you
.” Garrett grinned. “You’re older than I like them, but you’ll do fine. And you’ll put up a fight, won’t you? You were right about Mitch: he went down fighting, and I loved that.” The words came so smooth, words he’d never spoken to anyone, had a power all their own. “Tony was the same, fought me every inch of the way, cursed me with his dying breath. It’s best like that, but it’s never been perfect, it’s never quite perfect. Maybe it will be when I show you, and you’ll understand everything I do to you, how will that be?”