The Tangerine Killer (27 page)

The room was dark. Thick, gray curtains hung at the window, the ones I’d seen move from out in the street. I was sure they had once been black but like everything else in the house they were faded and worn. There was a single bed with blue sheets and some plastic toys on the threadbare carpet. The room smelt of stale fries and little boys. Parker had been there once but now the room was empty.

I checked the closet and under the bed. No rats, thank God but no Parker either. I pulled back the curtains and saw my car, entirely visible from the vantage point. So much for being inconspicuous. In the time it had taken me to make my way to the house, whoever had been hiding up here would have had ample opportunity to slip out the back. But I knew that wasn’t his style. He’d lured me here, been waiting for me to come to him all along. I knew he’d never slip away without me.

The landing floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I checked the other bedrooms. They were only full of boxes. No little boys. The bathroom had been gutted except for a stained toilet and a leaking sink. Two blue toothbrushes sat in a chipped cup on the ledge. One adult. One child. What kind of creep abducted a child and then took the time to make sure he brushed his teeth? Just exactly what kind of psycho was he?
 
Deep down I felt a little relief. No matter what he may have done to Jill and the others, he fed Parker and cared about his welfare. If the boy was a means to an end, some disposable commodity then he wouldn’t have given a shit. Parker was still alive and I was pretty sure the Tangerine killer wanted to keep him that way.

Back in the kitchen, I followed the stairs down to the basement. If they were still here, this would be where they were hiding out. I crept down the stone steps and then hit a brick wall of nausea. Something chemical hung in the air, along with the scent of decomposition. I clutched on to the banister and tried not to throw up. By the time I got to the bottom, I could hardly breathe. I leant back against the wall, fighting the dizziness that had joined the nausea.

I couldn’t defend myself like this. I had to get out of there, figure something else out. I tried to climb back up the stairs but my legs were dead weights. They wouldn’t do what I wanted them to. They were hardly able to hold me up. I slumped onto the bottom step, the door to the basement just feet away.

I held out my hand, my fingers just grazing the wood. It was damp and soft. My fingers slipped through the surface like it was jelly. I knew that couldn’t be right. I pulled them back and then reached out again. This time my fingers went through the door. It was warm and fluid, engulfing my hand like living, breathing flesh. My heart fluttered in my chest, its beat erratic and irregular. I tried to pull my hand out but I couldn’t. Instead it was sucking me inside, pulling me into gore and blood.

I opened my mouth to scream but the soft, gelatinous substance flowed into my mouth and down my throat. I choked and gagged, my eyes blinded.

Something in my other hand felt cool and solid against the wet warmth. My brain tried to remember what it was. My gun. That’s right, I still held my gun. I heard a voice through the darkness. Smooth and soft, it whispered bad things to me. I remembered my nightmare and recognized the voice as that of the man who’d threatened me. I tried to pull my arm up but it was stuck in the thick goo. I had to move. I had to do something. I pulled harder, straining and tugging until I finally felt it move. The voice mumbled on, incessantly nagging me. I hoped to God I was pointing it in the right direction. I pulled the trigger with whatever strength I had left.

I woke strapped to a steel table with one hell of a hangover and a feeling of resigned regret. I failed. Before I even had a chance, he got me. I walked right into his trap. Now I knew he would torture and kill me just like all the rest.

A single bare light bulb swung from the ceiling up above me. The walls were brick. Mold blossomed on them like art. The chemical smell that had been all around me earlier had been replaced by dampness and decay. It was too wet to build basements in Florida, the water table too high. This one had been dug out long after the house had been constructed. The floor was damp clay, the ceiling supported by large timbers. I felt claustrophobic, suddenly afraid that the whole thing would collapse on top of me. But then maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Surely that would be a better way to go. I’d seen Jill. I knew what horrors awaited me, strapped to that table.

As the fog in my head started to clear, I assessed the situation. Leather restraints on my wrists and ankles were buckled so tight that my fingers had already started to go numb. There was no way I was going to wiggle out of this one. The table was solid and heavy as hell. I had no chance of tipping it over. No windows, one door. Soundproof and undetectable. He could keep me down here for days, weeks. Hell he could keep me down here forever if he wanted to. Olin would kill me for being so stupid. I should have waited for backup. Once again my pride got the better of me. Now I was going to die because of it.

“Interesting,” a man’s voice came from behind me. “You don’t struggle. You don’t scream. Rather a disappointment, don’t you think?”

“I thought I was alone,” I said, thankful that my voice didn’t wobble.

“Even so, where is the desperate attempt to escape? The burning fire that slumbers inside all of us, the fight for self-preservation. Don’t tell me I was wrong about you.”

His voice was rich like caramel. Manicured, polished, it slid out of his mouth with distain.

“You should know by now that I live to disappoint. Why should you be any different?”

“You’re right,” he chuckled. “You know, I do believe I’m going to enjoy this so much more than I anticipated.”

“Great,” I said sarcastically.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Now, now. None of that. We must be cordial. Polite to one another.”

Cordial? Polite? The prick had me strapped to a table and he was concerned about pleasantries.

“So don’t you want to know?” he carried on.

“What?”

“Where the boy is.”

Parker. One thing I knew for sure was that he wasn’t in the house. Visions of the little blond haired boy with the dimpled smile floating in the river flashed through my head. I didn’t want to believe it but in all probability Parker was dead. Olin was going to be devastated. He’d never forgive me.

“I think I’d rather not.”

I focused on my fingers, wiggling them up and down to keep the circulation going. I needed them fully functional when I finally had my chance to kill the smug bastard.

“Suit yourself. But I think you’d be surprised. You know I really have no interest in killing little children and he really was such a bore. I always thought children were supposed to be fun.”

“I suppose being kidnapped would sort of put a damper on any child’s mood.”

I didn’t add that I felt the same way.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes. He was sharpening something. It sounded like a knife, its blade running along the surface with swift, even strokes. If he was going to slit my throat, I hoped he’d just get it over and done with.

“It really would make you feel better if you let me tell you,” he said.

The tone of his voice had changed from playful to strained. It sounded like it bothered him that I didn’t want to know. I took what small satisfaction I could from that. When you’re strapped to a table, you’ll take whatever victories you can get.

He sighed. “Well, I know you won’t believe anything I say anyway so why don’t I show you.”

A small television that I failed to notice hanging in the right corner of the room, sprang to life. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see Olin cradling Parker’s lifeless body. Olin stoic and strained as he addressed the media and asked for their help in finding a killer. Parker dead because of me.

“The little boy was found wandering in the park earlier today. We are just learning details that he had been kidnapped and then released here by the perpetrator.”

I opened my eyes to a media blitz. The plastic looking reporter stood in front of a sea of people. Other news stations were set up around her, all trying to get the inside scoop on the story. People milled around behind the police tape. I saw the park, the swing set where the little girls had played the day Harvey threatened me. I didn’t see Olin.

“Sources tell us that this kidnaping was connected to the murders of Lisa Mitchel and Jill Hatchel, two women killed here in Tangerine over the last week. Thought to be the work of a serial killer, police have been tight lipped about the investigation.”

Parker was safe. He was alive. I couldn’t believe it. Everything was going to be all right. Well, for everyone else anyway.

“See. I’m a man of my word,” he clicked the mute button behind me. “I told you I wouldn’t harm a child.”

“Then why did you take him?”

“To get to you,” he paused. “And here you are in all your glory.”

Yes. Here I was.

“There is no mention of you though, is there my dear?”

The muted faces on the television mouthed on and on. I strained for a glimpse of Olin. Perhaps somewhere in the background with the other cops who were there but I couldn’t see him. I knew he’d be with Parker. They were probably already at the hospital having him checked out. Making sure he hadn’t been hurt in any way.

“Not surprising really is it? I mean child trumps lover every time.”

“Just as it should,” I replied.

I knew what he was doing. Playing mind games with me. It wouldn’t work. There was nothing I valued, nothing I loved. If he was searching for something he could take from me, use to hurt me, he’d find nothing.

“You’d think Detective Olin would have mentioned you though. Put out a plea for your safe return.”

“He does what he has to.”

“But that’s not really what you’re thinking is it.”

If he was going to do something to me, I wished he’d get it over and done with already. I wanted to scream at him to let me go. To ask him why he’d done the things he had but I couldn’t. I had to keep calm, maintain my composure. It was the only way I could outsmart him. It was the only chance I had to get free.

The chair he was sitting on scraped against the floor as he rose. The scent of musky cologne and laundry detergent swept past me as he did.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” he said.

I stared at the back of him. Taking in all the features I could see. He was tall, slim but sturdy. About six feet by my shoddy estimation. Cropped brown hair. Neat. Much more together than I expected him to be. He wore an orange shirt tucked into blue jeans. I couldn’t see what was on his feet. I tried to memorize everything about him.

Please turn around, I willed. Let me catch your face, see into your eyes. I want to know who you are, what you are made of.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs as if he read my mind, then turned with a half-smile. His face was soft and dimpled, the kind you’d find on your college sweetheart but his eyes were cold. Ice blue and stony, they showed me how he really felt. We may have been playing a game of wits but he was the one holding the reins. He winked as he turned back around and with a wave of dread, everything slid into place.

“Matt?” I whispered, the name caught in my throat. “Is that you?”

He paused on the stairs. He had to know I’d figure it out the moment I saw him. He let me have this one moment of clarity and now he was going to leave me to stew over it.

“I’ll be back later, sis.”

The people I imagined the killer to be had run through my mind like water since the day that note appeared in the church. Jilted ex-lovers, clients I pissed off, rivals I’d taken jobs from. The list had been endless. Never once had I thought of Matt. After all, I hadn’t seen him since I was thirteen.

He was Derek’s son from his first marriage. A snotty nosed, prepubescent punk when we first moved in together. He used to pull my hair and break my toys when I was little and as I got older the childhood spats grew into fights. I was no match for him. Behind my mother’s back Derek egged him on and my mother turned a blind eye to the bruises and tears because Derek put a roof over our heads and food on the table.

When a teacher finally got me to tell her where my bruises were coming from, Matt lost it. They came to question him and he flipped out. He ran away and stole a car, then robbed a convenience store. After they caught him, he was dragged off to juvenile hall. Derek was livid. He blamed me and so did my mother. If I thought my life was worse before, it was a living hell after Matt left. Derek took over. He found ways to hurt me that wouldn’t show but left profoundly deeper scars.

Matt had left the television on. The reporter was still mouthing away noiselessly. If I could just see Olin, know that he was all right and that Matt hadn’t done something to him, then everything would be okay. But there was no sign of him.

I closed my eyes. I’d been in tougher situations than this. Matt was impetuous, reckless. He’d make a mistake and I would get myself out. But deep down I knew that was the old Matt. This new Matt was calm and collected. He planned, he plotted. He had patience. Getting him to slip up wasn’t going to be easy.

I had to figure out what he wanted. The driving force behind everything he’d done. Was it revenge? Payback? There had to be something he wanted more than me. I just had to figure out what it was.