Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel) (25 page)

Was he still thinking too small with this local talking head? Maybe he should contact Katie? He could imagine telling her his story. Just the two of them, intimate and quiet.

He felt himself harden and slipped his hand inside his pants. No, he couldn’t waste it. He had use for his seed tonight.

*

How can someone spend his life writing about crime and not have an alarm? Lewery obviously thought himself impervious. Crime would never touch him. He was about to feel the touch. Very hard.

He heard the key in the front door and braced himself. He took a deep breath and held it.

Lewery came through the door and locked it again. After looking at the layout of the house, Preston expected Lewery to either go straight to the kitchen or veer left to his office. He couldn’t be sure which so he thought hiding behind the short wall separating the front foyer from the living room was the wisest. He prepared to step out and shoot him with the Taser in the back.

Instead, a hard briefcase hit him in the shins and he grunted. Lewery looked down to see what was blocking the case and immediately looked up at the sound. Before surprise could even register on Lewery’s face, Preston pulled the trigger and the twin contacts shot into the reporter’s chest. With a cry of pain, the reporter instantly went stiff and toppled to the floor, twitching.

After several seconds of watching him dance, he released the trigger. Lewery moved slightly and he triggered the Taser again. Lewery cried out and was forced back onto the floor. Lewery had been too close and the Taser leads only inches apart. The manual had warned that it wasn’t as effective if the leads were too close. He hoped the battery would last.

“Geez, that looks like it really hurts, Dale. Does it hurt as much as the brochure said? You ready to do as you’re told? Personally, I would rather you didn’t cooperate right away. But, if you would rather avoid the pain, just roll on your stomach right now and put your hands behind your back. I’m going to give you until three. One…”

“Don’t, please,” Lewery begged, his voice slurred. “I’ll do it. It hurts. It really hurts.”

Lewery tried to roll on his back. His body would not respond and he was kicked over. He felt his hands pulled together behind his back. Before he could clear his head enough to consider some form of escape, a plastic strap was pulled tight around his wrists. With his face pressed against the hardwood, he couldn’t see his attacker. Confused and unable to focus, his brain was as sluggish as his body.

“Here’s how this works,” he heard his attacker saying. “We’re going to walk out your back door to the alley. Don’t cooperate, and you get another taste of the Taser. Try to run, Taser. Call out –
this
gets a taste of
you
.”

Suddenly a huge hunting knife was buried into the floor so close to his eyes, it almost cut his brow.

“OK, time to go,” the voice said as the knife was yanked out of the floor.

Dale struggled to his feet, his body still not responding. He could still see the wires hanging from his chest. Even without the threat of the Taser, Dale didn’t think he could run. His legs didn’t want to work. Staggering, he allowed his attacker to push him through the house and out into the yard.

He hoped that one of his neighbors would see something and call the police. He tried to walk slower, hoping to give more time to be spotted. But what if they came out? He could feel the point of the knife prodding him along. He sped up and walked through the back gate. He allowed himself to be put in the back seat of a stupid little car. He barely fit and hit his head on the doorframe.

“Watch your head, Dale,” his captor laughed.

Lewery was on his back and saw his chance to kick his attacker. He started to quickly pull his legs back but they moved in slow motion. His attacker casually stepped back. Holding the Taser up for Lewery to see, he triggered the power and Lewery cried out again.

Preston reached down and grabbed a canister with a gas mask attached to it. Without waiting for Lewery to recover anymore, he slipped it over the newspaperman’s ugly face. He opened the valve on the canister a bit and watched Lewery’s face through the mask.

“Ever hear of Nitrous Oxide, Dale? Course you have. Ever take a suck of it at the dentist? You know what else they use it for? Whipped cream. Cool, huh? But it also whips your brain up just right. You soon won’t even care that I’m going to kill your sorry ass. You do know who I am, don’t you?”

Lewery stared up through the mask.

“Just a little addled, are we? You named me, for Christ sake. Are you that dense or have I actually scrambled the old grey cells? I’m the Southside Slasher, you sorry little turd. Nice catchy name, by the way.”

Dale was slowly beginning to slip back into the world. He could see he was lying in the back seat of a car. Small car from the way he was all squished up. He could hear strange grunting noises coming from the front seat. They finally ended with a long moan.

There was a rustling and he heard a zipper and the clink of a belt. But he really didn’t care enough to wonder what he was hearing.

Suddenly a fat face loomed in front of him.

“Know what happens when someone is abducted and killed, Dale?” the face asked him, as it pulled off the mask.

Dale felt his head lifted by his hair but it only felt vaguely uncomfortable.

“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Dale felt the cup against his lips and coughed as the warm liquid poured into his mouth. His mouth and nose were covered. “No spitting, Dale. You have to swallow. It would be a few minutes before I could get anymore for you and we are on a schedule here.”

Dale swallowed and gagged.

“So you didn’t answer my question,” the voice said, as the mask was replaced over his face. “Do you know what happens after the victim’s body is found?”

Dale made some incomprehensible sound.

“Well, they do an autopsy, of course. They want to trace your movements. So they analyze your stomach contents. Got to know when you last ate and maybe even where. Guess what they’re going to find?”

Dale just stared blankly into the face above him.

“Well, Dale, my friend,” the voice said, laughing so hard he was spitting on the mask. “Guess who is going to be the fagboy now? They are going to think you stopped off for a quickie with your boyfriend on your way home. Think about that one. Your permanent record will forever say that the last thing you did before you died was suck off some guy. You will be officially listed as a homo forever!”

*

Lewery came fully conscious and screamed.

He lifted his head as far as he could. He was tied spread eagle on a hard cement floor. A man was sitting on his stomach carving something into his chest with a large knife. He screamed again and realized he wasn’t really making any noise and couldn’t open his mouth.

“Oh Dale,” said the man sitting on him, “suck it up and be a man. After all, you do want them to know you were killed by the Southside Slasher. This will be a great scene in the book. You were planning on writing a book about me, weren’t you? Of course, you’ll just be a chapter in it now, instead of the author.”

As the knife made one final deep cut, Lewery lost consciousness again.

“Wake up, Dale.”

Lewery sputtered and spat as a pail of water splashed on his face. The pain in his chest returned in a rush, threatening to make him pass out again.

“No, no, Dale. Stay with me for a bit. We just have one more paragraph in this little story. Look up, Dale.”

Lewery looked up and saw the great roll of paper suspended over him.

“You ever take a tour of your own newspaper, Dale? Did you know that is the beginning of that rag you call a newspaper? Once it stops being a tree, anyway. Before you sully it with your spurious words, all that paper, weighs over eighteen hundred pounds and has seven miles of paper on a roll. That’s a lot of your bullshit on a single roll. Actually, I imagined the rolls even bigger – big enough to squish you. Now, I’m not sure if your head will pop off.”

Peterson caressed the roll. “Enough chit chat. I just wanted you to know that for all the good, innocent people like me that you stomped on, we’re getting even. Goodbye, Mr. Lewery.”

Still looking into the panicked eyes of the reporter, he triggered the fast release on the chain lift. The roll plummeted to the floor.

Guess I win.

He looked at the blood splattered for several feet in each direction. “Bummer,” he said quietly, as he mopped up the blood with a small paint brush, “I really wanted his head to pop off.”

“Mr. Munro?”

Munro looked at the mailroom kid in the doorway. “Ya, what have you got?”

“Sir, I think we have another one.”

Munro looked down at the young man’s hands and noticed he was holding an envelope by a pair of tweezers.

Munro motioned him forward and cleared a spot in the middle of the desk. “Get Lewery.”

“We can’t find Mr. Lewery anywhere. I’ve tried his house and his cell but I’m not getting any answer. This was couriered and the label says that I’m to give it to Lewery’s replacement. Has Mr. Lewery quit?”

“Oh Christ. Stay right there while I open this thing.”

Munro carefully slit the envelope open using the tweezers and a letter opener. Tipping up the envelope, a small card slipped out, falling face down on the desk. Munro flipped the card over and swore. Even upside down he could read the three word message and recognized the sign immediately.

Mr. Lewery – RIP

“Jesus Christ on a bagel with lox. Keep trying Lewery. Send someone over to his house but tell them to just wait on the street. Don’t go near the house. Send someone with a photographer. Whoever is closest goes. You got that?”

“Yes, sir,” the young man said, racing from the office.

“Make sure they have a phone,” Munro shouted as he picked up his own phone. “Get Mann at the Slasher Task Force. Tell him that it’s urgent. Don’t take any bullshit.”

He slammed down his phone saw someone running toward his office through the newsroom. Breathless, he slid through the doorway as the phone rang. Munro picked it up. “Hang on.”

“Boss, we got a dead body at the paper warehouse. It’s a mess. Looks like someone got squished by one of the paper rolls. Boss, they said that Lewery’s ID is on the floor by the body.”

Munro could hear Mann shouting into the phone. “Mann? We got another letter. You got to get someone over to Dale’s house right now. And you better get some guys over to our warehouse on Eastern down by the Harbor. I think the Slasher just killed Dale.”

*

With the death of one of their own, the newspapers reported Slasher updates on the front page of every edition. Television shows highlighted the frustrated efforts of the police. Since it was public knowledge that Dale had been threatened, the story was leaked that he had refused a protective detail. However, it was also discovered that Kesle PD had still put Lewery under surveillance. An unmarked car with two detectives had been parked out front when Lewery was abducted.

As only television can do, every “expert” imaginable was trotted in front of the camera to give an opinion of the Slasher. Hour after hour, the same dozen pictures or two minute video loop ran on the screen while voices droned on. With little new to report about the Slasher, special broadcasts described, often in revolting detail, the past exploits of other infamous serial killers.

The weather continued to heat up. Spring fever had passed and expectations for summer vacations flared. With the warmer weather came long walks at night, open windows and tempers. It all added up to one inescapable conclusion…paranoia.

The city was poised on the Slasher’s knife edge.

The Southside Slasher was due to strike again. The only thing all the experts would agree on was that he was not finished. Everyone knew he was going to kill again. The police had even given up denying that inevitable fact. If had been replaced by when, where, and, most importantly, who.

Who would be the next victim was on everyone’s mind.

Every psychologist, psychiatrist, sociologist and varied other “ist” with a book to sell was paraded in front of the public. Their
expert
opinions predicted who was at greatest risk. The dozens of conflicting opinions reinforced that everyone was at risk.

And along with newspaper sales, television revenue and expert witnesses, others prospered.

Sales of handguns and ammunition were up a staggering percentage. Extra shipments were being brought into the city as though war had been declared. Rifles and shotguns sold especially well since the licensing and waiting period was less strict. Local NRA chapters began holding special instruction classes seven nights a week.

The emergency rooms saw the next increase in business.

In three nights, as many husbands, all returning from late shifts, were shot by anxious wives with new guns. Two women were shot while practicing with their new guns. The first had misunderstood how to use the safety and shot the second in the leg. Enraged, the second had shot and killed the first. Finally, the father of a ten year old girl was shot while coming home from work. He was carrying a skipping rope for his daughter and his fifty year old neighbor panicked, seeing him walking up their shared driveway and thinking he was about to strangle her.

Alarm companies were deluged with calls after it became known that Lewery’s killer had been inside waiting for him. An advertisement, which implied that an alarm would have saved Lewery, began to appear a few days after the reporter’s death. The company pulled the ad after two days, supposedly out of respect for the late Lewery’s memory. In truth, they couldn’t handle the volume of calls.

Less lethal self defense courses also benefited from the windfall of the Slasher. Overweight couples suddenly found themselves tossing each other around gymnasiums. Heart attacks and strokes followed as people practiced their newly learned skills in the humid ninety plus heat.

One clever inventor created a strangulation-proof device to be worn around the neck. Thousands were sold before the hot weather defeated the idea.