WEBCAM (2 page)

Kendal wondered if she should take her sexcam work to the next level. Other girls made more money, and got more regulars, by doing more extreme things. Kendal limited what she did to nudity and touching herself. If she used toys, she could make more. Or if she allowed sound and spoke with clients rather than responding by typing. Or if she took her laptop into the bathroom. Apparently some weirdos liked to watch women pee, and were willing to pay extra for that.

But those things seemed too… well…
personal
.

Kendal knew thinking like that was hypocritical, and silly. Workers in this business were called models, but this was closer to stripping or prostitution than posing for magazine pics or walking down a fashion runway. She took off her clothes and touched herself, for money. Why not go a bit farther and make more? What was the big moral issue?

Maybe she should join another chat service. Instead of being paid by the minute, other sites worked on a tip basis using virtual coins. For five coins she’d strip. For ten coins she’d touch herself. There would still be the problem of waiting around for clients—that was the main problem with this business, the waiting around—but at least it would be something different.

You told me you were alone and didn’t have a boyfriend.

That’s true
, Kendal typed. And it was. Since taking up this profession, Kendal began to dislike men more and more. She had enough of them online.

BigBoy6969: So you have a roommate?

No.
It was always risky telling clients too much, because some of them could get a little obsessive and stalker-ish. But she usually told the truth when asked non-threatening questions, mostly because it was too hard to keep track of lies.

You live alone and don’t have a boyfriend or a roommate.

BigBoy seemed kinda stuck on this. But if he wanted to talk about her living situation instead of whack off, it was his dime.

I’m all alone here, with no man at ALL
, she typed.

So who is that standing behind you?

What?

Kendal spun around as a figure in a black ski mask rushed at her. As she opened her mouth to scream, a cold, foul-smelling towel was pressed against her face. The intruder fell atop her, and when Kendal tried to breathe her vision got blurry.

Another breath, and she realized she was losing consciousness.

Her eyes sought out her laptop, at BigBoy6969, hoping he was calling the moderators, telling them what was going on, and that was the last thing she remembered before she passed out.

•          •          •

Kendal awoke tied to her bed, her arms and legs secured to all four posts with duct tape, a gag in her mouth. The intruder was naked, standing next to the bed, staring down at Kendal. She noticed the butcher knife and screamed.

“Do you know who I am?” the intruder asked.

Kendal shook her head. She couldn’t take her eyes off the knife.

“I know who you are. You’re Kendal. And you’re very, special.”

Another frantic head shake. Kendal remembered the webcam. Hoped that the police would be here soon.

“I’m Erinyes. You’re a slut and a sinner, Kendal. So I’m here to punish you. Just like I promised.”

Kendal screamed in her throat when she saw the tiny, sharp pair of cuticle scissors coming toward her eyes.

“Now let’s get rid of those eyelids. It would be a shame for you to miss anything…”

CHAPTER 3

Tom Mankowski’s eyelids flipped open at the sound of his cell phone vibrating on the nightstand next to the bed. He squinted at the clock.

4:03
A.M.

Someone in his District had died. And it had to be someone important, or an exceptionally ugly death, or else they would have called someone else. Tom had taken a week off to spend time with his girlfriend, who slept soundly next to him. She was visiting from L.A., and Tom had turned his ringer to vibrate so it wouldn’t wake her up, on the off chance someone called.

“Your phone is vibrating,” Joan said. She sounded annoyed.

“Sorry.”

It vibrated again, rattling the nightstand. In hindsight, ringing might have been quieter.

“Are you going to answer it?”

“I’m on vacation.”

“So why didn’t you turn the phone off completely?”

Damn. She had him there.

“Did you turn your phone off completely?” he asked. When cornered, attack.

“I did.”

“What if some big shot actor calls? Or a studio?”

Joan was a movie producer. Tom had grown to accept the fact that at any moment, no matter where they were, she would answer the phone. Once, while they were in the middle of making love, she took a call from Catherine Zeta-Jones without them actually stopping. Joan’s end of the conversation mostly amounted to grunts of agreement or moans of disagreement. Tom pretended to be annoyed, but it was actually pretty hot.

Another tremor rattled the nightstand.

“If someone calls my assistant will handle it. Jesus, Tom, pick up the phone already.”

Tom sat up. “I’ll take it in the other room so I don’t disturb you.”

“I’m already disturbed, lover.”

Yikes. Joan only called him
lover
when she was really pissed. Tom knew it was an attempt to mask her anger with patience, but it always came out as biting and sarcastic.

Tom picked up his iPhone, saw it was his partner, Roy Lewis.

Maybe it wasn’t a homicide. Maybe Tom would get lucky and it was Roy dealing with some terrible personal tragedy. Like cancer, or a car accident.

“Are you dying of carcinoma or trapped in a burning vehicle?” Tom asked after answering.

Hope springs eternal.

“Worse,” Roy said. “The Snipper is back.”

“Shit.” Tom had been fearing that for more than a month. The first murder had been Chicago’s goriest in nearly a decade. It was so calculated, so awful, that Tom was sure it would happen again. Someone who went through that much trouble didn’t do it one time only.

“Yeah. Your hunch was right, brother. We’ve got a serial killer.”

“Can you handle it?” Tom asked, peeking at Joan. If her eyes were lasers Tom would have been instantly decapitated. Not only did they have plans for the day, but it involved Joan going to the spa this afternoon, giving time for Tom to visit a jewelry store for a very special purchase.

“I know you’re off, but you’re lead Detective on this one, Tommy. Can you sneak out without Joan waking up?”

“Joan is up,” Joan said. “Hello, Roy.”

Obviously Tom also had the volume too loud.

“Hey, Joan,” Roy said as Tom held the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker. “Sorry about this. It’s a big one.”

“How’s Trish?” Joan asked.

“She’s, uh, next to me right now.”

“Hi, Joan,” Trish said.

“Want to grab some breakfast later? Maybe do some shopping?” Joan asked. “The asshole cops we’re dating won’t be around.”

“How about nine? We can go to Yolk in the South Loop, then walk the Mag Mile. I’ll bet your fella would love to buy you some shoes. Roy’s gonna buy me some, right Roy?”

“Anything for you, baby.” Roy had a sultry baritone and sounded a lot like Isaac Hayes.

“Anything for you, baby.” Tom repeated to Joan. He didn’t sound like a soul legend. Tom sounded like Michael J. Fox when his mother tried to kiss him in
Back to the Future
.

“See you later,” Joan said, then purposely turned around in bed, giving Tom her back. She was still naked from earlier, so Tom didn’t mind the snubbing because the view was nice.

“Where’s the scene?” Tom asked.

Roy gave Tom the address, and Tom reached out and trailed a finger along Joan’s shoulder, down her side, to her hip.

“See you in twenty,” Tom said.

He hung up, and snuggled up to Joan, kissing her neck.

“You’re ditching me, and you think you’re getting a quickie first?” Joan said, snorting.

“Hey, I’m buying you shoes.”

“You don’t have to buy me anything, Tom.”

“Good. Because my cards are maxed, and you earn ten times what I do.”

She turned around to look at him, her eyes clear in the dark of his bedroom. “Long distance relationships aren’t easy.”

“I know.” That was the reason Tom’s credit cards were near the limit. Travelling to Los Angeles six times a year.

“Neither of us are ever going to quit our jobs.”

“I know,” he said, kissing her chin.

“This is supposed to be our time. And you’re working.”

“You do the same thing. Last time I was in La-La Land we were having a romantic dinner at
Bestia
and you invited Johnny Depp to join us.”

“That’s because you stood up and yelled
Oh my god it’s Johnny Depp tell him to join us
!”

“
Edward Scissorhands
is my favorite movie. I always cry at the end.”

“You’re not taking this seriously. For our relationship to work, we need together time.”

“I agree.” He kissed her neck.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Joan said.

“I can finish. Can you finish?”

“I don’t know.” Joan sighed, then her lips met his. “I guess we’re going to find out.”

•          •          •

After they’d both finished, Tom dressed and drove and arrived at the crime scene. He held an insulated cup of coffee which advertised a Bruce Willis movie Joan had produced. The victim’s neighborhood was upscale, boutiques and cafes and wine shops. The apartments no doubt cost more than Tom paid monthly for the mortgage on his tiny, single-level townhouse in Norwood Park. He parked in an alley behind a patrol car, next to a dumpster that was filled to the brim, and made his way past the police line.

“You had time to make coffee?” Roy asked, eyeing it enviously. Roy looked a lot like Richard Roundtree, but bald. Tom, in contrast, looked a lot like Thomas Jefferson. He even had the longish, reddish ponytail, which was getting to be a pain to brush every day.

“Joan made me coffee after sex,” Tom said. “You didn’t get coffee after sex?”

“Didn’t get coffee or sex. She took my Visa. Trish don’t like early morning homicide calls. She revenge shops.”

“Ouch.”

“No prob. I reported the card lost on the way over.”

“Won’t that make her mad?”

“I can deal with mad. I can’t deal with paying off five hundred dollar boots at 14.9% interest.”

Tom paid 22.2% on his card, but didn’t say anything. They approached a uniform standing guard in front of the apartment. He looked queasy. Nametag said Wheeler.

“What we got?” Roy asked.

“The apartment belongs to Kendal Hefferton, twenty years old.”

“Her name is Kendal?” Tom asked.

The uniform nodded.

“She’s the vic?”

“Could be. It’s, uh, tough to make a positive ID. She’s… it’s…” Wheeler took a big breath. “It’s pretty bad.”

“You first on scene?”

“My partner and I took the call.” He raised his eyebrows. “You’re Detective Mankowski, aren’t you?”

Tom nodded.

“And you’re Detective Lewis?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard about that thing in South Carolina. That was some heavy shit.”

“Neighbors? Wits?” Tom asked. He didn’t want to discuss
South Carolina
, and he knew Roy didn’t either.

“Doing a door-to-door now. No witnesses so far. But no marks on the outside door or on this one. It was open when we arrived.”

The previous victim’s locks hadn’t been disturbed, either. As if the killer had been allowed inside.

Or could walk through walls.

“Does the building have security cameras?”

“No. But a few stores on the street do, and so do some TV stations. Live traffic cams. There’s a team getting copies.”

“M.E. here yet?” Roy asked.

“No. Just C.S.T.”

Tom and Roy took disposable polypropylene shoe covers and nitrile rubber gloves from the boxes next to the door. There were also paper face masks and a jar of Vicks. Normally those weren’t needed until a corpse had begun to decompose, to cover the smell of rot. Tom raised an eyebrow at Wheeler.

“The vic’s insides were… uh… you’ll see. It stinks. Bad.”

Tom and Roy each took a mask and placed it over their mouths. Three steps into the apartment Tom realized he should have put some menthol gel under his nose. The smell of feces was so strong his eyes watered. Layered beneath it was urine, coppery blood, and acrid bile. The crime scene techies shooting video and ALS digital stills had full hazmat gear on, complete with their own breathing masks.

“I’m grabbing the Vicks,” Roy said, scooting back outside.

Tom took a deep, foul breath and held it, then ventured further into the abattoir. He took note of the laptop on the living room floor, open but with a dead screen. A woman’s shoe with an exceptionally high heel was next to it. He stuck his head in the open bathroom door; normal, but no shower curtain hung from the curtain rings. Then he walked slowly down the hallway, to where he assumed the murder scene was, based on all the techie activity. Still holding his breath, Tom’s eyes began to water from the stench hanging in the air. He came to the bedroom, peered through the doorway, and tried to make sense of what was on the bed.

It was just as bad as the first. The media had dubbed the killer
The Snipper
because he cut off the eyelids of his first victim.. This made for a disturbing corpse; the fully exposed eyeballs, bulging and staring blankly into space, set into a face framed by horror and agony. But in this case, the eyeballs were only a fraction of the atrocities committed upon this poor girl. Her mouth and vagina were mutilated beyond recognition, and she’d been partially eviscerated, loops of intestines knotted around her naked torso.

Smeared on the wall behind her, in blood or feces or both, was a single word.

FURIE

No shit.

Tom had never seen a homicide with this much fury, and he’d seen some doozies.

Someone touched Tom’s shoulder and he spun, coughing out his breath. It was Roy, offering Vicks VapoRub. Tom dug his finger in, smearing some under his nose, but not before he inhaled a stench straight from hell’s morgue.