WEBCAM (26 page)

“Mostly,” Tom said. “What color are Kendal’s eyes?”

“Brown,” Ledesma said, turning to look. “Oh—fuck—he cut out her eyes—”

More retching. Tom knew this couldn’t be Kendal. He turned to leave.

“I can’t tell if it’s her,” Ledesma said, catching his breath.

“It’s not. This girl’s eyes are blue.”

“Her eyes are gone, man!”

“They’re not gone,” Tom said. “They’re on the dresser.”

Tom left the bedroom, walking through the throng of cops and techies, walking to the front door, tugging off the blood-soaked paper crime scene booties he’d put on over his shoes, dropping them into the garbage can with five other pairs, and stepping outside where he stared up at the sun until his head began to throb.

“What now?” Detective Ledesma, from behind him.

“I’m done.”

“Look, if this is a jurisdictional thing, we work with Chicago PD all the time. What’s our next move?”

Tom closed his eyes, still seeing the afterglow of retina burn. “I’m done. I quit. My next move is going to my captain’s office and turning in my gun and badge.”

Tom turned and stared at the guy, wondering if he was ever that young. “Is this your first murder scene?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s my two hundred and nineteenth. And each one of them,” Tom jammed his index finger against his temple, “is still up here. I’m done. I’m going to fly to LA, beg my girlfriend to take me back, and get a normal job. This—” Tom spread out his hands, indicating the two of them, the house, the whole world. “This is not normal. And it’s not healthy.”

“He took her, Detective Mankowski. This animal took Kendal. I’ve been following the case. He’s never kidnapped before.”

“So he’s branching out.”

“Kendal could still be alive.”

“I hope she is. I really do. And I hope you find her.”

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Ledesma blinked. “That’s Edmund Burke.”

“I fucking quit. That’s Tom Mankowski. Good luck with your investigation, Detective. It’s a kidnapping, federal crime, so the Feebies will probably take over. I’ll make sure my partner, Roy Lewis, gets in touch.”

Tom didn’t bother with a handshake. He headed for his car, parked a block away.

He didn’t feel guilt. He didn’t feel regret. His finely honed sense of civic responsibility wasn’t berating him to turn around and assist.

Instead, Tom felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

He checked his phone, and was pleased to see there was a voicemail. But he wasn’t pleased to see who it was from.

“It’s McGlade. I’ve been trying Jack, and her husband, Phin, for the last few hours. They didn’t get through. Then I checked a few sources and found out the Folk Nation—T-Nail’s gang—had been mobilizing for something big. So I picked up Herb and we’re driving up north to Spoonward, Wisconsin. If you ever owed Jack a favor, you can repay it by coming with us. Call me back, pronto.”

Ah, shit. Tom owed Jack a lot of favors.

He Googled Spoonward, saw it was a seven hour drive north.

Then he tried Joan again. She didn’t pick up, so he left another message.

Tom unlocked his car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and rubbed his face. Then he texted McGlade, since that was preferable to talking to the man.

That Edmund Burke line that Ledesma had quoted; Tom knew it well. He’d used it himself, when arguing with Joan.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.

It was true. But Burke had another equally famous, equally true quote:

Those who don’t know history are destined to repeat it.

Tom stared into the sun again.

He knew doing so hurt his eyes.

But he did it just the same.

CHAPTER 47

Joan was dreaming about Tom, about how she hurt him, and she woke up hearing his voice.

“…can’t live without. Call me back.”

Then reality slapped her, full force.

She was sitting up, her hands bound in duct tape behind her. Her ankles were also encircled, the tape wrapped around a curved, metal bar bolted to the floor of some sort of small room.

No, not a room. A truck or van. Joan could hear an engine, feel the movement of the vehicle.

Patchy, dreamlike memories of being carried, being gagged, were superseded by much sharper recollections of being attacked in Tom’s house.

Someone has abducted me.

Pain came next. A scorching headache. Bruised from the stun gun. A sore jaw. Pins and needles in her fingers.

Then, nausea. Joan turned away to throw up, and saw a young woman was bound next to her, wrists and ankles also secured with duct tape, a red ball gag in her mouth. Joan made a gagging sound, and managed to choke back the puke and she felt the vehicle stop.

Movement, to her right, and some curtains parted.

It was a young man. Longish blonde hair. Wiry frame. He wore khakis, a polo, and gym shoes.

“Are you awake? All cylinders firing? Mental faculties intact?”

“Who are you?” Joan managed to say.

“Erinyes.” His eyes narrowed. “Say it.”

Joan repeated the strange word. “Erinyes.”

“You might have heard of our work. They call us The Snipper. My better half took you from Tom’s house last night.”

Joan felt a scream building, and Erinyes put a finger over his lips. “Shh. There is a time and a place for screaming. This isn’t it. I only have one ball gag, and I took it out so you wouldn’t choke on your vomit from all the drugs you’ve taken. But I can pick another one up.”

Joan swallowed the scream, and tried to keep the fear out of her voice. She failed.

“What do you want?”

“Are you familiar with the Furies? Ancient Greek deities of vengeance from the underworld, sent to earth to punish sinners?”

He pointed both fingers at himself and made a
that’s me
expression.

“I heard…” Joan stopped her sentence short.

“You heard Tom. You are correct. I was being a bit nosy listening to your voicemail.”

Erinyes held up Joan’s cell phone, and began to play Joan’s messages.

“I’m sorry. Can we talk? Please? I love you.”

“Isn’t he so sweet?” Erinyes said. His words were like pouring salt on a third degree burn.

“Me again. You’re right about everything. I’m really sorry. Please call me back.”

Hearing Tom’s voice, and him sounding so sad, made it hard for Joan to breathe. Her eyes glassed over.

“Joan, you’re my everything. I know I messed up. The ring… I wasn’t thinking. You told me marriage was stupid. I guess I thought… I dunno what I thought. Just please call me back. I… I love you so much.”

The tears were flowing freely now. Erinyes paused the messages. “He sold all of his comic books to buy the ring,” he said. “It cost him over seven thousand dollars. White gold, a yellow diamond. Tom was particularly excited that it was an antique Cartier, and came from France.”

The sob came out of her like it had been ripped out.

“I bet you feel like such a bitch right now,” Erinyes said. “I’m a Greek deity. I see all. I know all. And let me tell you, Joan; you should have said yes.”

He played another.

“Joan, I gotta stay here overnight, for observation.”

Erinyes paused. “He’s sugar-coating it. He had surgery on his arm. Some horrible infection, flesh eating bacteria, pretty serious stuff.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you. About us. You… you’re the only thing I want. The only thing I can’t live without. Call me back.”

“Please…” Joan said. “Please let me go.”

“Shh. Last message.”

“I’m at a crime scene in Evanston. The Snipper just slaughtered seven sorority girls, and kidnapped an eighth. I’m done, Joan. I’m quitting. I’m going in right now to turn in my badge. I assume you’re on your way back to LA. Please call me when you get in. Please. I love you so, so much.”

Erinyes put Joan’s phone into his pocket and said, “So you got your way. How do you feel?”

Joan felt…

Helpless. Terrified. Ashamed. Devastated.

No matter what Erinyes did to her, Joan couldn’t imagine it hurting more than she already hurt. If only she’d stayed with Tom. If only she’d said yes to his proposal. If only—

The slap was abrupt, rocking her head back.

“Penance works best when you confess your sins, Joan. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Another emotion took over.

Anger.

Joan stared hard at the man. “I’m not telling you shit.”

He smiled, stroking her stinging cheek with his thumb. “Oh, you’ll tell me everything. By the time we’re through, you’ll tell me every detail, every sin, every secret you’ve ever had. Then you’ll beg to tell me more.”

He slapped her again.

And again.

And again, until she could no longer hold the sick feeling back and the vomit came. Erinyes quickly reached on top of the sheet-covered box on the floor next to her, and held a plastic bag under her head until she stopped throwing up.

“The drugs I gave you made you sick,” he said, tying the handles of the bag into a knot. “But if you do it again, I swear, I’ll cut off all your fingers, drop them in your puke, and make you lick up the whole mess.”

CHAPTER 48

Captain Bains wasn’t in his office. Tom asked around, and found Bains had taken a personal day. Station gossip said it was health-related.

Tom would have left his gun and badge on the man’s desk, along with a note, but his office was locked. So, instead, he went back to his house.

He lasted five minutes, staring at his empty bed, then texted Harry McGlade.

I’m in.

OK. I’ll pick you up.

Tom packed a backpack with overnight essentials; shirt, underwear, socks, toiletries, phone charger, extra ammo. Then he made the bed, flipped on the television, caught a brief glimpse of Snipper coverage, turned off the television, and then got on his phone and downloaded a casual game he’d gotten addicted to. When Joan came into town, he’d removed it so he wouldn’t be tempted to play while she was there.

If only he’d had that same self-control with his job.

McGlade eventually texted that he’d arrived, and when Tom went to meet him he saw the private eye standing in front of a full-sized, candy-apple red RV.

Harry was a dozen or more years older than Tom, salt and pepper scruff on his face, eyes manic. His clothes were expensive, but in need of an ironing.

“Glad you could make it.”

“I owe Jack.”

“Hop in the side door.”

Tom opened it, and saw the familiar rotund and mustachioed face of Sergeant Herb Benedict, sitting on one of the couches. Herb was in his fifties, his suit cheap and wrinkled, and there was a stain on his tie that was probably as old as the tie itself. Next to Herb was a sleeping baby, and across from him, in a cage, was a parrot.

Tom nodded at the sergeant, climbed in, and closed the door behind him.

“Welcome to the Crimebago, Tom,” Harry said from the driver’s seat. He pronounced it
Crim-ee-baygo
, like
Winnebago
. “That’s Harry Junior, and Homeboy. Harry Junior is the one wearing the diaper and napping next to Herb. Homeboy is the one in the cage. Herb is the land whale. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge, and if the ride gets boring you and Herb can play some chess, assuming Herb knows how. Board is in the cabinet with Junior’s toys, next to the dishwasher.”

“Why is the parrot named Homeboy?” Tom asked Herb as he sat down.

“Former owners. I don’t know whether to blame their parents, or society in general. Something went wrong somewhere.”

“Why is it naked?”

“He’s addicted to methamphetamine, so he plucked out all his feathers.”

Tom nodded. A parrot with trichotillomania made about as much sense as a giant, red recreational vehicle. Such was Harry’s world. Tom looked around, taking in the expensive furnishings. The ride was certainly pimped. McGlade travelled in style. But it was a loud, abrasive style.

“So, how have you been, Sarge? Haven’t ran into you in a while.”

“I spent all morning with McGlade, that’s how I’ve been. You?”

“Not that bad. But close.”

Partly from nervous energy, partly because he didn’t want to discuss Joan, Tom began to talk about The Snipper case. He stopped short of mentioning his impending resignation.

“I’ve been following that one,” Harry interrupted. “Seems like a real nutjob. Herb and I have run into a few of those.”

Tom absently touched his arm, the bandages hidden by his jacket.

“Herb had his eyes sewn shut by a psycho,” Harry said. “I had it even worse. I was electroshocked by the same guy.”

“One guy kidnapped me, broke my arm, and kept twisting it to lure Jack to him,” Herb said. “That one was bad.”

“Dude, electroshock is worse than a tiny little fracture,” Harry said.

“He was grinding bone on bone.”

“Bone on bone is like foreplay. I still don’t have full control over my bladder.”

“Did you ever?” Herb asked.

So that’s what they were doing? The scene in
Jaws
where everyone compared scars? The two of them went back and forth like that for a minute, bickering like brothers. Tom stared out the side window. He wondered if Joan was also staring out a window, in Business Class at thirty thousand feet.

“I was tied up and branded by a guy,” Tom said.

“How much branding are we talking here?” Harry asked.

“Enough that I passed out. And then the killer licked the burn.”

“Sounds like a fairy princess tickle party compared to my hand.” Harry waved his prosthetic limb. “Fingers cut off, one at a time, stumps cauterized with a blowtorch. Doctors couldn’t save anything, had to amputate. Remember that one, Herb?”

“Yes. I got a chest full of roofing nails.”

“Yeah! Right! I remember making a joke about you getting nailed. You missed it because you were in the ER, under sedation. Also, I didn’t go visit you. What else you got, Tom?”

“I was just bitten by a guy.”