Deadly Games Read online

  He approached her, running the leather fingers through his hand, and reared his arm back. He struck her across her hip a few times and then stopped because it wasn’t doing anything for him. He needed to see and smell blood.

  He picked up his knife and carved a vertical slash into her exposed right forearm. The blood trickled down in a crimson stream, and he caught it in the water bottle.

  “There’s no need for concern. I’m not a vampire; I’m not going to drink it,” he assured her. “And while I’m not going to live forever, I’m certainly going to outlive you.”

  He approached her with slow steps to watch her fear escalate, occasionally taking a photograph. Then he dragged the knife tip across her abdomen, relishing how her face contorted from the pain.

  “Now it’s his turn,” he sneered and pointed toward the table with the knife. “What do you think I should do to him?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut in response. He knew whatever it was, she didn’t want to see it because she was intelligent enough to know it could happen to her too. He approached the man, who was looking all around his confines, and smiled at him.

  “Welcome to my humble abode. I’m sorry that your five-star suite was downgraded to this, but I’ll try to make your stay as uncomfortable as possible.” He held up the knife and watched the gagged man’s face blanch. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to stab you, at least not yet.” He set the knife down and picked up his hammer, which came crashing down on the man’s face just hard enough to shatter his nose.

  The redhead screamed into the tape and thrashed his body against his chains, but they were firmly bolted to the table. He had no chance of escape.

  He stared down at the man writhing in agony and wondered how long it took him to realize he was going to die. What is it like to know death is coming for you? Sadly, he, himself, knew exactly what it was like.

  BY THE TIME we got back to SLCPD, SWAT had several members of the Bloods brought in, so we met up with Eric and Marisol to view the lineup. I identified the two I’d crossed paths with before, and we picked out the other three involved in the mass killing from the remaining eight in the lineup. The five were sent to booking and then put in interrogation rooms.

  I was in the room with Terrance Johnston, whom they called T-bone. “So, Terrance, what was this about?”

  He tried to play it cool by shrugging my question off. “Bitch, I don’t know what yo’ talking about.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Terrance, we have you on video surveillance. You and your buddies are going away for this for a long time—life probably. But I’m willing to tell the court you cooperated if you give me some answers.”

  He waved me off. “Bitch, yo’ sure be tripping. I ain’t saying shit,” he spat.

  I grabbed my things and stood up. “That’s okay, Mr. Johnston. I’m sure you’ll enjoy prison, but I hear the Aryan Brotherhood is strong where you’ll be going. Do write me and tell me all about it.” I walked to the door.

  “Wait! I’ll talk,” he said and stopped me.

  I smiled to myself before turning around. “All right. I’m listening.”

  He confessed to being there and to killing one of the victims. He said they were there because the new leader in Carlos Garcia’s place, Darnell Robins, sent them. He wouldn’t say why, but I knew it had to do with me.

  After all the interviews were completed, we had five confessions. One of the men, Quintrell Harvey, gave us the reason. He said Darnell had sent them and told them to hide inside or behind cars until I showed up to investigate and then take me out.

  I told Quintrell, “Well, if you hear from him while you’re in custody, you can tell him I said nice try.”

  It was finally time to go home, and I was beat.

  I fixed chili for dinner and turned on the news while I ate. I hoped the killer was watching the evening edition to see my interview, which I made sure ran on several stations.

  Duke begged for some of my supper, but I denied him. If I wanted someone next to me who was farting all night, I’d get married.

  Just as I was starting the dishes, my interview came on. Yikes! The camera does add ten pounds. My phone rang about half-way through it, and it was my mother.

  “I’m fine,” I answered and then listened to her ramble on for ten minutes about how I probably wasn’t fine at all. “Mom, you can’t worry about every case I have. I’ve been a cop for seven years now,” I reminded her.

  “I know, and your father and I have worried about you every second since you started,” Karen Delossa scolded me.

  I rolled my eyes. I loved that they cared, but it wasn’t ever going to change my mind about my career. Not even this case was going to do that. I promised her I was keeping an eye on Denise and that I was being careful. Then we said goodbye. A minute later, Justin called.

  With a groan, I took the call. “Hello, Justin.”

  “Hey. I heard you brought in the perps responsible for the mass shooting in the parking garage this morning. I guess my calendar is going to be full for a while.”

  “You’re welcome,” I teased. “I know how you like to stay busy.”

  He laughed and asked, “Is your sister staying with you tonight again?”

  “No, I think she’s working tonight.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You said she works at that gas station on Grand,” he uttered.

  “Yep. She’s one of the shift managers,” I affirmed. “It’s just to help put her through college. I did tell you she wants to be a prosecutor, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, I think you mentioned it once. I’ll help her if she has any questions.” I heard his microwave beep in the background.

  “I’ll let her know. Enjoy your supper,” I told him.

  “How did you know I was heating up something to eat?” he wondered.

  I chuckled, “Because I’m a detective. It’s what I do.”

  “All right, Super Sleuth. I’ll let you go, but if you get lonely, I’m a phone call away,” he flirted.

  “Good night, Justin,” I said firmly and hung up.

  Before the sun went down, I took Duke for a walk. This time, though, I was sure to take my Glock, Mace, and taser. Aside from the highway noise, the muggy evening was nice and quiet. There was a rain breeze kicking up, so I didn’t go too far before turning back. I knew how Duke felt about the thunder, and it looked like there was going to be a violent storm.

  Just as soon as we started back, the rain began to fall with thunder rumbling in the distance. I picked up my pace to a light jog to get there sooner, but Duke pulled hard on the leash, forcing me to run.

  I dried him off when we got back and then took a hot shower before bed. For the first time since I became a homicide detective, I had nice dreams.

  HE STILL HAD room to fill. He needed another soul to put in his collection, so he drove around St. Louis, hunting for prey. He didn’t have anything particular in mind. He didn’t like to discriminate when choosing his victims. However, he never chose children or elderly individuals. He needed healthy men and women who could withstand the pain for his purposes.

  He saw her—a mousy woman standing at the bus stop all alone. She was digging in her purse, probably looking for enough change to pay the fare. He pulled up to the curb and rolled down the passenger window.

  “Excuse me, but I’m lost. Can you give me directions?” He held up a street map for emphasis.

  The woman looked around anxiously but then approached the Suburban. “What are you trying to find?” she asked.

  “I’m trying to find Jones Street. I was told it was by Tenth Street, but I can’t find it on the map.”

  The w
oman scratched her head and mumbled, “I’ve never heard of Jones Street, but I know where Tenth is.”

  She opened the door to look at his map under the dome light. The light that caught her eye, though, was the electric light of the taser as it zapped her hand. Her body violently convulsed, and he pulled her into the SUV before anyone could see. Then he put zip ties on her hands and ankles and quickly drove to the vacant house. He had considered selling the house and just using the smaller one, but he liked the larger studio it sported. He also didn’t mind the drive between the two. When his mother had finally left his bastard of a father, she tried to get as far away from him as she could afford.

  Since the drive to Town and Country would take a while, he injected his new guest with scopolamine. She was a lightweight, so he hoped he didn’t use too much of the drug on her. He wanted her completely lucid for what he was going to do, so he would wait until the effects wore off.

  She was still out of it when he carried her into the house, so he chained her upright in a chair. It would do until he could move her to the wall. He didn’t bother to photograph her because there was no pain or sorrow. He went upstairs to paint while flipping through his collection to find the perfect inspiration.

  He settled on a couple photos of the curator. He liked looking at the broken-down mess she’d become. He worked the canvas with shades of grey and black before accenting it with the blood-red paint mix. He laughed at the irony of painting her portrait with her own blood. He’d be sure to show it to her when it was completed. He would show it to the whole world when he was finished. Of course, no one but him would know who the subject was. It wasn’t like the detailed portrait of the lovely detective; it was simply a portrait of pain. He added some more shadows, and it was done.

  He stepped back to admire his work with a smile. In the morning, he’d take his paintings back to the City Museum and talk to the new curator. If he was still rejected, he’d take them to another museum. Unfortunately, though, only the City Museum had the art show for new artists this holiday weekend which was coming up.

  He readied himself for bed and quickly fell asleep. He dreamed he achieved the fame he sought…before it was too late.

  July 1, 2016

  FRIDAY WAS MY father’s birthday, so I called him when I got up for work. He was an early riser, so I knew he’d be up.

  “Your mother wants you and Denise to come over for dinner and cake tonight,” he told me, and his tone warned me not to say no.

  “Sure. I can make it by 6:00 if that’s okay,” I replied.

  “That’s fine, and you can bring your new friend if you want. Denise told us all about him.”

  “Sure. Your new grandson would love to meet you. Will Buster be okay with him, though?” I was referring to their beagle, who was twelve years old.

  “Shit, he’s too old to fuss about another dog in the house,” he answered.

  “Okay. Well, I have to get ready for work, so happy birthday, and I’ll see you for dinner. Bye.”

  “Bye. Try not to get killed today,” he teased. That was always what he said ever since I joined the force.

  I showered and dressed before fixing a bowl of cereal for breakfast. I made sure to set an alarm on my phone, so I didn’t forget about my dinner plans. I had no idea what kind of day it was going to be or how stressed I’d be at the end of it, so better safe than sorry. I needed to buy a gift yet, so I thought about my options. I had no idea what he wanted or needed, so I decided to stop by the Apple store and get him a gift card since he was into electronic gadgets.

  While most people would be enjoying a long holiday weekend, I’d be on call the entire time, and with the rapid abduction and killing rate of the St. Louis Slasher, I was sure to be busy.

  I left the house twenty minutes earlier than usual in case traffic was a bitch, and it was. People were already heading out of town for the weekend. Large vehicles were towing boats as far as I could see down the stretch of highway. I walked into Homicide five minutes before my scheduled time.

  “Crazy traffic this morning, isn’t it?” Liam asked, looking up from the file he was reading with a secretive grin.

  “You bet. I’m glad I left early,” I answered and plopped down in my seat. “What’s the smile for?”

  “Well, I have good news and bad news. I’ll give you the bad news first. A woman was abducted from a bus stop along Third Street last night. The good news is, we have an eyewitness. She’ll be in shortly to tell us what happened.”

  “That’s great!” I yelped. “That is to say, it’s great if it’s related to our case.”

  He nodded. “That’s true, but she did see a flash that might have been from a taser, so I’m hopeful.”

  Eric and Marisol popped around the corner, and he filled them in. We all sat around, anxiously waiting for her to show up and give us direction. At 9:13, she finally appeared, and we ushered her into the conference room. She quickly explained that she was coming out of a bar along Third Street when she saw a flash of light and then a woman being pulled inside a large SUV around 10:00 p.m.

  “Do you have any idea what kind of SUV it was?” I probed, feeling antsy.

  “I want to say a Suburban. My sister has one, and it looked like hers, but the street lamp was out, so I could be wrong. It was dark in color with tinted windows. That’s all I know.”

  “Did you see any of the license plate?” Marisol questioned, and she shook her head.

  “Sorry, it drove off too quickly. It was all a blur once he had her inside,” she answered.

  “You said once he had her inside. Are you sure it was a man, and did you get a good look at him?” I asked next.

  She looked down at her hands, and her face fell. “I was half in the bag, so I didn’t get a good look, but there was enough light from his dome light to know it was a guy, and he’s white.”

  Liam stood up and told her, “Thank you. This information will hopefully help us in our case. If you recall anything else, please get in touch. Any little detail might help, so don’t brush it off.” She agreed and then left us alone to talk in private.

  Chris slapped his hand on the table. “Well, that’s better than nothing,” he declared. “It gives us some kind of direction.”

  Marisol sighed and stood up to pace the room. “Yeah, but there has to be hundreds of dark Suburbans in the area.”

  “Yes, but how many will have tinted windows? It’s hardly standard on vehicles,” I offered. “And if it’s a super dark tint, there has to be a form filed with the DMV for a medical exemption.”

  Liam snapped his fingers. “That’s where we’ll start then. Look up medical exemptions on SUVs in St. Louis county, and try to limit it to Suburban models if you can.”

  “I have an idea. We can check surveillance cameras for nearby businesses in that area to see if they picked anything up. Possibly a bank ATM got a snapshot for instance,” I suggested.

  “Good idea. Let’s run with it,” Liam commanded. “Eric, you can look up the vehicles with tinting, and the ladies and I can go to the businesses to see what cameras have a view of the street. Also, we can check traffic cams. They might have a clear shot of the license plate. There couldn’t have been that many Suburbans in the area at 10:00.”

  Feeling like we were finally getting somewhere, we separated to carry out our assignments. Liam, Marisol, and I found the bus stop at the intersection of Third and Biddle Streets where the abduction took place. We found the bar the woman had mentioned and walked along the sidewalk, trying to spot surveillance equipment. There was a pawn shop that looked promising, so we stepped inside and spoke to the manager.

  “I have a camera on the door, and it can see some of the street,” he informed us. “You can
have the disc to review if you want.”

  We accepted the DVD disc and thanked him for his time. There weren’t any other businesses with cameras pointed toward the street, so our best bet for a clear shot at the plate was the traffic cam at the intersection. I called up to the station and had someone in the department review the footage from around 10:00 last night. I told them specifically what to look for, and they returned my call when we were back at the station.

  “I can see the Suburban, which appears black in color, but it has something over the license plate that is blurring the image,” Officer Marsha Miller explained. “I can’t make any of it out, even after applying photo enhancing techniques.”

  “Thank you, officer. I appreciate it,” I replied with a heavy heart and hung up to explain to the others. “He used some kind of cover or spray on the license plate to cause the image to blur. I’ve seen such spray sold online before. The gloss reflects the flash back toward the camera, blurring the image. It’s not high-tech, but it works against the traffic cams.”

  “Apparently, it works against us too,” Eric added in a tense voice.

  “Eric, did you find a list of Suburbans with tinting and a medical exemption?” Liam questioned and poised his pen over his tablet to take notes.

  Eric shook his head with a loud sigh. “I didn’t find anything other than one that belongs to a middle-aged couple with five kids. The husband has glaucoma, thus the special tinting.”

  We didn’t have to say it aloud. We all knew that man isn’t our killer. Our killer isn’t a family man. He doesn’t form loving bonds with others.

  “What if he’s not from St. Louis County? We should search other nearby counties for exemptions,” I proposed. “It’s possible he lives a considerable distance away from the crimes as a way to dissociate from them.”