CRIMINAL CHRISTMAS: A Set of 8 Holiday Suspense Stories, page 77
“No, I can’t say that it’s ever happened to me.”
“Do you have nightmares? When the bogeyman comes, what happens? You don’t just stand there, do you? You run from him.”
“Uh, I guess so.” I squirmed, feeling pierced by his steady stare.
“Rebecca, do you ever feel like you’re trying to escape from a room but then you find someone has greased the doorknob, and try as you might you just can’t get away?” He grinned unpleasantly. “If not…maybe you should.”
I should have been prepared for that, but I wasn’t. I’d let my guard down, pushing aside the fact that he was a predator, and the implication of what I must be to him. Unbidden memories of my mother and father came flooding back in. My eyes began to water and I choked back a sob. “Are you trying to frighten me?” I asked him. “Is that what you want me to feel when I see you?” I shifted my legs and started to get up.
“No!” He looked alarmed. His posture straightened abruptly, then he climbed to his knees and came to the bars, leaning against them. “I didn’t mean that, darlin’. I’m sorry. I want you to feel happy when you see me. You make me…feel things.” He looked down and swallowed. When he looked back up his eyes were filled with sincerity. That was enough to make me settle back down on the cold, filthy floor.
He studied my face for a moment, and then said, “Rebecca, what happened to your parents? How did they die?” His eyes narrowed and he seemed suspicious. How had he known to ask me that right then? He couldn’t know what I’d nearly cried about. But his question was far too specific to be a wild guess.
“How do you do that?” I demanded. “How the fuck do you always know what I’m thinking?”
“They were murdered,” he stated in a flat tone. He sighed. “Look, I didn’t mean to bring back something that you were trying to forget, but now that they’re in your head again, do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, feeling so vulnerable. I wanted to trust him, but that was insane. Underneath it all, he was unfeeling, a game-player, and a murderer. If I shared something so personal with him it would surely come back to bite me on the ass. On the other hand, what did it matter? He was on death row. What could he really do with the information? At worst, he could taunt me about it in future interviews, and if he decided to treat me that poorly, I could always tell him to fuck off and terminate the visit. He was watching me, waiting for me to continue. I decided to confide in him.
“It happened when I was in high school. I came home one day and…found them. Dad was in the living room—he’d been shot through the head. Mom was in their bedroom—shot in the back. Some items were taken. The police said it looked like a home invasion robbery gone wrong. After that, I moved in with my aunt and uncle. I stayed with them through college.”
“Not a sorority girl?”
“No, I preferred living with them. They’re lots of fun. And besides, I didn’t want to move out. I wanted to be with my family.”
“You didn’t want to lose them too,” he said. Ouch. That was too insightful. I felt as though he was prying somewhere that he shouldn’t. It made me nervous. “You’d already lost so much. It must have been a difficult time for you. I can see you loved your parents a great deal. You were close.”
I started to answer him but found myself getting choked up. I swallowed instead and remained silent, not trusting myself to speak.
“Shhh. You don’t have to tell me how that made you feel, darlin’. I know how you feel.” Tears slid silently down my face as I listened to his sympathetic patter. “I’m so sorry about what happened to your parents, darlin’. So very sorry.”
“You didn’t kill them,” I mumbled.
“I know, but I’m still sorry. I wish it had never happened to you, or to them. If there was any way I could bring them back, I would.”
How interesting to picture Tom reanimating dead people instead of killing live ones. “Thanks,” I said, sniffling.
“You know, if I was free, I would never hurt you or your loved ones—your aunt and uncle. I’d shelter you. You’d be safe with me.” Perhaps that was true, but I had no doubt the rest of society would be in danger. I tried to focus on the fact that he would ultimately hurt someone again if ever given the chance, and to ignore the love that emanated from him as he gazed at me with his deep cerulean-blue eyes, but it overtook me. I couldn’t help feeling comfort and warmth from his assertion that he’d protect me.
I thought about my uncomfortable session with the psychiatrist—her inference that I was delusional to think I was special—that he wouldn’t hurt me, and I had to ask him, “Why is that, Tom? Why wouldn’t you hurt me? Why would you protect me? What makes me different from everyone else?”
He shrugged, and appeared to give it some thought before answering. “I’ve never met a woman like you before. I really enjoy talking with you. I look forward to our visits. We connect on a deeper level than I ever have with another human being.” His expression turned sad. “I’ve never had this before.”
We sat in silence for a long while, looking into each other’s eyes. Then he cleared his throat and looked to the corner of his cell. “I’m sure you have better places to be than this shithole.”
“No,” I said simply. “There’s no other place in the world I would rather be right now than sitting on this cement floor with you.” It was true. It felt so damned good to be with him, but at the same time it also felt sick and wrong, and much like the contrary mixture of sweet and sour in Chinese food, it was delicious as hell. God help me.
“Rebecca, you don’t know how I miss you when you’re away,” he said in a low voice. He looked tortured, lost. He still knelt, holding onto the bars with both of his hands. “This is killing me.”
“I miss you too.”
“I want to do something about this, so I can see you more often.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet, but I’m in love with you,” he said, his face serious. Lies, a voice in the back of my mind hissed. But Tom was like a dark empty vacuum in space, a place devoid of matter, and I felt helpless to stop myself from being drawn into him. “If I had the power to will something into existence, I’d create a future for us.”
I got back up on my knees again and rested on my heels. “That’s a beautiful thought, Tom. I love you too.” I moved my hand toward the bars, and then jerked it back suddenly as I caught a glimpse of Jones’s disapproving glare. I felt a thrill at having almost touched Tom. Jones raised his hand and tapped on his watch. Our time was over.
Tom leaned closer to the bars. “Show me your tits,” he whispered, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
“What? You fucking asshole!” That made me get to my feet in a hurry, the spell broken. “I thought you were being sincere.”
“I am being sincere. I really do wanna see your tits.” He looked up at me with the face of a little boy asking when Santa was going to arrive.
“You’re nothing but a damned animal. Do you know that? Oh…what the hell,” I said as I grasped the bottom of my shirt and bra with both hands and flipped the fabric upward, freeing my breasts. I could hear the man in the cell next to Tom whistle, and I saw part of his face through the narrow window. I didn’t have a clue who he was since the other prisoner’s outer doors were always closed during my visits with Tom.
“Goddamn!” Tom grabbed the bars and scrambled to his feet. “I really do love you, darlin! And that’s honest.”
As I got my shirt and bra back in place, Jones said, “Visit’s over now.” I looked back at Tom. He clung to the bars and grinned like an idiot. I grinned too as I walked out of there, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to explain myself to Captain Barnett later.
Chapter 27
November 24th, 2012
Around 1:30 p.m. I stood just inside the entrance to the café near my house, too nervous to sit down, checking out each of the men that entered. I hadn’t had the good sense to ask the man I was meeting what he looked like when I’d received his call that morning, so I could only make an educated guess about which one he could be. He would look professional. He would probably be wearing a suit. I blew out a shaky breath between my teeth. I felt like I was waiting for a blind date to arrive.
I wondered what he would think of me when we met in person. I wondered what he’d heard about me. Had someone at the prison told him my behavior with Eisenbrey had been inappropriate? It was certainly true. Even if he hadn’t yet decided I was a nutcase, telling him what I wanted from the exchange would seal it. But no, I didn’t think I’d tell him. It was better to be vague. And anyway, I had yet to hear what he wanted from me…and from Tom.
There was a tap on my shoulder and I whipped around to find a handsome, clean-cut, silver-haired man of about fifty years who wore a black suit. He gave me a cold, detached smile and said, “Ms. Reis?” I nodded. He stuck his hand out and I shook it, his grip stiff and tight. “I’m Agent Farrar, FBI.” He took his ID out of the breast pocket of his blazer and showed it to me. I glanced at it, realizing that I didn’t know if it was real or fake, but I felt sure he was the real deal. He knew Scanlon and had spoken with Barnett over at the prison.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
He told me it was nice to meet me too. Then he got us a table and we sat down. Farrar studied my face, but I wasn’t able to guess what he thought. His manner suggested that he wasn’t passing judgment one way or the other. That was nice, because I really felt like an idiot for giving Eisenbrey a pair of my panties earlier. Although it had been hot at the time, now it just seemed like a colossal error in judgment on my part, and it would only make me look bad in the eyes of someone like Farrar.
He ordered some coffee for us, and then he started to explain why we were there. “So Ms. Reis, I’ve been told that you’re working on a book about Thomas Eisenbrey.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I’ll cut right to the chase. I need some information from him and I want you to help me get it.”
“What kind of information?” I asked, watching the waitress flip our cups and pour us coffee. He waited until she left before continuing.
“I’m trying to locate a serial killer by the name of Roddy Jenks. He’s operating around British Columbia. Eisenbrey knows him. In fact, they committed a murder together back in 2000. Have you heard about that?”
“Yes, I was told he did it, but that’s all I know. I haven’t discussed the incident with Eisenbrey yet.”
Farrar emptied two packets of sugar into his coffee and stirred. “Okay. Here’s a rundown of the crime: The victim was, Philippe Devereaux, the manager of the nightclub where Roddy worked. The club was having a huge New Year’s Eve party for the new millennium. Mr. Devereaux was supposed to come out on the stage at 11:59 p.m., say a few words, and then do a countdown to midnight. But when the curtains opened the audience saw the victim duct taped to scaffolding with a slit throat. Several witnesses identified Jenks and Eisenbrey as the men they saw walking leisurely away from the scene, but they were not apprehended. The date of death was listed as January 1, 2000 because witnesses reported that they still saw Mr. Devereaux choking and thrashing around until after the stroke of midnight. It doesn’t take long to die from the kind of wound that Mr. Devereaux sustained, a person bleeds out pretty fast from it. That means that Jenks and Eisenbrey must have waited to slash his throat until right when the curtains were opening. The odd thing is that this guy wasn’t the type of victim that either of them usually chose.”
It was such a terrible thing to do. And it was extremely ballsy for them to wait for the curtains. But for some reason, I couldn’t really feel the horror of the act. Was I becoming desensitized now that I heard about Tom’s gruesome crimes on a daily basis? Or was it just Agent Farrar’s deadpan and emotionless way of delivering the details of the killing? I didn’t get the sense he was outraged by it at all.
“Anywho, here’s my problem: Roddy’s still running around, living large, and little blonde women that fit his victim profile keep disappearing. I’d like it to stop, but I don’t have a clue where to find him. I think Eisenbrey knows some things that might help us out, but when we asked for his assistance a few years ago he was uncooperative, and that’s putting it nicely. When I heard about you, I thought this might be worth another try. I’m hoping that you can convince him to do the right thing and give us everything he knows about Jenks.”
I decided to be direct and to the point with him too, and I tried to appear confident even though I didn’t know if I could convince Tom to do anything. “Yes, I can get him to tell you what he knows, but we want something in return.” He looked questioningly at me, waiting for me to continue. “I can’t say exactly what it is that we want yet, because I need to discuss it with Tom.”
“Okay, then let me tell you a few things that I cannot offer: I can’t get him released. I can’t ask the prison to lighten security measures with him, as you know the extra security is there for a good reason. I am not able to stop his execution, I can’t even delay it. I am, in essence, limited to getting him things for his comfort or entertainment.” He spread his hands out and shrugged in a placating gesture.
“That’s roughly what I expected. I wasn’t going to ask for any of those things. But I want your word that we will be granted what we ask for, as long as it’s not on your ‘can’t do list’.”
Then Farrar said something that surprised me. “Ms. Reis, I’m pretty sure I know what you’re going to ask for. And yes, I can get that for you.” He sneered, the judgment I wasn’t able to discern earlier now fully evident.
I believed him. “Okay. It’s a deal. I’ll speak with Eisenbrey about it on Monday. That’s our next scheduled visit.”
“That’s two days away. I’d like to do it sooner. Would you be willing to come with me to Walla Walla now?” He checked his watch. “We could be there by 6:00 p.m.”
“Sure, but I’m only allowed two visits per week, that was Barnett’s agreement with my agent.”
“Not a problem. I can get you some extra time with him. It’s for a good cause.” Extra time with Tom sounded like a great deal to me, and if he was offering to drive me that was just icing on the cake. I relished the thought of not having to do all of that driving for once. “Would you like to grab a few things from your house? I assume you’ll want to stay in Walla Walla overnight, but if you prefer I can arrange a ride home for you when we finish up tonight.”
“Yes, I should grab my overnight bag. I won’t feel like another four hours in the car that late. Would you like to follow me back to my house? It’ll only take me a few minutes. Or would you like directions?” I offered.
“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Reis. I know exactly where you live.”
Chapter 28
As the solid steel door of Tom’s cell slid open I saw that he stood, waiting for me. A smile spread lazily across his face when he gazed through the bars at me. His black eye was still a prominent feature. I’d expected it to be a little better by now, but if anything it looked larger, like it had spread farther down his cheek, still that deep shade of blue/black. I was glad I had what I considered some exciting news to impart. I sat myself down on the cold, hard metal folding chair, grateful that it wasn’t the floor again. Tom remained standing.
“Hey, you scored a chair,” he remarked.
“Courtesy of Lutz. He’s a nice young man.”
“Yeah, I agree. I wish there were a few more like him around here. So how did I get lucky enough to see my girl on a Saturday night?”
“I was contacted by a man from the FBI today, Agent Farrar. He got me the extra visit so I could ask you to help him. He wants some information from you.”
“What about?”
“Roddy Jenks. He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
Eisenbrey paused, his expression a peculiar mix of amusement and skepticism. “Friend? You think that Roddy and I have some sort of warm, fuzzy feelings toward each other?”
“You committed a murder together, didn’t you?” I asked. “Isn’t that considered male bonding in your world?”
Eisenbrey just shrugged.
“You don’t like Roddy?” I said.
“I don’t dislike him, but I don’t know if that equals like. We understand each other.” He leaned comfortably into the bars and laced one of his arms through, hugging them, his eyes full of flirtation. He enjoyed having my full attention.
“What do you understand about Roddy?”
“I understand his urges and what makes him want to kill. But more importantly, I know where he takes them,” he said.
I was stunned. If his claim was for real, it was too good to be true.
“I’m sure that young ladies up in British Columbia keep disappearing.”
“Yes, that’s what Agent Farrar told me, and several from Washington State. Do you mean you could tell the police where to find him?”
“Sure I could, if I wanted to.” Tom walked away from me and sat down on his bed.
“You have to,” I said urgently.
“And why the hell would I want to do that? They’ve got me locked up in a cell that’s smaller than a goddamned dog kennel. Why should I help those fuckheads?”
“You could stop him from killing more people,” I said simply.
“I don’t give a shit who he kills. That’s not my problem.”
Although that wasn’t the kind of statement that should have surprised me, it still took me a moment to find my breath again. His way of thinking was just so foreign to mine. “How can you not care about other human beings?”
The chuckle my comment elicited held no hint of mirth. “Did you think that through before you said it, or did that just fly out of your mouth?” He held up his hand. “Don’t tell me, I think I know the answer. I still don’t see any reason why I should assist that motherfucking FBI Agent.”
