Just Leave, page 12
“Has the family been notified yet?” Faith asked.
“No, not until we transport the body to the morgue,” Dr. Heath replied, watching as the CSIs took measurements and prints and photographs.
Kevin Malloy, like the previous two victims, had died near the door of the silo. Like the previous two, he had been sliced open just below his left armpit and allowed to bleed out. Judging by the depth of the wound, at least as far as Faith could see watching the CSIs work, he had bled out much sooner than the other two. Faith wasn’t sure if that was an accident or intentional. Kevin was younger than the previous two victims and in good shape. The killer might have wanted him to die sooner to avoid a physical confrontation with him.
But why him? Why the other two? Why two grain silos and a storm shelter?
“Who called it in?” she asked Sergeant Forster.
“It was an anonymous tip from a payphone in Sioux City. We called Sioux City PD, but whoever made the call wiped their prints.”
And is almost certainly halfway to Nevada right now, Faith thought. Well, he probably wasn’t the killer. The killer hid his victims in abandoned buildings and left no sign that they were there. He wouldn’t call the police to announce his own killing.
“I have a feeling that’s our thief,” she said.
“Pardon?” Forster replied.
“There’s been a series of break-ins recently,” Faith said. “I think the person who called this in is the thief.”
“Ah,” Forster said, “that’s why he called anonymously from an hour away.”
“Yes,” Faith agreed.
“So, who do you think did this?" Forster replied.
Faith laughed mirthlessly. “If only it were that easy.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Police reported last night that they have found yet another body in an abandoned grain silo, this one located near the site where the second victim of what police believe is an active serial killer in our midst was found in an old storm shelter near the Plato grain mill.”
His eyes snapped to his radio, mouth open in shock.
“After receiving an anonymous tip of a dead body at the site of an old abandoned grain silo near Farm-to-Market road fifty-five, State Patrol Officer Brady Forster came across the body of Kevin Malloy—”
“Shit!” he shouted, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“Calm the hell down, boy!” Grandpa shouted.
Aloud.
Clear as day.
He jumped and looked at his rearview mirror. Grandpa was sitting in the backseat. He spun around and there he was, leather-skinned, wiry and gray-haired with a beard that reached almost to his waist and shrewd, deep-set gray eyes. "Turn around and watch where you're driving, boy," he said calmly.
He spun back around and narrowly managed to avoid driving off the highway. He brought the truck back under control and said, “You’re… you’re real. You’re really real.”
"Real enough," Grandpa replied. "Now, do me a favor and take some deep breaths."
“You’re real. Oh my God. You’re real, and that means that this is real, and you’re really telling me what to do and…”
“Boy, shut the hell up and breathe! Christ, boy, ain’t your balls dropped yet? You shouldn’t be worrying about what’s real and what ain’t real. You should be worrying about who’s next.”
“Who’s… next? But there were only three.”
“There were a lot more than three, boy,” Grandpa replied. “You just don’t remember them all because the three we done for already were bad enough to drown out those memories. But there are others. And we got to do for them, too.”
“But… the police are finding them. They’ll find me eventually.”
“They’re not gonna find you, boy,” Grandpa said with the exasperated patience of a mother talking to a toddler. “You’re being careful. You ain’t leaving anything behind. You’re showing them.”
“Showing them what?”
“What happens to traitors.”
Grandpa leaned forward, and he could see that Grandpa’s eyes weren’t gray after all but smoldering black pits. “They abandoned you, boy,” he said. “They betrayed you. You needed them, and they left you. Now, are you gonna be a sheep and let them get away with it, or are you gonna make them pay.”
“I’m gonna make them pay,” he said. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “I’m gonna make them all pay.”
“Good. You can start with that whore, Shirley.”
He gasped. “I forgot about Shirley!”
Shirley worked with him. He had taken a liking to her, but when he asked her out, she said she wasn't ready for a new relationship so soon after her divorce. Then, a week later, he caught her and one of the forklift operators going at it behind a pile of tailings. She had said she wasn't ready to get in a new relationship, and then when she was ready, she ended up with one of the drivers.
She had betrayed him too.
He pulled calmly to the left shoulder and drove slowly, looking for a spot where the ground was relatively flat. When he found it, he turned carefully across the highway and headed back the opposite direction. At this time of night, there weren't any other vehicles on the road, and no one saw the illegal U-turn.
Shirley lived in Cedar Springs, about ten minutes south of Sioux City. He looked in on her from time to time. She was still with that forklift operator.
He frowned. “What if the driver is with her? I’m not strong. I don’t think I could beat him in a fight.”
“We ain’t gonna fight no one, boy,” Grandpa said, once more exasperated. We’re going to wait until she’s alone, then we’re going to choke her out like we did the others.”
“Well, what if he’s spending the night?”
“What if you have any goddamned sense?” Grandpa snapped. “Then we’ll wait until the morning! Even if they’re shacked up, they’ll be separated at some damned point in time.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, boy. Just stay focused.” Grandpa turned his charcoal-pit eyes forward and settled into his seat. “We’ll get ‘em, boy. We’ll get all of ‘em.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Egypt? Why Egypt?”
“Why not Egypt? It’s beautiful, Mediterranean weather, the people there are extraordinarily friendly, the cuisine is… an acquired taste, but once you acquire it, it’s absolutely delightful. And it’s the birthplace of human civilization.”
Dr. West’s eyes blazed with excitement. Faith couldn’t resist a smile. She hadn’t seen this side of the good doctor before.
“Well, I suppose the common belief is that Sumeria arose first, but now isn’t a good time to visit Syria, unfortunately. Egypt is nearly as old. Some believe older. Some of those ruins, some of those artifacts, they’re the oldest surviving examples of human society, the very beginning of the transition from nomadic pastoralists to sedentary specialized states. The history is absolutely unmatched.”
“I take it you’re not much of a cocktail on the beach kind of a guy,” she said.
He looked frankly at her. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re a cocktail on the beach kind of a girl.”
She laughed and said, “No, definitely not. Michael is. He could retire to somewhere in the Bahamas and spend every day sitting on the beach wearing a sun hat and reading a book with a mojito in one hand and a cigar in the other.”
“Then which hand is holding the book?” Dr. West asked with a wry smile.
“The hand that isn’t slapping the psychologist for being unnecessarily pedantic,” she jibed.
He laughed, a real laugh, not the polite chuckle he usually exhibited, and Faith grinned. For whatever reason, she felt strangely proud of herself for unlocking the real Franklin West and not the face he put on for his patients.
“Touche,” he said. “On a serious note, though, why did you bring up Michael?”
“Oh, I was just pointing out that he’s different from me. For my perfect vacation, I always imagined I’d wander around the Yukon or something, living off of the land, maybe befriending a wolf and a bison and wearing furs, stuff like that. I guess that would be more of a sabbatical. That’s if I wanted a real adventure. If I just wanted a vacation, I’d do a road trip. Probably Route 66. That’s the trip everyone does, but it’s a good one.”
“And Michael would be with you?”
She sighed. “Doctor, we’ve been over this. Yes, I had feelings for Michael. Yes, it sucks that we didn’t work out. Yes, I sometimes think about what it would be like if things were different, but that’s not the same as fantasizing about us being together again. I’m happy with David.”
“Yes, David sounds much more easily managed.”
She stared at him incredulously. "Are you, like, rooting for me and Michael to get back together or something?"
“Are you?”
“No! Look, he’s my best friend. He’s also my partner. I spend a lot of time with him. Telling you that his dreams are different from mine is a pretty far cry from telling you that I want to be with him.”
“Fair enough,” he said, “So tell me about David.”
“David’s calling,” Michael said.
Faith started slightly and nodded thanks. She picked up her phone and said, “Hey, David. What’s up?”
“Just calling to see if there’s any news.”
She sighed. “I’m still in Iowa. The Boss gave the case to Chavez and Desrouleaux.”
He paused, then said, “Wonderful. We’re thinking another two or three years, then?”
“David, I’m—”
“I know,” he said. “You’re sorry. And so am I. I can give you one more week, Faith. I’m going back to the office next Monday.”
“David—”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Faith.” He paused a long while, then said in an almost defeated voice. “If you really think I’m in danger, it might be best if you don’t visit me for a while.”
She didn’t reply. She waited for the pain to come, but she only felt numb.
“Faith?”
“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” she said calmly. “You’re right. He’s after me. If I’m around you, you’re in danger. I’ll keep my distance. Just… be safe. Please. Don’t go out alone at night, lock your doors and windows, get an alarm system if you don’t have one. Consider a concealed carry license.”
“I’m not getting a gun, Faith.”
Once more, she waited for frustration and fear to overtake her, but she couldn’t muster up the energy. “Okay.”
Another hesitation. “All right. I’ll talk to you later, Faith.”
“Talk to you later.”
He hung up, and Faith sat for several minutes, staring ahead at the wall. After a while, emotion came back, but not grief over the impending end of her relationship.
What she felt was pure hate for Dr. West. Be careful about leaving me with nothing to lose, she thought. You little asshole.
She stood and headed outside. Turk moved to follow her, but she said, “Stay, boy. I’ll be right back.”
Michael looked up from his laptop at her as she headed outside but didn’t say anything. Turk cocked his head to the side, confusion laced with hurt in his eyes. Faith felt a stab of guilt, but she ignored it. She wanted to be alone for a moment.
When she was outside of the room, she called the Boss. He answered on the third ring. “Monroe.”
“It’s Bold,” Faith said. “Listen, my boyfriend called me. He has patients that he can’t keep waiting. He’s coming back to Philadelphia next week.”
The Boss sighed. “I already told you, he can apply for protective custody if he feels there’s a need.”
“He doesn’t,” Faith said, “that’s the problem. He doesn’t think that he’s in danger. He thinks this is all in my head.”
“Well, if he won’t listen to you, I doubt he’ll listen to me.”
“No, that’s not why I’m calling. I’m calling because… Boss, we need to find him.”
“Bold—” he began, warning in his tone.
“Boss, please! He’s threatened to kill people I care about!”
“We have excellent agents on the case and a manhunt led by the U.S. Marshals.”
“That’s not good enough!” She took a breath and said, “Look, I just want to know if you’ve made any progress toward finding him. That’s all. Just tell me if you’ve found any leads. I just want to know that we’re not still spinning our wheels.”
There was silence on the other end for over a minute. Faith knew the Boss was there from the sound of his breathing, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, he spoke in a voice that was equal parts weariness and anger. “Bold, if I find new leads on this case, you will be the last to know, and you’ll only find out because I have absolutely no doubt you’ll ignore all of my instructions and find it from someone else. But I won’t help you destroy your career any faster.”
“Boss…”
“Don’t call me again. Here’s a thought: solve the case you’re working on now. Find the guy who just killed Kevin Malloy under your nose.”
Faith stiffened. “Yes, sir,” she said softly.
He hung up, and Faith swore under her breath as she pocketed her phone.
Dammit, why didn’t people listen to her? Why did they insist on dismissing everything she said? She had been right so many times, but people still didn’t give her credit.
Then again, she had been wrong an awful lot lately, too, and Michael, David, and the Boss had all been victims of her mistakes.
But she wasn’t wrong this time. Franklin West was going to kill Faith’s loved ones, and no one would let her stop him.
Well, you had your chance to stop him, she reminded herself, and look how that turned out.
Her right wrist spasmed, and she bit back another curse.
She stalked back to the hotel room. Turk immediately leaped to his feet and rushed her, licking and whining and sniffing to make sure he was okay. When his ammonia-deadened nose once more refused to yield any useful odors, he growled irritably and looked plaintively up at her.
“I’m all right,” she said, managing a half-smile before collapsing onto the bed.
“Taking a break from all the hard work you’ve been putting into this case?” Michael asked sourly.
She sighed. “Michael, I’m not in the mood right now.”
“Neither am I,” he said. “I’ve been working all morning on the case. Our case. The case you’re supposed to be focusing on. You, on the other hand, have been fighting with your boyfriend and daydreaming about the other case, the one that you were told specifically not to worry about.”
“Well, excuse me for being upset that a serial killer is targeting my boyfriend!” she snapped. “Can I be allowed to be a little fixated on a man who specifically said he would kill the man I love?”
“That man is my fiancee’s ex-husband," Michael reminded her. "Don't you think I'm worried sick about her? Don't you think I'm lying awake at night, terrified I'm going to get the dreaded phone call? I want West too, Faith. The world doesn’t revolve just around you. I want the man that abused my fiancée and who apparently is a serial killer in jail where he belongs, just like you. But I understand that it’s not my case and that by interfering, I’m making it harder to catch him. You get that, right, Faith? How interfering in a case you’ve been ordered to stay away from might, you know, interfere?”
Faith took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. “Michael, I understand that you’re upset—”
“Forget it,” he snapped. “It’s a waste of time to argue with you.”
She didn’t reply. What could she say? Everyone she cared about hated her right now.
Turk licked her elbow, and she turned to him and smiled. Everyone except Turk.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Michael said. “I found something.”
Faith sat up. “What did you find?”
“Haunted Horrors,” he said. “It’s a blog by this small-time sci-fi writer, Callum Jennings. He’s from Sioux City, and apparently, he’s been mapping all of the supposedly haunted locations in Iowa.”
“And?”
“And,” Michael said, “I remembered that the kids who found Patrick Jeter’s body found him in a storm shelter that’s supposed to be haunted.” He turned to Faith. “Guess where else is supposed to be haunted?”
Her eyes widened. “It wouldn’t happen to be a couple of grain silos, would it?”
"Why, as a matter of fact, it would."
“Well, now, that’s interesting,” she said.
“I got something better for you.”
He turned his laptop to face her. She got off of the bed and knelt next to him.
The post was the typical sensationalist style, a lot of exclamation points and flowery descriptions. What caught Faith’s eye, and almost certainly Michael’s eye as well, was a paragraph near the middle of the post that claimed that vengeful spirits had murdered their three victims.
Some people just deserve to die, Mr. Jennings claimed. Perhaps they’ve committed crimes in a past life. Perhaps they’ve committed crimes in this life. Perhaps they’ve simply trespassed places they weren’t meant to go. Whatever their crimes, human justice eluded these three, or perhaps it’s the other way around. Well, whatever the mistake that allowed these criminals—and criminals they must be or the spirits would have left them unmolested—to escape punishment, the vengeful spirits of the lost souls of Western Iowa have ensured they do not avoid justice.
“What a lovely and well-balanced individual,” Faith said drily. “Do you have an address for him?”
“I’m looking one up now.”
He took his laptop back and opened the FBI database. Unusually, the database had no information on Jennings.
“I find it exceedingly hard to believe Mr. Jennings has no priors,” Michael muttered to himself as he navigated back to Jennings’ website. He clicked a link to open a shopping list of the various sci-fi novels Jennings had written. After clicking on a few, he finally found one with a publisher listed.
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