Beyond the Mask Page 10

“Number four,” Frank said.

  “Unfortunately no,” Michaels said.

  “What?” Frank felt a tingle running down his neck, not a nice feeling one either.

  “This card has a number five on it.”

  III.

  Frank paused at the front door. Bentley stood beside him.

  “It’s blood,” Bentley said.

  Frank nodded. It didn’t even really need to be stated. The message, when viewed closely, was too clotted and lumpy to be any kind of paint or marker that Frank had ever heard of.

  The house had an open layout, like Frank’s, it seemed like it was all the rage now. Because of that they were afforded a view of the scene from the second they entered the front door. To the left was the family room. It was well-appointed with furniture and hardwood. There was a lovely antique looking carpet on the floor in front of the giant, wall-mounted television. A hallway led off from the family room; Frank could see the beginning of the staircase at the end of it.

  To the right was the dining room and kitchen combo. The kitchen looked like the kind that you might see in a high-end restaurant. Double ovens were stacked next to a refrigerator larger than Frank had ever seen.

  “Real gourmands,” Bentley said.

  “Something like that,” Frank said.

  His eyes kept moving from the body to the rest of the house and then back to the body again. She was sprawled, face down, in front of the sink. The water was still running and the pounding of it against the metal sink made Frank want to plug his ears. There was a pool of blood around her. There were big streaks in the blood and some cast off drips moving away from the body. It was as if the killer had tried to clean up his mess.

  “That’s the blood he used for the sign,” Bentley said.

  “Let’s take a look.”

  They walked to the kitchen, avoiding the tiny numbered cards on the floor that marked evidence that needed to be collected.

  Frank knelt down next to the body, trying to get a look at the face, but it was pressed against the ground. All he could make out was the spill of red hair that almost reached the mid-back and a plump cheek. Frank could imagine touching that cheek, feeling the cool skin.

  “That’s where he came in,” Bentley said.

  Frank looked up. The kid had remained standing. He wasn’t looking at the body. Frank followed his finger and saw him pointing at a sliding glass door that led to the backyard.

  “What makes you say that?” Frank asked, standing up.

  “The layout is too open for him to come in the front door,” Bentley said. “She was surprised. The sink faces that side door over there, but it’s at an angle to the sliding door. That’s the only place the killer could have come in and crossed to here in enough time to surprise her.”

  Frank looked around the room. There was nothing else for him to add. The kid had broken down the entire situation in less time than it had taken to try and see what color eyes the victim had. And maybe that was the point. It seemed Bentley might be a better detective than he was, and if that was the case wasn’t it because he didn’t waste time with human feelings? With emotional connections?

  “I think you’re right.”

  “Of course I am. You want to go to the bathroom?”

  “What are we, girlfriends?” Frank said and smiled.

  Bentley reflected the smile. “Maybe in time, Frank. I mean you already bought me a drink.”

  As they walked up the stairs to the bathroom, Frank’s mental alarm started going off again. There was something not right about the situation. When he had been a detective he had learned to hone his instinct and heed it. After years of sitting behind a desk that instinct had dulled a bit. The alarm was muted, but it was there.

  Something the kid said, Frank thought. Something that struck me funny.

  He groped for it and then lost it.

  Getting paranoid in my old age, he thought.

  They reached the bathroom. The door was open and this time the water had been turned off. It must have been recently and even though it meant touching something at the crime scene, Frank approved of the move. Water had a way of washing things away, things like evidence, and that would be bad.

  There were still drops of water beading on the floor of the bathtub, but they were a pinkish hue. The reason was simple; it was the cut throat of the body in the shower.

  The man was fat, obese, really. His huge stomach lay slack on the tub and it pushed out to almost the wall of the tub even though the man’s back was touching the far wall of the tub. Big man breasts hung down from the body, blood stained on the sparse chest hair. His eyes were open and uncomprehending.

  Frank bent towards the tub. There was a lot of blood around the mouth area even though the throat had been cut-

  Frank stumbled back from the body and his hand went to his mouth, it was instinctual. Lying near the body was a fat, pink piece of meat. It was the man’s tongue. It had been cut out of his head and judging by the spurt of blood in front of the man’s face, it had been done while he was still alive.

  Bentley looked from Frank to the tub. Realization dawned on his face and he turned back to Frank.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I was with you the whole time, remember?”

  Fifteen

  They were back in the car driving towards the station. Frank had left Michaels in charge of the on-scene investigation and he had avoided Michaels’s questions when he had asked why Frank had looked so pale.

  “This is weird,” Bentley said.

  “It’s like you’re doing these killings,” Frank said.

  “I know,” Bentley replied. “First Sheila, then two families. I know how it looks. Although if you remember I preferred a more personal touch.”

  “I don’t need to be reminded,” Frank said. “But I know that you couldn’t have killed any of them. I mean, maybe the guy with the index cards. I was at work after all.”

  “He doesn’t fit my profile, though. Also, there was a card left at the scene, just like the other ones.”

  “I know you didn’t do it,” Frank said. “But it’s like whoever is doing this knows you.”

  “Everyone I’ve ever known is either dead or you.”

  “There’s no one that you can think of?” Frank asked. “No one who contacted you? Even before you were caught.”

  Bentley thought in silence for a minute. “No. There’s no one that I can think of. My best guess is that this guy knows that I’m working with you now and he’s taunting me.”

  “The index card bothers me most of all,” Frank said.

  “Even more than the tongue?” Bentley asked.

  Frank sensed no malice in the question (although, since he was driving, he couldn’t look at the kid to confirm this) just open curiosity.

  “Yes,” Frank said. “Number five. That means that there’s a number four out there. Who the hell is that?”

  They drove on without saying anything for awhile. Frank glanced over at Bentley, he wasn’t accustomed to the kid being so quiet, but he was just looking out the window at the streets they were passing.

  They had just turned onto Edwin Boulevard, one of the main roads in Yucca, when Bentley spoke up. He sounded excited.

  “You know what bothers me, Frank? The locations of the killings.”

  “What bothers you about that?”

  “There’s no pattern.”

  “There’s not always a pattern to these things,” Frank said.

  “Maybe not, but first you have Sheila’s. That was in Del Manno, north end of the county. Then you have the guy with the index card.”

  “Centrally located,” Frank said. “In Yucca, the county seat.”

  “Then way out to the west and way out to the east. It’s a pattern, but it’s not a pattern.”

  “You think he’s going to go south next?” Frank asked. “You think if we draw a line between each place it will make a pentagram or something?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Bentley said. “This isn�
��t a T.V. show. Every murder takes place in the county, but none of them are in the same region of the county. Plus this guy is doing it during the day.”

  “That does seem odd,” Frank agreed. It had been one of the things he had been turning over in his mind.

  “Trust me, killers like to work in the dark. It feels more comfortable, maybe because we know we’re all monsters and monsters do their work in the dark.”

  “I thought it was because it was safer. Less risk of getting caught.”

  “That’s part of it. Plus, if you’re going to kill people in their homes, they’re more likely to be home at night. This guy has had to search for people who were home. It’s like he’s choosing them at random. Whoever happens to be home when he’s walking down the street?”

  Frank thought of the description they got from Ellison. Guy had just walked down the street. Why hadn’t that seemed like more than a small oddity to the man?

  “And why don’t people think it’s weird that a stranger is walking down the street?” Bentley asked.

  “Things aren’t like they used to be,” Frank said.

  “Yeah, I know people don’t do things outside like they used to, but still. Don’t you think after awhile someone would say, ‘oh yeah I saw this guy walking down the street on the day those people were killed’?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said.

  “Maybe it’s someone who looks like they belong there,” Bentley said. “A mailman. They have specific routes, right?”

  Frank’s eyes widened and he jerked the car, eliciting a cacophony of honks from the drivers around him. He u-turned in the middle of the street and planted his foot on the gas.

  “What the hell is going on?” Bentley asked.

  Frank barely heard him. He could think of another profession that had routes.

  Sixteen

  I.

  The main office of PG&E for Yucca County was a squat brown building near the north end of the County. Frank hadn’t bothered to answer any of Bentley’s questions during their drive. His fists were clamped tight on the wheel and his focus was on the cars around them as he wove in between SUVs and sedans.

  When Frank slammed the car to a stop roughly in between a pair of yellow lines in front of the offices, he turned to Bentley. “The guy that gave us the description, the one that fingered Adams, is a meter reader for PG&E. Does that sound like a person who would get noticed walking around the neighborhood?”

  “Holy shit.”

  They got out of the car and walked in. There was one long desk, separated by dividers into three stations at the far end of the wall. Behind that, a tan wall with one door. Five people were standing in-between the velvet ropes that formed a twisting line. Frank supposed they were here to pay bills, but they were going to have to wait.

  He eschewed the ropes and walked directly to the brunette standing at the far left counter. An elderly woman was discussing something about her latest bill.

  “I don’t even use the furnace,” she said in a high, shrill voice.

  Frank pulled his wallet out and showed the star to the woman behind the counter. “Sheriff Miles. I need to see the manager on duty. I have an important matter to discuss with him.”

  The woman, whose name plate proclaimed her to be Janet, turned from the woman to Frank. “Of course sir. Wait right here, please.”

  The old woman wheeled on Frank. “Listen sonny, I’m sure that you’re a very important man, but I was here first.”

  “Right before Eve,” Bentley said.

  The woman shot him a cross glance.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Frank said.

  She swung her gaze back to him. Her eyes were too blue, they had a washed out quality to them. It was as if the color was deepening in areas and lightening in others. All the while the iris itself was breaking up.

  “Oh, you’re sorry. You know that I have to be back at the Aldi’s by noon or the senior center bus leaves without me?”

  “We’re investigating a murder,” Frank said.

  “Well bully for you. Are you going to drive me home if I miss my bus?”

  The door behind the counter opened and a thin, short man with wisps of gray hair walked through with Janet. He wore a plain, white dress shirt with a wide red tie. There was a gold clip on the tie, which proclaimed him a twenty-year employee.

  “Sheriff,” the man said. “I’m Reginald Chambers. I’m the manager of this regional office.” Chambers extended his hand over the counter and Frank shook it.

  “Is there a place where we can talk in private?” Frank asked.

  “Absolutely. I’ll take you to my office.” Chambers smiled revealing some severely yellowed teeth. They hung at an angle that not even the best braces would be able to fix. Not that braces were the go-to when you’d left fifty in the rear view mirror a long time ago. At that point you had two options: dentures or gums.

  “Good,” the old woman said. “You can get out of my way then.”

  Chambers gave the woman a professional smile and reached over the counter to clasp both of her hands in his.

  “I am truly sorry for your inconvenience. I’m sure whatever problem you’re having, Janet will be able to resolve it to your satisfaction in a matter of minutes.”

  “Oh, thank you so much,” the woman said.

  It was as if Chambers’ touch had shot her with an electric jolt. There was even a blush rushing up her cheek.

  Chambers turned to Janet. She nodded back. Frank could see why Chambers had lasted more than twenty years.

  They walked through a hallway of doors, an office behind each one, until they reached the end where the hallway opened up.

  Once they were inside with the door closed, Chambers dropped his smile. His face became grim and he plopped down in the chair behind his desk, while vaguely gesturing with his hand that Bentley and Frank should take the two seats in front of it.

  Frank walked behind the chair and rested his hands on it, but didn’t sit down. He looked over and saw that Bentley had mirrored his actions.

  “You being here is bad news for me,” Chambers said.

  “Is that so?” Frank asked.

  Chambers was leaned back in his chair with one arm over the back. He had a very open posture. “Of course it is. It means that one of my employees has done something wrong. That about the size of it?”

  “We don’t know,” Frank said. “We do want to talk to someone. He was near the scene of a murder the other day.”

  “Who would that be?” Chambers asked.

  He didn’t tell his boss, Frank thought. That’s a little odd.

  “Harvey Ellison.”

  A smile broke out on Chambers’ face. “Oh, him. Well that makes things a little different then.”

  “Why is that?” Frank asked.

  Chambers gave them a quizzical look. “Because he is not a current employee. A former employee…” Chambers spread his hands. “That kind of puts the company in the clear.”

  Frank leaned over the chair. “What do you mean a former employee?”

  “Harvey retired about six months ago. Real shame too.”

  Frank felt the tightness in his stomach. His alarm bell was ringing so loud in his head that it was almost a distraction, but he had been on his job for as long as Chambers had been on his and he knew when it was time to put his game face on.

  “What was bad about it?”

  “The cancer,” Chambers said, as if this should be common knowledge. “He had to retire when he got the cancer diagnosis.”

  “What kind of cancer?” Frank asked.

  “Pancreatic. They offered him treatment, but you don’t come back from that one. Everyone knows it. So he just decided to retire and enjoy whatever time he has left.”

  Frank wanted to slam his fist into his forehead. Ellison. He had been there, at the station and Frank had let him go. He had let him walk right out the fucking door, even after Rick had protested that they should hang on to the guy.

  “Do you have a cu
rrent address for Mr. Ellison?” Frank asked. He was amazed that his voice came out level.

  “Sure,” Chambers said. He scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it over.

  “Thank you so much,” Frank said. “We’d really like to talk to him about the crime that he witnessed.”

  “When you see him, tell him that Reggie says hi.”

  “We will,” Bentley said.

  II.

  The address on the paper led to a small condo in the northern end of the County. About a fifteen minute drive from the PG&E building.

  It was a small, one story house, with a double roof that angled down like two A’s above the door. Its deep tan color seemed to blend in with the landscape.

  There were bushes on either side of the door and they covered most of the windows. Frank saw this as both a blessing and curse. It would afford them a little more coverage as they walked up to the house, but it would also allow Ellison many places to hide and ambush them.

  “This is dangerous,” Frank said.

  He got out of the car and Bentley followed him without hesitation.

  “I know. This is the guy. Look at the lawn.”

  Frank glanced to his left and right as he made his way up the concrete path leading to the front door. It was short and very green.

  “What about it?”

  “Look how well maintained it is. Look how evenly trimmed those hedges are. This is a man who needs order, precision, neatness. This is the killer.”

  As Frank reached the door he heard Bentley add one more thing from right behind his back. “And we know that time is important to him.”

  “Because it’s running out,” Frank said.

  He raised his fist to knock on the door.

  “What are you doing?” Bentley asked.

  “I don’t have a warrant; we don’t have probable cause just because he lied to us. We have to get him to let us in.”

  “He could go out the back door,” Bentley said.

  “I know but what can we do?”

  Bentley shrugged. “I don’t work for the police.”

  He pushed passed Frank and pistoned his leg out. It slammed into the door with a thud and then a crack as the wood first seized and then snapped. The door flew open.