Beyond the Mask Read online

  The station, which was normally fairly sleepy this early in the morning, was alive with activity.

  There were hard plastic folding chairs arranged in an L along the walls, right below the window. The front desk was set into the wood-paneled wall. Something that looked like it came right out of 1975. The state legislature provided them with an adequate budget, but none of the previous sheriffs had used much of that money for building improvement projects and Frank had been no different.

  The chairs were empty; no one waiting to file a complaint or register for a hand gun, but Frank looked over Gloria’s shoulder and could see deputies moving about. Their strides were quick and important looking.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” Gloria said.

  She was a woman nearing her mid-forties. With curly blonde hair piled on top of her head. Her full-breasted figure pressed out from her brown sheriff’s uniform. A large smiled spread across her face, making dimples in her cheeks. Lines showed, but not too many. Frank had thought about her on several occasions in the middle of the night, in the loneliness of his house, but thinking was all it had ever come to. Gloria had never been one of his houseguests. That was a line he intended never to cross.

  “Morning,” Frank said.

  Gloria leaned over and Frank heard the buzz of her opening the door for him. He opened it and walked back into the station proper.

  Gloria swiveled on her chair and Frank got a good look at the rest of her. The uniform shirt moved in as it reached her mostly flat stomach. The curve of her butt pressed out around her on the chair. Frank thought that tonight might be another night for thinking about her. Then he remembered his current houseguest and his mind cleared.

  “Busy day today,” Gloria said.

  “Sure is,” Frank said. He looked around at the station. The desks were of the plain office variety. The general public would probably be shocked at how much like an ordinary office job most police work actually was. There was a computer terminal at every desk and files and papers lay open in front of most of the computers. They marched up and down in rows, like school desks. Most of them were empty; the deputies who weren’t out patrolling the roads were walking around getting things done. Those who were at their desks were on the phone, working leads.

  “Is Rick in his office?” Frank asked.

  “You know better than that,” Gloria said. She crossed her legs primly and for the first time, Frank wondered if she had ever thought of him during her nights. There had been boyfriends in the past, gossip passed quickly around the office, but she was currently unattached.

  “Down with Roman?”

  Gloria tapped her nose, charades-talk for that’s-a-bingo.

  Frank nodded and headed for the stairs.

  II.

  Roman’s lab was in the basement of the sheriff’s office. There had been talk of moving the lab to the first floor, maybe expanding the building in order to do so, but Roman had requested to remain in the basement.

  “I do my best work underground,” he had said in that thick Russian accent.

  Frank hadn’t known what to make of it at the time, but he’d let it pass. Roman was saving them a few million dollars by making his team stay underground, after all.

  The lab was guarded by a metal door with a thick pane of glass in the center. There was a keypad to the right of the door. Frank punched in his combination and pulled the door open.

  The activity was more subdued down here, but that was only due to the stationary nature of their job. Frank had every confidence they were working just as hard as the deputies upstairs.

  Besides Roman and Rick, who were standing in front of a counter with a microscope on it, there were three other forensic techs in the basement. They were set back in a farther corner of the lab at their own work stations.

  One of them had a swatch of cloth that Frank recognized as a piece of Sheila’s shirt. The other two were looking at slides in their own microscopes.

  Rick glanced up and saw Frank. He waved him over and there was the hint of a smile on his face. Perhaps they had something after all.

  “What have you got?” Frank asked.

  Roman smiled. “Oh, I believe right now is time to talk about raise.”

  “After I see what the human statue is so excited about,” Frank said. He jerked a thumb in Rick’s direction.

  “A print,” Rick said. “And it’s not Sheila’s.”

  Roman stepped to the side and indicated the microscope.

  Frank walked around the counter, noticing the index card with the piece of glass he had read about, and looked in.

  It was a single thumb print. The black loops and swirled danced in the magnified view he was offered.

  “Did you get a hit?” Frank asked.

  Roman smiled. “I ran it through the computer an hour ago. A few minutes later, I got this.”

  Roman pulled a piece of paper from behind his back and handed it to Frank. There was a mug shot in the upper left corner of the paper. It showed a man with black hair and several bruises on his face. His nose jutted at an odd angel. The blue eyes were ringed with tears.

  The information written below the picture identified the man as William Collins.

  “This is the guy?”

  “That’s his print,” Roman said, tapping the paper. “He was arrested on a DUI four years ago. Crashed his car into a tree about two miles from his house. Banged himself up pretty good, but didn’t hurt anyone else. He got probation, but his print is in the system.”

  “What about the address and the phone number, are they current?”

  Roman shrugged. “Haven’t had time to check. Besides, I figured you’d want to follow up on this yourself.”

  “That raise is becoming more and more of a reality,” Frank said and smiled.

  He turned his attention to the piece of glass on the index card. It looked like a jagged triangle with the long tip pointed down. The giant red 1 had been made with a thick marker, it was blocky but neat.

  “Anything on the glass?”

  “Not glass,” Roman said. “It’s crystal.”

  “You mean like from a glass or a plate?”

  “More likely glass than plate, other than that, I cannot tell.”

  Frank opened his mouth to ask another question, but that was when he heard Gloria’s voice.

  “Sheriff, your nephew is here to see you; he says it’s an emergency.”

  “I don’t have a nephew,” Frank said. He turning around.

  Standing behind Gloria, framed with her in the doorway to the lab, was Bentley. The smile on Gloria’s face indicated that it was more Bentley’s charm than any fear of potential danger that had allowed him to gain access to the station.

  “What are you doing here?” Frank said.

  “It was so boring at home. I told you I wanted to help.”

  Frank rushed forward and grabbed Bentley by the bicep, sort of feeling like his Father at that moment, and jerked.

  “I told you that you can’t be here. Why won’t you get it through your skull?”

  “That’s probably not crystal from a glass,” Bentley said. He was peering over Frank’s shoulder and addressing Roman.

  “Why you say that, Frank’s nephew.”

  “He’s not my nephew,” Frank spat. He turned in Roman’s direction while still holding onto Bentley’s arm. The resulting motion brought the kid further into the lab.

  “Okay,” Roman said.

  “Get him the hell out of here,” Rick said.

  “Everyone just shut up for a minute,” Frank said.

  They all obliged, but Frank discovered that he had no idea what to say. The silence spun out. It was Bentley who broke it.

  “If the killer left that then it means something to him. Unless it came from the last glass that his father ever drank out of or something like that, I don’t think it came from a crystal glass.”

  “I said quiet,” Frank growled.

  “You weren’t saying anything,” Bentley responded. “And I was just
answering his question.”

  “If he stays then I’m going,” Rick said. He took a few steps towards the door.

  “Stay where you are,” Frank said.

  He looked back at Bentley. “You want to look at it don’t you?”

  Bentley’s eyes shone back. “Very much.”

  “One look and then you’re done.”

  Rick through his arms up in the air. “Frank you can’t be serious.”

  Frank let go of Bentley’s arm and the kid walked over to the counter. Roman, who had never had any experience with the kid, for all Frank knew Roman didn’t even know who the hell the kid was, allowed him access.

  “Make sure you don’t touch it,” Frank said.

  “I know that,” Bentley said.

  They all watched as Bentley looked at the piece of crystal. He turned his head from side to side as if trying to catch the thing at different angles of light.

  Frank glanced over at Rick. His face was turning an interesting shade of red. Like the side of a fire trick.

  “I think it’s from a watch,” Bentley said at last.

  “What makes you say that,” Roman replied. He looked at the crystal again, as if worrying that he might have missed something. There was a defensive quality to his voice that Frank had never heard before.

  “It’s small enough,” Bentley said. “And notice the slight curve at the fatter end. A lot of antique watch crystals curve up to allow for a better sightline to the face below.”

  Bentley turned to Roman, whose mouth had dropped slightly open. “Tell me, when you looked at this under the microscope did you see tiny little scratches. Too fine for the naked eye, but you should be able to see them under the microscope.”

  “Da,” Roman said. “Tiny little scratches on the surface.”

  Bentley smiled and turned towards Frank. “That’s from the sanding process to smooth out the crystal. It’s a process used in making watches. I think what you have here is a piece of watch crystal.”

  “How the hell do you know that?” Frank asked.

  “I read a lot.”

  Eight

  I.

  Outside of the station, Rick and Frank stood by the smoking area. You could no longer smoke in the building, but several of the deputies were smokers, and even though Frank thought it was a horrible habit, he had been convinced by many of his men that it would be bad for morale to get rid of the smoking area.

  Bentley leaned against Frank’s car with his arms folded over his chest. He was smiling in their direction and it was that self-satisfied smile. Frank thought the kid had probably earned it this time.

  “I’m not riding in a car with you and that monster,” Rick said.

  “Look, I don’t like him either, but there are two factors that you’re not thinking about.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “One, we know that he didn’t kill Sheila Braddock.”

  “I know. He was with his new best friend.”

  Frank let that slide. He had let a lot slide with Rick today, but he could sympathize with him. This was not the time to be petty.

  “Second, he gave us a great insight. That crystal does mean something to the killer and it is watch crystal.”

  “Who cares?” Rick said. “Does that mean he gets a pass for all the people he killed? Listen to the way you talk? He did that to you.”

  Frank grabbed Rick by the collar and leaned into him. He was so close that he could feel the heat of Rick’s gasps against his cheek.

  “I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what Bentley Grimes did. To me or to anyone else. You don’t think I see Karen’s face every night in my nightmares. Fuck you, Rick. You’re not the only one who knows Bentley for what he really is.”

  “I know you do, and that’s the problem. You’re so wrapped up in the case, you’d work with Satan himself if you thought he’d help you solve it.”

  Frank let go of Rick’s shirt and took a step back. “I’ll take Michaels with me, you can stay here and run things until I bring Collins in.”

  “Wait,” Rick said.

  Frank turned. Rick’s eyes were plastered to the ground.

  “I’ll go,” Rick said. “I want to go.”

  “Then shut up and get in the fucking car.

  “Are we ready?” Bentley asked when Frank and Rick approached the car.

  “Don’t push it,” Rick said.

  “Oh, sorry,” Bentley said as he opened the back door.

  “Listen to him,” Frank said. He started the car and pulled out of his spot. “You’re here because I want you here, remember that. If I change my mind you can fuck right the hell off.”

  “Message received,” Bentley said.

  They had driven for a few minutes in silence when Bentley spoke again.

  “I think that crystal coming from the watch means that time is important to the killer.”

  “We don’t need you to shrink the guy anymore,” Rick said. “We know who it is and we’re going to arrest him right now.”

  “But don’t you want to know why he killed Sheila?” Bentley asked.

  “I don’t care what fucked up reasons he had for killing someone. I just want him in jail.”

  The address given for William Collins turned out to be an apartment complex about twenty minutes from the station.

  They drove most of the way in silence, Bentley had seemed content to let Rick have the last word, but as they pulled up to the building he spoke again.

  “This isn’t your killer.”

  Frank parked the car in front. He looked at the building. There were great chunks in the concrete sides which gave the building the cratered appearance of a teenager who had picked his pimples. Most of the windows rising up the front of the building had been broken out. Some of them still had shards of glass poking up. Others were covered over with plastic that billowed in and out with the wind. Graffiti dotted the space between the windows. Large bubble letters of blue and yellow and red and purple and green. The largest one, located just above the door to the building, read: I’m a creep.

  “Looks like the perfect place for someone like you,” Rick said.

  “The killer you’re looking for demands perfection, order, and cleanliness. He would not allow himself to live in a place like this.”

  “We’re going in,” Frank said. “You’re waiting here. I’ve given you two warnings about not listening to me, the warnings are over. If you leave this car I won’t have anything to do with you again.”

  “I don’t want to go in there anyway,” Bentley said. He sounded sulky. “You’re not going to find your killer there.”

  Frank got out of the car; Rick followed him. They approached the door, which was rusted metal and slanted to one side.

  Rick pulled the door open.

  “Guess anyone is welcome,” Frank said.

  Rick drew his pistol as he stepped into the building. Frank put a hand on his arm.

  “Remember, we’re not here to arrest this guy, and we certainly aren’t here to kill him.”

  “I don’t want to die either,” Rick said.

  “All we need to do is get him back to the station and talk to him.”

  “What’s the apartment number?” Rick asked.

  “212,” Frank replied. “Second floor.”

  Frank glanced towards the elevator. The doors didn’t look in that much better shape than the one outside. Also, there was more graffiti sprayed on it. Hash Pipe Express, it said in bright green letters.

  “Stairs should be better,” Frank said.

  Rick laughed. “The only way to travel.”

  The stairs weren’t much better. They creaked with each footstep even though they were covered by a thin, brown carpet. Cat piss wafted at them from the carpet pad.

  “Nice place,” Rick said.

  “You’re the one with his gun out, so stay alert,” Frank said.

  212 was the last door on the left of the hall. Most of the doors looked deserted. They lacked any kind of personal touc
h, but 212 was different. There was a picture of Bob Marley, with that huge smile on his face, on the door. The door was also slightly ajar.

  “William Collins,” Frank said. “This is the County Sheriff’s office. We’d like to talk to you.”

  Rick and Frank leaned towards the door, both of them were listening for sounds of Collins either coming to the door or trying to go out the window. After a few seconds of silence, Frank spoke again.

  “William Collins, do you object to us coming in?”

  More silence.

  “My Mom always said that silence deems consent,” Rick said. “Fucking door’s open anyway.”

  Frank pushed the door in.

  Collins was sitting in a computer chair in front of a brown desk. There were stacks of index cards on the desk. All piled on top of each other, some of them piled so high it was a miracle they didn’t fall over.

  If William Collins had an objection to them entering his apartment it would have been hard for him to voice it. The jagged slash across his throat and the blood that soaked the front of his plain, white undershirt had silenced him forever.

  “Motherfucker,” Rick said.

  Frank looked towards the window. Here were more index cards, only these had been pasted to large, white boards. On each index card was a butterfly. Large butterflies, small ones, Red and black, blue and green, yellow and blue. In black marker someone, presumably the late Mr. Collins, had written the species of the butterfly. First the scientific name and then the common name. Frank didn’t recognize any of the names written in what he assumed was Latin, but he did recognize a few of the common names like the Monarch.

  Frank approached the body. There could be evidence in this room, it had to be secured before they did anything, but he had to know.

  Frank walked around the chair, completely ignoring the body. It was there. On the desk, just behind where William Collins sat, one index card sat alone, no other cards underneath it or piled on top of it. A piece of crystal with a red number 2 on it.

  II.

  Bentley was still sitting in the car when Rick and Frank walked out of the building. Rick was already on the phone, calling it in to the station. Frank approached the back window and Bentley rolled it down.

  “Where is he?” Bentley asked.