Kill Me Once Read online

  ‘Dana,’ Krugman said, sounding so alert she was sure he’d been up for hours already. ‘Feeling any better?’

  ‘Much. What’s up?’

  ‘Good. Well, we’re over at the office now. Can you meet us here in an hour?’

  ‘Of course. Make any decisions yet?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I have. I’m going over to check out an apartment in Rocky River. Apparently Crawford, the killer – hell, I hate thinking it could be him – anyway, he was staying there while impersonating the Son of Sam. You and Jeremy Brown are going down to West Virginia.’

  Dana stifled a yawn. ‘West Virginia? What’s down there?’

  ‘Appalachia is down there.’

  ‘So?’

  Krugman paused. ‘We received a letter from our killer last night, Agent Whitestone. It had a return address on it.’

  Dana sat up straighter on the couch. ‘What did the letter say?’

  Krugman cleared his throat. ‘It didn’t say anything, but Liza Alloway’s chopped-off fingers were stuffed inside.’

  ‘Was there any DNA?’

  ‘Nope. Not a trace. Get on the road as soon as you can.’

  PART V

  RESHAPING JOHN WAYNE GACY AND

  REDEEMING NATHAN STIEDOWE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  Nathan logged onto his Yahoo! Messenger account and looked at his ‘Buddies’ list.

  His target was online, just like he always seemed to be. It was so goddamn irritating how some people had no lives.

  He laughed and pecked a message into the chat box. The irony was just too delicious. Pretty soon, this guy really wouldn’t have a life.

  Almost instantaneously, his message popped up in the guise of his online persona with the accompanying chime.

  C-townTop: hey big guy. what’s up?

  The response came less than ten seconds later.

  LkwoodBtm: Not much. You?

  C-townTop: just horny, as usual

  LkwoodBtm: I hear ya. So when are we getting together to take care of that little problem of yours?

  C-townTop: little?

  LkwoodBtm: LOL. Sorry about that. So when are we getting together to take care of that BIG THROBBING problem of yours?

  C-townTop: the sooner the better

  LkwoodBtm: How about tonight?

  C-townTop: mmm. sounds good. i really want to stick something in you

  LkwoodBtm: Sounds hot.

  C-townTop: good

  LkwoodBtm: And you promise you’ll stick something in me?

  C-townTop: i will. but it might hurt a little

  LkwoodBtm: Don’t threaten me with a good time!

  C-townTop: it’s not a threat

  LkwoodBtm: What is it?

  C-townTop: that’s a promise too

  Nathan leaned back in his chair and closed the chat box. Eighty-six per cent of the world’s serial killers were heterosexual – and he liked the ladies every bit as much as the next guy, of course – but the time had come for him to take a walk on the wild side. Time to try out the gay thing to see what all the fuss was about.

  He laughed again when the chords of ‘Lola’ by The Kinks suddenly echoed in his mind.

  Lola, L-O-L-A, Lola …

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

  The region of Appalachia in West Virginia is a land that time has largely forgotten. With its rolling green meadows, crystal-clear blue lakes and an expanse of woodland stretching on for hundreds of miles, it is, at first glance, God’s country.

  Jeremy Brown was at the wheel of a rented Chevrolet as the beautiful scenery whizzed by at eighty miles an hour. Dana came awake with a start a moment later.

  She turned in her seat and squinted her eyes against the blinding winter sunlight. ‘Sorry about that. I can’t believe I fell asleep.’

  He looked over at her and smiled. ‘No problem, kiddo. You needed the rest. Are you sure you’re OK? You had us really worried there for a moment. Thank God for your friend Eric.’

  Dana stretched her arms over her head and rolled her neck on her shoulders. ‘Yeah, he’s the best. I’m fine now. Just want to catch this son of a bitch. How much longer until we get there?’

  Brown glanced down at the odometer. ‘Twenty more miles until we reach the access road. The cabin’s another mile from there. Apparently it’s not accessible by car, so I’m afraid we’re gonna have to hoof it.’

  Twenty minutes later he pulled the car over to the side of the road and popped the trunk. A solitary buzzard circled high in the blue sky above as they shrugged their torsos into bulletproof Kevlar and checked their side arms.

  Brown turned to her and handed over the keys. ‘You take them, Dana. I’m notorious for losing these goddamn things.’

  A fifteen-minute hike along an overgrown trail brought them to a steep ledge overlooking a ramshackle cabin partially obscured by a stand of enormous oak trees. It was the only dwelling in a ten-mile radius, and one of the trees had recently been cut down. Now it was lying on the snow-covered ground like an enormous felled giant.

  Brown shook his head when he saw it. ‘Looks like our man’s something of a lumberjack in addition to his day job of being a deranged serial killer. Very industrious of him, wouldn’t you say?’

  Before Dana could answer him, the gunshot-sound of snapping branches sounded fifteen yards to their right. She caught a dark flash of movement out of the corner of her right eye as Brown unholstered his Glock in one fluid motion and whipped it around with his finger twitching over the trigger.

  He had an eight-point buck dead in his sights.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he breathed. ‘That scared the living shit out of me.’

  He stared at the huge buck, which defiantly stared right back. ‘What do you think, Dana? Should I drop him or what? I think we’re still in season.’

  ‘And kill Bambi’s dad? I don’t think so.’

  Brown smiled at her. ‘You’re too soft for your own good, Whitestone. A real marshmallow softie, but that’s what I love so much about you.’

  A moment later the majestic creature lifted its enormous head and gave one derisive snort before suddenly turning and crashing back into the winter woods.

  Dana sighed. ‘So are you ready for this or what?’

  Brown didn’t answer her. He was looking at something over her right shoulder. ‘What’s that?’ he said.

  Dana turned around and followed his gaze. Even from a hundred feet she could make out the front-page headline stripped across the top of a newspaper that had been nailed to a tree.

  WEST PARK COUPLE SLAIN; DAUGHTER SURVIVES

  Brown started walking toward the tree.

  ‘Hey, wait up,’ Dana said, her stomach churning with nausea as she followed him through the woods.

  Brown pulled the newspaper off the tree. His deep brown eyes narrowed as he read quickly through the article. He looked up at her. ‘Jesus Christ, Dana. Check this shit out.’

  Dana could hardly breathe. She looked down at the paper, at the familiar article recounting her parents’ murder in terrible detail. Quick puffs of vapour issued from her mouth. ‘Motherfucker,’ she said.

  Brown took back the paper. ‘We could have gotten some useful background information out of this reporter,’ he said. ‘This …’

  He paused and ran his eyes over the byline at the top of the article. ‘This Jeremiah Quigley.’

  Dana’s heart almost stopped. ‘What did you say?’

  Brown frowned. ‘I said we could have gotten some useful background information out of this reporter. This Jeremiah Quigley guy. About your parents’ deaths, I mean.’

  Dana’s world went black. Her vision swam out of focus, then she suddenly felt weightless. Brown caught her just before she completed a face-plant on the forest floor.

  ‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘Take it easy, Dana. You’re obviously not well enough. I should have per—’

  Dana’s brain reeled, unable to process the information she’d just heard. In the hundreds of times she’d read that a
rticle, never once had she noticed the reporter’s name. She stumbled again.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Brown asked as he steadied her.

  Dana took a deep breath and tried to regain her bearings. ‘Quigley is my mother’s maiden name,’ she said hoarsely.

  Brown’s jaw nearly hit his chest. ‘But I thought you said you were an only child.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Jeez.’ Brown toed the ground. ‘I guess that’s something we’ll have to deal with later. Right now we need to get down there and check out that cabin. You OK to do this or what? If not, I’ll do it by myself.’

  Dana shook herself. ‘Absolutely not. I’m fine. Let’s go.’

  ‘OK, Dana, but just be careful, all right? This is some dangerous shit we’re getting into here. Don’t go passing out on me now.’

  Dana’s glare was hot enough to burn through six inches of solid steel. ‘I said let’s go,’ she hissed.

  Stooped over in a half-crouch, they made their way down the slippery ledge and advanced upon the cabin’s wide porch gallery before ascending the creaking steps in front. Dana squatted at one side of the door and motioned for Brown to do the same at the other. She flicked off the safety on her Glock and gave him the signal to knock.

  He popped up without hesitation, banging on the rickety wooden door with one fist. ‘FBI!’ he yelled. ‘Open up! We have a search warrant!’

  There was no response. Straining her ears hard, Dana heard the low murmur of voices coming from inside.

  Somebody was definitely in there.

  Brown raised an eyebrow questioningly. Dana nodded back, every muscle in her body tensed and ready for action.

  Brown rose to his feet and put all his weight behind the kick. The termite-infested jamb splintered as they rushed inside with their guns drawn.

  The smell hit them first, like a hard slap across the face. The stifling heat pouring out of a pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room only intensified the unmistakable stench of decay.

  The source of the horrible odour wasn’t hard to trace.

  The elderly couple, both frail and well into their seventies, were propped up at the kitchen table, their wrinkled hands solemnly folded in prayer. An open Bible lay between them, its sliver-thin pages splattered with blood.

  Their killer had struck from behind, cutting their throats with the bloodstained butcher’s knife that now lay on the table beside the Bible. Dana recognised the precise handwriting on the note under it at once.

  LIZZIE BORDEN TOOK AN AXE AND GAVE HER MOTHER FORTY WHACKS. WHEN SHE SAW WHAT SHE HAD DONE, SHE GAVE HER FATHER FORTY-ONE.

  A blizzard of black flies buzzed loudly in the cabin. Dana brushed a flurry of them from her eyes and almost gagged when she saw that they’d already laid eggs in the open wounds in the couple’s throats. Hundreds of maggots squirmed in their flesh, madly wriggling over one another in their quest for the tastiest bits.

  The voices she’d heard from outside were coming from an old transistor radio, its broken dial set to a Southern Baptist church sermon – an angry preacher raging fire-and-brimstone against the evils of fornication.

  Dana flipped her cellphone open to call for backup but the reception was too weak inside the cabin for her to get a signal.

  She was about to walk outside and try again when Brown motioned to the only other door in the cabin. Presumably it led into the bedroom. ‘We need to clear that room,’ he said, wrinkling his nose up against the overpowering smell.

  Dana nodded and fell into step behind him as they quickly crossed the uneven plank floor. Taking a deep breath, Brown reached out a hand and turned the knob until the lock popped.

  The double-barrelled shotgun rigged to a crude pulley system of chicken wire exploded immediately with a tremendous bang, slamming him squarely in the chest and lifting him three feet in the air. The force of the blast tore the black dress shoe off his left foot.

  ‘Jeremy!’ Dana screamed.

  She covered the few feet between them in a flash, dropping to her knees by his side. She lifted his head off the floor and cradled it in her arms, lightly slapping at his alarmingly pale cheeks. ‘Come on, partner,’ she said. ‘Talk to me, goddamn it.’

  Brown only groaned impotently in response. The breath had been knocked completely out of him.

  Dana’s hands scrambled for the Velcro straps on his Kevlar. She gently eased the vest over his shoulders. What she saw next almost made her vomit.

  The Kevlar had only done half its job. It had stopped one of the shotgun blasts but the other had gone clean through. A rapidly expanding circle of blood was soaking into Brown’s white dress shirt now as a sucking chest wound tried to eat a small section of the fabric.

  ‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ Dana breathed.

  Brown stared up at her blindly, his brown eyes glazing over as the blood pulsed out of his chest with every beat of his badly labouring heart. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but a thin trickle of blood leaked out instead.

  ‘Hang in there, Jeremy,’ Dana said softly. ‘Don’t try to talk. Just hang in there, goddamn it.’

  The veteran FBI agent’s eyes fluttered as he lost consciousness.

  Dana dug in her pocket for her cellphone again, ripping a fingernail clean off in her haste but not even feeling it. Miraculously, an operator answered on the fourth ring.

  ‘9-1-1. What is your emergency?’

  Dana struggled to stay calm as she gave the woman their location. ‘Officer down. Single shotgun wound to the chest. I need an ambulance out here now.’

  She tossed the phone to one side. It rattled across the wooden floor while she pressed two fingers against Brown’s throat.

  Nothing.

  Dana shook her head violently to clear it. They hadn’t fallen into his trap this easily.

  Had they?

  She quickly began single-man CPR – fifteen hard chest depressions followed by two quick breaths. An eternity passed because of the remoteness of the location, but Dana repeated the exhausting series until a large blond man finally pulled her away several lifetimes later.

  ‘Out of the way, ma’am,’ the EMT grunted.

  He used heavy fabric scissors to cut Brown’s bloody dress shirt away and a black man holding a portable defibrillator moved in, the two men’s movements as perfectly choreographed as those of ballet dancers. The black man shocked Brown with the paddles once.

  ‘Nothing,’ the blond man said, his fingers pressed against Brown’s throat.

  The black man shocked Brown twice more and looked up at his partner both times, but the blond man only closed his eyes and shook his head in response.

  Ratcheting up the dial on the defibrillator finally produced the result that Dana was praying for.

  ‘We’ve got a pulse!’ the blonde man shouted. ‘Let’s move!’

  Two more EMTs moved in to help load Brown’s body onto a stretcher for the gruelling trip back to the access road.

  When they finally pulled off in an ambulance twenty minutes later – sirens wailing like a thousand tortured souls – Dana fumbled in her pocket for the car keys and jammed the Chevrolet into drive.

  She followed the ambulance as closely as she could, gunning the engine hard. The sound it made was eerily similar to the starving howl of a mongrel dog.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  Dana flew into the visitor’s lot at forty miles an hour and slammed the car into park mode before heading into the emergency room at a dead run.

  She reached the front desk and frantically asked the nurse where Brown had been taken. In response, the woman calmly inquired who she was.

  Dana whipped out her badge and shoved it in the nurse’s face. ‘Just tell me where he is, please!’

  The woman rose to her feet with an angry frown on her face. She rested her hands on her wide matronly hips and motioned to the waiting room with an annoyed jerk of her chin. ‘Just sit down, young lady. All you can do now is wait.’

  Chastened, Dana sat down on a plastic chair bolted to the flo
or and then got up again to pace. She was in the lobby for almost six hours before a doctor finally came out.

  ‘Special Agent Whitestone?’ the man asked those in the packed room.

  Dana’s knees shook. ‘That’s me, sir.’

  He walked her into the hall and out of earshot of the others. ‘He’s out of surgery, but it’s touch-and-go right now. He’s lost a lot of blood. We’ll know more tomorrow.’

  The doctor reached out and touched her arm lightly. ‘You might as well go home, ma’am. If he makes it he’ll be here quite a while longer. He wouldn’t be able to talk to you right now, anyway. I’ll call you if there’s any change in his condition.’

  Dana was little more than a walking zombie as she slowly made her way back through the parking lot and slid behind the wheel of the Chevrolet for the long, lonely trip home. The early-winter night sky moved in as she drove. There was no moon above, no stars dotting the heavens. Only total darkness.

  It was pitch black as she made three calls.

  The first was to the local police department. The captain on duty there assured her that his force was processing the cabin for any additional clues. The second was to Bill Krugman, who told her to get back to Cleveland as quickly as she possibly could.

  Reaching the southern outskirts of Cleveland three hours later, Dana made her third and final call.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hey, Eric.’

  Eric sensed the stress in her voice at once. ‘What’s wrong, honey?’

  Dana took a deep breath and filled him in.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Eric said when she’d finished. ‘I’m so sorry. Are you all right?’

  ‘Not really.’

  He paused uncertainly. ‘Listen, Dana, I’ve actually got some company here right now, but I’ll send him home so that we can …’

  The static of a bad connection crackled in Dana’s ear. ‘What was that, Eric?’ she asked, sticking a finger in her right ear and straining to catch his voice. ‘Say that again. I didn’t hear you.’

  But Eric was having troubles of his own. ‘Dana? You’re breaking up, honey. I can’t hear you very well. If you can hear me, I said I’ll send my company home so that we can talk when you get here.’