He didn’t have to wait long for t
he answer.
“Mr. Hayes. It is so good of you to join me for this happy fiesta. Well, happy for me.”
The voice was powerful and confident. Eric also detected a hint of enthusiasm. The thought of his capt
or
being excited at his prey’s confinement sent a horrifying chill up his spine.
“I know you are wondering what you are doing here
,
and I assure you, I won’t keep you waiting. But first, I’m going to remove the tape
from
your eyes. That’s the least I can do.”
The feel of ripping tape against his skin caused him to
let loose a muffled
scream as the hair of his eyebrows
left
his face
—
with precious skin attached. Almost as pointed, however, was the sudden flood of light. Eric blinked and squinted his way to the realm of focus and after a few moments, succeeded
. I
mmediately
,
he
wished he hadn’t.
H
e
recognized the man standing across from him. Anyone in Lansing
would—
and maybe half the nation
.
Dr. Fredrick Argyle had added a
blond
goatee, but it was him.
“Do you remember me, Mr. Hayes? I assure you that you have not been far from my thoughts for years. I couldn’t be more pleased that we are finally together. I love reunions. Ask anyone at the Lansing Police Department.”
Argyle’s eyes rolled, and he laughed wildly
, a
lmost like a cartoon madman
.
T
hen
he
brought it under control so quickly that Eric jumped. He began a new round of struggles against the bindings.
“I assure you, Mr. Hayes, that your efforts to escape are futile. Duct tape is a wondrous invention to be sure. Besides, you don’t have my permission to leave. But you’ll have it soon.”
The big man slammed his fist on the small table
,
and Eric felt his heart skip beats. “You must atone for the things you have written about me. About my research. You’d write anything to sell a piece-of-shit newspaper.”
The doctor bent close to Eric and pointed to the table. Eric’s
smartphone
sat so very close to the longest knife he had ever seen. “I’m going to offer you a chance to right wrongs, understand?”
Eric nodded
with desperate enthusiasm
.
“This phone will inform your rag of a paper that you were wrong. That the
Lansing Post
should never have printed the drivel you wrote. Do you have a problem with that?”
Eric shook his head and felt a little relieved. If that was all Argyle wanted, it would be the best damned retraction ever printed. He wanted to live. Swallowing some pride seemed a small price in exchange for that opportunity.
“Excellent, Mr. Hayes. A wise decision to be sure. Shall we begin?”
Before Eric could
blink
, Argyle snatched the knife from the table and plunged it deep into the left side of his
neck
. He felt the blade came out the other side
,
and
he suffered
the accompanying agony. His eyes grew wide watching the crimson spray that, somehow, didn’t seem to be his.
Just before his world went dark, he heard Argyle laugh.
“
Never mind
, I’ve
had a change of heart.
”
Chapter
-3
Reaching to turn off his computer,
Manny
saw the e-mail notification pop up.
He
recognized the sender
, a local reporter named
Eric Hayes
. The e-mail had an attachment. Manny would
have to look at it later.
His crew
had a crime scene waiting for them.
Eric and he had worked some cases the way reporters and detectives do, but weren’t exactly on each other’s Christmas
-
card list.
Manny
knitted his brow
,
decided it could wait. Maybe this was another reason to get a
s
martphone
instead of the one he’d had for years. But answering
e-mail
and downloading data to and from a phone appealed to him like snakes in the shower. People already had enough ways to
mess up his day
—
and night
. He flipped off the computer.
“What?” asked Sophie.
“Nothing, just an e-mail from Eric Hayes. I’ll check it out when I get back. Kind of odd though. I don’t really talk to him much.
Come on
,
let’s get to the car.
”
Sophie hurried to catch him as he hit the steps to the parking garage.
“Get a
smartphone
, Williams
. T
hey don’t bite.
Then you could look at his e-mail while we
are
traveling. It’d take your mind off my driving.”
“
Nothing could do that. And who says those phones don’t bite?
Besides, it’s probably one of those ‘Don’t break this e-mail
chain
or you’ll have 8,000 years
of
bad luck and grow a third ear on your arm
—
with little pink flowers in the background.
’
”
“Maybe. The firewall would have caught it though. And that doesn’t change the fact you’re such a baby with this stuff. I’m going to talk to your wife. She’ll straighten you out
. . .
a
nd
don’t get kinky on me.”
Manny rolled his eyes as they reached the unmarked cruiser and climbed in.
It was a
Ford Taurus with a twenty-four valve turbo that kicked ass and took names when the pedal hit the metal.
They pulled out of the underground garage, Sophie driving, and screamed down Cedar Street, lights flashing.
“Where we headed, I forgot to ask?”
“Where else? Behind the White Kitty. Sex, rock and roll, and now murder.”
“Awesome.”
They reached the strip club in record time
,
and Manny reminded himself to take Sophie’s keys away. The woman was a great driver and fearless behind the wheel, but he
’
d
had
to liberate her cell phone when she tried to text her husband Randy while driving seventy-five
miles
-
per hour.
He stepped out of the car and gave her the look, tossing her phone at her.
“What? I always drive like that.”
“Consider your license revoked. You’re going to kill us one of these times.”
“Damn. You
are
getting old.”
Manny and Sophie ducked under the yellow tape and moved to the back of the parking lot near
the rusting
trash bin that also served as roadblock to the narrow alley running away from the strip club/adult theater. The September sun was warm, even at four in the afternoon
,
and it did little to improve the mixture of scents emanating from the crime scene.
Day-old, decaying human flesh combined with the truly ripe odor of hot garbage
didn’t
stir anticipation for Manny’s next meal. He didn’t know how the CSU guys did it, but it never seemed to bother them. That, or secretly they enjoyed it, harboring some kind of warped fetish. He chose not to dwell on that one.
Alex Downs, his good friend and head of the LPD’s CSU, was bent over a small swatch of cloth near the corner of the trash heap, dark streaks of perspiration running down his pink shirt and khaki slacks. The pudgy CSI was already working hard.
“What do we have?”
asked Manny.
Alex stood, cracked his back, and flicked away sweat with his latex-covered hand.
“Not nice. Thirty-five-year
-
old
,
white male, based on rigor, dead about fourteen hours
. L
ividity indicates he’s been on his back. He was partially hidden by the trash dump so none of the patrons spotted him. The janitor noticed the smell and called it in.”
“Dispatch said he was an ex-con out on parole,” said Manny.
“That explains his choice of establishments,”
smirked
Sophie.
Alex smil
ed. “Three years is a long time
without getting laid
.
Anyway
,
his name is Mitchell Morse
,
and he got out two days ago.”
“
C
ause of death?” asked Sophie. “I mean, other than this
ungodly
heat.”
“Funny you should ask. Let me show you something. Oh. You may want to cover your noses. It gets worse.”
Alex led them around the corner
,
and he was right, it did get worse, much worse. Manny eyeballed Sophie as she covered her nose with one hand, then the other, eyes watering like she had been cooking with the harshest onion known to man. He felt her pain.
After a few moments, Manny was able to control his gag reflex
,
and Sophie seemed to adjust as well. Alex stood next to the body, grinning.
“You think this is funny?” he said to Alex.
“I sure as hell do. But you two have come around, so let’s get to it.”
“Paybacks, just remember paybacks,” threatened Sophie.
Alex waved his hand and bent close to the body. “The body is bloated and I’ll have to see the toxicology and autopsy reports to confirm, but I’ll tell you what I think
. . .
and it’s weird.”
“Bloated? Good God. He looks like a blimp,”
said
Manny.
“Not unusual in hot weather, of course,” responded Alex. “You can see the bullet holes in his chest and the one in his forehead, four total, looks like a
small caliber
. He was also tied up with black leather straps. But that’s not what I want you to pay attention to. See that area by his groin?” Alex was pointing to a raw patch of skin bulging through Morse’s blue jeans near the left inner thigh
. The jeans were
perforated diagonally toward his crotch, displaying raw, disfigured muscle tissue
—
and a small lump of flesh where his penis
should
be.
Manny squeezed his legs together and cringed. “Oh man! What caused that?”
“It looks like an acid burn
,
and if I were a betting man, I would bet his testicles
—
if I could find them
—
got the same treatment. Those burns probably came from hydrochloric acid; he was one hurting puppy before he checked out.”
“Whoa. Someone burned his pecker off and then shot him four times?” asked Manny.
“Yep. Definitely antemortem. Someone had to get
real close and loving
to do it, too. And that’s not all.” Alex asked one of the
c
oroner’s people to help him turn the body on its side.
Manny followed Alex’s hand to the place where a small tip of jagged bone
pressed
just under
the purplish-red skin of Morse’s back.
“His neck was broken, postmortem, in several places. The ME will let me know for sure, but see these marks?”
Manny did see them. “Looks like boot or shoe prints.”
“There’s hope for you yet. Yeah
, it
is. I think the killer did the Watusi on this guy for more than a few steps. There are some other deep marks that I can’t ID yet, but I will when I get back to the lab.”
“So whoever killed this guy was pissed,” said Sophie
,
“
l
ike a crime of passion?”
“Bingo. You win the Kewpie doll.”
“Any shell casings?” Manny asked, already suspecting there wasn’t.
“None
,
so far.”
Alex scowled, made a small clucking sound in his throat, and removed his gloves. “There is one more thing. There was quite a bit of blood, but not as much as there should be.
”
“You mean it was almost a dump site, but maybe not,” said Sophie
.
“I don’t know what I mean. It just doesn’t add up, yet.”
“Well, if he was inside, chasing the
woman
of his dreams, it stands to reason he was killed here,” stated Manny.