I Don't Want To Kill You (28 page)
Read I Don't Want To Kill You Online
Authors: Dan Wells
‘Sure,’ I said, leaning against the front door. ‘Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing.’
‘Whatever.’ He stared at the TV for a moment – some action movie full of guns and shouting – then stood up abruptly. ‘I need to take a dump.’ He walked into the bathroom, turned on the fan, and locked the door.
I counted to five, waiting for him to open the door and yell something else, but nothing happened; I crept silently down the hall to his mom’s bedroom and started looking for guns. I knew his dad used to keep one in the closet, but there was nothing on the top shelf, and the small dresser shoved in under the hanging clothes was filled with nothing but socks and underwear. I went quickly to the end table by the bed, found nothing, and then started digging under the bed. There was nothing.
The front door clicked open, and I froze.
‘Max, are you home?’
It was his little sister, Audrey; she was eight, and I had assumed she’d be in school too. Max was still in the bathroom, and didn’t answer her; with the fan running, he might not have heard her. I took a step towards the hall, but jumped back lightly when I heard Audrey’s footsteps coming towards me. I slipped behind the door and held my breath; she walked past me down the hall, went into her own room and closed the door. I hurried back out to the living room, jogging on my toes to stay silent, and reached the door just as Max came out of the bathroom.
He looked at me, almost expressionless. ‘You just been standing there the whole time?’ I tried to think of a response, but he noticed Audrey’s backpack on the floor and shouted loudly, ‘Audrey!’
‘What!’ Her voice was muffled by the closed door.
‘What are you doing home?’
‘What are
you
doing home?’
you
doing home?’
‘We’re ditching, and you’d better not tell.’
‘You and who else?’
Max looked at me, then back down the hall, puzzled. ‘Me and John, stupid. What are you doing home?’
‘I’m sick; the nurse sent me home.’
‘Shut up, liar, the nurse calls Mom.’
‘Mom told me to wait here.’
‘Is she coming home early?’
‘No.’
Max stared down the hall, like he was trying to think of something else to say, then kicked his bag and stalked into the kitchen. ‘There’s never any food in this stupid house.’
What can I do now?
I thought. I can’t look for guns with him standing right next to me, and I can’t just leave him here and start wandering through his house. I followed Max into the kitchen and sat at the table, but he walked past me back into the living room, holding a bag of corn chips.
I thought. I can’t look for guns with him standing right next to me, and I can’t just leave him here and start wandering through his house. I followed Max into the kitchen and sat at the table, but he walked past me back into the living room, holding a bag of corn chips.
‘Come on,’ he grumbled.
I weighed my options – the basement stairs were right there, and he couldn’t see me from his spot on the couch; I could slip down and look, but how long would it take before he came looking for me? I hesitated, not sure what to do, when I heard Audrey’s door open and her footsteps in the hall. She went in the bathroom and closed the door.
I smiled.
Perfect.
I walked into the living room. ‘Hey Max, can I use your bathroom?’
Perfect.
I walked into the living room. ‘Hey Max, can I use your bathroom?’
‘Fine with me.’
‘But Audrey’s in it.’
‘So use the downstairs one; I’m not your jail warden.’
I nodded and walked slowly to the stairs, trying not to appear excited. Once I was downstairs I started opening doors – there was Max’s room, there was the bathroom, there was the furnace, there was a storage room . . .
Wait; back in the furnace room.
I opened the door again and clicked on a light that hung from the ceiling, but it was faint and pale; giant blocks and cylinders rose up in the blackness, a furnace and a boiler and a water softener, all capped with a network of twisting pipes and ducts. A tall black shape loomed in the back corner, gleaming metallically in the dim light. A gun safe.
I opened the door again and clicked on a light that hung from the ceiling, but it was faint and pale; giant blocks and cylinders rose up in the blackness, a furnace and a boiler and a water softener, all capped with a network of twisting pipes and ducts. A tall black shape loomed in the back corner, gleaming metallically in the dim light. A gun safe.
I walked back to it, ducking under the pipes that ran overhead. It was black and thick, like cast iron, though I was sure it was hardened steel. Blood-red lines ran around the borders, and a bright silver handle sat in the centre of the door. Above, encased in some kind of metal ring, was a number pad.
Crap.
I wiggled the handle, but it was locked. I peered closely at the number pad, as if it held some clue to breaking its own security, but of course there was nothing.
It was Max’s dad who was the gun nut, not his mom,
I thought.
I’ve got to put myself into his mind, like a mini-profile.
I paused.
No, I’ve got to put myself into hers – she’s the one in charge now. Does she care about the guns? No, she cares about her children. She doesn’t lock this up because she’s worried about burglars, she locks it up to make sure Audrey doesn’t accidentally shoot herself. She doesn’t have time to deal with guns she never uses, which means she doesn’t have the combination memorised, which means it’s written down somewhere. It might be somewhere nearby.
I looked behind it on the floor, up on the shelves that flanked the wall, but there was nothing to help me.
Where would I hide a safe combination from an eight year old?
Realisation hit me.
On top of a very tall safe.
I pulled over a bucket, being careful to be as quiet as possible, and stood on it to reach the top—
It was Max’s dad who was the gun nut, not his mom,
I thought.
I’ve got to put myself into his mind, like a mini-profile.
I paused.
No, I’ve got to put myself into hers – she’s the one in charge now. Does she care about the guns? No, she cares about her children. She doesn’t lock this up because she’s worried about burglars, she locks it up to make sure Audrey doesn’t accidentally shoot herself. She doesn’t have time to deal with guns she never uses, which means she doesn’t have the combination memorised, which means it’s written down somewhere. It might be somewhere nearby.
I looked behind it on the floor, up on the shelves that flanked the wall, but there was nothing to help me.
Where would I hide a safe combination from an eight year old?
Realisation hit me.
On top of a very tall safe.
I pulled over a bucket, being careful to be as quiet as possible, and stood on it to reach the top—
The cellphone rang, startling me, and I stumbled backwards off the bucket. I braced myself against the wall, caught my breath, and the phone rang again. I pulled it out, but the phone didn’t recognise the number.
Another old lady.
I ignored it, but it rang again, and I started to worry that Max would hear. I pulled it out and answered it.
Another old lady.
I ignored it, but it rang again, and I started to worry that Max would hear. I pulled it out and answered it.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Is this the Saint Mary’s Cathedral?’
‘Yeah, about that,’ I said, but stopped. There was something about his voice – it was friendly and cheerful, that was easy enough to tell, but there was something else. What was it?
I hate trying to read voices over the phone.
I hate trying to read voices over the phone.
‘Yes,’ I said slowly. I needed to hear him talk again. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m sure you can,’ he said, and I recognised an East Coast accent – Boston, maybe, or New York. I didn’t really know accents, but he definitely had one.
Exactly like I’d predicted when the Handyman refused to talk to Ashley.
‘I’m looking for Father Erikson.’
Exactly like I’d predicted when the Handyman refused to talk to Ashley.
‘I’m looking for Father Erikson.’
It’s not a Georgia accent,
I thought,
but that makes sense. It explains why no one got suspicious when they heard it.
I thought,
but that makes sense. It explains why no one got suspicious when they heard it.
No one but me. Am I being paranoid, or is the profile I created actually turning out to be accurate?
‘I’m afraid he’s unavailable at the moment,’ I said, trying to think of some way to keep him talking. ‘I’m his assistant, though. Is there anything I can help you with?’
Do Catholic priests even have assistants?
Do Catholic priests even have assistants?
‘He has an assistant?’ asked the voice.
Crap, I guess they don’t.
Crap, I guess they don’t.
‘It’s a big congregation,’ I said. ‘He asked me to help coordinate stuff and make appointments and so on.’ I’m such a better liar when I have time to prepare.
‘I see,’ said the man. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know when I’d be able to talk to him, would you?’
‘That depends on what you want to talk to him about,’ I said, climbing back up on the bucket. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you want, and I’ll see if I can help you.’ I got a better look at the top of the safe this time, and was pleased to see a yellow piece of paper, lined, like from a legal pad, stuck down with clear plastic tape. There was a series of numbers written on it in flowing, feminine handwriting.
Yes!
‘I see,’ he said again. ‘Well, it just so happens I’m a reporter; I was in Georgia covering the Handyman killings, and when he came here I followed him to stay on top of the story. I was real taken by Pastor Erikson’s letter in the paper today, and I wonder if he might consent to an interview.’
A reporter,
I thought.
It could be perfectly true – or it could be the ideal cover for a killer. It would give him the ideal excuse to talk to all four victims, and it would earn him their instant trust: he asks for an interview, they let him in, and the first time they turn around he shoots them in the back.
I thought.
It could be perfectly true – or it could be the ideal cover for a killer. It would give him the ideal excuse to talk to all four victims, and it would earn him their instant trust: he asks for an interview, they let him in, and the first time they turn around he shoots them in the back.
More than that, his cover as a reporter would give him a foot in the door when it came time to publicise his message. The Handyman had mentioned in his letter at the dance that he’d tried to contact a reporter when his first letter failed to see print. Was it a real reporter, or did he simply take his letter to the paper personally and claim that the killer had contacted him?
I needed to learn more about him, and it was worth a shot. ‘Have you been working with the local paper?’ I asked.
‘I have indeed, sir.’
‘Do you happen to know which reporter the Handyman contacted?’
The voice coughed. ‘As a matter of fact, it was myself that he contacted. Musta thought I had more pull with the paper than I did, I guess.’
‘I guess so,’ I said.
This
had
to be the Handyman – it seemed so obvious! But no, it was only obvious to me because I’d spent two months getting inside his head. Nothing he’d said so far would seem suspicious to anyone else.
This
had
to be the Handyman – it seemed so obvious! But no, it was only obvious to me because I’d spent two months getting inside his head. Nothing he’d said so far would seem suspicious to anyone else.
This was my demon; it was time to set the trap. I read the numbers on the piece of paper, typed them into the keypad on the safe, and breathed a sigh of relief when the door clicked open.
‘I think the pastor would be delighted to speak with you,’ I said, stepping down to the floor and pulling open the safe. It was filled with rifles, pistols and shotguns, and with plenty of ammunition for each.
Jackpot.
‘Is tonight too early?’
Jackpot.
‘Is tonight too early?’
‘Not at all,’ he said, ‘though I’m afraid I’m not available until fairly late. Say, around nine o’clock?’
After dark, naturally.
‘That should be fine,’ I said. ‘There’s only one problem: the pastor’s gotten several similar calls today, and all the attention has him worried that the Handyman might try to attack him in reprisal for his note. If it’s all right with you, he’d like to meet in private at a place where no one else will find him.’
That should excite this guy.
‘That should be fine,’ I said. ‘There’s only one problem: the pastor’s gotten several similar calls today, and all the attention has him worried that the Handyman might try to attack him in reprisal for his note. If it’s all right with you, he’d like to meet in private at a place where no one else will find him.’
That should excite this guy.
Pause. ‘That seems like a very good idea.’
Yeah, I thought you’d like that.
‘The pastor has a key to the local mortuary,’ I said, ‘to help maintain the chapel. The mortician and her family will be gone tonight, so if you’d like to meet him there, that will be the most private location.’
‘The pastor has a key to the local mortuary,’ I said, ‘to help maintain the chapel. The mortician and her family will be gone tonight, so if you’d like to meet him there, that will be the most private location.’
‘I suppose that’s okay.’ I tried to read his voice: was he upset? Suspicious? Pleased? I wished I could see his face.
‘Just remember,’ I said, ‘do not tell anyone. At all. The only people who know this right now are you, the pastor, and me. He’s really trying to lay low, and we don’t want anyone else to know where he is.’
Now we’ll see if he’s concerned about me, as the only potential witness.
Now we’ll see if he’s concerned about me, as the only potential witness.
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘That makes a lot of sense – I won’t tell anybody. Are you going to be there tonight as well?’
I can read you like a book,
I thought, smiling.
You have no idea what you’re getting into.
I thought, smiling.
You have no idea what you’re getting into.
‘I wasn’t planning on it,’ I said carefully. ‘Do you think you’ll need me?’
‘I think it will be best,’ said the reporter. ‘Why don’t you come too?’
‘Sure thing. I’ll see you tonight at nine o’clock.’
‘See you—’
‘Wait,’ I said, before he hung up. ‘I’m afraid I still didn’t catch your name.’
‘Uh, Harry,’ said the reporter. ‘Harry Poole.’
‘Wonderful. I’ll see you tonight, Mr Poole.’
I’d been downstairs too long, and Max would be getting suspicious. There was a silencer in a little case in the door of the safe, and I tried it in each gun until I found one it fit. I screwed them together and shoved them under my belt, then filled my pockets with a variety of bullets to make sure I got the right kind. My pants sagged with the weight, but my T-shirt was long and covered it pretty well. I closed the safe, closed the furnace-room door, and flushed the toilet on my way upstairs, just in case Max was listening.
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