Slasherazzi (13 page)

I glanced left and right, ensuring the street was clear before making my way across and sneaking around the back. The kitchen window was ajar slightly, and I almost laughed out loud at how easy it was going to be. I slid the window open slowly before taking off my boots. It wouldn’t do to go leaving imprints on the carpet. With that done, I climbed inside and snuck through the house to the bottom of the stairs.

The sound of a running shower carried through the dark hallway, and I took the opportunity to creep upstairs, hoping the water would mask any creaking floorboards. I made it to the bedroom and inched open the door.

It was a large room with a double bed filling the majority of it, and a dresser set to one side. At the far end was another door from which wisps of steam drifted out along with the scent of lavender. I stepped inside, picking up a chunky glass ashtray that sat on top of the nearby chest of drawers, and positioned myself behind the door to the bathroom where I waited.

Soon the room went into silence. There was a long sigh, followed by the squelching of feet against the tiled floor. Peering through the gap in the door, I could just about see bare skin being dried off with a white towel, which was then dropped to one side. She walked into the room, apparently still unable to manage a straight line as she made her way to the bed. With her back to me, I dove out from my hiding place and smashed the heavy ashtray into the back of her head. She collapsed in a heap before she even realized I was there.

I stood over her and smiled for a moment before searching for a way to restrain her so I could check the rest of the house. A part of my mind whispered that I shouldn’t have broken in on impulse, and I should have planned this, as I had done with the rest of my victims. That thought was soon drowned out by the thudding of my heart, which carried with it an incessant chant.
Kill. Kill. Kill.

I opened up a few of her drawers and pulled out a pair of socks. They would do to muffle the sounds of her screams, though I would need something to keep them in her mouth. Duct tape. Surely, everyone must have a roll stashed away somewhere.

A white cotton bathrobe hung from the bathroom door. I pulled the belt from its loops and proceeded to tie it around her wrists. Then I lifted her up onto the bed and secured her to the metal railings, making sure to pull the knots extra tight. No way was she getting out easily. A quick rummage through some of her other things and I found a pair of scissors tucked away beneath a sewing kit. I cut out a strip of fabric from the dress she had been wearing that night, and shoved the socks into her mouth. Finally, I tied the cloth around her head to keep the gag secure.

I moved to the hallway, glancing at her over my shoulder. Her chest rose and fell in long, slow movements as she slept peacefully. With any luck, she’d stay that way until I got back. I went down the hall to the next door. The room held an empty bed, and little else. No one had been sleeping there, that was for sure.

I moved on to the next room and found it to be another bathroom. The last door was already open, revealing stacks of boxes. I smirked. The woman lived alone it seemed. That knowledge relieved some tension in my shoulders. There would be no one to interrupt my impromptu play date with the little whore.

With that worry off my mind, I headed downstairs and into the kitchen. A bread knife sat proudly in the drainer next to the sink, and there were several steak knives in the cutlery drawer. I placed them onto the nearby table, and continued rifling through the rest of her house. There was little else of interest, and, to my surprise, no sign of any duct tape. The fact that she had none, or had hidden it well, was enough of a reason to kill her. Only stupid people don’t have any duct tape.

I bundled the knives into one hand and walked slowly upstairs, my breathing quickening as ideas played through my mind. Oh, how I was going to make her scream. By the end of the night, she was going to wish she’d stayed home. The thought of cutting women never quite held the same appeal. They were missing a vital piece of anatomy—a small amount of flesh that I took great joy in stabbing and slicing. But this one was such an easy target. It was too good to pass up.

She was still unconscious when I returned, laid out like a fresh slab of meat ready to be carved. I placed the knives on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the mattress. Reaching into my pocket, I took out the one knife I had brought with me. I hadn’t planned on using it so soon, but still, I had been reluctant to leave the house without it.

My reflection in the steel blade smiled back at me. Its surface remained unblemished, and its edge perfectly sharp. Not long, and my new sidekick would be baptized in blood, sinking deep into the woman’s flesh. I shuddered, and it was all I could do to keep from driving the knife into her right then and there.

“Soon,” I repeated to myself. I placed the knife into the palm of my right hand and traced the leather-gloved fingers of my left hand over the freshly carved hilt. Three nights it had taken me to get the bone into just the right shape. Now I could carry Dad around with me, and share my hobby with him.

The weight on the bed behind me shifted. I stood and turned to face the woman as her body went deathly still. Only her eyes moved to look in my direction. I grinned and began to count slowly in my head. One. Two. Three…

She kicked out and yanked against the belt of her bathrobe, but the restraint held tight. She twisted to one side, then the other, as though she could rock herself to freedom. I laughed. If only I’d had some duct tape, then I could have tied her feet down too.

I leaned over and brought the knife down against her neck. She quickly calmed, her wide eyes staring up at me as she grunted through the gag.

“That’s a good girl,” I whispered. “Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself, writhing about like that. No. I’ll be the one doing the hurting tonight.”

I straightened up, and she turned her body to kick her left foot at my side. It struck my lower back, and I hissed. Without thinking, I dove on top of her, my legs pinning hers, and my body hovering over hers.

“Now, doesn’t this seem familiar? I wonder where…Oh, that’s right. Wasn’t long ago you were in a similar position. But don’t worry, I have no desire to fuck you.” I sat back onto my knees and picked the knife up from where I had dropped it on the bed. The woman began rocking from side to side, in what I assumed was a vain attempt to throw me off. “Keep still. Or do I have to find something to break your legs with?”

She stopped, the only movement a slight tremble that seemed to run through her entire body. I pressed the knife to the soft skin of her stomach, debating over my first cut.

Her words were reduced to little more than unintelligible grunts, though I could hazard a guess at her sentiment. I applied more pressure to the knife, and the first drop of crimson bled to the surface. A little more force, then I drew the blade up toward her ribs, leaving behind a shallow incision.

That first slice was enough to speed up my heart, the drumming beat begging for more. I sliced the skin of her cheek, delighting in the muffled screams and the first tear rolling from the edge of her eyes as they screwed shut.

I savored my time, covering her body in an array of cuts, just deep enough to bring a little blood to the surface. Happy with my work, I laid Dad down on the table, before picking up one of the steak knives. I’d never thought to use one before, but how could I not when they had been right there, waiting to tear through flesh. I drew the jagged teeth of its blade across the edge of her left breast admiring the ragged edges of the wound. Very nice, I thought, and my cock agreed as it began to fill my boxers.

“They’re like small melons,” I said, teasing the knife across her chest. “I’m gonna have fun carving them up.”
I plunged the knife through her nipple and deep into the center of her breast. She arched up, her muffled scream sending a small shiver down my spine. I reached over to grab a second knife and repeated the same action on the other side.
She screwed her eyes shut, and the tears rolled down her pale cheeks. With the hilt of the knives in each hand, I yanked them through the soft mounds of flesh. Her breasts tore with a wet rip and she let loose an agonizing cry that would have woke the neighborhood if not for the socks jammed into her mouth. Oh, what I wouldn’t have given to hear that beautiful sound in all its glory.
She soon quieted, her anguish reduced to a sniffling sob. I laid the two steak knives down onto the bed covers and picked up Dad once more to begin working on her torso. Each cut was accented with a squeal as the blade bit deep into her flesh, leaving behind a crisscross of crimson rivers that resembled something like a tribal tattoo gone horribly wrong.
The woman drew in a labored breath, and her head slumped to one side. Blood loss sure was a bitch, always ending my work prematurely.
“Don’t go passing out yet,” I said quietly as I traced the tip of the blade down over the skin of her stomach and between her legs. Pressing the knifepoint inside her, I twisted it around, and her body tensed. I smirked at her reaction and pushed the knife deeper. “I guess there’s still some life left in you yet. I hope you’re not too sore already, as it’s my turn now.”
With one swift movement, I thrust the knife in to the hilt, slicing through the soft flesh. She cried and bucked, each movement causing the steel to tear farther into her. I drew the blade out, before ramming it back in again and again, fucking her just as she had been fucked earlier that night. Hard and fast. Blood flowed easily from her, soaking into the bed sheets below.
“Scream for me,” I said and placed my free hand over my cock to squeeze firmly. “Go on, scream just like you did earlier tonight.”
I rammed the knife in one last time, twisting the blade as I withdrew it slowly from her bleeding maw and pressed it against her throat. Her body trembled, and the wailing died down to a pathetic sobbing. I panted for breath, waiting for the buildup of pressure to bring me to the edge as I continued to stroke myself. A minute or more passed, and I continued to jerk my dick. I clenched the hilt of the knife tighter, and sweat poured from my brow, yet it seemed like release was beyond my grasp.
There was something missing, an important piece of the puzzle, and without it, the torture wasn’t enough. Soon the woman had quieted, her body relaxing as her head lolled to one side. My heart beat frantically against my ribcage, the beat reaching its climax…and then it was gone. The drumming rhythm in my chest trailed off, and my cock softened in my hand.
“No! Fuck,” I yelled, jamming the knife into the soft flesh of her stomach. The bitch didn’t make so much as a sound. All that effort, lost like a ruined orgasm. I drew the blade across her throat, and waited for some magic moment. Just like my release, it never came.
I slashed at the body, driving the blade deep into her stomach and exposing her foul innards. My pulse pounded against my skull, urging me to continue. The world around me grew hazy as though some animalistic instinct took over. Blood splattered and flesh tore under the assault, until I was left drained, finally able to catch my breath.
I stood and looked over my work, feeling nothing but disappointment and anger. How dare she leave before I was finished! If only my prey had picked a man to sleep with. Still, the look on
his
face the next morning was sure to be priceless. That one thought alone would make the kill worth it.

The cool morning breeze washed over me as I pulled out of my driveway—which I still hadn’t got around to taking care of—and I turned onto the main road. No sooner had I joined the interstate, my phone buzzed against my thigh. I cursed and fumbled about in my pocket, before pressing it to my ear.

“Alex here.”
“Beckman, it’s Boyd. You on your way in?” Shit. A call from the lieutenant at seven thirty in the

morning was never a good thing, and my day hadn’t exactly started off well. The two aspirin I’d taken an hour earlier were doing little to abate the pounding of my skull. Having only had four hours sleep probably hadn’t helped things either.

“You might want to turn your ass around. We’ve got a body down in Ballast Point.”
I indicated and pulled over to the right lane, intending to take the next exit off. “Fuck, already?”
“Afraid so. Two of the agents will meet you down there. I’ll have Grissom working at the station with the others. I’ll text you the address.”
The line cut off, leaving a droning in my ear. Within a minute, there was a short beep as the message came through. Leila Avenue. That wasn’t far from where I lived. I took the next exit and headed back in the direction I came from, cursing my luck. No sleep. A throbbing headache. And now I had a corpse and two FBI agents to deal with. At least the day couldn’t get much fucking worse.
I pulled up a few houses down from where a group of five police officers stood idly on a freshly cut lawn, the scent of mowed grass still thick in the air. Agents Powell and Royal stood nearby, questioning a middle-aged woman and her overly excited Shih Tzu with its incessant high-pitched bark. They acknowledged me with a curt nod and dismissed the woman.
“So what’s the deal?” I asked. “Is it our killer?”
“We think so. The signature matches perfectly. There’s just one thing that doesn’t seem right,” Royal said, running her fingers through the tips of her hair.
“And what would that be?”
“The victim’s a woman,” Powell replied.
I opened my mouth to speak but closed it shortly afterward. Why would he change to a female after all this time? Not only did it go against his previous behaviors, it meant we might have to go back to the drawing board and think everything through from scratch. Unless…
“You think there’s a possibility it’s a copycat?”
Powell hummed for a second. “It’s a possibility, but I think it’s our guy. Anyone who has followed the case enough to copy him would have known to pick a male victim.”
“Then he deliberately chose this woman. But why?” I asked.
“Maybe this is all just a game to him,” Royal said. “Think about it. He sends the photos into the press because he wants to be noticed. But it wasn’t enough for him. He had to get the FBI involved too, so he chooses a cop as his victim. Now he’s deliberately changing his behaviors to confuse us. The only real solid pattern we had was that all his victims were men of a similar age, and he kills them all in the same way. If we assume he wants us to know it was him, then it would be logical not to change the method of their deaths. So instead, he picks a woman.”
“Makes sense,” I replied.
A clamor rose up from the victim’s house, and I turned my head in the direction of the commotion. The officers who had previously stood on the lawn had swarmed around Charlotte, one of our newest forensic investigators. She stepped forward past the uniformed men and stopped in front of us.
“We think we might have a potential lead,” she said.
“No way,” I blurted without thinking.
“No one’s perfect,” Powell said. “If our killer is human, then it’s possible for him to make a mistake. So what have you found?”
“We think we found some skin cells under her nails. Reckon she might have put up a fight. I’ll send the sample off to the labs immediately for testing.” Charlotte beamed. I’d be fucking smiling too if I’d found a lead like that. Still, it didn’t seem quite right. Surely, our killer wasn’t stupid enough to leave behind DNA evidence.
“Good work,” Powell said. “Let us know when the results are in.”
Charlotte nodded and raced off to the nearby van where more of the forensics team huddled around to view the tiny Ziploc bag in her hand like it was the Holy Grail. And I suppose, in a way, it was. It could be the first real lead we’d found since the case opened. Or it could also have been the result of the victim scratching her own head, just as we had been for the last month.
“You don’t seem convinced,” Powell said, appraising me with his eyes.
I shook my head. “We’ve had no evidence so far. Not even a scrap of fiber. Do you really think he’s gonna leave behind his own DNA?”
Both agents shook their heads.
“Well, I’m gonna go look inside. I wanna see the scene for myself,” I said and turned to head down the driveway. I stopped outside to pull on some gloves before going into the hallway. A few men walked slowly about the place, searching for any possible clues. “Where’s the body?”
“Upstairs, first on the left,” one answered.
“Thanks.”
I climbed the stairs and paused outside the open bedroom door. Only Michelle, the coroner, remained with the victim. She was bent over the bed, examining the body, which from what I could see had been torn into like a wild animal had gotten hold of it. Her stomach had been near enough eviscerated; a number of deep gashes exposing the mess of flesh and organs beneath her once pale skin, now decorated in a vast of array of cuts and slashes, each accented in crimson. Michelle stood and looked over her shoulder at me. She sighed and moved to one side so I could get a clear view.
The woman’s blue eyes stared back at me, and I froze midstep. Several hours ago, she had been beneath me in my bed. Sweat drops formed on my forehead, and all heat drained from my body. Two messy stumps sat on her chest, where there had once been firm breasts. My head began to spin.
Michelle furrowed her brow as she watched me, and then her eyes widened. “You’ve gone white as a sheet,” she exclaimed. “If you’re feeling sick, you should really go outside before you…”
I spun on my heel and raced out of the house, discarding the gloves onto the lawn and putting as much distance between the body—Amanda—and myself as possible without jumping into my car and speeding off.
I stopped at the edge of the garden and slumped to the ground, leaning back against the fence with my head in my hands. “Fuck.”
“You okay there?” Powell asked. He crouched down in front of me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head and looked up to meet his eyes. “That lead isn’t gonna get us anywhere. I already know whose DNA you’re gonna find.”
He arched one brow.
“It’s mine. I had sex with that woman last night. And now she’s…” I paused to take a deep breath, though it felt as though my chest was being crushed. “He chose her because of me. If I hadn’t picked her up last night…”
“Then he would have picked someone else,” Powell interrupted. “Don’t go blaming yourself for what this psycho does. We’re going to head back to the office. I recommend you come too. We’ll be wanting to ask you a few questions, you understand?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I figured. Just give me a few moments to get myself together.”
“Of course. I’ll apprise Marshall of the situation, and we’ll go from there.” He gave me one last pat on the shoulder before he stood and crossed the lawn to where Royal waited by their hired car.
I waited a short while, until the torrent of thoughts and emotions whirling around in my head had subsided enough that my hands stopped shaking, then walked to my car. The cool breeze from earlier had gone, leaving behind a choking heat. Even with the top down, sweat poured from every inch of my skin as I drove slowly down Bayshore Boulevard past rows of palm trees and the calm blue waters of Tampa Bay. Even the scenery did little to quell the panic rising up within me, and by the time I reached the station, I was in no better state than when I had left the crime scene.
Powell greeted me as I walked through the doors into the homicide department, and escorted me to one of the back rooms. I slumped into the chair across the desk from him, hunching my back over to rest my elbows on my legs.
“So you knew the latest victim?” he asked.
Straight to business as always. “I wouldn’t say I knew her.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Like I said earlier, I picked her up at a bar last night. Never met her before then.” I lifted my head to meet Powell’s eyes. “He’s toying with us. As if it wasn’t enough for him to kill Fernando, he wants us to know he’s watching our every move. Or mine, at least.”
“Interesting theory, and I would have to agree with you. There’s no way this is just a coincidence.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “But, of course, we have to consider all possibilities.”
“You mean that I might be the killer?”
Powell nodded. “I’ll need to take some details from you and verify your story.”
I outlined the events of the previous night, starting from when I left my home to go to the nearby bar, until I returned with the victim…Amanda.
“We, um, went to the bedroom, and afterward, I went to sleep. That was the last time I saw her. When I woke up, she was already gone.”
“What time would you say you fell asleep?”
I shrugged. “About two thirty, maybe.”
“And is there anybody who can corroborate your story?”
Yes, but she wasn’t exactly in any state to be talking. “No.”
“Did you notice anything suspicious?”
I took a long breath and let it out slowly. “Nothing.”
“Okay. Wait here.” Powell left the room and shut the door behind him, leaving me to stew with my thoughts. Though I knew it was procedure—and I would probably have questioned myself too—I was on the verge of bashing my head against the table. The minutes ticked by, with no sign of Powell returning. He was probably off talking to one of the other agents, or watching my behavior through the one-way window that took up much of the wall to my left side. On the positive side, the room was air-conditioned. I fiddled with my bracelet, turning it around my wrist over and over, then stopping as the charm came into view.
By the time the door opened again, it felt like an eternity had passed. Except it wasn’t Powell that walked in, it was Captain Blake. He closed the door, then stepped forward to stand at the head of the table with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Beckman,” he said, rising up onto his tiptoes, then back down again. “I’ll cut straight to the point. I’m taking you off the Slasherazzi case, effective immediately.”
I bolted to my feet, anger surging through me. “You can’t just…I’ve been on this case since the start.”
“I can, and I just did,” he replied, leveling his gaze at me. “You had intimate relations with the latest victim just hours before she was killed. That doesn’t look good, Beckman. And while I do not doubt your innocence, I cannot allow you to continue working the case now that there is personal involvement.”
I huffed and slammed my fist against the table. “I didn’t even know the woman beyond her first name,” I replied, attempting to keep some semblance of control over my volume.
“Be that as it may, my decision is final. I suggest you take the rest of the day off.”
I opened my mouth to protest but was interrupted.
“No arguments. You’ll be restricted to office work only until such time that a thorough investigation has been completed. Do I make myself clear?”
I hung my head. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now go to a spa, have a bubble bath…I don’t care, but come back in the morning with a level head.”
With that, he marched out of the room, and the door swung shut with a bang, causing me to flinch. Something deep inside me snapped, and the anger I’d been trying to suppress came flooding out as a loud yell as I turned and kicked out at the chair. It crashed into the wall before toppling over and landing with a clang.
I took short breaths and balled my hands into fists. All that work and effort on the Slasherazzi case, only to be removed from it. I’d given up almost a month trying to crack his identity and put the psycho behind bars where he belonged, and now I’d lost that chance. And to be put on office duty of all things! That alone was cause enough to be infuriated.
I stormed out of the interview room and through the office. Everything went silent as I passed by, and the other officers turned their heads to watch me leave. The clamor started up again as I passed the double glass doors into the corridor and made my way to the elevator. I pressed the down button and folded my arms as I waited.
“Alex,” Tanya called out. She rushed out of the office and to my side. “I just heard. Are you okay?”
My eyebrow twitched. “Okay? I have my heart ripped out one day, then get taken off possibly the biggest case of my career the next. What the fuck do you think?”
The doors to the elevator opened. I stepped inside and quickly hit the button for the basement level parking lot. Tanya stood frozen, her mouth ajar. As the doors closed, she shook her head and walked off. My only consolation at that moment was that my week really couldn’t get any worse.