The Blue Ridge Project: A Dark Suspense Novel (The Project Book 1) (12 page)

“Anyway, that’s not important right now. Let’s get you set up for the first go round.” Samuel ushered Frank over to the chair by one arm, and asked him to roll up his sleeves.

Richardson produced a medical kit from underneath one of the tables and opened it to reveal three small bottles of clear liquid, a syringe, and an injector gun.

Frank sat back on the chair, finding that it was the most comfortable chair he’d ever been in. “What’s this made of, Doc?”

Samuel smiled. “It’s something that’s been in development for quite some time. The material is actually designed to stimulate the skin and nerve endings, or at least the important ones along the spine, the legs, and of course, the head. It’s part of the process.” He slipped the metal band over Frank’s head and pushed his forehead gently so his head would go back onto the headrest.

“This is a way for us to monitor your brain activity, but it’s also important for your control during the test. You will be sending impulses and messages through this into our machines and, well, you’ll see what I mean.”

Richardson arrived at his side with the syringe, the vials and the jet injector on a small tray that Jenkins carried.

“These injections are administered in a certain order so as to get the effect we’re hoping to achieve. Our preliminary exams show that these compounds are compatible with your blood and brain make-up, but this is the real test today.”

Jenkins handed the jet injector to Richardson, and Samuel stood behind the chair, his smiling face hovering over Frank’s head. His vision was starting to distort already, Samuel’s eyes growing and shrinking, the blue light behind him pulsing brighter and softer in sync with his heartbeat. The light seemed to cause a doubling effect and Frank saw a ghostly copy of Samuel just behind the original, wavering slightly like something seen at a distance in a hot desert.

“Now, this one is a specially created compound from the other branches of the organization that’s behind this endeavor. It’s found naturally in the brain, but it has never been synthesized, until now,” Richardson said, and then he placed the gun on a spot just below Frank’s neck and pulled the trigger. There was a small hissing sound as he did.

Frank sensed the three of them moving back, and tried to raise his head but found it too enormous an effort. He grunted, and called out. “I can’t move, what’s going on?”

“Perfectly normal,” a voice replied. He couldn’t tell who it was. It seemed to be coming from far away, muffled and distorted like he was hearing it under water. “It’s just a side effect from the muscle relaxant. No need to worry.”

Frank looked around from his vantage point on the chair on the raised platform in the center of the room. In his field of vision there was only the tops of the cabinets, the two cables from his head reaching up for what seemed like miles into the ceiling, and the blue ring of light that hung over the room.

The light held his entire attention. It seemed to throb and move as his pulse knocked at the back of his eyes like a battering ram. As he felt the cocktail of drugs he had been given start to mix in his system, the light started to spin. Slowly at first, then accelerating faster and faster until it seemed to be out of control. It appeared to come closer and pull away, like looking at the end of a corkscrew as it spun. Frank felt like it would fall on him, ripping him to pieces as it spun around on top of him. He started to moan, the fear of this happening multiplied and magnified in his stupor. Then, when his mind could no longer tell the difference between what was real and what wasn’t, he started to scream in terror of his life.

He heard a voice behind the spinning blue light that took up his vision, his thoughts, the entirety of all creation. The voice could have been from the circle of light itself.

“He’s ready. Pull the switch.”

“What’s going on here?” Andrea asked as she climbed the steps to the Homicide bullpen.

A small group had gathered around Detective Michaels’ desk. Lyons sat there, nodding and smiling and chatting with the other detectives. One of them clapped him on the back. Michaels was standing beside Lyons, trying his best to look proud and annoyed at the same time.

“Lyons,” Hynes replied, “found our killer and saved a victim.” He looked at her and grinned. “I guess you’re not the hot shit newbie around here any more.”

Andrea stared back at him and then back to Lyons, who was accepting his praise with modesty. It had only been the day before when Lyons had offered to help find the guy who had kidnapped and murdered Lorraine DeSaint. They had pored over the file, and at the end of the shift they had a few drinks together for a couple of hours at the Well. They had gotten on great, talking and laughing, although she didn’t remember much about the conversation. She had even shared a brief kiss at the door of the taxi when she had left to go home.

Cap’s door flew open at the top of the room.

“Hynes! Nox! Lyons! Michaels! In here!” he shouted, and went back into his office.

The small crowd dispersed, and the four of them walked into the office. Andrea was the last and shut the door behind her.

“Michaels,” Cap said in a voice that bordered on a growl, “would you please inform me as to why the fuck your assigned partner is off on his own solving other people’s cases?”

Michaels cleared his throat. “Well, ah, Cap, you see the thing is—”

“And Hynes,” Cap continued, cutting Michaels off, “how did this one bag of new blood manage to do in one day what a pair of trained Homicide detectives couldn’t?”

“I guess he’s just good police,” Hynes said, meeting Cap’s fiery gaze.

Cap looked at the four of them for a couple of seconds in silence.

“All right, fair point. Lyons, you did well, even by regular standards. But for fuck’s sake, next time you go off on a collar, you call for backup. Or better yet, your assigned fucking partner! I don’t care if you’re some bumpkin hero back home, I will expel your country ass from my city. Understood?”

Lyons looked down at the ground, but couldn’t hide his smile completely. “Yes, Captain.”

“And Michaels, keep an eye on your ward, will you?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Right, and Nox, no more subcontracting. We’ve all got enough to do.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“Now,” Cap said, opening the folder on his desk, “who’s going to interrogate?”

“If it’s okay, I’d like to take lead,” Andrea said.

“Fine. All right, back to work all of you, before I change my mind.”

The group left Cap’s office and stood at the top of the bullpen.

Hynes pointed at Michaels. “You should avail of your partner’s skills there, Michaels. Might bump you up to second-last on the clearance board.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Michaels said. “Now get fucked.” He marched off and out of the Homicide office.

Hynes grinned and shook his head. “Lyons, nice catch, man.” He and Lyons shook hands and Hynes went back to his desk.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Andrea asked.

“It was late. I figured you’d be asleep already. Besides, it wasn’t that dangerous.”

“I’m not talking about the danger, Lyons. You should have called me, or Hynes. Even Michaels. It’s the done thing.”

“All right, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“What about the victim? Is she okay?”

Lyons paused, and shook his head.

“Not really. You want to see my report?” He left without waiting for an answer and grabbed the file from his desk. “It’s all in there.”

Andrea grabbed the file and their fingers brushed. She jerked the file out of his hands, and a small grin appeared on her face. “Thanks, Lyons.”

“Good luck down there, he’s a bit, uh, unhinged, let’s say.”

“Sing me a new song, I’ve heard that one before.” She turned and walked to Hynes’ desk.

“I’m going down to do the interview now. Want to chaperone?”

Hynes shook his head. “I’m sure you can manage, Detective.”

Andrea nodded and turned to make her way down the stairs to the interrogation room.

*****

Andrea sat across from the guy that Lyons had brought in that morning. His report was open in front of her on the slim gray desk, and she skimmed over the body of text in silence. The suspect, identified as a Harold Gainsberg, was cuffed to the table, and his legs were manacled underneath. He was wild-eyed, his bald head shining in the harsh light of the interrogation room. He smelled faintly of body odor, but otherwise looked like any other normal person.

“Mr. Gainsberg, you—”

“Harry,” he interrupted. His eyes were even wider, and his breath was coming fast through his nose.

Andrea looked up. “Okay, Harry. I’m going to be honest with you, we’re only doing this interview because it’s the rules. If it was up to me, you’d be on your way to maximum security right now.” She pressed 'Record' on the small tape machine to her right.

“Detective Andrea Nox, interviewing suspect Harold Gainsberg. Suspect has waived his right to legal counsel.

“Harry, you were arrested by Officer Richard Lyons at a site that showed evidence of kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment, along with signs of violence. What happened there?”

Harry looked up at the light for a few seconds before answering. “Cleansing.”

Andrea frowned. “Cleansing? Cleansing of what?”

“Of these dirty fucking whores.”

“What did this ‘cleansing’ consist of?”

Harry shook his head. “Did you not see? I cut out her tongue because she used it to lie and fellate. Then I took out her eyes because she wouldn't stop looking at me.”

“You’re talking about Lorraine DeSaint, yes?” Andrea asked, pointing to a picture of the girl, next to another shot of the scene where they had found her body.

Harry bent over and looked, then whipped his head away as if he had been stung. 

“Yes, that was her. So close, she was so close. But too weak. And now my work will never be realized. Only imitated.”

“It won’t be realized because we stopped you? Because Officer Lyons stopped you before you could do it again?”

Harry frowned at her, tilting his head ever so slightly to one side, then snorted and shook his head.

“Fucking idiots. That eyeless bitch would see things more clearly than you can.”

Andrea pulled out the photo of the surviving victim. Her ID said her name was Becky Campbell.

“You were doing the same to this girl,” Andrea said, tapping the photo with enough force to hurt her finger. “You’d cut out her eyes and her tongue, like Lorraine, but Lyons stopped you before you could kill her. Say it!”

Harry shook his head again, violently. He opened his mouth to say something, then gestured at the tape machine with his cuffed hands.

“What?” Andrea said. “You’ll tell me if I turn off the tape? Because it’s still admissible, you know.”

Harry nodded, and she turned off the machine.

“Tell me,” she said.

Harry leaned closer and spoke in a voice just above a whisper.

“She’s not mine.”

Andrea looked at Harry, her eyebrows bunching together.

“What do you mean, she’s not yours? Officer Lyons found you there with her.”

Harry shook his head again. “Already there.”

“What?”

“Your man, the lion in the sheepskin. He was there before I was there, and she was there before I was there.”

Andrea looked into Harry’s eyes for a few seconds, deciphering what he was trying to say.

“Are you telling me,” she asked in a low voice, “that Officer Lyons was there
before
you arrived? That he was with the girl?”

He nodded furiously, his nostrils flaring.

“But you were the one who poked out her eyes and cut off her tongue.”

“Not Harry,” said Harry. “Not me, wasn't my work. That other one? Yeah, I did that bitch, but not this one.”

Andrea sat back and looked at Harry in silence. Nothing about his face or his manner indicated he was making it up. On the other hand, he was definitely a nut. How could she even entertain what he was saying?

“You know you’ll still be sent down for life for Lorraine DeSaint. There’s no difference if you admit to the kidnapping and assault for Becky Campbell.”

Harry laughed. “Oh, Detective! Did you get your badge in a cereal box? Or maybe your gobbling up his cock along with his bullshit. Maybe you could do with a little surgery yourself, see the truth.” He winked at her.

Andrea glared at the murderer in front of her, itching to reach out and slap him. “Enjoy your time in prison, Mr. Gainsberg.”

She closed the file with a snap, took the tape out of the machine and stood up, pushing the chair back to the wall. Closing the door behind her, she stepped out into the empty hall and stood with her back against the cold bricks. They always seemed damp down here.

She looked up in the light and couldn't help but entertain the slight possibility that Gainsberg might have been telling the truth. There was only Lyons’ word that the arrest had taken place like he said. Gainsberg was the perfect fall guy, too, too crazy and too guilty to be reliable as a witness.

Then she shook her head, casting aside the ramblings of a soon-to-be convicted murderer and made her way back upstairs to Homicide.

When she was gone, Lyons appeared from a doorway down the hall and looked at the door into the interrogation room. He looked up, saw no cameras, and then opened the door.