(2011) The Gift of Death (22 page)

He watched some more news – the usual trouble in the Middle East, the growing terrorist problem in Britain, a school massacre somewhere in the mid-West – before he felt his eyes closing. Nothing seemed to change from day to day. He finished his drink and stumbled to the bathroom. He took a piss, thought about cleaning his teeth, decided against it – he’d do that before going to work. He passed the bathroom mirror without looking – he knew he wasn’t a pretty sight at this time in the morning – and started to unbutton his shirt. By the time he reached the dark, airless bedroom the shirt was off.

He bent down to take off his shoes, and had to steady himself by the bed. He looked down at his distended stomach that hung over his pants like a slab of tripe. Had he really put on so much weight or was there something wrong with him? He’d have it checked out at some point.

He sat down on the bed to take off his socks. He undid his belt, felt his stomach sag even more and shifted position as he started to take off his pants. He reached out behind him to support himself, lifting himself off the bed as he pulled the pants down. Suddenly, he felt something cold, jellylike, on one of the pillows. He turned his head to look, but the blinds were down. He moved a little closer, blinked. He thought it was – but, no, it couldn’t be. It’s some kid playing some kind of joke. He stretched out his hand and turned on the bedside lamp. Tobacco yellow light illuminated the bed. On the pillow there were two eyes – brown in colour just like his. They were staring sightlessly up at him from a darkening pool of blood.

25

He’d been watching him for some time now, following his trail. After the first couple of incidents – the snatching and killing of that baby, the murder of that girl and the sick way he had cut off her fingertips and then sent them to that blind woman – he had become so angry that he wanted to finish him off just like the others. He planned how to do it too, even went so far as to get his tool bag out and look through it for the appropriate equipment. Seeing his array of instruments set out before him – a couple of scalpels, the knives, a few different sizes of hammers, a family of saws and a drill with assorted bits – gave him a thrill. He ran his hands up and down the cold metal, imagining the damage he could do with each of the tools.

But something wasn’t right. Finishing him off like this – ending his life so he couldn’t commit any more of his sick jokes – would be just too easy. Sure, he could chop off his fingers, make him suffer like that girl dumped in the dunes in Baja. He could cut out his tongue so that he would never be able to speak again, turning his cries of pain into unintelligible, muffled moans. But the equation – the subtle balance between crime and punishment - was slightly skewed somehow.

Of course, the other option was to turn him in. Ring up the cops from a phone box and tell them that he knew who was behind the series of attacks. Yes, the ultimate end would be achieved – the removal and imprisonment of a dangerous individual – but something wasn’t quite right with the plan. The psycho would be caught and locked up for the rest of his mortal life, but would he suffer? Hell, no. He’d get to enjoy the comforts of prison life like the rest of those lazy scumbags. And what would he personally get out of it? Nothing but the satisfaction that the sicko was off the streets.

So what to do? What would be the most appropriate way of getting rid of him?

He thought back to what that psycho had done, how he had toyed with his victims. The dead baby thrown into the sea outside the home of a woman whose wish it was to get pregnant. The fingertips sent to a blind woman whose greatest asset was her sense of touch. The tongue placed in the icebox of a lawyer, famous for his verbal brilliance. And now a pair of eyes left in the bedroom of a former cop who had first spotted Gleason.

The schizo was playing a game, that was for sure. But there was no reason why he couldn’t join in. He was, at heart, a serious person, but this could be an opportunity for him to show his lighter side. Yes, it was time for him to have some fun.

26

‘
No way,’ said Kate, her voice rising. ‘It’s completely out of the question.’

‘
But why not?’ said Cassie. ‘It’s the kind of thing you would do.’

‘
Do you really need me to spell it out to you? Look, Cassie. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but it would be way too dangerous.’

‘
But I could be of real help to you. You know that.’

‘
I’m sure you could. But what you have in mind is just plain foolhardy. It’s crazy. The idea of you putting yourself at that kind of risk just freaks me out. Imagine if something happened to you. And besides, it wouldn’t be professional of me to let you do it.’

‘
But you wouldn’t be acting as a professional. You’d be doing this, this – whatever it may be – from the point of view of a private individual. That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘
Well, yes, but –‘

‘
But what?’

‘
Look, I can’t talk about it now. The traffic is starting to move. But there’s no discussion about this Cassie. It’s not going to happen – period.’

Kate heard nothing but crackle down the line.

‘
Cassie?’

‘
Yeah?’

‘
I’ll see you back at the house. And promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid.’

There was an uncomfortable silence on the line. ‘Promise me?’

‘
Okay, mom,’ said Cassie, adopting the tones of an aggrieved adolescent. ‘I promise.’

‘
That’s my girl.’

Kate cut the connection as she pressed her foot down on the accelerator. As she drove along Santa Monica Boulevard she thought about Cassie’s crazy plan. She had wanted to stage some kind of entrapment, in which she returned to her Venice Beach apartment, alone, in order to lure whoever it was – this sick fucker – to her. The cops could be stationed outside and, as soon as he entered her apartment, the police could be sent in. Of course, the plan was to capture him, but even if he escaped they would be one step nearer. The secret lay in Cassie’s hands, her fingertips. All she needed, she said, was a chance to feel his face. Then she could work with Kate to form an image of him, just as they had done with Gleason.

Kate didn’t doubt Cassie’s conviction, or her expertise at face-reading. And she was sure that the resulting clay sculpture would prove immensely helpful – if not central - to the investigation. What if they had an armed officer secreted inside the apartment? But even that wasn’t a guarantee of Cassie’s safety. Given the sadistic nature of the killer’s personality – the dead baby, the sliced fingertips, the ripped-out tongue – he would have no qualms about snuffing out her life. Actually, Kate knew he could do a whole lot worse things to her than simply killing her. A quick and easy death wasn’t his style.

She tried to think about what she should do next. In the trunk of her car she had all the information she had amassed on the Gleason case. In addition to the sculpture, she had her notes, newspaper clippings and case files detailing the crimes. She had a transcript of the court proceedings and Gleason’s psychiatric report. She hoped that somewhere in the boxes she would find a clue to what was happening.

As the flow of traffic slowed she dialled Josh’s number. She got his voicemail and left a short message asking him to call her cell. She felt a sting of regret somewhere near her heart. It would have been better if she had never met him, she told herself. Almost as soon as she had formulated the thought she knew it wasn’t true. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise Josh had been the best thing that had happened to her in a long time. If only they had been able to make it work. If only Jules hadn’t come into his life. If only she had been less neurotic about getting pregnant. If only she had paid more attention to him and had been less obsessed about the mechanics of fertility perhaps they might have been able to enjoy a future together.

She tried to imagine what life would be like as a single mom. Hard, for sure. But she was certain she could do it. It wasn’t as if she had to worry about money like so many single parents. And she had a great network of friends whom she could draw upon to help. She ran through a list of people she had been too busy to call, promising herself to arrange dates with all of them once this was all over. She had been so preoccupied that she hadn’t had the chance to tell them of her pregnancy.

She had tried to prepare herself for the fact she might lose the baby. After all, she knew it was quite common in women her age. But she wanted this baby more than anything in the world. She was going to fight for it.

Just then her phone rang. Josh’s name flashed on her cell.

‘
Hi, Kate. Are you okay?’

‘
Yeah, sure. I wanted to ask whether I could drop by.’

‘
You mean later at the loft?’ His voice sounded bright, expectant.

‘
No, I mean now. At work.’

‘
Work’ was the expression Josh had always used when he had mentioned his job. As if serving as a high-ranking detective with the RHD was the same as working in the office of a bank or in sales for a multinational.

‘
It might be a bit difficult at the moment. There’s been another development.’

‘
What do you mean?’

‘
Dale Hoban called 911 this morning, reporting coming home from work to find two eyeballs on his pillow.’

‘
Jesus.’

‘
We’re going round there now to talk to him.’

‘
Can I come?’

‘
What?’

‘
Can I meet up with you?’

‘
Kate, you know that’s not procedure.’

‘
But I think I could help.’ She started to speak faster now. ‘I remember Hoban. He trusted me, liked me. He might be prepared to say something to me that he wouldn’t do to you. No offence, Josh. But it’s not as if he’s got fond memories of the LAPD. Especially after getting kicked out of the force.’

Josh thought about it for a moment.

‘
Okay. But give me some time with him first. We need to take his statement, secure the scene, then there’s the forensics and-’

‘
Josh?’

‘
Yeah?’

‘
Forgetting something?’

‘
What?’

‘
I do know the procedure.’

‘
Okay, point taken.’ There was a pause on the line. ‘Call me in three hours.’

‘
Sure thing. What’s the address?’

‘
1482 Union Avenue, Korea Town.’

‘
Got it.’

‘
I’ll call you.’

She pulled off Santa Monica into the parking lot of a diner. There was no point going back to her mom’s house if she had to drive down to Korea Town. But she could use the time to do some research. She bought a take out coffee and returned to her car, waving to Naylor as she did so. She opened the trunk, sorted through one of the boxes, took out the file containing her collection of notes on the Gleason case and started to read a newspaper report on the penultimate day of the trial.

TWISTED TORTURER FOUND GUILTY, GLEASON’S VICTIMS NUMBER AT LEAST 5

Yesterday Robert Gleason, the notorious serial murderer and rapist, was found guilty on multiple counts of murder. Gleason, 47, had led a vicious and brutal campaign of terror throughout Los Angeles, southern and northern California and Nevada, said state prosecutor Jordan Weislander.

His known victims were five young women – Teresa Collins, 17, Frances Silla, 19, Elizabeth Ventura, 18, Tracey Newton, 18, and Jane Gardener, 20. His last victim Cassie Veringer, 21, a blind student attending UCLA, was raped by Gleason before escaping. If it hadn’t been for her bravery, Weislander said yesterday, Gleason’s killing spree would certainly have continued.

‘
Even though she was in terrific pain Cassie Veringer worked with a forensic artist to build up a 3-D image of her attacker,’ said the state prosecutor during Gleason’s trial at the Los Angeles Superior Court. ‘She had the foresight to feel Gleason’s face during her ordeal. Her bravery and selflessness resulted in the arrest and subsequent prosecution of a brutal rapist, torturer and murderer.’

During the prosecution’s case evidence was presented in court to show that Gleason, a former car mechanic, had drugged his victims, before going on to rape and sodomize them in his customized van, which Weislander had likened to a ‘travelling circus of torture’. In some cases he kept his captives alive for as long as six days before killing them by asphyxiation. The bodies of Teresa Collins – his first victim, who disappeared on the night of November 8 1992 – and Jane Gardener were found in the San Gabriel mountains. The remains of Frances Silla, Elizabeth Ventura and Tracey Newton were discovered in the Mojave Desert.