Creatures of Appetite (13 page)

“Then I shot the driver, even though we were going down the highway at seventy miles an hour, I shot him right in the back of the head. Blood went all over the windshield and the van started swerving back and forth.

“Then I shot the little guy. I had him in a judo choke and immobilized, but I shot him anyway. I remember him saying ‘please don’t’ before I fired. That’s one of the many things probably not in the report. I shot him in the face. I shot him more than once. I got drenched in the spray.

“As luck would have it, we were going over a bridge on the freeway when I shot the driver. The van went off the bridge and into the river. The van hit the river and water starts to pour into the interior of the van. I’m still handcuffed by my left hand to the wall of the van. I dig through the pockets of the little guy, he’s the only one I can reach, and I’m praying that he’s got the keys to the cuffs. Water was coming in fast, it was up past my chest, and I thought for sure I was going die in that van. I found the keys, unlocked the cuffs and made for the door. I kicked the backdoors open. Then I saw him. The big guy, Baldy, he was still alive. He grabbed me as I tried to swim out. This part is definitely not in the report.

“For some reason, I was still holding the set of the handcuffs. I locked one side of the cuffs around his wrist. I locked the other side of the cuffs to the van. I cuffed him to the van and then I swam out the back door. I left him there, alive and bellowing at me.

“I could have brought him out, but I didn’t. I let him go down. I didn’t shoot him. I left him there. I let him drown. I let him drown slow. I swam to the bank of the river, naked, stood there and watched him go down. My backup arrived two minutes later.

“The mayor’s office spun it so that I was a hero, but I wasn’t. I could have forced them to stop the van once I got the gun. I didn’t.”

“You killed them instead,” Thorne said.

“I did. I didn’t have to.”

“But you did.”

“I did. I executed them. No arrest, no trial. Just started shooting. I executed them. I didn’t have to but I did.”

“And it bothers you?” Thorne asked.

“Hell yes, it bothers me.”

“Why does it bother you?”

“Because.”

“Because why? Afraid you lost your edge?”

“It bothered me because of how it made me feel. When I shot them. I didn’t want to ever feel that way again,” Kane said. “I’ve had the shakes ever since then, even on the firing range.”

Thorne leaned back, looking at Kane for a long moment.

“That’s why you became a profiler, that’s why you joined ISU. Profilers almost never fire their weapons.”

“And then they stick me with a cowboy like you,” Kane said, her face impassive.

“Yeah, how about that?”

“How about that?”

“Not that I disagree with your assessment of my character, but today was the first time I’ve ever fired my weapon in the line of duty,” Thorne said.

“This was the first time you shot a suspect?”

“Yep.”

“Does it bother you?”

“The only thing that bothers me is that he lived through it, the lucky bastard.”

“You’ve never killed anyone?”

“I’ve killed. I’ve caught a lot of dirty fuckers, sat their ass on death row and made sure I was there when they got the needle. I sat there, watched them die in their own piss and shit without a single problem.”

“Felt just fine about it, did you?”

“I felt more than fine. But you, we’re talking about you and how you felt when you shot Baldy and his buddies.”

“Is that what we were talking about?”

“This feeling you felt when you killed them, the one you never wanted to feel again. Describe it for me.”

“Did I tell you that I was a chess champion in high school?”

“Describe this feeling you felt.”

“I’ve said enough, Thorne,” Kane said. “I’ve held up my end of the deal. Let’s get back to HQ and get moving on Iceman. He’s still out there and he has Wendy Frederickson. She might still be alive while you and I sit here and shoot the shit with each other.”

Thorne stared at her for a moment. He stood and stretched, popping joints in his neck and shoulders.

“Wendy Frederickson is dead.”

“She’s dead?”

“She was dead within twenty-four hours of her abduction.”

“How do you know that?” Kane asked.

“How do I know anything??

“You’re sure Wendy Frederickson is dead?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“I know, but how …”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t sure.”

“What are we going to do next?”

“I’m going to take a piss and after I do that, we’re heading back to the office and you’re going to type up the after-action report on Robertson,” Thorne replied.

“What are we going to do about the Iceman?” Kane asked. “You haven’t said much of anything about him, when are you going to profile him?”

“When I’m ready. Timing is everything, Kane.”

“What if he snatches another girl?”

“He has to drop Frederickson before he grabs someone else. I’m tired of talking so leave me alone.”

“He doesn’t always drop them, sometimes he …”

“He’ll drop this one, now will you shut up? I have to piss like a foaming racehorse and you’re making me crazy.”

Thorne walked away from Kane. He stopped a few steps away and turned back.

“Pulled your hand right through a handcuff, did you?”

“Yes.”

“That explains the scars,” Thorne said.

“Yeah,” Kane said, looking at her right hand, “I still have the scars.”

“I
 
should get hazard pay
, Pete,” Thorne said into the telephone. “You didn’t tell me this was a two-fer. Do I get extra credit for it? I’d fucking better. Yeah. Girl Friday will be emailing you the report as soon as she’s done. What?

“How’s the local PD treating us? They’re a bunch of backward-ass country fucks, how do you think they’re treating us? I’ve seen better heads on a glass of beer.”

Various uniformed personnel from nearby desks stared in Thorne’s direction sourly after this last remark, but decided to let it pass. Kane looked up from her desk, where she was typing a report on a computer.

“I can handle ’em, don’t worry about it. Well, there isn’t much to do at the moment, the Task Force commander here has some black guy he likes that he wants to charge and he’s going to shit a brick when DNA comes back negative. Hell yeah, I’m sure, why does everyone keep asking me that, would I say so if I wasn’t?

“Yeah. Well, I’m thinking about that right now as we speak. I’ll crack it, no worries, and then I want yours. What’s the latest? What? No shit? I hope you’re sleeping with your Glock under your pillow, Pete. Okay. All right. Talk to you,” Thorne hung up the phone and stared at his chessboard. He felt Kane’s gaze on the back of his neck.

“Kevorkian hit in New York City while you were there with Pete to pick me up. They just found the body this morning,” Thorne said without looking at her.

“What? Who?”

“Cab driver, time of death was sometime on the day we left, according to the coroner. They just found him and his cab. Neck broken. No tongue. Pete knows for sure he’s being shadowed by the guy now.”

Thorne made a move on the chessboard and turned the board around to play from the other side. Gilday and Scroggins, arm in a sling, walked over to Kane and Thorne.

“I thought you two were taking the day off?” Kane asked.

“No way, not while the Iceman’s out and about,” Gilday replied. “We’re pumped now. We want his ass next.”

“Hey, Thorne,” Scroggins said. “You should have seen Forsythe’s face when he found out you cracked up the van. Turned purple and blue.”

“Yeah? Where is that big turd, anyway? He’s got some serious crow coming his way, big time.”

“He’s sweating Robertson in the box. I don’t think they told you, Robertson was wearing a vest,” Gilday said.

“A bulletproof vest? Somebody remind me to go for the head shot next time.”

“He had all sorts of fun toys down in his little playpen,” Gilday said.

“Anything good?” Kane asked.

“We got a lot of physical evidence, some knives which help, and a shotgun in addition to his pistol. A confession would be good, though, that’s why Forsythe’s sweating him.”

“And?” Thorne looked up.

“He’s talking but not admitting anything. Hasn’t asked for a lawyer, claims he’s innocent and that us cops are trying to frame him,” Gilday replied.

“He really is going OJ on us,” Thorne said. “They going to crack him?”

“I don’t know,” Scroggins admitted. “Hard to tell, he’s a nut. Once he lawyers up, he’ll probably go insanity and that’ll be that.”

“No fucking way,” Thorne stood. “Get me a shot at him.”

“Right, the captain would love that. Forget it.”

“I can crack that nut, get me in there.”

“You shot the guy,” Gilday said. “How are you going to crack him?”

“Easy as pie, trust me. I can do it. I want this cupcake going all the way to the chair for all five murders; he’s not doing easy mental time on my shift. Call your buddy the gov, throw some weight around. Get me in that room and I’ll get it, I’m telling you.”

Gilday looked at Scroggins and shrugged. “Well, Captain’s already unhappy with us, why not go all the way and totally piss him off?”

“What the hell, it’s only a career.”

“I’ll get on the horn now,” Gilday picked up the phone.

“Hey, Gerry, I have a question,” Kane asked. “How does a mental patient who can’t even get a driver’s license somehow obtain a bulletproof vest, a shotgun and a nine-millimeter Glock?”

“Welcome to Nebraska,” Scroggins replied.

“It’s worse in Texas,” Gilday said.

A
n hour later
, Thorne and Kane entered the anteroom to interrogation, where Gilday and Scroggins watched Forsythe and Hairston question Robertson through a one-way mirrored window. A video camera was placed right up against the mirror-window of the anteroom to record everything inside interrogation.

Robertson, handcuffed to a chair inside the stark room and very angry, screamed at Forsythe. Kane wondered about a briefcase Thorne held in one hand. She’d asked him about it but he avoided answering.

“So your pal the governor came through,” Thorne said.

“He did,” Gilday said. “But you should have heard the screaming from this end.”

“How they doing?” Thorne gestured to Forysthe.

“Not good.”

“He still says he’s innocent and being framed,” Gilday replied. “Blames the government for everything.”

“Me too,” Thorne said.

“Hey, Emma,” Scroggins smiled.

“Hey, Emma,” Gilday followed suit.

“Jeff, Gerry. How’s the arm doing?”

“Still attached,” Scroggins wriggled his fingers at her.

“Everybody back at HQ is avoiding us like we have anthrax. And they weren’t all that friendly to begin with. What’s going on?” Kane asked.

“Welcome to the Captain’s Permanent Shit List,” Gilday replied. “He’s spread the word on you two, he’s very displeased with the latest turn of events.”

“Displeased? He wouldn’t even have this guy if we weren’t here!”

“And that’s why he’s pissed off,” Gilday replied. “His people are supposed to make the collars, not you.”

“He’s not too happy with the two of us, either,” Scroggins said. “If we didn’t have friends in high places, we’d be completely out of the loop.”

“What kind of bullshit is this? We’re only here to help, how are we supposed to help if nobody gives us any information?” Kane demanded.

“Typical jurisdictional dispute. Forsythe wants the headlines. State case until the Iceman crosses state lines,” Gilday said.

“Notice how he’s been careful not to do that,” Thorne said without turning.

“I mean, officially he welcomes federal support, he has to. But unofficially the policy is ‘fuck you’ without any ifs, ands or buts. We get shit like this on a local level all the time,” Scroggins said. “Forsythe hands it over to you feds, it looks like he can’t handle the case. He lets you crack it, same difference. Notice in the papers that you’re always referred to as advisors.”

“Now we can’t even do that,” Kane said, looking at Thorne’s back. “Anything on Wendy Frederickson turn up yet?”