Murder Comes by Mail (32 page)

Burton frowned. “How’d you get out? The door was locked, wasn’t it?”

“It was locked.” Michael kept the gun down at his side, pointed at the floor. “Now you need to head on back and get in the cell.”

“I’m not going to let you lock me up.” Burton frowned with a shake of his head. “It don’t look good, a jailer getting locked up in his own jail.”

“It’ll look better than you letting me walk out of here without stopping me. Trust me on this one, Burton.”

“Why can’t you just wait till morning?” Burton wasn’t budging.

“I can’t. Aunt Lindy might be in danger.”

“Then why don’t we call for help?”

“Because they might not believe me and make you lock me back up.” Michael nodded toward the cells. “I can’t take that chance. Not tonight.”

Burton’s gaze went to the gun Michael still had pointed at the floor. “I ain’t afraid of that gun, Michael. You wouldn’t shoot me.”

Michael raised the gun up and looked at it. “You’re right. I won’t shoot you, but if I have to, I’ll hit you. So just go on and get in the cell. You can sleep the rest of the night back there. I’ll come let you out first thing in the morning. Nobody will ever know except you and me and Hank.”

“If Leland knows, everybody in Hidden Springs will know. Sending me on a wild-goose chase like that. Where is he anyhow?”

“Where I was, and if nothing happens before the night is over, he won’t write it in the paper. I’ll see to it. And if something does happen, he’ll make you a hero in the piece.”

Burton looked at Michael for a long moment, then gave in and walked back to the second cell. He glared at Hank as he went in and pulled the door shut. “I can’t remember the last time both of these had somebody in them.”

Hank paid no attention to Burton. Instead he grabbed the cell door and tried to push it open. “Listen to me, Michael. If you’re right, you’re going to need help. Let me go with you.”

Michael didn’t answer him as he headed toward the door. Hank called after him. “If you won’t take me, call Buck. He’ll believe you. This whole thing could be a trap.”

With his hand on the door, Michael hesitated. Hank was right. The monster was probably still thinking three steps ahead of him. He went back to Burton’s desk and called Sally Jo, the night dispatcher. In a flat voice that revealed none of the emotion roiling through him, he asked her to call Buck and tell him to check out Aunt Lindy’s house. Buck would know something was up, but maybe if the monster was monitoring the police scanner, he would think Michael was still behind bars.

Hank stopped shaking the cell door. “Be careful, Michael. This guy, he’s some kind of a . . .”

“Monster,” Michael finished for Hank as he went out the door.

Just as Michael hoped, Hank’s keys were in the ignition of his old van. He slipped behind the wheel and was relieved when the motor rumbled awake. Hank was badly in need of a new muffler, so Michael let the car sputter to a stop at the end of Keane Street. Michael wanted to go in silently to check for anything out of the ordinary before he went to the door.

The neighborhood was quiet. No lights on except for a soft nightlight here and there. Nothing gave the smallest hint of anything wrong as Michael slipped through the familiar backyards. Even so, Michael stayed hidden in the deep shadows away from the streetlights.

When he made his way through the yard next to Aunt Lindy’s house, Miss June’s dog was yapping for all he was worth somewhere in the house. But the little dog was always yapping at something. Nobody ever took much notice of his barking. Not even Miss June. Still, Michael stopped at the end of her hedge and studied the area around Aunt Lindy’s house. He’d heard the dog before he stepped into Miss June’s yard.

The warm, silky night air carried the scent of roses from Aunt Lindy’s and Miss June’s gardens. Light from the streetlights spread a glow out on the sidewalk and road. No car moved, and no unknown vehicles were anywhere in sight. A car moved past out on Broadway, but it didn’t slow to make the turn onto Keane Street.

Everything looked the same as always. Peaceful. Ordinary. The only noise was the dog yapping behind him, and even that was so commonplace, it wouldn’t sound any kind of warning to anybody in the neighborhood. Yet, alarm bells were clamoring inside Michael’s head.

He crept up the driveway and across the yard to the porch that stretched across the front of the old house. The porch was stone, so no creaking boards betrayed his presence. He fished out the door key that Aunt Lindy hid under a loose piece of chinking between the stones.

Miss June’s dog stopped barking. In the suddenly ominous silence, Michael’s breathing sounded too loud. He held his breath as he peered through the side panels beside the solid wood door, but he couldn’t see through the etched glass window. He turned the key in the lock. Aunt Lindy should be shooting at him by now or at least demanding to know who he was. Then again, if she was in her bedroom in the back of the house, she probably wouldn’t hear him.

He quietly turned the knob and pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge. The chair Aunt Lindy had propped under the knob held. Michael ran around to the back door where the glass storm door was locked. All the windows looked secure. Unless the man went down the chimney, Aunt Lindy had to be safe inside.

He stopped worrying about making noise and banged on the back door. Nothing. He knocked again, even harder, but no lights came on. She must be sound asleep. He went back to the front door and rang the doorbell. Even through the door the chimes sounded loud. She had to hear that. His heart started beating faster as he listened for her footsteps inside. Nothing.

“Aunt Lindy, it’s me, Michael. Open the door.”

His voice broke the silence of the night, and Miss June’s dog started yapping again. No sound came from within the house. No light flicked on. The lack of an answer pounded against his ears.

He pulled the gun out of his belt and turned the doorknob. The chair had been moved. The door swung open easily.

Aunt Lindy was tied to a chair directly in front of him, visible in the light spilling in from the streetlight behind Michael. A wide piece of clear tape covered her mouth. Anger warred with panic in her eyes.

“So nice of you to finally join us.” A hand came out of the shadows behind Aunt Lindy to press the end of a gun barrel to her head. “If you would be so kind as to drop your gun and slide it this way.”

Aunt Lindy contorted her face, trying to stop Michael. He knew what she was trying to tell him. Shoot him. Let her die. Stop him from killing again, because if Michael gave up his gun, they were both going to die.

Michael dropped the gun to the floor and kicked it toward the man’s shape in the shadows. He’d have to find another way.

Tears edged out of Aunt Lindy’s eyes and trickled down her wrinkled cheeks.

The man reached down and picked up the gun, but Michael still couldn’t see his face.

“Please shut the door behind you. We wouldn’t want anyone to happen by and be privy to our private affairs, now, would we?”

“Who are you?” The man’s voice sounded familiar and strange at the same time.

“Don’t you know? I’m the hero destroyer.” The man laughed and stepped out of the shadows into the light.

33

“Dr. Colson?” Michael stared at the man who emerged from the shadows.

The man laughed. “You do well to sound surprised. But no, not Dr. Colson. The doctor was a timid little man. He could never have accomplished any of the things I’ve achieved under the guise of his good name. Regretfully enough, it was Philip Colson’s time to pass on a number of years ago.”

Michael couldn’t spare any worry for whatever had happened to the real Dr. Colson. “What do you want with us?” he demanded.

“Only everything.” The man ran a slender finger encased in a latex glove down the gun barrel and then across Aunt Lindy’s temple. She jerked away from his touch. “Your aunt was not an easy subject. If my appearance hadn’t been so unexpected, I do believe she might have shot me.” The man’s smile chilled Michael’s blood. “It’s so much nicer when there’s a bit of challenge.”

Michael stared at the man’s face while he frantically tried to come up with a plan to get the gun pointed away from Aunt Lindy’s head. He took a tiny step back and bumped against the straight chair that moments ago must have been jammed under the doorknob.

“Sit down, if you like.” The man motioned toward the chair with his free hand. “I’m sure you have more questions you would like answered. How did I get in? Why am I doing this? How many people have I ushered out of life? The questions vary somewhat, but I do like giving my people the chance to ask. It somehow helps for them to realize they aren’t alone in this great game of death.”

Michael felt the back of the chair behind him, but no way was he going to sit down. He had to stay on his feet to have any chance of taking out the man. The man’s lips turned up at the corners as he waited for Michael to say something. To play his games. Michael didn’t want to give him that satisfaction, but he needed time.

“So how did you get in? My aunt assured me all the doors were locked.” Michael kept his eyes on the man. It was better not to look at Aunt Lindy. He needed to stay as cold-blooded as the murderer to have a chance against him.

“Doors all locked. Windows intact. Breaking windows is entirely too messy, and if one is not extremely careful, one can get cut. It has never seemed wise to leave any of my own blood at a murder scene. That pesky DNA, you know.” Again the chilling smile. “The fact is, I was already in. Attics in old houses like this are so cozy, don’t you think? One doesn’t even have to be particularly quiet, because those who live in old houses pay scant attention to the odd squeak and creak above their heads.”

“How long have you been here?” Michael felt sick, thinking the man might have been right over his head the night before and he hadn’t even known.

“Only a few days. In and out, of course. Dr. Colson is attending an educational seminar at the Hilton in Eagleton. He’s the keynote speaker there later today. I think his topic is going to be how unexpected events in life can be a threat to one’s health. He is considering presenting a case study about how even saving someone’s life, perhaps a stranger’s, can be extremely stressful to our regular routine. Dr. Colson is a much sought-after speaker.” The man looked too smug. “He has such great insight about life-and-death matters.”

Michael’s hands wanted to curl into fists, but he forced them to stay relaxed. Buck would be on the way. He just had to keep the man talking. “What is your real name then?”

“My birth name was Carl Corley. Not that names matter. I’ve often found the need to shed a name much the way a snake sheds its skin when it begins to feel uncomfortable. As a matter of fact, the kind couple who adopted me when I was ten changed my name to David.”

The man hesitated a moment with a bit of a perplexed look, then went on. “At least, I think it was David. Definitely something biblical. I suggested Judas, but the dear woman who wanted to be my mother explained that wouldn’t be appropriate. Later I agreed. Judas felt much too much remorse. At any rate, they had hopes that shedding my first name would help me forget my tragic past.”

“What tragic past?” Michael tried to sound interested.

“A couple of months before the nice Brysons took me in, my father executed my mother. I was his witness. As best I recall, he was upset because the milk had gone sour in the refrigerator. And then, since there was no milk for our cereal, he decided to eliminate our need for food. He shot me as well, but his aim was a bit off. The bullet only creased the side of my head.”

The man swept his finger across the side of his forehead. He was obviously enjoying recounting his story. “I had the presence of mind to lie quite still on the kitchen floor. While it wasn’t a life-threatening wound, it was messy. My blood spilled out on my mother’s just-mopped floor. Along with hers. Blood congeals very quickly. Did you know that?” The man peered over at Michael. “But of course, you did. Policemen see congealed blood all the time. But somehow, it’s different when it’s your own.”

“You didn’t die.”

“Many have wished they could rewrite that portion of my story, but alas, I did not die. I was very convincing however. My father thought it so. He even sounded somewhat contrite. From his muttering, I think he planned to kill himself too but lacked the courage to put the gun to his head. So the sorrowful man went to the source of all his courage or comfort. The bottle. Have you ever had to find courage in a bottle?”

When Michael didn’t answer, he answered for him. “I’d guess not. You’re a man with an ample supply of courage, aren’t you? Even now your mind is racing to figure out how to make a courageous rescue.” The man made a sound that could have been a laugh. “I regret to tell you how futile that is. I always win. As I did that long ago day when my father thought to kill his own seed. Don’t you want to know what happened next?”

“The police came and rescued you?”

Michael could use some reinforcements to come to their rescue now. He studied the man’s hand holding the gun, but it showed no sign of weakness. Aunt Lindy sat very still with her eyes closed. Michael hoped she was praying. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Aunt Lindy’s cat lurking in the dark hallway leading away from the foyer. Grimalkin was crouched low, creeping closer as though stalking a mouse. If only Buck was there instead.

“Hardly.” The man seemed amused. “I waited until his head fell over on the table. Then I crept over and eased the gun from under his hand. Regrettably, the movement roused him and he grabbed me. Fortunately, I already had the gun and pressed it into his stomach and pulled the trigger. He fell on top of me and suffered badly for several moments, which I thought only proper given what he’d done to my dear mother. Under him, soaked in his blood, I felt the life go out of him. I’ve tried to re-create that feeling many times since, but perhaps the first is always the best. Do you agree, Michael? Was your first killing best?”

“I’ve never had to kill anyone.” Michael listened intently for the sound of Buck’s car gliding toward the house. Surely Sally Jo had paged him by now. He would be on the way, but would he be soon enough?