Sinnerman (6 page)

“So do I,” she said, “it’s for two, and by that I mean the two of us are going to have a great time together.”

I opened a few more gifts, and then it was time for Nick’s. His present was in the smallest package, but the box was an unmistakable bluish color and one every woman on the planet recognized and dreamed of their entire life, except me, and I tried not to squint when I opened it. Inside was the most beautiful necklace I’d ever laid eyes on, a simple but elegant round pendant with the initial S engraved on the front. I suppressed the urge to breathe a sigh of relief and turned to Nick and smiled.

Nick rose from his chair and separated the necklace from the box and wrapped the dainty piece of silver around my neck.

“Do you like it?” he said.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

“One more present to go,” Maddie said.

She lifted up the last box and shook it.

“Alright,” she said, “who got Sloane a gallon of milk for her birthday?”

The last box was wrapped in burgundy paper with felt embossed black lotus flowers all over it. All four sides were adorned with thick black satin ribbon that rose up the sides and formed a perfect series of bows in the center at the top.

“Wow, you’re not kidding,” I said to Maddie when I relieved it from her grip. “This thing’s heavy. Who’s it from then?”

I looked around the table and no one uttered a word, and there was no card of any kind affixed to it.

“Oh come on you guys, who’s going to take credit for the best wrap job of the night?”

“Maybe it’s a surprise,” Maddie said. “And you’re not supposed to know who it’s from until you open it.”

I shook the box in my hands.

“Feels like a bag of flour.”

“Come on, Sloane,” Maddie said. “Enough with the suspense. Open it already!”

I pulled off the ribbon and took my time removing the paper. I didn’t know why; it wasn’t like I’d ever use it again, but it was so unique, I didn’t want to take the chance of it getting ruined. Once the paper was off, it unmasked a simple white box made of cardboard. I pulled open the lid and peered inside.

“Well?” Maddie said. “What is it? I’m dying over here.”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “It looks like a bottle of some kind.”

I spread my fingers apart and reached down the crevices of the box until they touched the bottom. Clear liquid sloshed around in the container while it rose to the top. Maddie curled her body over the box and pressed her fingers into the sides so it was unable to move while I lifted it. When it was halfway out, the mayor’s wife couldn’t take the anticipation any longer. With eyes that sparkled like a child full of wonder on Christmas Day, she leaned over to get a closer look and then clamped her hands over her mouth and let out a scream that echoed through every orifice of the restaurant, and in an instant the loud, boisterous atmosphere evaporated until all that remained was silence.

“What in the hell is that?” Maddie said.

The chief and Nick launched out of their respective chairs and hovered over me like a couple of eagles protecting their nest. By the time I had the bottle all the way out of the box, no less than six pairs of eyeballs were riveted on the liquid substance within the glass and what floated around inside of it: a severed finger.

“What is this, some kind of sick joke?” Nick said.

The chief held his hand out to me and folded his fingers back toward himself.

“Lemme see that,” he said.

I handed it over and then tipped the box on its side and peered in again. A slip of pink paper was taped flat to the bottom and on it, a message:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SLOANE MONROE

I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

YOURS ALWAYS, SINNERMAN

“There’s a note,” I said.

“Don’t touch it,” the chief said. He flung his arms to the side like he was an umpire who’d just declared the player that slid into home plate safe. “No one touch a thing.”

The chief reached over and confiscated the box from me, and with great care he lowered the jar back into the depths of its cardboard home.

“Madison,” the chief said.

“I’m way ahead of you,” Maddie said. “We can take this to my lab right now.”

She stood up and walked over to me and gave me a hug.

“I’m sorry to leave you like this on your birthday sweetie.”

“With all that’s happened, this trumps my big day,” I said. “Keep me posted on what you find out.”

She leaned in until she was a couple inches away from my ear.

“You’ll be the first to know,” she whispered.

Moll returned with tray full of entrees and a perplexed look on her face.

“Where in the world is everyone going?” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but it looks like we’re going to need these to go.”

Nick wore a hole in my living room carpet while he paced from one side of the room to the other, part in a debate with himself and another part using his hands to converse with the air in front of him. I rested on the couch and tried to make the most of my entree to go.

“This has gotten out of hand,” he said, after a few minutes. “That psycho has made it personal, and I don’t like it.”

The reality was it had been personal for a long time now, and we both knew it. Sinnerman had just upped the ante, and for whatever reason, all bets were on me.

“If they can lift a print and find out who this guy is, it will all have been worth it,” I said.

I already knew full well the box and its contents would be clean. Sinnerman was too smart for that. But at the moment, my main goal was to pacify Nick by whatever means necessary.

“How can you sit there and eat right now after what just happened?” He shook his head. “You know what? I think you wanted this.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said.

“Do you even care that this guy could be watching your every move? Honestly, Sloane. I’ve had it with all this. I’m done. From now on, you’re going to listen to me, and that starts right now. I want you to promise me you won’t have anything else to do with this case.”

Inside my head, something snapped. All my life I’d been an overachiever, the organized girl with the OCD who tried her best no matter what. I was no quitter. Grandpa instilled that in me from a young age. Monroes kept going and never gave up. It was our creed. How could he expect me not to go after the one person who took someone away from me? While I sat and listened to the endless load of crap that spewed forth from Nick’s lips, I couldn’t take it any longer. It was like something woke up inside me that had been asleep since the day we moved in together. A light came on and I knew what I needed to do. The time had come to flip the switch on our relationship.

“Nick, I’ve had some time to think,” I said. “Maybe we need a break from each other.”

“What are you talking about?”

“For the last several months I’ve had to sit here and listen to you tell me what to do and what not to do, and I can’t do it anymore,” I said.

“What are you saying?”

“I need some time to myself,” I said.

“Fine, I’ll sleep on the couch for a while. I did it last night; I don’t see why I can’t do it again.”

I shook my head.

“I need you to go,” I said.

“Are you kidding me—you’re kicking me out?”

“It’s not like you don’t have a place to go. You haven’t sold your place in town yet. You’ll be fine. And I need this right now.”

“You know what; I don’t think you mean a word of it. You’re not in your right mind because of all that’s happened these past few days. You just need some time to get back to yourself again.”

“I’m thinking clearer now than I have in a while.”

He snatched one of my empty glass canisters from the kitchen counter and heaved it across the room. It smashed against the window, and the glass shattered. In an instant Taye Diggs was through the front door and by my side.

“What’s going on here?” Taye said.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Nick said. “I’ve got it under control. Get out.”

Taye looked at me.

“You alright?”

“She’s fine,” Nick said. “You can go now.”

“After you,” Taye said.

“You hard of hearing or something? I told you to go,” Nick said.

Taye didn’t budge, and neither did Nick. It was like a bar scene from an old Western without the pistols.

“Please leave,” I said.

“You heard the lady,” Nick said. “Get out.”

I looked at Nick.

“I didn’t mean him, I meant you,” I said.

Nick gave me a look that sent a shockwave of chills through my body. It was a side of him I’d never seen before; it felt ice cold, and I didn’t like it.

“Unbelievable,” Nick said. “I’m here trying to protect you from a complete whack job that all of the sudden has decided to track your every move, and this is what I get for it?”

“It’s not about that,” I said.

“Oh really, what then?”

“It’s all of it,” I said. “Things haven’t been good between us for a while now. I don’t know how you can’t see that too.”

He threw both hands out to the side.

“Fine, if that’s what you want, I’m out of here.” He turned to Taye Diggs and said, “Have fun with her. She’s more than you bargained for, but at least I don’t have to deal with it anymore.”

“Have some respect, Calhoun,” Taye said.

Nick stuck his middle finger out at Taye and then walked into the bedroom and returned a few minutes later with an armful of clothes in his hands. He headed straight for the door and never looked back.

My cell phone rang. It was Maddie.

“Hey,” she said, “how are you doing?”

“I just kicked Nick to the curb,” I said.

“For good?”

“I don’t know yet. What did you find out about that finger?” I said.

“For starters, although I thought so at first, it didn’t belong to the woman who was killed the other day.”

“Well then, whose is it?” I said.

“Sloane, I don’t know how to tell you this, but…”

All of the sudden I realized who the finger belonged to and my food wasn’t settled in my stomach anymore. My memory flashed to the nail from the finger that floated around in the jar at the restaurant. It had been coated with a shade of hot pink nail polish that sparkled with flecks of silver glitter. I’d seen it before many times. I squeezed both hands over my mouth, but it didn’t matter. I knew I’d never make it to the bathroom in time.

Sam Reids sat at his desk in front of his computer on his newly acquired 17th century George II armchair. It was an expensive piece, and he’d shelled out almost a million dollars for it, but from the moment he’d laid eyes on it when it went up on the auction block, he knew he needed to have it in his collection.

Sam gazed at the picture of Sloane Monroe that was plastered across the entire width of his computer monitor. It wasn’t long before he started to reminisce about the day he first saw her. He’d been on his way to the store to procure a few groceries. When he stopped at the traffic light, he happened to glance over, and there she was. It was like she’d risen from the dead, and he had to do a double take to make sure his eyes hadn’t played some kind of cruel trick on him. It couldn’t have been her, and he knew that. He’d killed her over a year before. But it if wasn’t Gabrielle Monroe, who was she, he’d thought to himself. Sam had an insatiable desire to find out, so when he returned home that night he searched the internet, and it didn’t take long for him to find some answers. Gabrielle Monroe had a sister, and not just any sister—a twin named Sloane. It was all too delicious to take in, and he fantasized over what it would be like to be one of the only serial killers in history to murder twins. Killing Sloane would be like murdering Gabrielle all over again. Just the thought of it caused the hair on his arm to stand on end.

Sam had kept a close eye on Sloane over the past two years, and he’d come to know her habits. He knew she visited her sister’s grave on special occasions, her favorite place to eat, and even which color she wore the most. Keeping tabs on her while she worked intoxicated him. Her ability to snare the bad guy or find a missing person was impressive, and he admitted to himself after a time that she’d become somewhat of an obsession to him. No woman had ever incited the feelings she did. His insides burned like hot oil simmering in a pan every time he thought of her, and that’s why he needed her. He wanted her more than anything he’d ever craved before, but he’d have to wait for now. Sloane was special, which was why he would save her for last, and then everything would be different.

The clock on the right side of Sam’s computer displayed 7:29 PM. It was almost time. He closed his eyes and locked his fingers together behind his head and reclined back in his chair. He imagined the rest of the night’s events and played them over and over in his head with an exact notion of how they were to be. It was like he was the conductor of a fine orchestra, and he couldn’t wait.

***

Twenty minutes later Sam trolled the area by the supermarket where he’d discarded his last victim. He howled with laughter when he drove past the parking lot and observed a couple police officers dressed in plain clothes trying to blend in with the pedestrians that flowed in and out of the store. They’re all so stupid, he thought to himself. He never killed in the same location twice. He knew it, and so did they. And yet there they were, grasping at straws like puppets on a string.

Sam drove further down the street and through the city until he reached his destination, the local park. It was uncharted territory, and he’d never abducted anyone in a place like that before, but he’d been there several times over the past few months and was confident in his decision.

The park was quiet, just like he knew it would be. For whatever reason, Thursdays were always like this. There were no games going on, few kids, and the entire place was vacant save a few stragglers that dotted the grass-filled landscape.

Sam laced up his tennis shoes and stepped out his car door and closed it behind him. He walked over to the dirt track that surrounded the perimeter of the park and set off into a sprint. He rounded the corners, looked around, and sized up the selection. The woman who jogged ten feet in front of him had potential. He amplified his speed until they were side by side and then struck up a conversation, but it didn’t take long for him to notice something off about the way her long dark hair moved when she ran. It didn’t. It was thick like it had been coated with the firmest brand of hairspray and then ironed down in place, but that wasn’t all; it was fake—a wig, and beneath it he saw patches of dirty blond that looked like it hadn’t seen the inside of a hair salon in years. Upon closer inspection, he clued in on something else: her stiff breasts were fake too, and he wondered how much work she’d done on the rest of her body. This repelled him like he was a mosquito and she was doused in bug spray, and he knew she wouldn’t do. She wouldn’t do at all.