The Christmas Killer (18 page)

‘I think you proved his point on that one,’ said Asher. He relaxed his hold and Jake slumped forward, panting.

‘Austin, I hate journalists as much as you do.’ Asher spoke more softly now. ‘There’s not an ounce of integrity among them. But we can’t shout at them, and we can’t make threatening gestures at them, especially when the cameras are pointed right at us.’ Asher looked around as if to check no one was listening, then he lowered his voice even more. ‘We took you on because we believed your story about what happened in Chicago. We took you on despite the charges.’

Jake narrowed his eyes. ‘They were dropped.’

‘Dropped or not, we took you on because we figured the affray was a one-time thing.’

‘He—’ Jake started.

Asher held up a hand to stop him. Apparently Asher wasn’t interested in excuses. ‘There are people who want me to bring in the FBI. And you just gave them the ammunition they need.’

‘We can handle this as well as the FBI,’ said Jake. It dawned on him how badly he’d just fucked up.

‘We mightn’t get the chance,’ said Asher. ‘First, you’re going to apologize to Ford. Publicly.’

Jake said nothing.

‘Then,’ said Asher, ‘I’m going to let the press know that you are taking anger management sessions with the department shrink.’ Jake’s head snapped up at that. ‘That will not be a line, Detective. You’ll start the sessions on Monday morning. Understood?’

Jake nodded. He was too angry to say anything. He’d lost control, and right now there was no way of knowing what damage it had done to the case. He had removed himself from his own subtle surveillance operation. If the killer was among the crowd, there was no way that Jake would know because he had been too busy measuring his dick against Chuck Ford’s – letting that asshole sucker him into making a fool of himself.

Had Jake cost himself and his department what might have been their best chance at latching on to the killer?

This was his quiet place, his sanctuary. Here he felt safe. He could let down his defences and be himself, who he truly was. There was no need to pretend in this room.

The television was on, a sitcom he was half-watching as he prepared for his work. An episode cynically centred on the season, but the gravest concern of the lead character – a hapless single father – was whether he would have time to travel from New York to Connecticut in order to buy his brat of a daughter the ‘special’ doll she had demanded.

Disgusting …

He was surrounded by the instruments of his trade. Most of them he would never need to utilize, but those who had come before him had used them. Some looked positively frightening, with straps, clamps and restraints.

The piece he was cleaning now had been invented in 1542 by an English witchfinder. That made it a bit unusual, as most of the instruments had been devised by the Spanish Inquisition. It was a big, cumbersome
device, awkward to carry, but one man could just manage it. And it fitted into the back of his car.

The head crusher was ingenious. It was a frame about two by three feet, with a helmet in the middle. Under the helmet was a chin strap. He could move the helmet up and down by turning the screws. It could be slowly tightened until the skull began to deform under the pressure. It had built-in manacles to restrain the wrists, so that the victim had no escape from the fate they deserved, but he didn’t use them; he bound their hands himself.

It was a squeeze to get the helmet over a modern head. The device was four centuries old, and people had been smaller back then. But once it was on, all he needed was a few turns of the screw.

But he needed to clean it after every use. Heads tended to bleed, and the blood dried on the mechanism, making it difficult to turn.

And there were the clumps of hair.

The news came on, so he put aside the crusher for a few minutes and brought up the sound. The first item was the three murders. He watched the flickering images of the police chief, Asher, making an appeal for witnesses to come forward. The colonel was staring directly into the camera and talking about having identified a suspect. That wasn’t true. They were completely in the dark.

You would have told me if they were on to us.

Behind Asher were the two investigating detectives. One had a goofy look, while the other just looked uncomfortable. He peered more closely at the screen. He had seen this man before.

But where?

Then it was back to the anchor in the studio.

‘That was Sally Hallbrook reporting from the press conference outside the Church of Christ the Redeemer in Littleton, Indiana, where the Christmas Killer has already claimed three victims.’

The Christmas Killer?
Yet more tarnishing of the season.

The voice on the television continued: ‘There were dramatic scenes after the press conference, when one of the detectives, Jake Austin, appeared to attack a reporter and knock him to the ground. Back to Sally Hallbrook in Littleton to tell us more.’

The screen switched to the end of the press conference. There was that detective again, who appeared to lunge suddenly towards one of the hacks. There was a snarl of anger on his face.

I
do
know him … of course I do …

He had seen that snarl, but it had been so many years ago. The face had changed, but he could see how the basic features were unaltered.

Who would have thought it?

He straightened the head crusher and used it to haul himself up from the floor.

And now I know who should be next …

The lights were subdued, and gentle violin music wafted softly over Jake and Leigh. They were in a small Italian restaurant, a bottle of red wine on the table between them, and subdued conversation all around them. A murderer was on the loose, and while the locals were trying to get on with their lives, it was clear that until the killer was caught, the general atmosphere in Littleton was going to be tense.

La Dolce Vita might or might not have been the best restaurant in town; Jake didn’t know. All he knew was that they had gone there the first week they had arrived, and it had been good. He would have preferred a steak house and a twenty-ounce sirloin, but tonight was about spoiling Leigh.

His chicken cacciatore was tasty, and there was plenty of it. Leigh had opted for langoustines al pomodoro. It sounded good, until he realized that it was just a fancy name for small lobsters in tomato sauce.

‘Fish in ketchup – I could have cooked you that at home,’ he said.

‘Yes, and left all the pots for me to clean up afterwards,’ she replied.

He was able to forget that there was a killer at large, that he had almost punched another journalist and eaten humble pie, that he was getting up early on Monday to meet a therapist that he was trying to deny he was attracted to. He was able to focus on his gorgeous wife. And she
was
gorgeous tonight. The soft candlelight caught her golden hair, and her eyes sparkled. Being away from the baby for a while seemed to have lifted a decade from her face.

‘You could pass for a college senior,’ he said.

‘You’re not so bad yourself – in this light you could pass for forty,’ she replied. Over dessert and her third glass of wine Leigh was loosening up. She’d even stopped calling home to check on the kids, who were being watched by Melissa, a niece of Mills. In fact, a smile had been on her face all day, ever since three generations of family had finally banded together to put up the Christmas tree. It had been fun – Jake’s mom remembering past Christmases, his daughter forgetting to be sullen.

Things were feeling
normal
– just for a day.

‘I didn’t always love wine, you know,’ Leigh said now. ‘When I was five I took a sip from my mother’s glass and spat it out on the table.’

Jake laughed. ‘Five? You started early!’

‘What were you like when you were five? I bet you were an angel,’ she said with a wink.

He nodded in agreement. ‘Perfect from birth.’

‘Come on. Everyone has something to say about their childhood. You never talk about yours.’

That one came from left field, but Jake paused and gave it some consideration. ‘We travelled a lot,’ he said finally.

‘I’d love to be able to talk to your mother about it,’ Leigh said, her voice sounding sad. ‘What was she like?’

Jake noticed. Leigh had asked, what
was
his mom like? No real emphasis on the past tense, but her meaning was clear. In their house now was the relic of the woman who had raised him. Leigh was asking what the
real
woman had been like, before the dementia. Unfortunately, it was a question Jake couldn’t answer.

‘It’s weird, but I don’t have that many clear memories of my childhood,’ he said. ‘I have some, but I don’t know whether they’re real or not.’

Leigh looked at him, her head cocked to one side. ‘You must be able to remember something.’

He went on: ‘You know the scar I have on my right hand?’ He showed her a white mark near his index finger. ‘I have no idea where it came from. For as long as I remember, it was just there. I can’t even guess. How’s that for weird?’

Leigh smiled. ‘Most of us don’t remember a lot before we were five,’ she assured him.

‘I don’t remember a lot after five either,’ Jake said. ‘I don’t know who my father is, or what he was like. Most of my real memories start around junior high. Before
that it’s just images and flashes. None of them have ever made sense.’

‘You probably remember more than you think,’ said Leigh. ‘Maybe you could bring it up with the therapist.’

Jake wanted to tell her that he was not seeing a therapist; he was merely following department procedure after an incident. But he didn’t want to talk about Gail. Something stirred in him when he thought about her.

Just then Leigh’s phone rang and she rolled her eyes. ‘No one ever calls me, and the one time they do …’ Leigh reached into her purse and took it out. She looked at the number on the screen and her smile froze. ‘It’s home.’

Jake told himself that Melissa was probably asking where the baby formula was, but that didn’t feel right. He leaned forward to listen in as she took the call, his heart rate rising.

Leigh went pale.

‘We’ll be right there,’ she said, standing up.

The fireworks were over when they got home, but the babysitter was still upset. Faith was standing almost rigid with catatonic fury. Baby Jakey was crying, and Jeanette was blissfully unaware, watching a repeat of
Desperate Housewives
, although most of the screen was now obscured by a collapsed Christmas tree.

The room was a teddy bear bloodbath. White balls of fluff were everywhere, and heads and limbs were scattered. It was carnage. Jake winced when he stepped on a pink bear ripped up the middle from crotch to neck. There was a severed head on the table, impaled on scissors. He knew the head. It belonged to a teddy bear that had been given to him by the guys in Chicago.

Leigh initially recoiled, then stepped forward and screamed at Faith, ‘What have you done?’

Not knowing what else to do, Jake got out his wallet, pulled out a fifty and gave it to Melissa. It was twenty more than they had agreed, but he shoved it into her hand. She was sobbing slightly.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Austin. I couldn’t stop her,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.’ And the babysitter scuttled out of the door.

Faith ran up the stairs, her hands covering her face. Leigh stood in the middle of the room, screaming up at her. Jeanette was turning up the volume on the television until the noise felt like it was crawling into Jake’s skull. He could feel the headache and the ulcer beginning again. This was nuts. Right and wrong could be discussed later. He needed to bring order to his house.

He took the remote from his mom and killed the sound, just leaving the flickering images, which he unveiled by standing the Christmas tree back up. Then he took Leigh gently by the shoulders and guided her to the sofa.

‘I’ll bring Faith back down. We need to talk this through, but you need to get a grip on yourself first. OK, honey?’

Faith had locked herself in her room, but a sharp rap on the door brought her out. Her face was red and there were tears running down her cheeks. Jake felt a stab of sympathy for his daughter and placed an arm around her shoulder. Then he remembered all the toys, now torn rags littering the living room.

‘You’re in trouble,’ he said in a level voice.

His daughter followed him back to the living room. Leigh had Jakey in her arms, and he had stopped crying. She was already tidying the mess while she cradled the baby. The practicality of his wife often took Jake by surprise.

Faith stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the ground.

Leigh glared at her. ‘What’s all this about, young lady?’

‘I don’t know,’ muttered Faith.

‘Something must have triggered this,’ said Jake. Then he softened his tone. ‘Something had to upset you – make you mad.’

‘I don’t know. Jakey was screaming and he wouldn’t stop. Grandma was being as stupid as usual. I was trying to play with a doll, and it broke. And then I … just got angry.’

At that moment Jake’s mother stood and came over. She had a beautiful, peaceful smile on her face. She put a hand on Faith’s shoulder.

Faith brushed her hand away brusquely. She glared at her parents. ‘See?!’

‘You’ve destroyed all of Baby Jakey’s things. Why?’ Leigh asked again.

‘I don’t know!’ wailed Faith.

This was going nowhere, and there would soon be tears all round again. Jake intervened. ‘Go up to your room, and we’ll discuss your punishment in the morning,’ he said.

Faith turned and ran up the stairs.

Jake helped with the tidying, and within a few minutes the room looked normal again. They found one teddy that was undamaged, and Leigh settled Jakey in his cot with it. Then she sat beside Jake.

‘What will we do?’

‘We can get new ones. He’s so young, he doesn’t even know what he’s missing.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Leigh. Jake knew. He knew they had to talk about what had happened.

‘I hate to keep saying it,’ said Leigh, ‘but the strain of your mother changing every day … on top of the move and the new baby … it’s all getting to her. It’s getting to all of us. I’ve been trying to warn you.’

‘We need to stamp this behaviour out right now,’ said Jake. The curse of being a cop was that you knew too much. He had seen this before: destructive behaviour in childhood leading to something worse. It worried him on a professional level. And he knew from experience a cop’s professional eye should never be turned on his family.

Nothing good could come of that.

‘We have to punish Faith severely over this,’ he said. ‘Let her know how seriously she has stepped out of line. We’ll ground her for a month. We won’t let her friends over, and we’ll take her phone. And she has to replace the bears out of her allowance.’

‘That’s a bit severe,’ said Leigh, seeming genuinely surprised at what he proposed. ‘She’s only twelve.’

‘Doesn’t mean she’s not old enough to know better.’

What he didn’t say was his biggest fear. That the psychological quirks of his family, the strange way of looking at the world, had not skipped a generation, as he had hoped.

Had it taken hold of his baby girl too?

Leigh stroked his arm. ‘She’s twelve, Jake. She’s experiencing changes.’

‘People move house all the time and they don’t—’

‘No –
changes
.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘This could be hormonal. Every girl gets edgy as her body prepares for her first period.’

Jake blushed. Women’s issues were not something he felt comfortable with. And the thought of his precious daughter growing up brought its own concerns.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her in the morning,’ said Leigh. ‘And I’ll work out a suitable punishment. One that makes her think, not one that’ll build up more resentment to fuel whatever this is.’

Secretly Jake felt delighted that the responsibility was being lifted from his shoulders. Just then Jeanette turned from the television and looked at him.

‘You were always like that as a child,’ she chirped. ‘Always throwing things around and breaking them. Terrible temper you had.’ Then she turned back to the screen.

Jake turned all his attention to his mom. ‘Oh yeah, Mom? Like when?’

But his mom was gone again. She kept her eyes on the silent episode of
Desperate Housewives
, ignoring Jake as if he hadn’t spoken at all.