The Killing Game (15 page)

“
Do you do it with a swinging watch, Doctor? The way they do in the movies?
”

A deep chuckle. “
Parlor tricks aren’t needed. It took several months of training, but
…”
He gestured toward his creations.
“
They come to this room and the smells relax them, the food fills them. They hear a few words from me, in my voice, and they become our sweet little robots.
”

“
They become robots just like that?
”

“
Such a state builds from special cues,
”
the Doctor said in a boastful voice.
“
The most potent are smell, followed by event references. Finally an object. That can be the swinging watch or a purple beret or an egg-beater – whatever you stick in a mind.
”

The woman named Dragna crossed her arms over her floating breasts and smiled. “
Look at their faces. Like little machines.
”

“
It’s not faces I want,
” one of the mattress-throwers said, the hulking one. Everyone laughed. The light flickered and the children were no longer in the kitchen but the supply room. They stood naked in the vibrating luminosity, tattered clothes at their feet. The smell of food mingled with the smell of bodies. The children’s eyes were as black and shiny as obsidian. Their faces were smeared with gruel.

“
Mamaliga,
”
the children in the dormitories began to murmur.
“
Mamaligaaa
…”

The word became a chant that echoed through the building. “
Shut the fuckers up,
”
the Doctor told Sorina Vaduva. She nodded and strode out the double doors. A screaming voice, the crack of leather over skin. Squeals of pain.

Then silence.

The nurse returned. There was a candle on the table now, beside it several glass vials and a hypodermic syringe. The vials glittered like black stars. Gregory heard a sound beneath the chanting and felt his head turn to the window. A white cat was sitting on the outside ledge, scratching at the glass. “
Go away,
” Grigor felt his mouth say to the cat. “
Go away, it’s not safe to be—
”

“
What’s that noise?
” the man named Cojocaru said. He was naked and smoking a flat cigarette that smelled of burning broom straws.

“
Nothing
,”
the Doctor said.
“
Some idiot cat climbed the fire escape
.”

“
Leave it to me,
” the woman named Dragna said, now dressed only in her panties, her doll’s face craned toward the window. She set aside a bottle of tuica and opened the window, multiple panes grated with steel.

“
Here, kitty kitty,
”
she coaxed.
“
Nice kitty kitty
…”

She grasped the cat by the skin of its neck, her other hand under its thin belly, pulling it inside the room and holding it high like a prize. Dragna Negrescu’s hands moved to the cat’s neck. They made a fast twist and a cracking sound. The cat went limp as a wet dishrag and she threw it out the window.

“
Shall we work on tonight’s projects?
” she laughed, turning back to the room. The man named Big Petrov clapped his hands and studied the row of children. He walked to them and licked his right forefinger with a lolling, lizard-like tongue. Gregory felt a wet finger glide over his forehead. Big Petrov lowered his voice to a sing-song whisper.
“
Pretty little robot with its pretty little lips.
”

The Doctor’s mouth opened and silver vampire light poured out. “
What will you have the pretty robot do for you, Petrov?
” the light said, pooling on the floor like mercury.

“
Ema,
” Gregory heard his mouth scream. “
Ema come save me.
”

But Ema knew how to hide in the girls’ section. She was never seen here.

Driving to work the following morning, I was preoccupied by the killings of Kayla and Tommy, wondering if they were random. It seemed strange to wish they were tied together by some unseen factor, but as I had explained to my class on the first day, random, motive-less crimes were my worst nightmare.

I found Harry at his desk, feet up, in a purple shirt and green slacks, sipping coffee and scowling at a file on his lap.

“What you studying?” I asked.

“I’m trying to make some connection between the cases. Kayla and Tommy.”

I shook my head. “I’ve got nothing, bro. Two separate worlds. You?”

He tented his fingertips and rested his chin at the apex. “I’m thinking Kayla was involved in a lesbian relationship with Tommy’s mother. Kayla’s boyfriend found out about it, texted by Tommy, who was angry with his mother. Tommy probably got Kayla’s number off her phone when she left it out. The boyfriend, safely alibied in England, arranged for a hired killer to do the women, then when the killer arrived at the Brinks’ house, Mama was out. But he had to kill Tommy anyway – the kid might squeal that he’d tipped off the boyfriend − so he got the knife. The killer’s laying low and waiting for things to die down so he can knock off Mama.”

“A bit, uh, convoluted. You believe it?”

He looked at me as if I was crazed. “Of course not, it’s ridiculous. But it makes more sense than anything else I’ve come up with.”

My intercom buzzed, replaced with the voice of Tom Mason. “Carson, the Chief wants to see you. I got no damn idea why.”

I experienced the first luck I’d had since Baggs had taken over the camp: Darlene Combs was passing by in the other direction, off on an errand. “Knock and go in,” she snipped. “He’s expecting you.”

“The Mayor sick today?” I asked.

She pretended deafness. Baggs barked
Enter
in response to my knock, as if he was angry at being his own Cerberus. It fit, the SOB had multiple faces.

I stood with hands behind my back, a good soldier for the cause. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”

He got to his feet, flicking a file with his fingernails. “I want to discuss your recent citation. I just read your Lieutenant’s recommendations and saw, to my chagrin, that—”

“You didn’t read it the first time?”

His eyes tightened. “I misspoke myself. I
re
-read it.”

I looked out the window and saw a flash of silver from a jet pulling a fluffy white contrail across the blue sky. I didn’t care where the plane was going, Azerbaijan to Zambia, I wanted to be aboard. Or hanging from the landing gear by my teeth. Anywhere but in this prissy space reeking of furniture polish and high-school cologne.

“And?” I said.

“I’m nullifying it.”

I took a second for the word to make sense. “Nuli— What? Why?”

“The male perpetrator – Noblin Maggard? It appears you let him slip under your radar, Detective. He was hiding in the bathroom, right?”

“It’s a C-store, Chief. People are running every which way.”

Baggs crossed his arms and jutted his chin. “Had you noted his absence, you might have alerted backup units prior to the perpetrators getting the drop on you. Am I not correct?”

I stared.

He said, “Do I get the courtesy of an answer, Detective?”

“I think I missed the question.”

Baggs shook his head as if he was sorry to have to tell me a terrible secret. “You let a subject armed with a shotgun slip past you and hide in the restroom of a store you had supposedly secured. Remember, Detective, a citizen lost his hand.”

I felt my own eyes narrow and my jaw clench. Ham Neck’s stupidity had cost him his hand. “Are you saying it’s my fault that—”

Baggs did shocked, holding his hands up to stop me. “Don’t use the word ‘fault’, Detective,” he said, talking like he was protecting me from myself. “It’s too harsh. There’s no real fault here.”

“You just said—”

“I’m simply saying your inattention to an important detail cancels out your fine work on other fronts. A citation has to mean something, right?”

I stared at Baggs, his throat within reach of my hands.

“Do you ever eat anything but greens and whole grain toast, tea and honey, dear?”

“I like them, Ema. Obviously.”

Gregory and Ema sat in a restaurant in Daphne, on the Eastern Shore of Mobile Bay. The drive had taken forty minutes in the morning traffic and an irritated Gregory wondered why Ema couldn’t have breakfast on the Mobile side. He figured the restaurant must have advertised pretty pictures of food on television, evoking a Pavlovian need in Ema. She probably stood in front of the screen and drooled.

Ema was ridiculously suggestible, and Gregory had once fantasized about hypnotizing her, perhaps with a watch or some form of amulet. He’d get her under the first time and insert a cue into her mind, a word or action that would make the process easier in the future. Then he realized inserting such an action would be unnecessary, since his one and only command would be:
Leave me alone.

And, Gregory thought, I remember a bit about hypnosis.

Gregory had considered avoiding the get-together, but recalling the endless hours Ema spent soaking up television, he realized she would have followed the two killings on local news
.
Her opinion would represent that of the average dolt, and he suddenly wanted to know her thoughts. “You know … I was watching the news the other day, Ema. It seems a young black fellow was killed. Tragic. Did you hear about that?”

“The poor child died the other day,” Ema corrected. “But he was attacked two days previously.”

Gregory affected mild curiosity,
Can I Get a Fiber Cereal that Doesn’t Taste Like Fiber?
“Why wasn’t he killed during the attack?”

Ema looked up from a ham and strawberry omelet covered with gelatinous goo. “I heard the attacker was clumsy in his attempt – a great fortune for the boy because the paramedics saved his life, bless them. Unfortunately, the child had a weak constitution. A disease.” Ema swallowed hard, her voice softening to a whisper. “He must have suffered so.”

Gregory prickled at the word
clumsy.
He’d slammed the goddamn knife into the little bastard, but it hit a rib and didn’t sink to the hilt. You learned by doing: It wasn’t as if there was a class in this stuff.

“Perhaps it was all for the best, dear,” Gregory said, nipping an edge off a toast point. “His suffering ended.”

Ema stared at Gregory. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

“Have you never been to a funeral, Ema? It’s a common expression.”

“The way you say it seems so—”

Gregory raised his hand to signal his displeasure with the current dialogue. “Wasn’t there another killing recently?” he said. “A college girl?”

Ema set her fork on her plate and frowned in thought. “The girl on the bicycle? Stabbed as well, I think. Or was she shot?”

“I don’t believe anyone has said, Ema. The police are being coy.”

Gregory was irritated the cops were concealing his pistol crossbow, an inspired choice. His beloved bow had been too large to hide successfully, so he’d found its little brother online, ordering the weapon from a Canadian sporting-goods store. How many people were killed by a crossbow? Ryder must have been greatly impressed.

Gregory said, “Have you heard if the cops have any … what do they call it? Information that helps solve crimes?”

“Leads,” Ema said, delighted to know something Gregory didn’t. “I don’t think so. At least, not that I’ve seen on TV.”

“Killings like these seem to happen all the time,” Gregory sighed. He added a shake of his head, as if disturbed by the knowledge.

Ema paused with her lips pursed in thought. She held the pose for almost a minute.

“Are you in there, Ema?” Gregory finally asked. “Hello?”

“I’m thinking.”

A sigh. “Give me an overview.”

“Both killings seem so strange, Gregory. Like there was something underneath the surface.”

Gregory kept his face impassive. Ema was four feet from the man who had made both deaths happen. He could have reached across the table and taken her life as well. Or, to be more realistic, followed her out the door and killed her at whim, making sure not to be beneath her as she went down.
Boom.
Seismographs clacking across the South.

From nowhere a thought crossed Gregory’s mind:
I’m in Ema’s will. If I killed her, how much would I make?

“Gregory?” Ema said.

“What?”

“What are you thinking? You looked so far away.”

“I was absorbing what you were saying, Ema. That, based on your observations from television, the killings seemed strange.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

Eye-roll.
“For Christ’s sake, Ema.”
Sigh.
“You won’t let me joke and now you won’t let me think? Why do we even meet?”

Ema’s pout face. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell me about the killings.”

“I can’t put it in words,” Ema said. “But no matter … I’m pretty sure the police will catch the perpetrators.”

Gregory frowned. “Why so certain?”

“I watch police reality shows:
Cops
,
America’s Most Wanted
… Plus mystery shows. So I know a lot about these things.”

Gregory feigned nonchalance, displayed as
Why Should I Care Which Margarine Has Fewer Calories?
“How do you think they’ll catch him, Ema? I mean
them
.”

“By tiny bits of evidence. Logan’s rule.”

“Whose rule?”

“Logan’s rule says evidence is always exchanged at crime scenes.”

“That makes no sense, Ema.”

“Of course it does, Gregory. Killers leave evidence they don’t know about. Tiny things. That’s Logan’s rule.”

“Evidence like the mortgage to his home?” Gregory kept a straight face, inwardly chuckling at stealing a line from Ryder’s classroom video.

“You ask my thoughts and then you make jokes when I tell them.”

“I’m only teasing, Ema. Please, continue. I promise I’ll be serious.” Gregory did the
Cross-My-Heart
truth gesture, a recent addition to his repertoire.

Suddenly in her element, Ema began quoting shows named
Quincy
,
CSI
,
Inspector Morse
,
Wallander
and a half-dozen others, dwelling on inane minutiae about crime scenes and evidence and profiling.