The Killing Game (34 page)

His head rolled to me. “Then why are you here?”

“I don’t think Paul was killed at random. I think he was killed because you crossed someone. Probably someone you never saw before. I think it was recently.”

Tears welled in McGuiness’s eyes. “I killed Paulie by pissing someone off?”

“No. A psychotic killed Paul because he thought it would be an amusing form of vengeance. You know a guy named Bill Sieves?”

“Never heard the name.”

“Who have you recently angered, humiliated or insulted? One or all. Who, Terry?”

A one-shoulder shrug. “I used to piss people off all the time, the old me. Now I just serve food and…” He froze, eyes flicking back and forth as they scanned memories. “There was this couple at the restaurant. The guy had it in for me from the start. I was walking by with a full tray for table seventeen, a six-top. He put his leg in my path on purpose. Everything went flying.”

“What happened then?”

“He called me a moron. I went to put on a fresh uniform and grab a smoke. When I came back they were gone.”

“You never said a thing to the guy?”

McGuiness looked between Harry and me. “I’d seen the asshole pull into the parking lot so I ran outside and hawked a fat one on his windshield. Maybe he saw me do it.”

“What was he driving?” I asked.

“An Avalon, I think. White.”

“Jesus,” Harry whispered.

“You ever see the guy before that day, Terry?” I said. “Or since?”

McGuiness shook his head. “He’s not memorable. Brown hair and eyes, kind of a round face. A tight, pissed-off little mouth like this…” McGuiness pursed his lips. “The guy was in his mid-twenties.”

We milked every bit of information from Terry McGuiness, then headed up one floor to Pendel’s room, surprised to see Dr Szekely sitting by a sleeping Pendel and reading a book.

“They gave him an opioid,” she said. “I don’t expect he’ll be around for several hours. His father went to make funeral arrangements. When he returns I have to leave to give a lecture in Atlanta.”

“For EEOSA?”

She nodded. “We’re starting a chapter there.” Szekely looked at Pendel with concerned eyes, the kid motionless, his mouth open. She reached out and patted his leg. “Sleep is the best thing for Will now. The waters of Lethe.”

“The peace of oblivion,” Harry said.

“I wish I could dispense such water selectively, Detective Nautilus. If I could wash away the memories of the orphanages … Are you here to check Will’s progress?”

“We came to check a theory with Wilbert. That his mother’s death was reprisal for something Wilbert did. An insult, perhaps.”

A raised eyebrow. “That could be hard to narrow down. Any interaction with Will could result in an insult. Have you tested your theory, Detective Ryder?”

“We have a vehicle similarity, two incidences of someone being insulted, and the name Bill Sieves.”

“Sieves? That’s with an S?”

“From what we know.”

Szekely frowned. “I mentioned the math whiz? The one who didn’t get along with Will?”

“Too much alike, you said.”

“Will used to make fun of Gregory’s emotional issues, including Gregory’s difficulties in expressing himself. In return Gregory would make disparaging remarks about Will’s intellect. It turned physical, Will slapping Gregory in the face and telling him to make it readable.”

“This Gregory isn’t named Sieves, is he?” I asked.

Szekely looked anxious. “It’s Nieves, with an N. That’s really pretty close, isn’t it?”

Harry called Sally Hargreaves, his girlfriend and a detective in the Missing Persons unit, for a quick search. She reported a Gregory Nieves in the listing. He lived in West Mobile, not far from Dawes Road.

“We’re not in the cruiser, girl,” Harry said. “No computer. Gimme the guy’s particulars.”

“Average Joe,” Sal said. “Five nine, one seventy-five, brown and brown. Twenty-five years old. Looks as dangerous as a vanilla milkshake.”

My phone went off and I turned on the external speakers. “This is Silas Ballard, you wanted me to—”

“Gregory Nieves,” I blurted, adrenalin taking over. “Know the name?”

“Jesus … I ain’t heard that name in years. A decade or more.”

Harry threw a jubilant air punch. We had the tie.

“How do you know the name, sir?” I asked.

“His granddaddy – step-granddaddy, actually – owned a farm beside ours. Gregory’s stepdaddy quit farming, but kept the woods. Nieves used to bring the kid up here to hunt. The kid was always spying on people. Had the damndest expression, like always saying
Huh?
without saying it. The little bastard killed my dog.”

“Pardon me?”

“Bruno. A big friendly ol’ Lab. I came home one day, no dog. Found Bruno in the woods, an arrow in the hindquarters to cripple him, one in the head to finish him off.”

“Arrow,” Harry whispered.

“Did you in any way insult Gregory?” I asked Ballard.

“I prob’ly cursed the kid out. He was a mental genius, but messed up bad in the head.”

I promised Ballard I’d get back to him quickly and turned to Harry. “That just leaves a motive for Tommy.”

“To punish Arletta Brink?” Harry frowned. “For what?”

“Not her. The killer would have been getting back at Tommy’s aunt. She was the one who loved him.”

Francine Minear lived six blocks from the hospital so we did that one in person. Her apartment was on the second floor of a pre-WWII brick building, at the end of a long hall smelling of fried food and cabbage.

Miz Minear was wearing a bright yellow pantsuit. A school photo of Tommy centered a piece of circular silver jewelry on her lapel. She waved us into a pin-neat living room with antimacassars on the couch, doilies under lamps.

She gave me a dark look verging on anger. “The newspaper said you’re the man started all this trouble.”

Harry pointed through the window at a dazzling blue sky. “The newspaper also said it was going to rain this morning, Miz Minear. I assure you the paper is wrong on both counts”

She looked between Harry and me. “What you need?”

“Gregory Nieves,” I said. “Ever heard the name?”

She shook her head and sat. “I cleaned for the Nieves about ten years back, father and two adopted kids from Armenia or something. The kids were learning to talk American. The girl I got on good with, the boy was creepy. That was Gregory.”

“Creepy how?”

“I’d be washing and feel a touch on my backside. I’d turn and he’d be licking his hand like seeing how I tasted.”

“Can I ask if you ever did anything to anger him, ma’am?”

Her eyes tightened in memory. “I was doin’ laundry and heard something in the closet, one of those with wood shutters you can peek through. I yanked open the door. That boy had his pants ’round his ankles and his you-know-what in his hand. I got so mad I slapped him up side his head an’ called him a nasty li’l freak. Then I quit, walked out the door.”

“And the last time you saw the kid?”

“Staring out the window when I left. His face was blank as pudding, but I could smell his hate.”

Gregory climbed into his car, wiping a powdery residue from his nose. The sun blazed above, a ball of yellow fire that lit the world in crisp and perfect detail. Colors didn’t just seem brighter, they seemed enlarged.

He was going to Ema’s, though he hadn’t called. “
Gregory dear!
” she’d chirp as the door opened. “
What a surprise! What brings you here?
”

“
FOR FUCK’S SAKE, EMA
,” he’d scream into her fat face. “
YOU’VE BEEN CALLING ME EVERY GODDAMN HOUR!
”

He laughed and put the car in gear. An errant thought crossed his mind. What if no neighbors were around? What if everything inside Ema’s house was perfect for an Event? What if the universe showed him the time was right?

My God … What if it happened today?

Gregory ran back inside his house and put on a black bodystocking, just in case. And in case today wasn’t the right day, he went to the garage, grabbed what he needed, put it in the trunk of his car.

One way or the other, something would get accomplished today!

What happened next?

We roared back to the department, sprinting to our floor. Baggs and Willpot and several of the administrative cabal were clustered around Tom Mason’s door. I saw worried faces. Everyone turned to look at us, Baggs’s eyes popping wide in surprise.

“Please don’t shoot Baggs, Carson,” Harry whispered.

“I just have to get my phone list.”

“Don’t punch him, either.”

We kept moving toward our cubicle, waiting for someone to make a move. I watched as Chief Baggs pushed a freakish grin onto his face and started our way. Several dicks were watching from their cubicles. I could see into the cubicle of Larry Hartwell, his computer showing the YouTube home page.

I turned to Baggs, hands up in surrender, my voice set to full-plead.

“We may know the killer, Chief,” I said. “Let us get things in motion and I’ll get gone.”

Baggs stopped two paces away and cleared his throat. “We’ll deal with this like professionals, Detective Ryder. Mistakes were made on both our parts. But high ideals can sometimes mean high emotions, and that’s what we’re dealing with here, right? Both wanting to get the job done to the fullest, to protect the public. It’s a situation poised for honest misunderstandings, moments of stress and all that. I’ll have the Information Office draft a statement and we’ll clear the air.”

He demonstrated the most unhappy and insincere smile this side of Oscar night, then turned and walked stiffly away.

“What the fuck was that about?” Harry whispered.

“You’ve got me. Let’s get to work.”

I quickly fanned through my phone call slips, nothing except two more calls from Roy McDermott with the FCLE, one with a brief and cryptic message:
The snook are calling.
I jammed the note in my jacket pocket and started issuing orders per the guidelines of the PSIT.

Within an hour we had turned the conference room into our situation room, sending undercover surveillance units to Nieves’s home, an air-conditioning company van almost out front and a van marked
CITY OF MOBILE WATER DEPARTMENT
at the end of the block. A cop disguised as a meter reader had looked in the garage window, saw no vehicle.

“We’re not getting anything,” Rich Patten radioed. “No vehicle, no phone activity. No sounds from inside. We put a major-league lens on the electric meter. The power’s holding exactly constant, no TV being turned on and off, room lights changing. The house seems empty.”

I said, “Unit B?” The supposed Water Company crew at the end of Nieves’s block, three cops in disguise climbing in and out of an open manhole.

“No action. White car went by before, but a Hyundai. If the target passes we’re ready to block the street.”

“SWAT?” I said. The special weapons and tactics van was a half-mile distant and parked behind a church, as close as they could get without standing out like an ostrich in the Kentucky Derby.

“Engine running, pulses calm. We’re ready to take this bad boy down, Carson.”

“The house is one big trap,” I said to all concerned. “Let’s hope he’s home soon.”

“Or a BOLO gets him,” Harry said. A BOLO was a Be On the Look Out alert. All law-enforcement agencies in the vicinity had been sent Nieves’s name and license photo, appended with the warning
Dangerous and likely armed, approach with extreme caution.
Translation:
If you stop him and he twitches, shoot the bastard.

I nodded. “We’ll go public if we don’t find him in a bit,” I said. “Send the info everywhere.”

“Any info on the sister?”

I shook my head,
nada.
We were trying to track down Nieves’s sister, but there was no listing with the phone company. She probably had a cell. Szekely had implied the woman was a homeowner so we’d sent a guy to City Hall’s property records. We’d tried Szekely to check what else she might know, but the doc was flying to her Atlanta lecture.

I stood to shake the tension from my legs and saw Tom Mason scanning the murder books. Harry and I walked over.

“Sounds like you’ve tracked this monster to his lair, fellas,” Tom said, pleased. “Helluva day.”

I lowered my voice. “Uh, Tom, that thing with Baggs… ‘High ideals and emotions’ and all that shit. What the hell’s going on?”

Tom tipped back his Stetson and stared. “You mean you don’t know? You weren’t in on it?”

“In on what?”

“The academy video, Carson … where you supposedly did everything but challenge psychopaths to a killing match? It reappeared on YouTube late this morning. Not just on YouTube, but Yahoo, Flickr, Photobucket and a dozen other places. Even a site in Chinese. I heard that anonymous callers – male and female – told media outlets about the reappearance. People are seeing it.”

“And realizing…”

Tom nodded. “There’s no real threat: It’s just you being you. Baggs has been buried in calls from reporters wondering how a few innocuous statements got translated into a death challenge. The Chief’s been doing the political cha-cha ever since.”

After a moment of perplexity I recalled Wendy’s angry words.
We can rebuild the video
,
she had said,
put it back up. Say the word.
I hadn’t, but evidently someone had said it for me. I suddenly had a potent respect for social media.

“Where do I go from here?” I asked Tom, wiser in the ways of departmental politics.

“You and the Chief will make nice for the media,” he said.

“You mean we’ll stand before a bank of microphones, confess our misunderstandings like two wayward children, then face the cameras with phoney smiles and insincere handshakes?”

“Yep,” he said. “Pretty much.”

Gregory hadn’t gone directly to Ema’s. He’d gotten within a block and realized he hadn’t brought powder with him. It was necessary, his new fuel. He detoured to the whore’s house for another five bags. That gave him eight bags of clarity. He’d had sex with the robot, too, but that only took a couple minutes.

He pulled into Ema’s drive and parked. The sun was high and Gregory felt individual photons tickling his skin. He popped the truck latch, exited, and walked to the rear of the Avalon. He paused to stretch a kink from his spine, then bent and reached into the storage area for the cat trap.