Part 14 (1/2)
”Forgive my ignorance, Miss,” Bradshaw said, interrupting. ”While that certainly helps with the time of death, why the excitement?”
”Don't you see?” Jane enthused. ”He tried to hide something from me. He tried to hide it but I beat him, and if I can do it once then I can do it again; he can't hide from me anymore!” she snarled. ”That son of a b.i.t.c.h is mine.”
Randall drove back to Faircliff with his mind buzzing wildly out of control. His story had quickly grown beyond his wildest dreams and now he had an empty serial killer's grave and DNA evidence at a murder scene. The police had announced to the world that Arthur Durage was the Crucifier and that Durage was dead, but what if he wasn't? What if the police had covered up the previous murders somehow and now their lies were back?
He tried to get his head around all of the complicated scenarios to stare into the dark heart of the twisted shadows.
His main problem, of course, was that while his conjecture and theories box was overflowing, his evidence box was empty.
The long road was draining his energy and he turned into the next service station to rejuvenate his senses. The car park was busy with a myriad of travellers, all with their own stories and destinations ahead of them. For once he didn't feel jealous of their lives, for his own was surely more important than any of them.
He entered the large building, pa.s.sing through a waft of various food smells from the outlets offering artery-clogging quick-stop refills. The lobby was huge with the various stores off shooting in spurs from the atrium. There was a bank of public telephones that he walked past on his way to the toilet area. As he pa.s.sed the first phone on the wall, it suddenly burst into life with a shrill ring.
He paused, puzzled at the coincidence, before moving past it. The first phone immediately stopped, only for the second to start ringing insistently. He walked by a little spooked, but as he moved at an increasingly fast pace, every phone that he pa.s.sed rang at him with screaming high-pitched tones.
He reached the end of the line just as the last phone rang. He was a little shaken but he was also a man with a deep centre to his core. Instinctively, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the handset in defiance. ”Yes?” he asked in a quiet voice.
”Stop looking for me,” a coa.r.s.e voice whispered back down the line.
”Who is this?” Randall demanded.
”You know who I am.”
”I really have no idea just what silly games you think you're playing, but I can a.s.sure you that they will not work on me,” Randall said, with more a.s.suredness than he felt.
”You're not usually my type, Mr Reporter, but I can always make exceptions. You have seen enough evidence of my work, Randall; did you ever wonder what it would feel like to fall beneath my blade?”
”Durage?” Randall asked incredulously.
”Stop looking for me,” the voice reiterated. ”Stop before it's too late.”
Randall could only stare down at the phone as the connection was brutally severed. There was no one else around him and the whole wall of phones suddenly rang out together in a deafening chorus. Randall stood rooted to the spot, staring in disbelief at the ringing telephones. Eventually, his paralysis broke and he ran for the bathrooms. Once inside he splashed cold water on his face and tried to still his pounding heart rate. The face staring back at him from the mirror looked ancient and pale. His skin was thin like parchment paper and there was an unhealthy hue to his colouring. His hands gripped the edge of the porcelain sink and he desperately tried to find his rational mind, but it wasn't easy. This whole thing was starting to spook him like a ten year old listening to ghost stories around his first campfire.
His brain was trying to work through the facts and while he had to admit that the telephones had been a good trick, it was surely just that. The idea that Arthur Durage was still on the loose was exciting in the abstract and its existence on paper looked tantalizing; the thought that a killer might be stalking him, however, was far from thrilling.
Randall had no illusions as to the content of his character. He was no crusading hero and if the G.o.ds of fate had seen fit to task his shoulder with carrying the weight then they were in for a rude awakening.
The face stared back at him in the mirror and he saw just how ill he must look to other people. His old bones were fading fast and even if he'd wanted to, which he surely didn't, he was the last man capable of saving anyone. He had started this comeback trail with the idea of ending his life with some dignity and a little success, not to mention the prospect of proving to his b.i.t.c.h of an ex-wife that he wasn't quite the long-term loser that she loved to label him as. He had a son who he had been absent from for most of his life and he wanted to prove to the kid that his old man had something about him, even if it was just leaving a cheque behind.
Footsteps startled him as someone approached the toilets. For some reason he panicked and ran for the nearest stall, slamming and locking the door quickly behind him. The cubicle stank to high heaven and he wondered when it had last been cleaned.
The door to the men's toilets swung open on an ominous whisper and shoes clacked across the tiled floor.
Instinctively, Randall stood on the toilet keeping his feet up off the floor and out of sight. He braced his arms against the cubical walls and crouched, sweating profusely as the footsteps grew closer. He held his breath tightly in his chest as the man moved to the far end of the cubicle wall. A door banged loudly as the man thrust it open and proceeded to open every cubicle door one by one.
Randall's legs were burning with the unnatural effort of his precarious balancing act. Door after door banged open as the man worked his way along the wall. Randall turned towards the noise and saw that there was a crude hole forced through his cubicle wall. Graffiti was scrawled across the surface, depicting graphic acts of s.e.x, along with several telephone numbers.
Randall leaned closer and placed his eye over the hole to try and see what was happening as the man had suddenly grown silent. The only sound was that of his own heavy breathing as he stared through the hole into darkness beyond. He thought that his chest was going to explode with the strain of remaining so still and quiet. His legs trembled and his hands shook. An eye suddenly appeared on the other side of the hole and Randall screamed in terror at the blinking orb. He thrust a finger through and poked the eye hard enough to make the man on the other side stagger back, screaming in shock and pain.
Randall stumbled off his perch and out of the cubicle. He broke for the door, not turning back and not hearing the man's anguished cries after him.
”Jesus, love,” the man shouted, holding his eye and feeling the rush of s.e.xual excitement wane, as his hopes of finding a willing partic.i.p.ant in the stalls were dashed. ”You only had to say that you weren't interested! You didn't have to b.l.o.o.d.y blind me.”
”Are you sure about him?” Jane asked Danny quietly as Bradshaw returned to the bar to get another round in.
”No, but we'll need him. What about you? Can't you get a read on our American cousin?”
Jane pondered the question for a moment. In truth she couldn't get much of a read on Bradshaw of any kind, at least nothing much below the surface. It wasn't that surprising as he was a law enforcement agent and used to keeping a steely resolve. It was only that she had been so close to Danny's father that she had been able to peek behind Danny's curtain, and even then it wasn't an in-depth a.n.a.lysis. ”Not really,” she finally responded. ”I get a good vibe from him. I think that he's honest enough, and dedicated to his job; that has to count for something.”
”Should my ears be burning?” Bradshaw said, appearing back at the table with a silent ease that was fast becoming his trademark.
”Look, as much as I appreciate the help I have to be getting back to the office soon,” Danny said. ”There's much to be done, especially after..., you know,” he trailed off.
”Then I'll make this quick,” Jane replied.
She leaned into the centre of the table. The pub was quiet and she had taken a booth at the back. It was a pleasant surrounding, far too pleasant for what lay ahead. The building was old and teemed with life and history from the oak beams and stone walls. She had been formulating a plan of sorts for the past few days and now that she had her success against the killer, it was time to act.
”Look. This guy has been pumping information into my head for days now,” she began. ”He shows me what he wants when he wants and I can't stop him. I can't get a look at his face, not even a whiff of what he looks like. But here's the thing; earlier, I managed to slip past him. I could see what he wanted to hide from me and I can use that.”
”Use it how?” Bradshaw asked interestedly while Danny stayed silent.
”This whole thing isn't a one-way street,” she replied eagerly. ”If he can show me things then I can show him things as well. I can tap into what he's looking for with these women and we can find where he's going to strike.”
”A decoy,” Bradshaw said, nodding.
”Hey, wait a minute,” Danny started. ”Who exactly is going to stand in for one of his victims? I do hope that you're not volunteering, Jane?”
”Me? You must think I'm nuts!” she exclaimed. ”We run it through you, Danny - a legitimate police sting all the way.”
”And how exactly do I sell this to Chalmers and Barrett?” Danny asked.
”Me,” Bradshaw offered with a wide grin. ”Chalmers is only likely to authorise any sort of expenditure if it comes from an FBI Agent's lips.”
”And you're really sure that you can influence him that much?” Danny asked her sternly.
”No,” she answered honestly. ”I'm not 100% sure. But this animal has wormed his way into my life, Danny. He's killed innocent people, including your friend, and I don't know about you guys but I'm sick and tired of running.”
Randall waited impatiently for the woman to show up. She had been indignant, then reluctant, then angry, before turning submissive and tearful when he'd turned to blackmail. Kim Croft had been hooked by the lure of easy money for whatever reason and now Randall was going to reel her in. He cared little for her sick mother and only for what she could do for him now.
The incident at the service station had shaken him badly at first, but now it was only serving to rea.s.sure him that he was on the right track. Whatever was happening here, there was a serial killer, dead bodies, police corruption and ghost stories; he was going to be able to write his own ticket. He could feel in his bones that he wasn't far from the grave and the threat from a disconnected voice down a telephone line wasn't going to stop him now.