Killing Ways

63

Joe pointed over to the row of doors on the opposite wall. ‘Where do they go?’

‘They lead into the loading bays.’

Joe counted them: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.

‘There are nine of them,’ said Joe, ‘and there are only eight loading bays outside. So that room on the right over there has no external access. Let’s start with that.’

They went over to the door. Joe broke the lock with the bolt cutters. Inside, a huge plastic lidded bin on wheels stood at the center of the room. With a gloved hand, Ren reached up to the handle on the lid and pushed it up. As soon as it opened a crack, they were hit with two smells: cleaning fluid and death.

Suppress the gagging.

‘Give me a leg up,’ said Ren.

‘Seriously?’ said Joe.

‘Yes.’

He did.

The liquid was murky, gray-green, stinking. And rising to the top, floating tips of blonde hair.

‘That would be Dainty Farraday,’ said Ren, sliding back down.

‘And on and on it goes,’ said Joe.

‘We should check the other doors too, just in case,’ said Ren.

They went through them, one to eight, and they were all cleared out.

Ren’s phone went off. She jumped. Joe laughed.

It was a text from Janine. Where are u? Gary going apeshit.

Ren checked the time.

Five thirty-eight! Holy shit! Where has the time gone?

Ren texted Janine. Cover for me? In the middle of something. Will be there in ten. It will be worth it.

Janine replied: Call Gary first. Seriously. Please.

Grrr.

Ren called Gary.

‘Ren, where the hell are you?’ he said.

‘I’m on my way,’ said Ren. ‘You’re not going to believe this shit—’

The phone went dead.

Oh my God. He hung up on me!

That’s bad.

Really bad.

But do not go back to him without proof. He will think you are insane. Again.

She felt a surge of frustration, a rush of violent impulses she struggled to leash. They were terrifying. And they were powerful. And they were not meant for people like Gary.

‘Shall we enter the tower?’ said Ren.

‘After you, then...’ Joe smiled, gestured forward.

Ren pointed to the tower door.

‘He’s been watching us from up there.’

‘What do you think he could really see?’ said Joe.

‘Honestly?’ said Ren. ‘Not a lot. I think it’s psychological. I think it’s a one-up thing, a fuck-you. I don’t think he’s learned anything — how could he have?’

Joe used the bolt cutters on the padlock. He set it down.

They both took out their flashlights, drew their weapons. Ren walked through, the concrete floor illuminated by the beams.

Ugh.

It stank of garbage.

There were two empty bottles of bleach on the floor.

‘This is it,’ said Ren. ‘We’ve found the monster’s lair.’

She moved her flashlight and they struck the metal steps of a spiral staircase.

Oh, God. The lighthouse.

Ren could feel Joe pause behind her. She checked her phone, then turned to him.

‘I’ve lost my signal,’ said Ren. ‘Could you call Gary, let him know, send everyone in?’

‘I’m coming up,’ said Joe.

‘Please don’t,’ said Ren, setting her foot on the rock-solid bottom step. ‘This staircase does not feel stable. It won’t take both of us.’

She kept walking up. ‘Call Gary. He won’t take a call from me.’

Ren got to the top of the stairs. There were two mattresses on the ground, empty food cartons — the same kind of detritus that people everywhere collect just by going about their lives. She walked over to the window. She looked over at Safe Streets. She had a clear view. The bullpen was in darkness.

Because they’re all in Gary’s office at an urgent meeting.

Where I should be.

But I scored! He can’t be mad.

She looked around: suitcases, clothes, girls’, guys’, Dainty Farraday’s guitar, makeup, syringes, Band Aid, magazines, newspapers, razors; objects that echoed through so many lives, but took on a filthy and sinister quality, strewn around the lair of a killer.

Ren ran down the stairs. ‘Did you get him?’

‘No,’ said Joe. ‘It rang out.’

‘Everything’s up there,’ said Ren. ‘It’s Rawlins.’

Joe started to walk past her through the doorway.

It’s safe. Go ahead.

‘I’ll go,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll get everyone.’

She could hear Joe’s footsteps clanging on the metal behind her, then fading as she ran from them.

Ren got back into the Jeep and drove the two minutes to the Livestock Exchange Building. There were five cars in the parking lot: Gary’s, Robbie’s, Janine’s, Everett’s, and a fancy black sporty one.

That car’s familiar. Hmm...

And why is Everett still here?

She ran up the steps and paused. It was an overcast day, but the lobby seemed unnaturally dark. She pushed open the door into the lobby. She was hit with a smell.

Oh, God. Someone is dead in here.

Oh, Jesus Christ.