Beautiful Maids All in a Row (17 page)

“So we'll find them. So you can dazzle us with your prowess and intellect. There's no thrill if we don't know about you.”

“And why do I take their hearts?”

“Half their heart,” I corrected. “A very, very personal souvenir you can take out and look at so you know how great and powerful you are. You like the left half because it pumps the blood everywhere, giving the body life and getting nothing in return. You take what they give you, something
Mommy
never did.”

“You're skating dangerously close, Iris,” he cautioned me. “I won't warn you again.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I won't mention the ‘M' word again. But did I pass your little test?”

“With flying colors. I can tell they selected the right woman for the job, not that I ever had any doubts.”

“Want to know how I'm going to catch you?”

“Do tell.”

“You think you're the great and powerful Oz, that nothing can touch you. That's your weakness: pride. It's the same reason you called me, to show how
smart
you are. You're getting too cocky, and that's not a bright thing to do.”

“I haven't made a single mistake.”

“We have your picture plastered from coast to coast on every news station. Someone's bound to put two and two together and call us.”

“Yes, I saw the sketch,” he said with a slight edge in his voice. “It wasn't very flattering, but neither was the footage of you being wheeled out mangled and torn on a gurney. Do you have nightmares, Iris? Does the not-so-good Sheriff of Rosetta creep into your bedroom night after night and stick that knife in again, and again, and again?”

“Fuck you,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I'll let that one go,” he said graciously. “So how does it feel to be back amongst old friends and lovers? Have you fallen back into bed with our favorite ginger stud yet?”

“Are you trying to provoke me?”

“No, simply asking about your love life. We already discussed mine. It's only fair. So, do old habits die hard or have you been able to resist temptation like a good little widow?”

“It's none of your fucking business.”

“Sore subject, I suppose. You did sleep with the man just a month before your husband's brains were splattered on your nice, freshly painted white walls.”

My radar went off.
“What?”

He ignored me. “Do you suppose he knew? He must have. A husband knows these things. It's like a sixth sense. Now, was it just the once or was Agent Hudson sneaking into your hotel room on a regular basis?”

“How did you know my walls were white?” I asked.

“I saw the crime scene photos. As you may have guessed, I have quite an interest in forensics and law enforcement. And I have friends in high places to feed my obsession.”

“Why did you look at those photos?
My
photos?”

“I was following the achievements of the intriguing Sheriff Meriwether and your paths simply crossed. I was interested to see what fresh new carnage he had wreaked. The hole in your husband's head was impressive, I must say, as large as a baseball, according to the reports. He died instantly—no pain, if it's any consolation. You weren't so lucky, were you? I saw the wound. Lost your colon. Lost one of your ovaries. A shame. Did you scar badly?”

I touched the rough red skin under my shirt. “Could have been worse.”

“I suppose so. Look at poor Sheriff Meriwether. You stabbed him, piercing his lung with his own knife, then you shot him square in the forehead for good measure. How did you feel, squeezing that trigger? Taking his life?”

“I did what I had to.”

“I thought we agreed to honesty. I told you I saw the photos. You're going to sit there and tell me you didn't stand over that man and execute him?”

“According to the inquest it was self-defense.”

“Of course it was,” he whispered. “I know your lover lied for you, as did most of the people in the investigation. But better to deport the offender to a life of tedium and insanity in the South than admit one of their own is a cold-blooded killer.” He paused and then said in a low voice, “Tell me how we're different, Iris.”

“You're crazy, and I'm not.”

“Insult?”

“Statement of fact.”

“You are entitled to your professional opinion. But if I may, you're deluded if you think you don't have a touch of insanity in you. Panic attacks in the middle of a lecture? Blockading yourself in your fortress? Living on pills and alcohol like a common redneck? Tell me that's not insane.”

“Compared to a man who goes around stalking, raping, and eviscerating women he doesn't even know, I'm very comfortable with my state of mental health, thank you.”

“You took the gun that had just blown away your husband and shot a helpless man in the head as you stood above him like a god. Don't get me wrong—I have no problem whatsoever with what you did. As a matter of fact, I applaud you. It showed you were strong and unlabored with conscience, as we all should be. Bravo.”

“I have a conscience.”

“You simply don't listen to it.”

“I listen to it every hour of every day. I may have killed a man, but by God he deserved it. Did Justine deserve it? Did Audrey?”

“Perhaps they wanted it. They're free from the pain and misery of life. Can we say the same?”

“There's always suicide. Go. Have at it. Unless you're a coward.”

“
I
am not the coward, Iris.
I
am not the one who failed to answer my initial question to my satisfaction. I know diversion tactics when I come across them.”

“I don't think anything is ever done to your satisfaction. That's why you'll keep killing. Hoping that the next time it will be perfect, that the pain will go away. Well, it won't.”

“You're evading again, Iris. Why? Afraid to answer?” He paused. “Why are you chasing me, Iris? It's not for a woman who was an acquaintance at best, and it wasn't to get another crack at the red-haired Adonis. So why?”

“You tell me.”

“It's because I'm your redemption, Iris. I am your chance to crawl out of the hole you've dug yourself into. I'll bet you haven't had a single pill, cigarette, or drop of alcohol in days. Have the nightmares stopped? Have the ghosts stopped chasing you?”

“No, I've got fresh ones. Audrey Burke and Ranger Bruce McIntyre.”

“They don't blame you,” he assured me. “I chose her even before you knew I existed. Her death is not on your head. But have you begun your recovery? Are you more like your
real
self, strong and unlabored by conscience? If I were right in front of you, would you shoot me?”

“No, I'd just kick you in the balls and slap the cuffs on you. That's a fate worse than death, right? Having your life controlled day after day. Having people tell you when to eat, to sleep, to piss, when to shower? Oh, those fun showers. Best not drop the soap.”

“Strong and unlabored by conscience, just as I thought. You are definitely a worthy adversary. I thank you for this conversation, Iris. I've thoroughly enjoyed it.”

“If you want to thank me, tell me how you choose them.”

“A magician never reveals all his secrets,” he chuckled. “I've given you enough as it is. I do wish we had met under different circumstances. Perhaps one day we will. I bet we'd be fast friends. Maybe I'll approach you one day and just strike up a conversation. It's not as if you'd know who I am. Maybe we could even become lovers if you can toss out your widow weeds. You're not really my type, truth be told, but I'd
love
to feel inside you.”

The urge to vomit rose. I swallowed it back down. “Name a date, time, and place,” I said in my strongest voice. “Me and about a hundred of my closest gun-toting buddies will be there. We'll have a party.”

He chuckled, a hearty laugh that sent chills down my spine. “I hope we can talk again soon. I'd wish you good luck, but…you know. Good night, Iris. And pleasant dreams.”

The line went dead. I listened to that low-level hum for a few seconds, willing myself to breathe. I managed a few raspy breaths, put the receiver down, jumped out of my chair, and ran to the bathroom.

Bye, bye, burritos.

I stood in the hallway, pounding on Luke's door so hard the
Do Not Disturb
sign fell off. After the fifth succession of pounds, the door opened. Before Luke could say a word, I pushed my way into his room and turned on the light by the side of the bed with my trembling hands. Luke stared at me as if I were the wild woman of Borneo. I suppose that's the way I looked, with my hair going five different directions and my pupils still dilated from the adrenaline rush I was coming off of.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked as he stepped toward me.

“My hands won't stop shaking.” I balled them into fists, which helped a little but didn't totally stop them.

“What happened?”

“You need to call Richmond and tell them to back-trace a call to my hotel room that ended about two minutes ago,” I instructed, my words flowing like water. “He probably used a prepaid cell, but we should still check.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please! Now! You have to do it now!” I shouted.

“Not until you tell me what happened. You're trembling. Did you have another nightmare?”

I scoffed. “Will you please stop talking to me like I'm some hysteric?” Which was exactly how I sounded. I took a deep breath. “I didn't have a nightmare.”

“Then what is going on?”

“He called me,” I said. “He
called
me.”

Luke's eyes narrowed. “Who called you?”

“I-I-I,” I stammered, “I was asleep, and the phone rang. I picked it up, and a man whose voice I didn't recognize came on. He said he was…the Woodsman.”

Luke's expression of concern didn't change. “A man claiming to be the Woodsman called you?”

“No,” I said, “the
Woodsman
called me.”

Relief washed over Luke's face. “God…I thought something bad happened.”

My jaw dropped. “A serial killer just called my hotel room. That's not a good thing, Luke!”

“Iris, it was a crank,” he assured me. “I can't tell you how many—”

“It was him! I didn't believe him at first either, but
it was him
!” His voice came back into my head,
“I'd love to feel inside you,”
and my body began to tremble almost as if I were having a seizure. “I'm—I'm—I—”

Luke grabbed my shoulders. “You need to calm down.” He sat me down on the edge of my bed and strode into the bathroom. A second later, he returned with a glass of water. “Drink this.”

I grabbed the glass and took a tiny sip. “There, now I've drunk your stupid water, so will you please get on the trace?” I asked, my voice hard.

Deciding it was better to just do what I asked instead of having to sit through another of my hissy fits, he picked up the phone and told the Richmond field office to trace the call. “Happy now?” he asked as he hung up the phone.

“I'm not crazy,” I insisted. “It was him—I'd bet my life on it.”

Luke pulled out the chair from behind the desk and moved it toward the bed so he could sit across from me. “Iris…”

“It was him,” I said again. “I know it.”

“Tell me what he said.”

I rehashed the entire conversation in a spew of verbal diarrhea. I told him about the hearts, the pompousness, and the profile. I decided to leave out the part about how much he knew about our tryst. No need to worry Luke about things he couldn't control.

“Give me your impressions,” Luke said after I'd finished.

“Intelligent, no accent, sounded older, like he was in his forties or fifties. He was very polite, or as polite as a psychopath can be. He kept calling me ‘Iris.' He seemed to end every sentence with it.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No,” I said, “not really. Just idle taunts.”

“I still think it was a crank,” Luke admitted. “I mean, why call you? What could he possibly gain from it?”

“He wanted to see if I was as good as he thought, if I would make a ‘worthy adversary,' to quote,” I said with disdain. “I passed.”

Luke scoffed. “I'm sorry. I said you'd be kept out of sight,” he said, shaking his head. “This shouldn't have happened.”

“It's okay; it was bound to sometime. I've never exactly been a low-profile person.”

“Do you think he'll call again?”

“I doubt it. He's had his fun.”

“You're still moving to another hotel,” he told me. “If it is him, he knows where you are now. I don't want to risk his coming after you.”

“He won't. He's probably a thousand miles from here right now. At least here you're across the hall,” I said. Luke glanced away from me, turning a little red in the cheeks. “I—I mean you
all
are across the hall,” I added quickly. “The whole team. All of you, not…um…”

Mercifully, the telephone rang, saving me from myself. Luke pushed himself up to get it. He didn't say anything, just shook his head and listened. After thirty seconds, he hung up with a defeated sigh. He stood by the phone, eyes moving like he was reading a report.

“Luke?” I asked after a second

“Prepaid cell. Totally untraceable.”

“Shit,” I said.

Luke ran his fingers through his hair, eyes bugging out of his head. “Okay…that settles it. You're not to go anywhere alone, I don't care if it's to the fucking bathroom, do you hear me?” He must have been upset to use the “F” word.

“He won't come after me,” I insisted. “He wants to prove he's smarter than me, and he can't do that if I'm dead.”