First Time Killer (31 page)

He’d just finished up his room-service dinner on Wednesday night when he got the call from Celia. Management had finally decided on a course of action. Her orders were simple, and they applied to everyone at the station, from the on-air talent down to the receptionist. Go in tomorrow or be fired. No excuses. If you were too afraid, she said, pack up your things and don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out. Tin Man agreed before Celia had finished her second sentence.

A part of him was relieved to get back to work. He didn’t want to be in hiding for the rest of his life. Might as well get back on the stage. Let the whole world know Tin Man wasn’t a coward. A larger part of him was excited. Big things lay ahead. He tried to push his anxiety and fear aside as he readied himself for tomorrow. The biggest day of his career.

The next morning, he got dressed in his usual attire, jeans and a team logo sweatshirt. Fighting Irish. He gathered up some notes and stuffed them into his backpack. Then he took the service elevator and left the hotel through the back entrance, the one squeezed between the laundry room and the kitchen.

At the radio station, two gargantuan security guards stood sentry, just inside the front door. “See some ID, please?” One asked, without a smile.

“Yeah, sure.” Tin Man pulled his wallet out and the guard took it, holding it close to his face as he examined Tin Man’s license. He consulted his clipboard. A moment later, the guard nodded. “You’re okay.” Then he folded his arms and stepped back.

Tin Man wasn’t sure he felt “okay.” Whoever killed Tubby got into the station, somehow eluding the guards. The cops theorized someone with a key entered through the side door. Which led them to believe it was somebody on the inside, a WTLK employee. Tin Man wondered if anyone told the cops dozens of keys had been given out to female groupies by the station’s randy deejays. Himself included.

Tin Man tried to focus, needed to concentrate. Bring his A game. There was no doubt in his mind today’s show would be the most listened to in the
Circus
’s history. Modestly speaking, it had the chance to be one of the most listened to broadcasts of all time. It was almost surreal. Hosting a talk show where the main topic—the only topic for weeks—was the killing of the people involved with the show.

He skipped his traditional head-poke into master control to wish J.T. a good show and went straight into the studio, setting his backpack on the floor next to him. Marie was waiting for him in the co-pilot’s chair. During his discussion with Celia, she’d agreed to his proposal. Hire Marie to be his sidekick, at least until the First Time business was over.

Tin Man nodded. “Hello. Pleased you’ll be joining me. Just take your cues from me, and everything will go smoothly.” He wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat. Took his seat behind the mic and settled in.

J.T. signaled him from master control.

“Good afternoon. This is Tin Man on the
Afternoon Circus
. With me today is Marie Templeton. She’s going to be my new partner for…for the foreseeable future,” Tin Man said. He lifted his head and nodded solemnly to J.T. and Celia in the booth. Next to them sat the ever-present technician from the police department ready to trace any calls from First Time. Hope must spring eternal down at the police station.

The phones were already hopping. On the monitor, every incoming line had a name and topic tagged to it, but Tin Man ignored the phones, instead pulling the sheaf of papers from his backpack. Smoothed the pages out on the console before him and began. “First of all, let me extend my condolences to Tubby’s—Dewey Wilson’s—family and friends. He was a true radio talent. One who was snuffed out in the beginning of what would have been a very promising career.” Tin Man glanced into the control room. Tension gripped everyone, judging by their faces.

“Secondly, I want to thank all of the listeners for their continued support of the
Afternoon Circus
. During this siege, you’ve rallied around us. Kept listening to us. Showed us the love in every way imaginable.” He licked his lips. “For that, I know I speak for the whole show when I say simply
, thank you
.” Tin Man paused a few beats. Gathered himself. Cleared his throat.

“Finally, I’d like to address these next remarks to one person. One vile monster. First Time.” He deepened his voice and made a conscious effort to slow the words down. “You’ve killed our own. You’ve terrorized our community. You will be stopped. Together—and I’m talking about us at the
Circus
, our tremendous fans, and Fairfax County’s finest—we will apprehend you and bring you to justice. And if you think that’s just lip service, you’ve got another thing coming.” He hit the raucous crowd noise sound effect.

As it played, he carefully deposited his speech into the wastebasket next to the console. Took a few gulps of coffee from a blue mug with the call letters WTLK inscribed in red. The thought of Tubby’s tongue in his Giants mug almost made him puke.

“What do you say, Marie? Shall we go to the phones? See what our listeners have to say?”

Try line 4 first.
J.T.’s IM flashed at him. Tin Man hit the button. “Hello Sandy. What’s on your mind today?”

“Hi Marie. Hi Tin Man.”

“Hi Sandy,” Tin Man said. “What do you say?”

“This question’s for Marie.”

“Okay, Sandy. Go ahead.” Marie leaned forward and Tin Man tried to get a read on her. The calm demeanor seemed at odds with her calling. Maybe if she were wearing a sequined turban and a silvery caftan he’d be able to accept her prophecies more readily. Like they were all part of an elaborately crafted stage show.
Marie the Magnificent will amaze and astound you!
But she seemed so unassuming. So normal.

Sandy said, “Can you look into the future and see what First Time’s going to do next?”

A world-weary smile appeared on Marie’s face. But the smile didn’t extend beyond the mouth. The rest of her face reflected a profound sadness. “If only it were that easy. I can’t control my visions, my sensings. Usually, I’m accurate. Sometimes, I’m not. Unfortunately, I don’t know ahead of time which it will be.” She sighed. “My abnormal sight is my burden, I guess. I don’t choose to see these things. But I can’t ignore them either. Wouldn’t be right. So here goes.” Marie stopped talking and closed her eyes.

Tin Man watched the seconds tick by in silence. Glanced into the control room. Everyone seemed mesmerized by Marie’s performance.

After another few seconds of dead air, Tin Man spoke, in a voice barely above a whisper. “Marie? You okay? We understand how tough this is for you.”

Marie’s eyes fluttered open. She spoke into the mic. “This won’t stop. The killing will go on. First Time will keep terrorizing this city until he is caught.”

“When will that be?” Tin Man asked.

“Not sure.” Marie squinted at the far wall, focused on another place altogether. “Not weeks. Months. Maybe many months.” Tears started to form in her eyes. She brushed them away. “Oh, dear God. I hope I’m wrong.”

First Time’s call came thirty minutes later.

LINE 5. NOW. IT’S FIRST TIME.

Tin Man stabbed at the button for line five. “Hello? Who is this?”

“You know damn well who this is, a-hole. Get Rick in there. I need to speak with him right this second.” No inflection in the voice despite the harsh words.

Tin Man checked master control. J.T. was screening calls, and Celia stood next to him. The police technician had a phone up to his ear, the other arm waving wildly.

“Well, Ringmaster Rick’s segment doesn’t begin until five o’clock.” As he spoke, Tin Man tapped out an IM to J.T.
Is Rick around?

“Cut the crap. He’s there somewhere. Get him. I’ll wait.”

Tin Man said, “Okay, give us a minute. We’ll see if we can locate him.” Then he moved his mouth away from the mic and called out to no one in particular, “Hey, Jimmy Intern, go get Rick Jennings. Stat.”

He adjusted his headphones so his right ear was uncovered. Then he cozied up to the mic. “Okay. Should be a couple of minutes. Can I ask you a question?” Tin Man let it hang, waiting for a response before he plunged ahead. Next to him, Marie sat motionless, hands folded on the console, tears in her eyes.

“I’ll only talk to Rick.”

“He’s on his way. In the meantime, there are millions of listeners waiting to hear what you have to say. It’s all you, buddy. Feel free to get started.” Tin Man pressed his lips together, hoping First Time would find the allure of an open mic too big a temptation to resist.

Nobody spoke for twenty seconds. There was a reason they called the silence “dead air.” Too much of it spelled death. Usually listeners wanted to hear something. If they didn’t, they switched stations. In this situation, however, Tin Man knew nobody in the country would be switching.

Tin Man moistened his lips, moved closer to the mic. Tried swallowing the lump in his throat. He heard the sharp intake of breath in his left headphone. Then the robotic voice. “You think you’re hot stuff, Mr. Shock Jock? How about this?
I’m
the one your listeners are tuning in to hear. Don’t believe me? Check the ratings. Before and after. You’ll see.
I’m
the reason for your success.”

Tin Man said, “If you’re such a big deal, why don’t you come out into the light? Show yourself? Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a stone-cold coward. Hiding behind your phone calls and your voice-disguising equipment.”

“Get Rick.”

“Rick will be here soon.”

First Time spoke in a measured tone. “He’s got sixty seconds. And don’t worry about trying to trace the call. You haven’t been able to yet, and that’s not going to change. I’m much smarter than the cops.”

R
ICK HAD BEEN
in his office listening to Tin Man and Marie when First Time called. As soon as he heard that robotic voice, as soon as the first few words were uttered, he raced down to the studio and barged right in, motioning Tin Man aside. He slid into the warm seat, already talking.

“Rick Jennings here. You are live, First Time. Speak to me.” Rick focused on the mic before him, trying to slow down his thumping heart.

“Rick, Rick, Rick. Or should I say JUDAS! You betrayed me. You set me up. You put the cops on my tail. I thought we had something, you and me. But it was a farce. A sham.”

“I’m sorry First Time, I didn’t want to cause you any harm. I was trying to get you some help.” No sense pissing him off right away.

“I don’t need any goddamn help.”

“What
do
you need?”

First Time didn’t answer.

Rick tried again, softer, with the full Jennings gloss. “What do you need, First Time?”

“Respect. Trust. To be treated like a human being, one who matters. Not to be deceived. Manipulated.”

Rick had the feeling First Time was talking about something besides the previous night’s incident. “Who’s manipulating you?”

“I thought you were my friend. Or at least respected me. I trusted you and wham, you tried to trap me.”

“Like I said, I was trying to help.”

“You want to help? I’ll tell you how you can help. You can broadcast my message over the air. Without trying to trick me. Without getting the cops involved.”

“The cops are already involved. You’ve killed people. Why don’t you give yourself up? Then you can explain everything.”

A shrill, piercing sound assaulted his ears. Electronic feedback of some sort, he guessed. Then it abated. Rick waited a beat, but there was simply silence. “Hello? Still there?”

Some clicking noises, then the voice was back. “Here’s what I want. I want you to be my radio Boswell. Speak for me. Chronicle my life.” The same monotone, but at a different pitch.

Rick’s throat was dry. He reached for his water bottle, but realized he hadn’t brought one. The only liquid within reach was something brackish in a mug Tin Man had left behind. He dry-swallowed. “I’m not sure what you mean.” He glanced into master control, hoping to see the police tech high-fiving everyone. Instead, he saw him standing up, hand on the top of his head. It didn’t look like the trace was going well.

“Here’s what I mean. Leave your little girl. Leave your wife. Come along with me for a while. I’ll give you a second chance.”

Rick’s heart began to beat faster and his face flushed. What did First Time know about Livvy and Barb? “For how long?”

“Hard to say. A week. A month. The rest of time.”

Rick stood, extending the mic along with him. His skin itched and he needed some air. “I see. Hard to plan for that.” His breathing became rapid and shallow. He waved to J.T. who just shrugged. No help there. Rick scratched his neck, raking the fingernails over the tender skin. The more he scratched, the more it itched.

“Yes, it is hard to plan perfection. I guess you’ll just have to trust me. So, Ringmaster Rick, what do you say? Will you join me?”

Rick sat back down. Closed his eyes, leaned back. His heart raced. What should he say to this madman? What
could
he say that would prevent any future killing? First Time wanted him to say yes. Yes, yes, yes. He could tell. That would make him happy. But was that best? So far, Rick had gone along with First Time. And what had it led to? They were no closer to catching him and people were still dying. Maybe First Time’s deeds were Rick’s fault, for coddling him and putting him on the air and stringing him along. Playing him for the amusement of his listeners. For Celia’s ratings.

“Rick? What do you say?” The killer’s monotone taunted him.

Rick opened his eyes and scooted forward until his lips grazed the windscreen. “Here’s what I say: Goodbye, First Time. Forever. Don’t ever call here again. No one wants to talk to you, you worthless piece of shit. You are the biggest coward this world’s ever seen. May you rot in Hell.” Rick cut the line. Cued the spots. And put his head down on the table. God help him.

Celia roared into the studio. “What the fuck are you doing? Telling First Time to go to Hell? Have you lost your mind? What if he gets mad and kills somebody? You want that on your head?” Her eyes blazed with fury, dark and smoldering.