House of Skin (13 page)

She refused to accept that.

Her head was reeling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Her temples throbbed and she felt nauseous. It had been so long ago, sometimes she wondered if it had even happened.

Did it? Did he really try to rape you or did you just fantasize it all?

Yes, yes, of course he did. The bastard.

You were asking for it. He excited you like his father did. You wanted him.

No! He tried to rape me!

It’s only rape when you don’t want it. And you wanted it to happen and he knew it.

That’s not how it was.

Then how about now? What are you after this time?

I’m a psychiatrist. I have no feelings for him. It’s my job, my duty to get him off the streets—
and into your bed?—
and into a hospital where he can’t hurt himself or anyone else.

Filled with self-loathing, she dragged herself into the shower. She wasn’t going to think about this crap anymore. She stepped beneath the spray and let the badness wash down the drain. The hot water was invigorating, somewhat arousing. She soaped her breasts and urged the nipples into erection. Her right hand strayed, tracing a line down her belly and between her legs. She inserted her middle finger into herself and began a slow and easy motion that urged a gasp from her throat. She saw Fenn in her mind pushing in and out of her. The image was mildly exciting. His face melted and her dream lover became Eddy Zero. Her fingers worked more feverishly now, sliding in with a frantic motion that made her knees weak, her heart pound. And then Eddy was gone, too, and she saw only herself. A woman masturbating in a shower. The picture of which was intensely exciting. It made her feel dirty and this teased her into new realms of pleasure. When the orgasm came, it was complete and draining. She shut off the shower and climbed back into bed, laying there, gasping for breath.

Feel good, Doc?

She closed her eyes and slept.

That evening she met Fenn at a pizzeria in Russian Hill and they shared an arugula and prosciutto thin crust and a carafe of Chianti. It was exactly what Lisa needed to forget her worries. Good food, alcohol, and small talk. When not being a cop, Fenn was very funny. His stories of his previous marriages were hilarious and she found herself laughing like she hadn’t in ages. The only thing she didn’t like about it all was that the entire episode had the uncomfortable feeling of a date.

Eventually, more serious matters reared their ugly heads.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she said after a time.

“What makes you think anything is?”

“I get the feeling you’re trying your best not to talk about something.”

“All right, Doc. There’s been two more killings.”

“I thought so. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because maybe I was enjoying myself for the first time in years.”

He looked hurt. She’d hurt him by bringing this business up and in hurting him, she felt she had hurt herself. Which made her wonder what exactly were the depths of her feelings for him.

“Two more. Found them this morning in an old brewery.”

“What was the method?”

“Nothing like our Jane Doe,” he said. “More like the one yesterday. In fact, exactly like the one yesterday in some respects except that they were skinned and … nearly dissected.”

He elaborated on what was found: the peeled skins, the almost ritualistic removal of organs.

“The left kidney was missing from that one yesterday. These two we found today were missing livers. What does that tell you?”

Lisa said nothing.

“What does it tell you?” he asked again. “Answer me.”

“You tell me.”

“All right, Doc. How about cannibalism?”

“You’re guessing.”

“Why else? Why would someone want those things?”

“You’re asking me to speculate.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you then: These organs were taken for the sole purpose of eating them. I think our boy is much sicker than you could possibly imagine.”

“That’s pure conjecture.”

“Is it? What else could the reason be?”

“That remains to be seen. It’s not unusual for a serial murderer to take trophies from his victims. In fact, it’s fairly common. They like to gloat over their deeds. In cases of sexual sadism—and my guess is that these are sexually-motivated crimes rather than instances of mass murder for profit or gain—the psychosis of the killer revolves around the fact that they’ve been wronged or mistreated in some way and this is their way of punishing society. That would be typical.”

“Did Eddy Zero feel he was mistreated?”

She shrugged. “Eddy was a tough nut to crack … and you’ll, of course, forgive my inappropriate choice of wording. His motivations were obscure other than he believed he would
find
his father by
becoming
his father. But at the seat of it, at the core, I think he blamed society for forcing his father into hiding or beyond the reach of the law.”

“So you don’t think Eddy is cannibalistic?”

“No, not offhand. But his psychosis was very complex. I can’t say with any certainty that he couldn’t have developed such tendencies.”

“Wait until the newsies find out we have a cannibal on the prowl.”

Lisa felt cold inside. If she’d ever felt any desire for Eddy Zero, that was gone now. She felt only contempt and pure disgust. Anyone who could resort to such a thing was a monster. Then again, there was no proof that that’s what it was about. Either way, it was morally repugnant … though professionally interesting.

“Did Eddy have any anatomical training?”

Lisa shrugged. “Not that I know of. I don’t even think he went to college.”

“Well, whoever killed these three women sure as hell does. Roget, the medical examiner, says there’s a method to these cuttings. Not one he’s familiar with, but a method all the same. Almost professional. Like the purpose was not simple mutilation, but dissection.”

“Just like William Zero.”

“Exactly what Roget said. And he should know. He was involved in that mess twenty years ago.”

Lisa lifted her wine glass, but it was empty. God, she needed a drink. “Any relation between these and our Jane Doe?”

“Roget can’t be sure. The first was a crime of passion, he said. Slashing mania. Blood lust. These others are far more methodical. Whoever did them, took their own sweet time. Roget thinks surgical instruments were used.” Fenn let that sit a moment. “He’s pretty sure our boy has fairly extensive anatomy training. The livers were severed expertly. And the kidney isn’t something just anyone could find. It’s not very obvious. It would take a pro to locate it and remove it so skillfully.”

That said, the meal was certainly over. Fenn paid despite Lisa’s insistence on paying for herself. Outside, they found a bench up the sidewalk and sat on it, enjoying the night. Fenn lit a cigarette and drew deeply off it.

“Can I have one of those?” Lisa said.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Only in times of stress.”

“There’s more,” he said. “The remains of a third body was found at the crime scene this morning … but only fragments. Bones mostly. They appear to be badly weathered, Roget said, but the blood stains are recent. There’s some speculation as to who they might belong to, but there’s an old guy missing, a member of a neighborhood watch.”

Lisa was thinking about the bones and connecting them to the animal remains in the attic of Zero’s house. Logically, there could be no connection … but the deeper she got into this the more logic became suspect.

Fenn smoked and stared at her without really meaning to do so. “I didn’t have time to tell you something on the phone last night, but our Jane Doe’s not the only one missing in that blaze. There was an undertaker name of Fish who was supposedly working on her. His remains haven’t been located either. And his car’s missing.”

“Find this Fish and you find your body. He must have torched the place to cover his body-snatching.”

“It still doesn’t make much sense. This guy Fish has been with the mortuary for over fifteen years … why snap now? Why throw it all away to snatch one corpse? Not to be crude, Doc, but if he’s into the dead he must have more than ample opportunity to satisfy his cravings. Why end the gravy train?”

“Well, if he was a true necrophile—and I’m speculating wildly here— then he may have been overcome by his own desires. Most necrophiles are compulsive. Some just collect things taken from the dead, everything from jewelry to locks of hair. Some only kiss and pet corpses, others need to violate them and sometimes tear them apart. Fish’s compulsion may have been growing steadily for years until he had to have a female corpse he could completely possess. Again, pure speculation.”

Fenn shrugged. “Well, there’s nothing in his apartment and he hasn’t been seen at any of his hang-outs.”

“He’ll turn up, I would think … once his desires are sated.”

Fenn grimaced, then said, “You don’t think Eddy took it?”

“I have no reason to. During our sessions, he never spoke of any leanings towards necrophilia.”

Fenn laughed without humor. “But, then again, did he ever mention any leanings towards cannibalism?”

“Touche.”

Fenn touched her hand. “Listen, Doc. I’m not trying to be a smartass. Believe me. You know more about Eddy than anyone. But I think if this is his handiwork, then he’s only gotten a lot worse since you last saw him.”

Lisa nodded. “I just wonder where this is all going to end.”

There was nothing further to say after that. Fenn drove her back to her hotel and they said their good-byes. If it was a date Fenn had in mind, it hadn’t worked out that way.

The desk clerk stopped Lisa on her way up.

“There was a man here asking after you.”

Lisa’s flesh went cold. “Did he leave a name?”

“No. Refused to. He was waiting in the lobby, but he’s gone now.”

“Could you describe him?”

The clerk looked skyward. “Oh, short, stocky. Early forties. Clean shaven. Brown hair, thinning. He had a blue leather jacket on. Rather stylish and well-groomed. You might want to try the lounge.”

Lisa did, but there was no one in there that matched the clerk’s description. A few businessmen ogled her, but that was about it. She went back up to her room and stretched out on the bed, wondering who her visitor could have been and, worse, what he might have wanted. It seemed, in her mind, that everything these days was connected to Eddy Zero and her instinct told her that this was, too. The description the clerk gave her did not match Eddy, yet she knew there was an association there. One that she’d soon find out about.

She must have dozed, because when she opened her eyes it was after two and the phone was ringing.

“Dr. Lochmere?”

“Yes?”

“I hear you’re looking for Eddy Zero …”

Lisa had known Gulliver little over an hour and she was doing everything she could to present herself as a tough, non-nonsense psychiatrist: cool, clinical, emotionless. She wanted him to sense no weakness. After all, he could’ve been some nut, maybe even an accomplice of Eddy’s leading her to God knew what fate. He had insisted that it be just the two of them. No police, no third parties. She either trusted him or he walked away … and if he walked away, she lost her connection—however tenuous—to Eddy.

She was hardly naïve, of course. She better than just about anyone understood all too well the depravity of the human mind and the violent demons hiding therein. Yet … something in her wanted to trust Gulliver. It wasn’t just the connection to Eddy either. Gulliver seemed like a gentle soul, one who was as frightened of what Eddy had become as she herself was fascinated.

So, going on intuition and nothing more, she allowed this strange man to lead her into an abandoned brewery. She was either tough and fearless or very fucking stupid.

She didn’t want to think about which one it was.

She picked Gulliver up over in Haight-Ashbury and he spilled his story soon enough … or, perhaps, a very bare bones version of it. Lisa had the oddest feeling that he was leaving most of it out. She didn’t tip him off to the fact that she knew about the brewery murders; the ball was in his court and she wanted to give him the space to bounce it in any direction he chose.

“Damn,” Gulliver said when they pulled up to the curb. “Look.”

The building was a crime scene: it was taped off and sealed. There were no police around. It was late in the day and they had been combing the scene since yesterday morning and must have called it quits. At least, for the time being.

“The cops know. They must have found the bodies.”

“Let’s go in anyway,” Lisa suggested, wanting to see. Whether that was professional interest, morbid curiosity, or something much darker hiding in the basement of her psyche, she did not know.

“They throw you in jail for things like that.”

“Let’s do it anyway.”

Good Christ, listen to yourself. You’re practically panting with eagerness.

Gulliver seemed to sense that and moved a little farther away from her on the seat.

“Well?”

He sighed. “All right.”

It was simple enough to get in. The doors were taped, but the windows no longer had any glass in them.

If the exterior of the brewery was unimpressive—a bleak stone monolith ravaged by time and weather—then the interior was another matter entirely. The floors were warped and cracked, the walls peeling, the ceiling punched with holes. It was like being inside a corpse. There was a singular air of bleeding decay and corruption, a creeping morbidity that seemed more appropriate to a mausoleum than a place where beer was once bottled.

“What an atmosphere,” Gulliver remarked. “They ought to film horror movies here. It’s even worse by daylight.”

“Like a morgue,” Lisa said.

“That’s appropriate because this is where it happened,” he said. “I wish I’d never followed them.”

“Do you know anything about this building?” Lisa asked.

“What’s to know?”

“This is where Eddy’s father and his little society butchered a few of their victims in the early days.”

“You’re just a wealth of knowledge, Doctor. You might have mentioned that before when I told you about this place.”