Splintered (18 page)

“Yes, because naked men who are bloodied and tortured to within an inch of their lives are more concerned with the ten dollars in your fucking wallet than getting medical help,” Hutch responded with disgust.

“The victim also reported that a woman in a minivan also sped by. I don’t know, Hutch,” Granite said with a shake of his head as he stared out the window. “I don’t have a whole lot of faith in humanity anymore. Poor bastard had just endured unimaginable torture, and then he has to run over a mile down a dirt road, stones digging in and cutting up the soles of his feet, to find help because these assholes just drove right on by.”

He knew exactly how Granite felt, although Hutch had zero faith in humanity as a whole. He’d lost it years ago, and each day all he had to do was flip on the news to cement his feelings. And now with the possibility the CS—as Noah had dubbed him—had possibly struck again, he doubted his belief would be changing anytime soon.

If it were CS who was behind this newest attack, it would explain why neither he nor Noah had heard from him. Hutch had been sure the speech Noah gave, basically calling the killer an uneducated coward and loser, would not have gone ignored by a narcissist like CS. His pride would never allow such an insult to go unpunished. Hutch wasn’t getting his hopes up that the sick bastard was behind this recent attack, however. Hutch never got this lucky.

Hutch spotted at least a half dozen cruisers, lights flashing, surrounding what looked like an abandoned semi box trailer in the middle of a field. A few hundred yards behind it were a dilapidated shack, rusted truck, and defunct windmill. It didn’t look as if anyone had inhabited the place in a century.

The scene around Hutch as he stepped out of the car was controlled chaos. Uniformed men and women scurried around with puzzled looks on their faces as if in shock. Hutch and Granite approached the trailer, and the door burst open, a female officer rushing out and falling to her knees, puking and sobbing.

“Oh fuck,” Granite mumbled. “This doesn’t look good.”

“No shit,” Hutch agreed. When there were puking cops, Hutch knew whatever they were about to witness was going to be bad.

There were two officers near the trailer. One bent to console the anguished female, and the other faced Hutch with a grim expression. “You must be the Feds,” he remarked dismally as he swiped the back of his hand across his sweat-dampened brow.

“Agent Hutchinson and this is Agent Green,” Hutch informed him. “What have we got?”

“A house of horror,” the officer replied with a shake of his head. “Walls are covered with various torture devices. There’s a physician’s exam table equipped with shackles, but it’s the videos….” He shook his head again as his face contorted. “Sick bastard videotaped it.”

That explained the expressions and the woman’s response to being inside. It was hard enough witnessing the aftermath of a madman, but to watch him actually inflicting his depravity would affect even the most seasoned cops.

“You view the videos?” Hutch asked, already knowing the answer but needing it confirmed. The officer nodded and looked away.

“Recognize any of the victims? Perhaps the men recently found mutilated?” Granite inquired.

Again the officer shook his head. He continued to stare away from the trailer, unblinking, the effect of what he’d witnessed evident in his gaze. Finally he turned to Hutch and met his eyes. “There was only one other male victim besides the one who got away.”

Hutch found himself disappointed he’d been right. A small part of him had held on to the small sliver of hope that it was the man he was hunting.

“How’s the victim doing? Has he IDed the culprit?” Hutch asked.

“Don’t know yet. We got an officer with him, but I haven’t heard if they’ve had a chance to talk to him or how he’s doing.”

“What about the owner of the property?” Granite added.

“No help. This place has been abandoned for about thirty years. Hell, with how remote this place is, I doubt anyone even knew the trailer was here, or if they did, they never paid attention or thought too much about it. I’m sure the locals will have some leads. At least I hope so,” the officer commented and wiped his brow again.

“Me too. Guess we better have us a look,” Hutch said to Granite, who nodded without comment.

From the look on Granite’s face, he wasn’t any more eager than Hutch was to enter the trailer. Another hellish nightmare to add to the already excessive pile of shit they’d accumulated over the years. Unfortunately, the majority of the scenes they came across were things that could never be unseen.

“I’ll let the lead investigator know you’re here. Dr. Kimball is inside.”

“Thanks,” Hutch muttered, already steeling himself before planting a boot on the steps. One last deep breath and he hoisted himself up and entered the trailer.

The trailer had been turned into a homemade torture chamber. The walls and shelves were lined with sex toys, surgical instruments, common tools, chains, straps, gags, spreader bars, and even a cattle prod. Many, if not all, of the items were covered in blood. Numerous photographs were taped to the walls depicting women in various stages of torture, the wielder of the camera catching the victims with their mouths wide open in a silent scream. Hutch didn’t recognize any of the victims in the images, and he knew this wasn’t his case. While the newest victim was male, it was apparent the perp preferred women. The things that stuck with Hutch was the way that each item had been painstakingly labeled as well as the “rules” posted in large print on the wall.

The owner of the trailer was very specific on the code of conduct, the first item being that he was to be referred to as “Master” at all times. Other items were more chilling, such as number six: Screaming will be rewarded.

At the end of the trailer, two uniformed officers and a man in scrubs, who Hutch assumed was Dr. Kimball, watched a small video screen, a look of horror spreading across their somber faces.

Hutch could hear the screams coming from the recording and was thankful he wouldn’t have to watch. This wasn’t the work of CS. He and Granite had their own horrors to discover.

He nudged Granite. “Let’s step out. We’ll call this in.”

“Works for me,” Granite responded, sounding relieved.

As soon as they were back outside, an officer approached Hutch with his hand held out. “I’m Detective Fletcher, lead investigator. You must be my Feds.”

Hutch shook the offered hand. “Actually no. We’ve been working on another case and thought perhaps they might be tied.”

Fletcher cocked his head, looking confused. “You just got here. How do you know they aren’t tied?”

“Our perp prefers killing and mutilating men, whereas yours is mainly into torturing women from what we can tell.”

“Oh, you must be working the serial killer case.” Hutch nodded. “I’ve been following it. Nasty case. I agree, though, this isn’t the work of your guy. I recognize a few of the victims, mainly prostitutes. We’ve gotten some complaints from a few girls, a john who likes extremely rough sex. He’s smart, though, he tends to prey on the girls who are strung out on drugs and homeless. He’s a sick bastard, and I have no idea how some of those women survived, but I don’t think he’s purposely a killer. I’ll still compare the photos and videos to any missing person cases and Jane Does to see if he does have any actual murders.”

Hutch thanked Fletcher for his time, wished him luck, and then pulled out his phone and dialed the bureau, explaining what was going on. They assured him they’d send someone out, and Hutch ended the call and nodded to Granite. After making a few more inquiries and explanations as to why they were calling in other agents, Hutch and Granite headed out.

“What the hell is the chance that another sick fucker is working in the same area?” Granite asked in disbelief as soon as they were heading down the road.

“Apparently pretty good, and considering the size of Chicago, it doesn’t surprise me. But you heard Andrews, he doesn’t think this guy is trying to be a killer. Hell, Granite, this Master might simply have run out of willing participants.”

“Yeah, well, still, remind me to never buy real estate in this town,” Granite grumbled, staring out the side window.

“I’m beginning to think there isn’t anywhere safe,” Hutch pointed out.

“Wow, you sound as jaded as I feel.”

“Ya think?” Hutch snapped. “I think we need a new job description.”

“Ooh! Maybe we can start our own stripping service. Door-to-door hunks at your service.”

When Hutch didn’t respond, Granite added, “C’mon, it would be fun.”

“You just want to finally get a good look at my ass,” Hutch tossed back.

“Maybe. And if it were fine enough, I’d fill you like a couponer fills her grocery cart.”

“Boo,” Hutch hissed. “They just keep getting more and more lame. You better find another gig.”

Granite laid his head back and looked over at Hutch with a lopsided grin. Hutch couldn’t help but return the smile. Granite’s
gig
actually worked perfectly, and neither of them dwelled on the torture chamber as they headed back to the city. They had no illusions about what would be facing them back at the hotel from their own case, but for the moment, Granite had made sure they had a bit of a reprieve.

Chapter 18

T
HE
BOX
containing unwanted memories had been reopened, and no matter how hard Noah tried to close and reseal it, he couldn’t. His demons had been set free, and they refused to be quieted once again. The only thing he had in his favor this time as he revisited his past was he was better prepared and able to handle the memories much better than when he was younger. In actuality, the memories had never really left him. They had shaped who and what he was, driven him to seek an answer for the unanswerable. It was something he was still seeking even if at some level he knew it was in vain.

His past was also the reason he was now in the sights of a deranged killer.

When he’d first received the photos of himself and Hutch, he’d assumed it was Hutch who had been the main subject of interest since it had been he who had received the severed body part while Noah only received a few photos. Now, as he skimmed through the newest photos, he was forced to rethink his initial impression. There were photos of Noah walking to class, getting a coffee at the local café, entering his apartment building, but it was the ones of him sleeping that had caused the deep, bone-twisting fear he hadn’t felt in eighteen years. They hadn’t been taken through the window, but as if whoever had taken them had been in the same room. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, as, since his scare, he’d made sure his door and windows were locked each time he was home, and yet….

Noah ran a hand through his hair and along the back of his neck, his hand coming away damp with sweat. He’d put off the inevitable long enough. He picked up his cell and dialed the familiar number.

Hutch answered on the first ring. “Noah?”

“Hi, Hutch, I—”

“What’s wrong?” Hutch interrupted.

Noah shouldn’t have been surprised Hutch had picked up that there was something wrong, even if Noah had tried his best to sound neutral. It was uncanny how Hutch was able to read people so easily. He gave up even trying to sound calm.

“I got another envelope,” he told him dismally.

“I’m on my way.”

The line went dead, and Noah turned off his phone, setting it aside. He sat back in his chair, staring at the scattered photos. He’d been smart enough this time not to touch the envelope or the photos with his bare hands, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. This guy wasn’t going to be caught by something as amateurish as leaving his prints or DNA on an envelope.

As he continued to stare at the photos, Noah ran his hand over his chin, the two days of growth prickling his palm, and only then did he notice his stained jeans and wrinkled T-shirt.

“Shit!” He jumped from his chair, pulling off his clothes as he rushed to the bedroom. He’d been so preoccupied with the photos and calling Hutch that he hadn’t even paid attention to the hot mess he was.

He had no way of knowing how long it would take Hutch to arrive, so the best he could do was throw on a clean shirt and jeans and splash some water on his face and hair. He brushed his teeth, slapped on little cologne, and was at least presentable when there was a rap on his front door. Not exactly the look he wanted to sport around Hutch, but it would have to do, he was out of time. At least he didn’t stink, he thought as he opened the door.

“What have ya got?” Hutch demanded as he pushed into the room.

Noah checked the hall, but neither Granite nor Byte was there so he closed the door. “Nice to see you too,” he murmured with a sigh and then chastised himself. This wasn’t a social call. “They are on the desk.”

Noah watched the play of emotions cross Hutch’s face as he studied each photo, saw his eyes go wide and knew exactly what photo had caused the reaction even before Hutch held it up. “He was in your house?”

“I don’t know,” Noah admitted. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way he could have gotten that shot without being in the room with me, but I can’t come up with anything. I’ve checked every nook and cranny and come up empty-handed.”