The Butcher (29 page)

Jason rubbed his temple, something his friend did when he was stressed. “Sam met a woman online who claimed to know the identity of the Butcher.”

“The Butcher? As in the Beacon Hill Butcher?” That was the last thing Matt had expected to hear, and his blood pressure immediately rose. “She's still on that?”

Jason gave him a dirty look. “It's personal to her, and you know that. She's not going to give up until she proves the Butcher really killed her mother. You know how obsessed she is. She's writing a book about it, for Christ's sake.”

Matt swallowed, willing himself to stay calm even though his head was spinning.
Does she know? So help me God, does she fucking know?

“Anyway,” Jason continued, “this woman, Bonnie, said she wanted to come to Seattle to talk to Sam. That she had information for her about the Butcher that nobody else had.”

“And Sam agreed?” Matt was struggling to process all of it. “Why in the
hell
would she agree to meet a perfect stranger? From some serial killers website, no less?”

“Because the woman sent her a picture of her mother.” Jason sighed heavily. “It was the freakiest thing, man. Apparently Bonnie and Sarah were close friends back in the eighties. She had no idea Sam was Sarah's daughter. When Sam saw the picture, she knew she had to meet the woman. Don't worry, though, she didn't go alone. I went with her. Didn't want her to get ice-picked.” He made a stabbing motion with his hand, accompanied by a squawking sound.

Matt didn't laugh. He couldn't; he felt like he'd just been hit with a sledgehammer. Putting his beer down on the kitchen counter, he forced himself to speak in a normal tone of voice. “And this all happened when?”

“The past couple of weeks.” Jason said this casually, but his facial expression was tense. “You've been busy, man.”

Somehow those four words sounded worse to Matt than anything else his friend had just said. It was hard not to take it as criticism. “Yeah, well, I would have gone with her had I known. She didn't tell me any of it.”

“You've been busy,” Jason said again. “And let's be real here, you don't like hearing about this stuff, anyway. You think it's stupid.”

“And you don't?” Matt's jaw clenched. “She thinks a dead serial killer murdered her mother. It's bad enough you indulge her, but the Chief does, too.”

“Because it's important to her.” Jason looked at him. “That's what friends do. They care about the things their friends care about.”

Matt returned the stare. “You've been getting pretty close to her lately.”

“I've always been close to her.” Jason, who'd been leaning against the granite breakfast bar, straightened up to his full height of six three. Reflexively, Matt straightened up, too, putting him an inch above Jason. “She's a good friend.”

“How good?”

“Don't start. That shit's getting old, and you know it.”

“You've always had a thing for her.”

“I've always cared about her, yes,” Jason said evenly, his jaw working. The phone on the kitchen counter rang—not Jason's cell, it was his home phone line, but he ignored it. “And I always will care about her. I did before you came along, and I will long after you're gone.”

“The fuck that's supposed to mean?”

“Don't pretend like you've been a good boyfriend, Matt. You've been a shit to her, and your relationship's going nowhere.” Jason's ears were turning pink, and his words were coming faster. “First with the whole house thing, not wanting her to live with you even though you
have four fucking bedrooms and you knew all she wanted was to make a home with you. Then with this reality show thing. She thinks you fucked the producer. Did you?”

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.” Matt's mind reeled as he tried to absorb everything Jason was saying, while at the same time figure out what to say back that wouldn't get him nailed. “She thinks I fucked Bernard? Bernard's gay.”

“The other one. The Halle Berry look-alike. And don't be a dick, you know what I meant.” Jason's stare was unwavering. “She saw you two, okay? At the Pink Door. She showed up a few minutes late, feeling bad because she knew you'd invited her to the dinner and she turned you down. Well, she ended up going, and she saw the two of you.”

“There was nothing to see.”

“That's not what she said. She said Halle Berry was all over you, and you were loving every second of it. You call that being a good boyfriend? Should I go on?”

“Fuck you,” Matt said, and he could feel the anger and hate rising up inside him. Jason Sullivan better not push him, or God help him, he'd smash the beer bottle he was holding right into his friend's face. “Get off your sanctimonious high horse, asshole. Like you're ever a good boyfriend to any of the women you've been with?”

“None of those women are Sam, and we're not talking about me.”

“So now we get to the truth.” Matt crossed his arms over his chest and moved forward an inch. “Why don't you just admit that you want her, Jase? You've always wanted her, and you've been right here in the middle of our relationship like a fucking fungus that won't go away, whispering in her ear about how lousy I am for her, and how I'll never give her what she wants. Why did you even introduce me to her if you've wanted her for yourself all along?”

“I've never said any of those things to her, buddy, but they're true, and you and I both know it. And trust me when I say that I wish I'd never introduced you.” Jason's home phone rang again. This time he glanced at it, but made no move to answer it.

“Right,” Matt said. “So tell me, have you fucked her? Is that the reason I haven't been able to get a hold of either of you all week?”

“And you say
I'm
the sanctimonious son of a bitch?” Jason stepped forward, fists clenched. “Where do you get off, man? This whole sense of entitlement thing is getting really old. You think the whole world revolves around you? You think you can just be with her when you need her, and then blow her off when you decide you're too busy?”

“So you'd be better for her, then?” Matt said with a sneer, well aware of Jason's hands. He couldn't help but hope that his friend would hit him. Hell, it might feel good to take the punch . . . and then rally back with a big one of his own. Unlike PJ Wu, Jason Sullivan would actually put up a fight, and Matt was ready for it. “You think you can make her happier than I can?”

“Anybody could.” Jason's voice was low and menacing. “That's what you don't get, my friend.
Anybody could
.”

“Anybody could what?” A female voice came from the doorway, and both men turned to see Sam watching them. Her dark eyes were as wide as saucers as she took in the two of them, both big guys, standing with their fists clenched, squaring off against each other. “What the hell is wrong with you two? Are you seriously fighting right now? I could hear you guys before the elevator doors even opened.”

“What are you doing here?” Matt and Jason said, again in unison.

“Ronnie let me up.” Sam stared at Matt, then at Jason, and then her eyes focused on Matt again. “He tried calling up, nobody answered, but he knows me so he let me in.”

“Oh, that's perfect,” Matt said with a bitter laugh, looking at Jason. “Just perfect. He lets her up, but I have your side door code and I get the Spanish Inquisition?” He turned to Sam. “No doubt you're here all the time.”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Sam was looking at him with an expression he'd never seen before. It was a mix of disgust and wonderment. “Who
are
you?”

“I'm your boyfriend, or so I thought—”

“You know what, I don't care.” Sam held up both hands, her tone clipped. “I don't give a shit what you two are fighting about, because I've had a crazy day, okay? A crazy, awful, horrible day. I finally get confirmation that my mother was murdered by the Butcher, but instead of it making me feel better, instead of it making me feel vindicated because it means I'm not crazy, it makes me feel worse, because now I know that
my mother was killed by the Butcher
. Isn't that awesome? Go figure.” Her voice had gotten louder.

“What?” Jason said, his mouth dropping open. “Are you sure?”

Sam turned to him. “I can't talk about the details, but yes. They're taking another look at the Butcher's cases. Bobby told me himself today.” She stared at Matt. “Imagine the poor sucker who has to tell the Chief he got the wrong guy? I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.”

The oven chimed, causing them all to jump.

“Pizza's ready,” Jason said.

Edward hadn't felt this good in years.

No. Scratch that. He hadn't felt this good in two decades.

His intention wasn't to kill Gloria, but, much like urination and sex, killing could be hard to stop once you started. At least in his experience.

His groin twitched at the memory, and he smiled. Gloria had been a hot little thing, firmer than he'd expected underneath her clothing. Muscle tone could have been a little better, perhaps, but what else could you expect from a woman in her seventies? Her tits had been the biggest surprise. Good size, good shape, and firm. She'd giggled when he'd complimented her, admitting to having breast implants put in when she was in her sixties, “more as a way to lift them than to make them bigger.” Hey now, he'd said, no need to explain. They'd looked good and he'd stayed hard, so there was nothing to complain about.

Until she started getting on his nerves. Women never changed.

They were lying side by side on the bed, watching the smoke from Edward's cherry-flavored cigar circle above them. There was a strict
no-smoking policy at the Village, but he knew Gloria wouldn't say anything. All Edward wanted was to be still for a while and enjoy the afterglow of having pleasured a female for the first time in over ten years without the help of pharmaceuticals. Was that too much to ask? Apparently it was.

“I like you, Edward,” Gloria had said, rolling over on her side to look at him. Her mascara was smudged around her eyes and there was not a trace of coral lipstick left on her mouth. Her ash-blond hair was mussed. She wasn't unattractive. “Do you like me?”

“I like you fine.” He patted her bare knee with his hand.

“Maybe this weekend we could go out to dinner. Somewhere nice. You still drive, don't you?”

He nodded and took another drag on his cigar.

“My daughter is having a birthday party in two weeks. She lives down in Tukwila close to the airport. You should come, she'd love to meet you.”

“We'll see.”

“It's been a long time since I've been with a man.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I'm very choosy.”

He grunted. “That's not what I heard.”

Propping herself up on her elbow, Gloria stared at him. “What did you hear?”

Edward grinned. “Just that you're not that choosy.” He patted her knee again. “Don't get your panties in a bunch. I'm not judging. I don't care.”

“No man likes a loose woman,” she said, her face flushing. “I am not a loose woman.”

“Okay.”

She lay back down. “I'm enjoying your company, is all. I would like
to get to you know you better. I've been alone for a couple of years now, and frankly, it's hard to be alone. My kids all have their own lives, and I don't drive that much anymore, and while I have a lot of friends here, I miss having a man to do things with, to take care of. How long have you been a widower, Edward?”

“Four months,” he replied, puffing on his cigar.

“I suppose it hasn't been that long for you. But a man of your stature and reputation must have his pick of women. You should know I'm well-off. I have money and I'm very comfortable.”

“I would assume that, since you live here. The Village ain't cheap.”

“But it would be nice to have someone to travel with, and there are still places I haven't been that I'd like to see. Do you like to travel, Edward?”

He sighed. “What I like is quiet. Anybody ever tell you that you talk too fucking much?”

She recoiled, pulling the blanket over her bare torso. “Language, Edward,” she said, frowning. “If we're going to spend time together, I can't have that language used. I have grandchildren. They hear enough of that nonsense on TV, and oh my goodness, the music they listen to nowadays? It's so vulgar, so profane.”

“You're so ironic,” Edward said, amused. “You'll fuck like a jackrabbit in heat, but you get offended at the word
fuck
. Makes no sense to me.”

“Language,”
she said, pursing her colorless lips.

And that's when he'd lost it. Turning to face her, punched her square in the face.

It stunned her for a few seconds, and he used the time to carefully stub out his cigar in the water glass sitting on the bedside table. Putting a hand to her face, she began to cry. Before she could say anything, he was on top of her, pinning her down with his size and weight. It wasn't
hard to do. He was six four and 180 pounds, and she was maybe five two and 110 pounds soaking wet.

His fingers wrapped around her neck and squeezed. Her eyes bulged, and as the life drained out of her, he felt his cock grow hard again.

Just like with Marisol. And just like with Marisol, he'd clean up when he was finished.

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

His dinner was late. That had been happening a lot lately. Once wasn't a big deal, twice was annoying as hell, but three times? In one week? Unacceptable.

He poked his head into the kitchen and saw Marisol sitting at the table, staring into space, Bicycle playing cards laid out in front of her for Solitaire. She'd also been doing that a lot lately—not the Solitaire, but the staring—and he didn't particularly mind or care, unless his dinner was late. Something was simmering in a pot on the stove. He walked over to it, lifted the lid, and peeked inside.
Adobo
. It smelled good, but he couldn't tell whether it was even close to being done or not. She was the cook. He paid the bills. That's how things worked in the Shank household. He put the lid back down.