The Butcher (36 page)

“Oh God,” Matt said, putting his head in his hands. “Oh God oh God oh God.”

“You said you wanted to know.”

“I . . . I don't know. I don't know what I want.” He looked at up his grandfather. “How many people have you killed?”

“More than twenty. Less than thirty.”

Matt's head hurt. “How many victims as the Butcher?”

“Seventeen. I think. I had to change my MO after Wedge was shot, so that's actually a complicated question to answer.”

“Try. Because none of this makes sense to me.”

“You understand this more than you think you do,” the Chief said, squinting at him through the cigar smoke. “You're a lot like me, Matthew. From the time you were little, I saw things in you. Your discipline. Your drive. But also your anger. Your penchant for violence. Dark things.”

Matt refused to take the bait. What the old man said was total bullshit. He wasn't like the Chief. He couldn't be. “I want to talk more about Lucy. Why did she get into drugs? What did you do to her, you sick fuck?”

It was Edward's turn to pause. “There's nothing more to tell,” he finally said. “She was a troubled girl. It happens. But like I said, she stopped doing the drugs when she was pregnant with you, which is why you weren't born a retard. She went back on them after she gave birth. You weren't breastfed, but you turned out fine.”

“I'd agree with that,” a voice said from the hallway, and both men turned to see Sam walking toward them. “Sorry to interrupt. The front door was unlocked and the doorbell doesn't seem to be working. I tried calling you both, but neither of you were answering your phones.”

Matt's heart leapt into his throat at the site of her. Had she heard anything? She wasn't acting like it.

“I don't even have mine with me,” Edward said. “Must have left it in the car.”

Matt's was on the kitchen table in front him, but it was turned facedown, and set to silent. “Sam, this isn't a good time . . .”

“Nonsense,” the Chief said. “It's lovely to see you, my dear, despite how we last left things. Bowl of
champorado
? Made it myself.”

“I thought I smelled something good,” Sam said with a smile. She looked at Matt. “Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Matt said, frustrated. He wanted to finish his conversation with the Chief. “Help yourself.”

Sam grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and scooped out a portion of porridge. “You guys are talking about your mom, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that's the one thing you kids had in common,” Edward said. “Both of you grew up without mothers. Explains why you get along so well.”

“We—” Sam said, but Matt shook his head slightly. “That's true,” Sam said, changing gears. “It did bond us when we first met. I've learned a lot about my own mom lately, too.”

“Is that right?” Edward said.

“Actually, that's why I'm here.” Sam put her spoon down and licked the chocolate off her lips. “Did Matt tell you about Bonnie Tidwell?”

The Chief shook his head. “I didn't hear about her from Matthew. I know who she is because I have her file back in my room.”

Matt sighed. “Sam,
I
didn't even know about Bonnie Tidwell until Jason told me.”

“Oh right,” she said. “Well, I just talked to Bobby. Chief, he's been trying to get a hold of you the past couple of hours. There's been a development he wanted to run by you.”

“I'll call him when I leave here,” Edward said. “But I take it he gave you an update?”

“Yes.” Sam shifted her gaze between the two men. “Bonnie Tidwell's killer shares DNA with PJ Wu's killer. Isn't that crazy?”

Matt felt the blood drain out of his face.
Oh God. Oh God they were going to find out
. The cops had the Chief's DNA, and once they put it together that the Chief was the Butcher, they would know that Matt had killed PJ Wu. Forget his career falling apart, forget the restaurant and the TV deal and the food trucks disappearing, Matt was going to be sent to
prison
. For the rest of his life. Trying to sound normal, he managed to say, “That is crazy.”

“They ran the DNA from both murders, and the killers share genetic markers,” Sam said. “Whoever killed PJ Wu is the son of whoever killed Bonnie Tidwell.”

Matt froze. “What?
Son?
What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It's true,” Sam said, misinterpreting Matt's strong reaction. “They're father and son. Not uncle and nephew, not brother and brother. As Sanchez said, DNA doesn't lie. They're definitely father and son.”

Matt's heart was pounding so hard in his chest, he almost couldn't hear her. Teeth clenched, he turned to the Chief. “You raped my mother?”

“Shut up, Matthew.” Edward's face was like stone. “Just shut up.”

“You—”

“Shut up!” Edward roared, standing up. “Just shut the fuck up. Do you want her to know?”

Sam's face was twisted into a frown, and her head was bobbing left and right. “What are you guys talking about it? What am I missing here?”

“Oh God, I'm going to be sick,” Matt said, his stomach churning. His head felt like it was about to explode. The buzzing was louder now, louder than it had ever been, and he really thought he might throw up. “Sam, the Chief is my father.
My fucking father
. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“Matt, I don't understand.”

They were staring at each other, but Matt didn't know how to explain further. Matt's head was reeling. Sam seemed confused. Neither of them noticed the Chief moving toward her with something shiny and rectangular in his hand.

“Matt, what—”

It was all Sam got a chance to say before a cleaver struck her in the chest.

Matt watched in horror as Sam dropped to the floor, looking down at herself with as much shock as he was feeling. There was surprisingly little blood. The cleaver was wedged inside her, almost dead between her breasts, at least two inches deep. She looked up at him, her eyes huge and round. Opening her mouth to speak, all that came out was a moan. The whole awful scene seemed to be unfolding in slow motion, and his legs felt stuck, although his brain was screaming at him to do something, anything, to help her.

He stepped toward her but before he could reach her, there was a hand on his arm. He turned to see his grandfather looking at him with an expression that terrified him.

The old man's cheeks were flushed, the rich red color spreading to his chin and forehead, and then his throat. His dark eyes were alight with excitement, and in that moment, the Chief seemed almost twenty years younger.

“Leave her be, Matthew.”

Matt shook him off and crouched down over Sam. She was slumped against the lower kitchen cabinets, her feet splayed in front of her. She was conscious but her eyes were glazed, her face pale, her lips parted slightly. Reaching forward, he touched the handle of the cleaver, and she cried out.

“Don't,” she said, gasping. “Don't touch it. Just leave it. Just leave it in, in case . . .” Her eyes rolled back and it took her a second to focus on him again. “It hurts. Call . . . call an ambulance.”

She was about to pass out, and Matt was terrified that if she did, she might never wake up. He took her hand and was alarmed. It was cool and clammy, and her skin was becoming paler. She was going into shock.

Matt reached into his pocket to feel for his iPhone, but of course it wasn't there. It was on the kitchen table where he'd left it, behind his grandfather, who stood above them watching the entire scene with avid interest. And there was no other phone in the house. Matt had canceled the landline when he'd moved in. He didn't think he would need it, since he was hardly ever home anyway.

“Hand me my phone, Chief,” Matt said, his voice ringing out clear in the kitchen, surprising even himself. “I have to call nine-one-one.”

Edward turned and reached for Matt's iPhone. He slipped it into his pocket. “Leave her be, Matthew. Or better yet, drive the cleaver all the way in. Put her out of her misery. Put her down. You must have thought about it. Don't fight it. Unleash it.”

“Give me my fucking phone!” Matt screamed, and on the floor, Sam jolted. His grandfather, on the other hand, didn't even flinch. “I will fucking kill you, you fucking son of a bitch!”

He stood and faced the old man. The two of them were the exact same height. Same build. Same eyes. Same square jaw.

Jesus Christ. How had Matt not seen it? How had he not known? All this time, Edward had insisted that they never knew who his father was. And yet, all along, it was the Chief who was his father.

It was sickening. It was horrific. It was beyond comprehension.

“Give me my phone, or I'll take it from you,” Matt said.

“Then take it,” Edward said. He smiled.

Matt lunged.

Detective Robert Sanchez checked his phone, frowning at the text message he'd just received from Kim Kellogg that was insisting he call her on her cell phone. He was finally checking his messages after making it through the slow security lineup at Sea-Tac Airport, but her message confused him. She was scheduled to be at the precinct all night and he'd told her not to go anywhere. Why was he calling her cell phone?

“It's Sanchez,” he said. “Why aren't you at the precinct?”

“I am at the precinct,” the younger detective said. Sanchez turned up the volume on his phone. It was loud at the airport and he could barely hear her. “Something just came through on the DNA found on PJ Wu.”

“We already know it shares genetic markers with the Butcher.” Sanchez hustled his way to the gate, checking his watch. His stomach growled as he passed the food court, but his flight was boarding in a few minutes and there wasn't time to grab anything.

“Yeah, but we got a match in CODIS.”

Sanchez stopped. He could see his gate from where he was, but they hadn't started boarding yet. Moving closer to the wall, he narrowly avoided being trampled by a frantic mother and her four kids who blasted by. “Shit, that's fantastic. Send me the report. If we know who killed PJ Wu, we'll be able to find out in two shakes who the Butcher is.”

“That's the thing . . .” Kellogg hesitated. “Bobby, this is crazy. What you're going to see is absolutely bonkers. I wouldn't believe it myself if I wasn't staring at it with my own eyes right now. I suggest you be sitting down when you read it.”

Sanchez rolled his eyes. He didn't have time for Kellogg's melodrama. “Kim, just send it. I'm almost at my gate. I'll read it on my iPhone while I'm boarding.”

He disconnected and a moment later, he got the email. Clicking on it, he pulled up the PDF of the CODIS report.

And almost lost his balance.

Enlarging the image, he stared at the name.

CODIS had matched the DNA found on PJ Wu's body to one Matthew Shank. Current address: 1789 Poppy Lane in the Sweetbay neighborhood of Seattle. Owner of Adobo, located in Fremont.

What the
fuck
?

He called Kim back. “Are you shitting me?” he said when she picked up, again on the first ring. “Tell them to run it again. That can't be right. I know Matt Shank, he's a good kid.”

“I know, I met him the other day. He's Edward Shank's grandson.”

“This is not happening,” Sanchez said, trying to make sense of it. “Are you seriously telling me that Edward Shank, the former chief of police of Seattle, has a grandson who's about to be arrested for murder? And that his grandson's father, whoever the hell
he
might be, is our Butcher?”

“I can't wrap my mind around it, either,” Kellogg said, her voice still hushed. “I did
try to look for Matthew Shank's father, but there isn't one listed on his birth certificate.”

Sanchez frowned, trying to remember what Sam had told him about Matt's parents. “As far as I know, he doesn't know who his father is. His grandparents said they didn't know, either. This just keeps getting worse and worse. This really is Operation Clusterfuck.” A voice came over the loudspeakers, announcing that his flight was now boarding. “Shit.”

“Are you getting on the plane now? You want me go pick up Matt Shank?”

Sanchez stood for a minute, debating what to do. “No,” he finally said, turning around. “No, I can't let you do it. The Chief would flip. I'll do it myself. This has to be handled delicately. Don't say anything to anyone until I call you, you understand? This can't get out until we figure out how the hell we're going to handle it.”

“That's why I told you to call my cell,” Kellogg said. “I knew you wouldn't want anyone here to know.”

“Smart girl.”

“Who's telling Shank? Not the one who killed Wu. The older one, the one you used to work for.”

“Guess that would be me.” Sanchez gritted his teeth as he walked back the same way he'd just come. “How do my kids say it nowadays? FML. Fuck my life.”

His grandfather—his
father
, goddammit—wasn't as strong as Matt was, but that didn't matter, not when the Chief had a gun in one hand, and Matt's iPhone in the other.

Behind him on the floor, Sam wasn't moaning and he could no longer hear her wheezing, but he didn't dare turn to look to see if she was still conscious. He didn't want to take his eyes off the Chief for a second, despite how much he wanted to go to Sam, and comfort her, and save her.

But he couldn't think about that now. He couldn't do anything until he got his goddamned iPhone out of the Chief's hand. Sam had a fucking cleaver stuck in her chest, and there was no way to help her without calling 9-1-1. Getting rid of the house's landline, which at the time had been a cost-saving decision, now seemed like the worst idea in the world. His cell phone was the only link he had to the outside world, and if he couldn't get his phone back, Sam would die.