The Holiday Killer (2 page)

The vibrating of her cell phone dragged Liz from her sleep. She answered it groggily, rubbing at her eyes.

"Donhowi."

"Detective Donhowi, this is dispatch. They've found a body on Lowrig Boulevard." The woman hesitated. "It's the kid, Liz. In the vacant lot."

"I'll be right there." She hung up and climbed out of bed, noting the time. Only 4:30.

"Did they find him?" Phil muttered, looking at her over the head of their son, who was still asleep.

"Yeah, but it doesn't sound good." She pulled on her jacket and pants, and grabbed her phone off the bedside table. "Look after Jamie, and I'll see you two later." She leaned over to kiss her sleeping son's forehead and her husband before running out the door.

By the time she reached Lowrig Boulevard, the area was swarming with press and onlookers eager to see the Holiday Killer's latest work. The place was a rundown part of the city's slums, covered in garbage and filth that wasn't entirely animal in origin. The buildings around here were dark, their owners hiding from the snow, clearly trying to keep off the radar. Liz looked around the street, taking note of the faces she could see as she approached.

One of the journalists jumped in front of the car, the loud
thump
of the man's hands hitting the bonnet dragging her back to the current task. She waved him off, pointing to the recording device placed at the bottom of her window, and the man backed off; she could tell he was after an insurance check, and wasn't looking for real trouble.

The police guarding the entry to the site stepped aside, lifting the tape so she could drive her car through. Reporters and journalists behind her tried to push in, but the uniformed police didn't let a single one through.

Liz climbed out of the car and stepped onto the curb, pulling her snow jacket closer. It was threatening to storm again, but for now, the sky was merely cloudy. The winds picked up the dirty snow left from the night before, throwing it toward her face, and she pulled her coat up to cut through the biting air as she made her way toward the cluster of police. The vacant lot where the boy was dumped had been scrubbed relatively clean by someone in a fifteen-foot circle around the body, the police trying to keep out of the clean area as though afraid it would bite them.

Mike's body was strung from the fire escape in the center of the circle, torn and gore-splattered. Liz swallowed the bile rising in her throat, and took a shaky breath.

"Liz." The sergeant looked at her, then at the body. "It's the kid. I need you to tell his parents."

Liz stared at him. "All due respect, Bill, but I'm the chief investigator here. Why am I being assigned to—"

"Because you can keep the lady calm." He looked awkward. "I'm not very good with crying women; you know that. And the officers who normally do it… Well, one of them's on stress leave from dealing with these kids, and the other thought it would be better if someone they've already talked to told them. Might help them take it a little easier."

Liz sighed, still feeling a little queasy. "I'll let them know on the way home. For now, I have to examine the body and ask some questions."

The sergeant, looking like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, headed for the group of officers. Liz followed him, heading for the man standing to the left. He was staring at the body, his hand over his mouth.

The poor boy had been strung up by his big toes, the skin ripped from his legs and flapping lazily in the wind from his hips. His chest cavity had been opened, the cartilage torn down the side of his breastbone, leaving the ribs open like a door, his organs draped across the fire escape. The look of pain and horror on the kid's face told Liz that the poor boy had been alive when he was cut open.

"Are you the man who found the body?" she asked, stopping beside the sick-looking man, who was sweating and pale.

"Yeah. And who're you?" he asked.

She took stock of the expensive-looking shoes, in spite of his low-budget outerwear, and instantly took an interest in him. What was a rich man, who was clearly trying to pass himself off as a poor man, doing in the slums? Was he connected to the body?

"I'm Detective Donhowi. I'm in charge of this investigation." She looked the man over, also noticing the silk tie peeking out over the collar of his ratty snow coat. "Can you tell me what you were doing on a vacant lot in an industrial area at this time of the morning?"

The man stared at her, wide-eyed. "You think I did it, do ya? You think I would do that to a—"

His face went suddenly green before he spun around and puked, though the retching failed to bring anything from his stomach except bile. He'd likely thrown up earlier when he found the kid. The sight of the boy's arms, twisted at unnatural angles and broken at the elbows, was definitely a good reason to lose his breakfast.

"No, sir. But I do need to know what you were doing out here so early in the morning."

"I was walking my dog. Your friend Detective Edwards has him."

"I'll make sure you get him back." She looked him in the eye. He seemed genuinely disturbed by what he'd found, but she couldn't tell if he was faking it. Being out here with his dog didn't make sense, anyway. Lisa had arrived
after
Liz, and there was no sign of a dog.
More and more suspicious.
"Did you see anyone or anything out of the ordinary around here before you discovered the body?"

"Sparky sniffed it out. I didn't see anyone." He rubbed at his face. "Look, can I go home yet? The missus will be waiting for me, and I really need a sit-down and a stiff drink after seeing … that." He gestured vaguely toward where Mike's body was being gently lowered from the fire escape by the forensic hands.

"I'll see about getting you your dog, and you can go home." She smiled at him and patted his shoulder. "I don't think I need to tell you not to talk to the press about what you found."

The man nodded. "You catch that bastard, Detective, and you make sure he can't do that to anyone else."

Her lips thinned as Mike's head gently landed on the fresh plastic sheet the forensic team had laid out on the ground, hoping to avoid any further contamination. "We will. You bet we will." She gestured for a uniform to take down the man's details and escort him off the scene, and walked, slowly and shakily, toward Mike's body, laid out on the tarp.

The kid was a mess. Blood had run from his broken nose down his face, setting in a jagged, dark streak that split his forehead in half. Liz covered her face, trying not to look into the boy's eyes—he looked just like Jamie, and it made her feel sick, the involuntary image of Jamie, dead on the ground, flashing in front of her eyes.

"Do you need a few minutes?" Lisa asked, a hand on Liz's shoulder.

"No. Make sure Officer Malcolm gets that man's details, gives back his dog, and drives him home." She crouched down to examine one of the boy's hands, which was missing the top segments of three fingers.

"Dog? What dog?" Lisa asked, looking back at the place where the man and the officer had stood.

"He said he was walking his dog when he found the body." Liz looked up at her, then over to where the man had vanished. "Where did he go?" She looked to one of the other officers. "Find him!"

The officer ran off, but stumbled as he passed a trashcan. "Larry!"

Liz and Lisa looked up to see another pair of officers pulling the body of Officer Malcolm from the trash, his throat slashed open and his head lolling sickly. She ran over to him, her eyes scanning the crowd behind the others, even as she realized that the cop was dead – the man slit his throat, and ran for it. She couldn't see the man she'd been talking to, and now they had a downed officer to deal with.

"Dammit! Where'd that man go?" she yelled, running toward the crowd.

The reporters looked to her, cameras flashing and questions firing, and she found herself unable to see through the after-flashes inflicted on her retinas. She stumbled back, rubbing her eyes, and cursed the buzzards behind the cameras.

"Liz, come on," Lisa called, guiding her away from the crowd and back toward the body. "We'll put out an APB on him, and have him by tonight. There were enough people here to get a detailed description, and we'll charge the bastard with, at the least, assaulting an officer."

"I don't believe it!" Liz fumed, still rubbing her eyes. "It
must
have been him! The fucker was right there!"

"If he's shown up at the scene once, he'll do it again," Lisa said, crouching beside Mike's body and handing her a pair of latex gloves. "And we'll know what face to look for, now."

Liz angrily pulled the gloves on and lifted the boy's hand again. It was covered in blood from his missing fingers, but there was dirt and fiber under his remaining fingernails. She pointed it out to one of the forensics boys. "Make sure you get this stuff. And don't screw up like you did yesterday. I want everything bagged and tagged. We need to catch this freak."

The man looked at her rebelliously, upset at her suggestion, but didn't make an effort to argue with her. Instead, he roughly pushed her aside and scratched at the drying blood under the boy's fingernails, collecting the scrapings.

"Make sure you get
all
the forensics this time. Every drop of blood, every footprint. Don't miss anything." She looked at Lisa. "You keep them working. I have to go deliver some bad news to a pair of very upset parents. Maybe I'll pick up a killer on the way home."

"Don't do anything stupid, Liz." Lisa squeezed her shoulder.

"Before you go, there's a call for you over the radio. Sergeant Davis intercepted it, but the guy wants to speak to you. Won't say what it's about," the sergeant called, jogging up to them. "What happened? I mean, aside from the mutilated kid."

"Nothing." Liz smiled sadly at her partner and stood up, taking off the gloves and handing them to the forensics guys.

The man gave her the finger as she left, Liz catching it out of the corner of her eye. She ignored him, used to the male-macho bullshit of guys who had it easy joining the force. She'd dealt with much worse from guys who hated taking a woman's orders.

She jerked her collar up to shield her neck from the icy wind and headed for her car. She slumped into the driver's seat, pulling the radio down to where she could speak into it.

"This is Special Detective Elizabeth Donhowi, please identify yourself."

"Hello, Detective Donhowi, this is the Holiday Killer. Are we alone?" His smooth voice made the hair on the back of her neck shiver. It was the same voice she'd heard before, at other scenes of gore, gloating and taunting the police, daring them to catch him. But it was nothing like the man who had killed Officer Malcolm a few minutes ago—the man who discovered the body and then disappeared.

A chill ran down her spine. If the man who attacked Officer Malcolm wasn't the killer … then the Holiday Killer wasn't working alone.

She felt sick, even as she gestured the captain, Bill, to come closer, to hear what the killer wanted to gloat about this time. "Yes."

"Good. What do you think of my artwork, Detective? Do you like it?" She could hear the smile in his voice. "I made it especially for you, you know. I know you have a son around his age. I thought you'd appreciate it."

Heat flooded her face. "How do you know about—" Then she took a deep breath, and stopped herself. "How do you know about him?"

"Oh, Liz. I don't think you realize just how open public records are these days. I know where Jamie goes to school, when Phil leaves for work, who looks after your son after school… You could say that I know him better than I know you."

Nausea gripped her belly, making her feel like she was going to throw up through the car window. "You dare to touch him, and I'll—"

"Oh, don't worry, Liz. I have no intention of touching him ... yet. There are other pieces calling out to me, begging to be created first. But each in its own time."

"What do you want from me?" she asked, glancing out the window to where Bill and the other officers stood, listening to the conversation.

"I want you to give up leading this taskforce, Liz. You're too good. I don't want you inadvertently catching me. If you don't agree, I'll forget what I said about the other pieces, and Jamie will be my next masterpiece, to hang on the walls of galleries for generations to come."

"How long—"

But there was only static on the radio. Liz hung up, her hand shaking, and looked out the window at Lisa running toward her.

"Same guy from the last scene, I assume?" Bill asked, rubbing at his eyes.

"That's the strange thing. It's not. Which means—"

"He's not alone," Bill muttered, looking Liz in the eye. "This is worse than we thought."

Liz nodded, looking at Lisa as she slid to a stop in front of the car. Liz filled her in, and felt oddly relieved when the same feeling of sick shock crossed Lisa's face.

"I've told Bill everything. Get Phil on the phone," Lisa called, heading for the other side of the car. "Tell him to keep an eye on Jamie, not let him out of his sight. We're going to the precinct."