The Schwarzschild Radius (11 page)

Whenever McKenna tried to understand a killer, he had special tools at his command that most police officers lacked: he had been a trained killer himself.

He had been a Marine sniper in Afghanistan nine years ago. He knew what it was like to go after a specific target and kill it, not just in self-defense, but as part of another motive, a greater purpose, he had told himself. He had often contemplated the degrees of separation between himself and the men he now pursued as a lawman. So had his ex-wife.

After returning from Afghanistan, he drank heavily to hold at bay the blown up bodies that kept coming back at night. His marriage, held together by the daughter they both loved, was slipping away fast. When his wife got full custody of Brittany, he just got worse. He was banging in sick once a week when he was told to attend counseling or risk his career. It was a solid year before he stopped drinking. He was learning new concepts like relapse and solitude. At least in war, there was the unwavering loyalty of your comrades. Here, you were on your own. He immersed himself in police work for the next few years, making a few feeble attempts to connect with Brittany. But by the time he had straightened himself out on the job, he had neglected his only daughter. When he spoke with her last Christmas, he could tell she couldn’t wait to get off the phone, that she was just talking to him out of politeness or pity. When he hung up, he wished he hadn’t called. How do you make up for an eight year gap? You don’t.

His eyes dropped back to the photos. These were the sort of images that made it easy to forget his own troubles.

In his gut he knew one thing: The killer who did this to Kirsten Schrodinger also took Olivia Wallen.

Masutatsu Nakayama pulled the Macanudo cigar beneath his nostrils, inhaling its beautiful bouquet. After lighting it and laying it down on the ashtray, he reviewed the scene of the last execution, an auction he had won for $220,000.

She was a blonde girl, about sixteen, with large American breasts. He didn’t go through the whole scene, just the foreplay to the death sequence. He didn’t want the effect of the final images to wear off like everything else had in his life. The New York papers had confirmed her brutal death and this conferred the final stamp of authenticity to the scene.

He was intrigued by the new Asian girl being offered. Today he had struggled with the other clients, each man trying to steer the torment his own way. Cultures differed even in their taste for torture and abasement. For example, in Japanese bukkake, the girl must be emotionless as the man cums in her face, she must show
gaman
―endurance. Not like the Western girls who are smiling and showing pleasure in that moment. It is a completely different effect. But Nakayama was impressed with the imagination of his competitors. Client Number Two had won today’s auction with his request that the girl be raped by a specially trained dog, and the Webmaster was able to comply quickly. Nakayama was feeling new sensations, nuances of thought he believed long dead. He contemplated tomorrow’s session.

The first swallow of sake cleansed his mouth of the sickening taste of the bourbon he’d drunk at tonight’s dinner party. As he closed the door behind his last guest, he had told himself that he would no longer partake of these functions. But he had been saying this for years.

He stubbed out the cigar. It was bitter, and a glance at the humidor’s hygrometer indicated no water. The cigars were ruined. He gazed out the window briefly, then wrote a haiku as he had every night since he was a child.

The feast ends and brings

A silence like no other.

Laugh, then, for stillness.

achel needed to talk to Brother Horace again. Had he seen the video? Did he know any of the people in it? First, she needed money. She had already raided her coffee can of coins last week, so she took Olivia’s Medaglia d’Oro can, which was full. Probably over forty dollars’ worth.

TD Bank had a free Penny Arcade. Coinstar would take almost ten percent.

She hit
START
and an animation came up on the screen offering a prize if she could guess how much she was about to put into the machine. Rachel guessed forty-seven dollars and sixty-two cents.

She fed the coins and waited for the final tally and possible prize. The total was sixty-three dollars and seventeen cents. No prize, but more cash than she had expected.

DON’T FORGET TO CHECK THE COIN RETURN BEFORE YOU LEAVE
, said the cartoon.

Rachel checked the slot and found three rejects. Two were Canadian coins.

The third was an odd coin with PP written over the outline of a naked girl.

“Is Brother Horace here?” she asked back at Transcendence House.

“He’s fundraising,” said one kid.

“Fundraising for what?”

“For himself. He’s hustling the chess tables in Washington Square.”

Rachel found Brother Horace in the middle of a King’s Indian defense against a hippie throwback. Brother Horace prevailed, then defeated another opponent in seventeen moves―four minutes in blitz chess. He was four dollars richer. Rachel sat down opposite him.

“I know you,” he said. “Two dollars a game. I’ll give you white.”

“I was thinking about what you said, Brother Horace. About Olivia changing. How did you know about the porn movie?”

“Word was going around. Then I saw it.”

“Do you know the other girl in the scene―or the guy?”

“I take it you found the video.”

“Yes.”

“I hear the girl is a graduate of Transcendence House,” he said.

“I didn’t know they offered job placement for porn.”

“I didn’t know either.”

Rachel lowered her voice. “Was Olivia screwing the priest?”

Brother Horace looked up and his eyes glanced sideways for a moment.

“You gonna play or what?”

Rachel advanced her pawn and hit the clock. Five seconds a move. It was over in twenty-two moves. She collected the two dollars.

“Another. I’ll take white,” he said.

“You thinking about my question?”

“I don’t know the answer to that question.”

“Brother Horace, let me tell you something. I knew that girl better than anyone on Earth. We were like sisters. I know she was brilliant, beautiful, going to Harvard, and won more awards than the New York Yankees won pennants. I need to know what made her turn into a whore overnight. Doesn’t that interest you in the least, even if she was a stranger to you?”

“Not especially. People can do anything. They can turn in a second. And they can turn on you.”

“Did Father Massey know about what she was doing?”

“There isn’t much Father Massey doesn’t know about the kids.”

“So did Olivia get thrown out of Transcendence House for this?”

“Who said she got thrown out?”

This time it took sixteen moves.

“You’re distracting me. And cutting into my profits,” he said.

“I’ll spot you a bishop.”

“Hell no. One more. I’ll keep white.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Four months ago, I guess.”

“So she volunteers at this shelter, starts making porn, then leaves on her own. And does what?” Rachel recalled that Olivia’s schedule hadn’t changed. She claimed, until last week, that she was still volunteering at Transcendence House. That accounted for her hours. So if she wasn’t at Transcendence House, where was she?

Rachel defeated him again.

“Damn, woman, that’s some fine playin’. You don’t mind if a man earns a living, do you?”

“That’s Sister Rachel to you. I give lessons if you’re interested.” She got up and checked her pocket for her Metro Card. She remembered the coin she’d found in Olivia’s change can.

“Any idea what this is?” she asked, handing the coin to the boy.

“That’s a peep show token. You buy these in the peep shows, then use it to see porn or naked girls in a booth.”

Back at her dorm, Rachel did a search on peep shows in New York and got two dozen hits. Her eye scanned the page, then fell on one line:
The Pleasure Palace
, and the logo of the naked girl.