The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (31 page)

The zombie or man, or whatever he was, lay motionless. Killgood took a step forward and froze, his throat constricting with sudden fear as the beast pushed off the ground and stood.

“You are powerless against me.”

“Let’s see how you do with a round to the chest.” Killgood raised the gun to rack in a new round. The monster exploded forward and slammed into his shoulder. Killgood hit the wall, a stabbing pain racing along his spine. Blood-stained fangs flashed against the gray backdrop. Killgood thrust the shotgun upward, the stock crashing against the beast’s jaw. Arms crushed around his ribs.

Killgood screamed as a fire raced along his spine. The shotgun flew from his hands. He was elevated off the ground, kicking and clawing at the air and then hurled across the room. His face slammed against the floor and he rolled several times. He tried to sit up, but collapsed onto his back. The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth.

From the shadows, the pallid face of what resembled a man appeared. “I said you would die, but you wouldn’t listen. I might have shown mercy and killed you quickly, but now I will take my time. First, I’ll tear off your flesh, then your arms and legs. I’ll only rip out one of your eyes. I want you to see what comes after that.”

Killgood slowly lifted his head to stare into the glowing red eyes of the beast. “Fuck you.”

The killer reared back, a deep growl bursting from his chest. Killgood closed his eyes.

“Freeze, mother fucker,” a voice shouted followed by four loud pops.

Another growl tore through the room followed by several more pops.

A hand gripped his shoulder. “Detective Killgood, are you all right?”

He opened his eyes. Officer Couch leaned over him, a worried look in his eyes. Killgood smiled. “Never felt better.”

Willard grimaced as he drove along the interstate. It had been one of the worst days of his life with the promise of getting worse. The shit started when Doris telephoned and woke him from a dream of sex with the Siamese twins.

“Why are you at home?” she asked, voice whiny.

“Where else would I be?”

“Damn you.”

“What’d I say?”

“Didn’t it ever occur to you to come visit your sick wife in the hospital?”

“Must have slipped my mind.”

Her silence spoke volumes.

“Jesus Christ, Doris, I can’t drop everything just because you had a little surgery.”

“A little surgery?” Her voice elevated to an ear-splitting level. “I had open-heart surgery, you selfish bastard. You don’t even care if I die, do you?”

He sighed while debating how to answer. “I don’t want you to die. If you died, who would do the laundry?”

“Get your ass up here.”

“I’ll try, Doris.”

“I hate you.”

“How can you hate me when I’m so lovable?”

The conversation ended with her slamming down the receiver.

Against his better judgment, he dragged himself into the shower to get ready. Maybe I should bring her flowers, he thought, or a box of Ding Dongs. He laughed. Despite all of her faults, Doris was always good for a chuckle. After cleaning up and getting dressed, he sat down at his desk and turned on the TV. While the football game played, he opened up the swinger’s website. A smile crept over his mouth when he saw someone had left him an email.

Hey Swinging Dick,

You really are a jerk. You treat people like crap and you’re not the stud you think you are. Honestly, I’ve had better sex with men who were impotent. But as much as I hate to say it, I kind of had fun with you. It was different. I dreamed last night of flying around naked. Anyway, despite your shitty attitude, I would consider hooking up with you again. Think about it.

Yours truly,

Ride Me Like a Shetland Pony.

He started to type in a reply when the phone rang. “Damn it, Doris, give me a break.” He snatched the receiver off its cradle and in a gruff voice said, “Yeah.”

“Willard, it’s Killgood.”

“Why are you calling me on my day off?”

“You need to get to Fort Collins right away.”

He stared at the email on his monitor and shook his head. “Look, I have—”

“Something’s happened with the Coldstone case.”

If he didn’t show up at the hospital soon, Doris would be pissed. She might be mad enough to have another heart attack. “It’s not my case, remember?”

“We arrested a suspect.”

An image of Mr. Howard in handcuffs came to him. “Who is it?”

“You need to get up here.”

He closed the swinger’s website on his computer with a sigh. “Give me the goddamn address.”

When he backed out of the drive, he spotted a large man placing an envelope against the front door. The man turned around and they made eye contact. He went ashen before hustling down the sidewalk. Willard considered rousting him, but decided to blow it off. Whatever the man delivered could wait until he returned from meeting Killgood.

As he drove north, weaving around slower cars, Willard stewed on the day’s events
. I probably should have called Doris to let her know what was going on. Nah, she’d never believe me. Oh well, it’s not like she’s going anywhere. Maybe I’ll pick up a little bouquet of flowers. Something simple and cheap. With any luck, she’ll be asleep when I arrive, and I can leave them in her room with a card. But what to write on it? I know, I’ll put, get well soon, lard ass.
He chuckled out loud as he cut off an elderly couple in a Subaru.

Black and green storm clouds blew in from the west, swirling across the mountains and onto the plain with surprising speed. Fat drops of rain began to splatter against the windshield followed by an assault of pea-sized hail. Brake lights glowed red against the sudden gloom. Traffic slowed almost to a stop. His cell phone started to ring. He checked the number. “Damn bitch, won’t give me a minute of peace.” He debated answering before pushing the talk button. “Hello.”

“Where in the hell are you?”

“Killgood called. He needs me in Fort Collins. Something about the Coldstone case.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying, Doris.”

“Bullshit. Lying is the only thing you do well anymore.”

Score one for the fat bitch.

“I’ll try to swing by the hospital later. Are the kids coming home tonight?”

“They’re probably already home.”

“Good, good,” he said, watching the dark clouds tear apart. Patches of blue sky emerged as the storm blew past. “I miss having the kids to yell at.”

“You don’t miss me.”

“I’m not sure how to answer that, Doris.”

“You just did,” she said and hung up.

He tossed down the phone. His marriage was a joke, but he’d never divorce Doris until Margo turned eighteen. Custody battles were a pain in the ass, not that he would fight her for the kids. What concerned him was the possibility of paying child support every month, which he knew would go toward buying Doris food. She could stuff her pig face on her own dime.

It was after five when he arrived at the address Killgood provided. A dozen patrol cars were parked out front along with several unmarked cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance. “What the hell?” he said, pulling to the side of the road to park behind one of the unmarked cars. He climbed out of the car, slipped on a jacket, smoothed his necktie, and strolled toward the entrance.

Four uniformed cops lingered near the front door. A big, square-headed cop with Popeye arms acknowledged him by jutting out his chin. “Can I help you?”

He reached inside his jacket and produced his badge. “Willard, State Police. Where can I find Killgood?”

Square Head gestured toward the door. “Check the basement.”

Willard passed the cops and stepped inside the house. The stench of blood hung in the air. Someone had died, that was pretty damn obvious. Men in suits stood in small groups talking. Detectives. Another man wearing a navy windbreaker knelt beside a broken lamp and dusted it for prints.

The dining room mirror is shattered and there’s dirt all over the rug. There was a struggle. Maybe a break-in.

An older detective watched him approach. He broke from the group of men he was talking with and walked over. “You Willard?”

“That’s right.”

“You’ll find Killgood in the basement.” He pointed at an open door.

Willard nodded. “What happened here?”

The cop removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Killgood caught the man who murdered Stephanie Coldstone.”

“That so?” Willard said and frowned.

“The bastard’s paler than snow and growls like a wolf. Don’t know if he’s a man or animal.”

This news turned his frown into a smile.

Maybe they did catch Mr. Howard.

“Thanks, I’ll find Killgood.”

Willard hesitated outside the basement door, his gaze on the broken door frame. He examined the lock for a moment before starting down the basement stairs. Killgood stood with three suits. They talked in low voices. Killgood spotted him and waved him over. “Glad you’re here.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Willard moved alongside him. He squinted at the body of a woman on the floor. She was a piece of ground beef, torn and shredded almost beyond recognition. He looked at Killgood. “Who is she?”

Killgood motioned toward a severed head. Willard took a step toward the head and stopped. A sharp tremor tore through his gut as he recognized the blood-soaked face. He turned to Killgood. “Alicia Whitmore?”

Killgood nodded. “We don’t know how the son of a bitch found out about her involvement in the case.”

“The son of a bitch? You mean Mr. Howard, right?”

A puzzled expression settled over Killgood’s face. “Mr. Howard helped catch the bastard.”

The pain in his stomach became white hot as if a blade twisted through his intestines. “Bullshit.”

“He called me this afternoon and said he had a vision of this guy Van Adams killing Alicia. Van Adams is the assistant dean at the University. Mr. Howard’s been to his house before, so he was able to give me directions. I drove out here to investigate and discovered Van Adams in the basement. The fucker went insane. I managed to put a couple of rounds in him, but he kept coming. If the patrol units hadn’t arrived, I’d be dead too.”

“You’re telling me Mr. Howard had a vision that led you to Van Adams’ house, and when you arrived, you found Van Adams in the basement with Alicia’s body?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Killgood reached into a pocket. He pulled out a plastic evidence bag and tossed it to Willard. “That locket belonged to Stephanie Coldstone. We found the locket here.”

Willard tossed the bag back to Killgood. “I’m not buying it.”

“Not buying what?”

Willard pitched the necklace back. “Any of it. There was a struggle upstairs. Who fought? Van Adams and Alicia Whitmore?”

“It’s possible.”

“Yeah right. Tell me, when you arrived, you found Van Adams in the basement with Alicia, right?”

“That’s right. He was covered in blood.”

Willard walked over to a wall and stared at one of the bondage photographs. “Nice guy.”

“Apparently, he has a reputation with young coeds.”

Willard glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t most professors?” He approached Killgood. “The basement door was locked when you arrived correct?”

Killgood’s forehead creased into a series of fine wrinkles. “Yeah, I had to kick it in”

“The door can only be unlocked with a key. Did you find a key on Van Adams?”

Killgood shook his head.

“Then someone locked him inside the basement with Alicia’s body.”

“Wait a minute. You weren’t here when I confronted this asshole. He’s a lunatic. I’m telling you, the patrolmen and I had to shoot the fucker several times to stop him. And the bastard still didn’t die. They’ve taken him to the hospital for surgery.”

“Maybe he’s on PCP.”

“What’s your point? He was found with a murder victim, covered in her blood, and there’s evidence he may have killed Stephanie Coldstone.”

Willard gestured at the pictures behind him. “This crime scene has been staged.”

“You’re out of your mind.” Killgood presented his back and shook his head. “You’re determined to prove Mr. Howard had something to do with this and it’s blinded you to the truth. Mr. Howard is a real psychic. He led us to Van Adams through a vision.” He turned to face him. “Keep digging, Detective, and you’ll soon find that you’ve dug your own grave. Every cop in this room thinks Van Adams is guilty.”

“The dirt upstairs?”

“Crime scene boys think the dirt may be from Stephanie’s grave.”

“Guess Van Adams doesn’t believe in vacuuming. Did you find the necklace in plain view?”

“On top the table over there.”

A flash of white light filled the air as a crime scene officer took a photograph. Black spots floated in front of Willard’s eyes for several seconds. He looked down at Alicia’s body.

What a waste.

“What can you tell me about Van Adams? He obviously has money.”

“His family’s worth several billion.”

“Anything else?”

“He graduated from Harvard and has worked here at the college over a decade.”

Willard tapped his chin. “I don’t recall many serial killers coming out of the Ivy League.”

“There’s always a first.”

“Do Van Adams and Mr. Howard have a history?”

Killgood appeared confused. “A history?”

“Is there bad blood between them?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. Van Adams killed Alicia, not Mr. Howard.” Killgood came face-to-face with him. “Even now, with a killer caught in the act, and all kinds of evidence, you refuse to admit you could be wrong. I feel sorry for you, Detective, I really do.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Willard said. “I’m not the one who’s going to look like a fool when Mr. Howard gets arrested for these crimes.”

Killgood pointed toward the stairs. “You’re out of your jurisdiction and no longer working this case. Get your ass out of my crime scene.”

“I work for the state, remember? So my jurisdiction is pretty much in your face, asshole. Enjoy your moment of glory. I’ll be in touch.”