Thr3e (10 page)
“Listen, you little punk, I know who you are and I don’t like you!” a voice snarled in his ear. The arm jerked him around and shoved him against a tree. Kevin wobbled at arm’s length from his attacker. The boy.
If his head wasn’t throbbing so badly, he might have panicked. Instead he just stared and tried to keep his legs from collapsing.
The boy sneered. Close up, his face reminded Kevin of a boar. He was older than Kevin and a foot taller, but still young, with pimples all over his nose and chin and a tattoo of a knife high on his forehead. He smelled like dirty socks.
The boy brought his face within a few inches of Kevin’s. “I’m going to give you one warning and one warning only, squat. That girl is mine, not yours. If I ever see you so much as looking at her again, I’ll kill her. If I catch you sneaking out to see her again, I may just kill the both of you. You hear me?”
Kevin just stood dumb.
The boy slapped him across the cheek. “You hear me?”
Kevin nodded.
The boy stepped back and glared at him. A slow lopsided grin split his face at a cruel angle. “You think you’re in love with this little tramp? Huh? You’re too stupid and too young to know what love is. And so is she. I’m going to teach her love, baby, and I don’t need a squat like you messing with our little romance.” He stepped back.
Kevin saw the knife in the boy’s hand for the first time. His mind cleared. The boy saw his eyes on the knife and he lifted it slowly.
“You have any idea what a nine-inch bowie can do to a squat like you?” The boy twirled the blade in his hand. “Do you know how persuasive a bright shiny blade can be to a young girl?”
Kevin suddenly felt like he was going to vomit.
“Get back to your little room, squat, before I decide to cut you just for looking so stupid.”
Kevin fled.
Friday
Night
K
EVIN SAT IN HIS RECLINER, waiting impatiently for Samantha, flipping through the channels to hear the various versions of the “car bomb,” as they were calling it. He nursed a warm
7
UP in his left hand and glanced up at the wall clock. Nine o’clock— nearly five hours had passed since she’d left Sacramento.
“Come on, Samantha,” he muttered softly. “Where are you?” She’d called him halfway down. He told her about the dog and begged her to hurry. She was already doing eighty, she said.
Back to the television. They knew Kevin’s identity, and a dozen reporters had tracked down his number. He’d ignored the calls per Milton’s suggestion. Not that he had anything to add anyway—their theories were as good as his. Channel nine’s suggestion that the bombing might be the work of a well-known fugitive dubbed the Riddle Killer interested him most. The killer had taken the lives of five people up in Sacramento and had vanished three months ago. No more details, but the speculation was enough to plant a knot in Kevin’s throat. The pictures of the charred wreckage, taken from the sky, were stunning. Or terrifying, depending on how he thought of them. If he’d been anywhere near the thing when it blew, he’d be dead. Like the dog.
After Slater’s call, he’d forced himself to return to the backyard and explain the situation to Balinda, but she wouldn’t even acknowledge him. She’d already put the matter behind them by executive order. Poor Bob would somehow be convinced that Damon was alive and well, just gone. Balinda would have to explain her initial screaming flight across the ash after the explosion, of course, but she was an expert at explaining the unexplainable. The only time she even responded to Kevin was when he suggested they not call the police.
“Of course not. We’ve got nothing to report. The dog’s fine. Do you see a dead dog?”
No, he didn’t. Eugene had already dumped it in the burn barrel and set it on fire. Gone. What were a few more ashes?
His mind drifted to the call with Slater.
What boy?
Slater didn’t seem to know of any boy.
What boy?
The key to his sin was found in the riddles. As far as he could see, the riddles had nothing to do with the boy. So then Slater
couldn’t
be the boy. Thank God, thank God, thank God. Some secrets were best left buried forever.
The doorbell chimed. Kevin set down his
7
UP and clambered out of his chair. He stopped at the hall mirror for a quick look. Haggard face. Smudged T-shirt. He scratched the top of his head. The bell chimed again.
“Coming.”
He hurried to the peephole, peered out, saw that it was Samantha, and unlocked the door. It had been ten years since he’d kissed her on the cheek and wished her well in conquering the big bad world. Her hair had been blonde and long; her blue eyes sparkling like stars. She’d had one of those faces that looked airbrushed all the time, even without a speck of makeup. Smooth rounded cheeks and soft upturned lips, high arching eyebrows and a soft pointed nose. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Of course, he wasn’t seeing a lot of girls in those days.
Kevin fumbled with the knob and opened the door. Samantha stood under the porch light, dressed in jeans and smiling warmly. He’d thought of her a thousand times since she’d left, but his mind’s eye could never have prepared him for seeing her now, in the flesh. He
had
seen a lot of girls in the last five years, and Sam was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. Bar none.
“Are you going to invite me in, stranger?”
“Yes. Sorry, of course! Come in, come in.”
She walked past him, set down her bag, and faced him. He shut the door.
“My, you’ve grown up,” she said. “Put on a bit of muscle.”
He grinned and ran his hand over his head. “I guess.”
He was having difficulty not staring at her eyes. They were the kind of blue that seemed to swallow whatever they gazed upon—brilliant and deep and haunting. They didn’t reflect the light so much as shine, as if illuminated by their own source. No man nor woman could look into Samantha’s eyes and not think that there was indeed a God in heaven. She stood just up to his chin, slender and graceful. This was Samantha, his best friend. His only real friend. Looking at her now, he wondered how he’d survived the last ten years.
She stepped forward. “Give me a hug, my knight.”
He chuckled at her childhood reference and hugged her tight. “It’s so good to see you, Samantha.”
She stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek. Beyond that one blissful kiss when they were eleven, their relationship had remained platonic. Neither of them wanted romance from the other. They were bosom buddies, best friends, almost brother and sister. Not that the thought hadn’t crossed Kevin’s mind; a friendship had just always been more appealing. She had always been the damsel in distress, and he the knight in shining armor, even though they both knew she had rescued him in the first place. Now, despite the fact that it was she who’d again come to his rescue, their childhood personas came naturally.
Sam turned to the living room, hands on her hips. “I see you like travel posters.”
He walked with her and grinned self-consciously.
Quit rubbing your head; she’ll think you’re a dog
. He lowered his hands and tapped his right foot.
“I’d like to go to all those places someday. It’s kinda like looking at the world. Reminds me there’s more. Never did like being shut in.”
“I like it! Well, you’ve come far. And I knew you would, didn’t I? You just had to get away from that mother of yours.”
“Aunt,” he corrected. “She never was my mother.”
“Aunt. Let’s face it, dear Aunt Balinda did you more harm than good. When did you finally leave?”
He walked past her to the kitchen. “Twenty-three. Drink?”
She followed him. “Thanks. You stayed in that house five years after I left?”
“Afraid so. You should’ve taken me with you.”
“You did it on your own—that’s better. Now look at you, you have a college degree and you’re in seminary. Impressive.”
“And you graduated valedictorian. Very impressive.” He pulled a soda from the fridge, popped the tab, and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “For the compliment.” She winked at him and took a sip. “The drink’s nice too. How often do you go back?”
“Where? To the house? As little as possible. I’d rather not talk about that.”
“I think that
that
might be tied to this, don’t you?”
“Maybe.”
Samantha set the can down on the counter and looked at him, suddenly dead serious. “Someone’s stalking you. And by the sound of it, me. A killer who uses riddles who’s selected us for his own reasons. Revenge. Hate. The baser motivations. We can’t shut out the past.”
“Right to the point.”
“Tell me everything.”
“Starting—”
“Starting with the phone call in your car.” She walked to the front door.
Kevin followed. “Where are you going?”
“We. Come on, let’s take a drive. He’s obviously listening to everything we say in here—let’s make his life a little more interesting. We’ll take my car. Hopefully he hasn’t gotten to it yet.”
They climbed into a beige sedan and Samantha drove into the night. “That’s better. He’s probably using lasers.”
“Actually, I think you’re right,” Kevin said.
“He told you that?”
“Something like that.”
“Every detail, Kevin. I don’t care how insignificant, I don’t care what you told the cops, I don’t care how embarrassing or stupid or crazy it sounds, I want everything.”
Kevin did as she requested, eagerly, with passion, as if it were his first real confession. Sam drove haphazardly and stopped him frequently to ask questions.
When was the last time you left your car unlocked?
Never that I can remember.
Do you lock your car when it’s in the garage?
No.
A nod.
Did the police find a timing device?
Not that he knew about.
You found the ribbon behind the lamp?
Yes.
Did Slater call me Sam or Samantha?
Samantha.
An hour passed and they covered every conceivable detail of the day’s events, including the information he’d hidden from Milton. Everything except his speculation that Slater could be the boy. He’d never told Sam the whole truth about the boy, and he wasn’t eager to do so now. If Slater wasn’t the boy, which he claimed not to be, there was no need to dig up that matter. He’d never told Sam the whole truth and he wasn’t eager to do so now.
“How long can you stay?” Kevin asked after a lull.
Sam glanced at him with a coy smile. “The big boy needs a girl in his court?”
Kevin grinned sheepishly. She hadn’t changed a bit. “Turns out girls make or break me.”
She arched her brow. “I technically have a week off to finish my move. I have boxes overflowing in my kitchen still. The case I was assigned to when I first arrived a couple months ago has been pretty quiet, but it just heated up. I wouldn’t be surprised if they called me in.”
“California Bureau of Investigation, huh? Big change from New York.”
“Not really, other than being new. I’ve managed to do a couple things right and have my department head appropriately impressed at the moment, but I still have to earn my stripes with them, if you understand how law enforcement works. Same thing with the CIA before I switched to this job.”
“CBI, CIA—gets a bit confusing,” Kevin said. “You glad you made the move?”
She looked at him and grinned. “I’m closer to you, aren’t I?”
He nodded and turned sheepishly. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this. Really.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Can’t you pull some strings?” He faced her. “Convince them to let you stay down here?”
“Because I know you?”
“Because you’re involved now. He
knows
you, for heaven’s sake!”
“It doesn’t work that way. If anything, that’s reason for them to remove me from the case.” She stared ahead, lost in thought. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. The CBI is made of a dozen units, roughly a hundred agents in all. My unit is unique—hardly known to most agents. We work outside the system, technically part of the Bureau, but it’s directed as much by the attorney general. Troubleshooting the harder cases. We have some latitude and discretion.” She looked at him. “You, my dear, are definitely within the scope of the discretion. More than you know.”
Kevin stared out his window. Black. Slater was out there somewhere. Maybe watching them now. A shiver ran down his spine.
“So. What do you think?”
Sam pulled the car to the curb a block from Kevin’s house and shoved the stick into park. “I think that we have no choice but to follow Slater’s demands. So far the demands involve no one but you. This isn’t like a threat of terror, where either we release a hostage or they blow a building. This is either you confess or he blows up your car. Confession doesn’t exactly pose a threat to society.” She nodded to herself. “For now we don’t involve the police like he wants. But we also take him at his word. He said
cops
—we avoid the cops. That excludes the FBI. We tell the FBI everything.”
She cracked her window and stared at the sky. “I also think that Richard Slater is someone one or both of us knew or know. I think his motivation is revenge and I think he means to extract it in a way that will never be forgotten.” She looked at him. “There has to be someone, Kevin.”
He hesitated and then fed her part of the truth. “No one. The only enemy I can even remember having is that boy.”
“What boy?”
“You know. Remember that boy who was spying on you when we were kids? The one who beat me up?”
She grinned. “The one you saved me from?”
“I asked Slater if he was the boy,” Kevin said.
“Did you, now? You omitted that little detail.”
“It was nothing.”
“I said
every
detail, Kevin. I don’t care if you think it’s nothing or not. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘What boy?’ It’s not him.”
She didn’t respond.
A car drove by. SUV with bright taillights.
“Ever hear of the Riddle Killer?” Sam asked.
Kevin sat up. “On the news tonight.”
