Black Death (A Sam Rader Thriller Book 4) Page 13

  They watched as Clara thanked the waitress, put her cell down beside the plate and picked up the fork. A second later she was carefully picking up pieces of the pie and slowly chewing the gooey treat.

  “To hell with this,” Tim finally said, unable to hold back any longer.

  He rose to his feet and made a beeline for Clara’s table. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, simply grabbing the chair opposite her, pulling it out and dropping himself into it.

  “We need to talk.”

  Clara opened her eyes and looked surprisingly at him, then at Sam as she sat beside her.

  “Back to have another crack at me?” she finally said, resuming her pie. “You know, if you’re gonna be joining me, you should order a slice of cherry pie. Keith doesn’t make it often.”

  “Look,” Tim said, swallowing his anger as best he could. “Let’s cut through the shit. We need you. Right now.”

  “Sounds serious.” Clara slid another piece of pie into her mouth, looking at him with smug eyes. Sam could tell that the woman had no intention of helping them.

  “I wonder how she would feel if she knew that one of the victims was a father of two young girls,” Sam began. Clara simply rolled her eyes and took another bite. “And I wonder how her family and friends would feel knowing that she protected a killer who took that man from his children, just as he began to show promise with his counseling.”

  “Listen,” Clara began. “They all jump on the help bandwagon once they’re caught. You can’t sway me with this bullshit.”

  “Bandwagon?”Sam asked, her own smugness oozing from her. “Oh no, sweetheart. There was no bandwagon. You see, Trent Houghton had his own demons, just like the rest of us. I mean, being raped by an uncle that was supposed to protect you will do that to a person. How often did he get raped and beaten?” she asked, turning to Tim.

  “Almost every day.”

  “That’s right. Almost every day. He began drinking at age fourteen just to escape the violence in some way. His wife certainly understood he was trying to get help. What did she call him when we spoke to her?”

  “A good husband,” Tim offered.

  Clara paused, put her fork down and listened as Sam laid it out for her. They could see she hadn’t known all the details, but was now starting to understand the point they had been trying to make.

  “Yes, Trent was a man prone to violence. But he had a family, Clara and he tried to get the help he knew he needed. His wife had stuck with him for a long time and knew his history. And now, thanks to a killer without remorse, those girls will grow up with a father that tried his hardest to better himself.”

  “I…I didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t. How could you? Granted, Norman was a piece of shit that deserved what he got. But did the others? Do those she intends to murder from here on out? Because those, Clara? Their blood will be on your hands.”

  Clara looked at them with shock, finally letting the severity sink in. The realization hit her hard and for the first time, understood the consequences if she didn’t act.

  “But what could I possibly do?”

  “You can send a message for us.”

  11

  Clara agreed to return to their hotel room and help create the message they hoped would get the attention of Black Death. They knew that it would probably take a lot more than a single posting, but had high hopes once Clara made contact, that she could somehow manipulate the serial killer into revealing herself.

  While Sam worked with Clara on the message’s actual structure, Tim sat in his own room and began working with Mumma to set in motion the other side of the plan. It wasn’t just the message they needed to deliver. They also needed to be able to display the message in real life. What they needed was a home.

  Instead of going back and forth with texts, Tim popped in one of the earpieces, preferring to chat in real time during such a critical point in their investigation. Mumma responded with her usual flair for creating the impossible and soon had a couple of possibilities.

  “What sort of image are we trying to convey here, my boy?” Tim had thought about this and knew what they needed.

  “Something in the working class range, not too upmarket. Sam was thinking we should pretend to have a couple of little ones, but I don’t know how we could pull that off. Hard enough trying to make this work, without adding more headaches.”

  “Well, there are a couple of homes that may suit. Both furnished, so that helps. One’s North side, one’s West. Five of the victims lived in the northwest, so you got something either side.”

  “Doubt it’ll matter much. Wanna send the links?”

  “Already done. Let me know which and I’ll see what I can manage. And if you-” she began, then stopped suddenly in mid sentence.

  “Mumma?” Tim asked. No answer. “Mumma? Everything OK?”

  “I’ll call you back, Sugar,” she snapped and then without waiting for an answer, disappeared.

  Tim took the moment to go and check in with the women in the next room. He could hear their murmur through the walls and could tell from the tone that Clara had done a complete turnaround, now overly keen to help.

  They were sitting on the bed, the laptop between them, with Sam typing stuff. As the door opened, she looked up and asked, “Making progress?”

  “I think so. Mumma’s just had to pop out for a bit. How about you guys?”

  “Clara here has come up with some good ideas. I think when this woman reads the messages, she’s fall over herself to come find us.”

  Mumma came back after some time, calling for Tim over the earpiece. He kept the piece in, unsure of how long she would be.

  “I’m here, go ahead.”

  “I found something even better,” she said, sounding excited by her news.

  “Better?” Tim asked.

  “One of our cleaning crews is based up that way and wouldn’t you know it? One of them lives in Lincoln Park. Well, I just rang Steve Temple and he said you can use his home. Not only does he live there with his wife, but also their twin girls.”

  “That’s perfect,” Tim said. “But how did you manage to convince him to give it to us?”

  “How else? I offered him and his family a week’s vacation in Florida, all expenses paid.”

  “Mumma, you really are a magician.”

  “Hmmm, maybe a witch,” she replied.

  After getting the details, Tim returned to the where the women were just finishing their message. He held up his phone, shaking it a little from side to side.

  “House is sorted. And a lot more suitable than we were expecting.”

  “How so?” Sam asked.

  “Mumma managed to find us one lived in by one of the cleanup crew up here.”

  “Cleanup crew?” Clare asked.

  “Never mind,” Sam said, waving the question away.

  “We can head there in a couple of hours, check things out, then you two could come back here and do what you need to with getting her attention.” Sam nodded. Tim held something out to her and when Sam held her hand open, Tim dropped something small into it.

  Clara was reading the message again and didn’t notice, not the earpiece he handed her, nor the wink he shot her. She popped the device into her ear and turned back to the woman at the center of their plan.

  It was a little after two by the time Mumma sent the thumbs up to say the home was available for them. The family had grabbed their essentials and were heading to the airport, leaving their home to the agents.

  The Chicago sky was brilliantly blue, just a few whispers of cloud hanging off to the South as they pulled out into traffic. Clara took shotgun, with Sam driving, Tim taking the back seat so he could not only relay everything to Mumma, but also keep an eye on their passenger. He didn’t trust her, knowing she could throw a huge spanner in the works by sending a warning ahead of time. Tim knew that there was every chance the woman was simply playing along, telling them what they wanted to hear in order to gain inform
ation.

  What he needed was for this home to be perfect and then for Sam to take her back to the hotel room, while he prepped it. There were certain things he needed to take care off, unsure of how Black Death met her victims. There were still too many questions they needed answers to and he wasn’t sure whether they would ever get them before the serial killer showed up.

  But he also needed to keep Clara close and thus debated with himself over how to handle her. If Sam took her back to the hotel room, even a quick bathroom break would give the woman enough time to jeopardize the operation. He considered confiscating her cell, just until things were finished with, but then didn’t want to risk turning her the other way if she did in fact support them. She was just difficult to read, which didn’t help the situation.

  Sam navigated the roads towards Lincoln Park, making little conversation as she drove. Tim recognized it as her defense mechanism for nerves. Whenever they neared the pointy end of a hunt, she would often quieten, pulling herself inwards to cope.

  He thought back to the kiss as they drove, wondering if it had meant more. They’d been working together for quite some time already and he had always had a certain level of attraction to her. But did he really want to risk their professional relationship by pursuing something he wasn’t sure would ever fully develop?

  As he sat quietly in the back seat, he closed his eyes and thought back to the very first time he had seen her, aboard a flight from her home to Kansas. She had been sitting a few rows behind her and on one pass on his way to the bathroom, she had been sleeping. Her face had looked so innocent, so sweet, and he had slowed his walk to prolong watching her.

  When he did finally meet her, sitting down beside her to discuss the brief interlude he had played out in his own mind over and over again, it almost felt surreal. Did he have feelings for her back then? Maybe. But given the role each had to play in this relationship, could he really act on those feelings?

  He opened his eyes again, looking at Sam’s in the rearview mirror. Luckily, he had his sunglasses on and she couldn’t tell. But then, her own eyes moved, looking into the mirror, directly into his eyes. Their gaze met and for a split second, he was sure she knew he was watching. It was if her eyes somehow acknowledged the fact, almost smiling back at him.

  She returned her attention back to the road and Tim lifted his cell and thumbed the screen alive. Whatever thoughts and feelings he had about his partner, now wasn’t the time to try and interpret them. There was a job at hand and he couldn’t risk interference of any kind, not when dealing with someone as dangerous as Black Death. Because unlike most of the serial killers he had hunted, this one was different, driven by a whole new level of rage.

  The home was perfect. Nestled in a tree-lined street, surrounded by the kinds of neighbors most people hoped for and everything one would need to ensure a comfortable life. With two floors of living space, plus a swimming pool in the backyard, it was what most people strived for in their life.

  Sam parked the car in the drive and they all climbed out, Clara nervously looking up and down the street.

  “Don’t worry. No one is going to recognize you here,” Tim said, sensing her nerves.

  “How do you know? For all we know, that could be her house right over there.” She nodded her head towards a home on the other side of the road, for fear of pointing and being seen.

  “Somehow I doubt that. We wouldn’t be that lucky.”

  Sam walked to the spot where the keys were hidden and lifted the rock. She grabbed the bunch, then headed for the front door. The street lay in silence behind them as she popped the door open and waved the others inside before her. The scent of fresh flowers hung in the air and the brightness of the home only seemed to add to the ambience.

  “Beautiful home,” Clara said, heading for the fireplace where photographs lined the wall above it.

  “I’ll check upstairs,” Tim said, bounding up the stairs two at a time to see what he had to work with.

  Sam looked around the living room, then spotted the door leading into the backyard. Just as she was about to pop the door, her earpiece came to life.

  “Don’t let her out of your sight,” Tim whispered to her. “I still don’t trust her a hundred percent and don’t want to give her the chance to screw this for us.”

  “OK,” Sam replied, but in a normal tone, turning back to Clara. “Think you’re ready to do this?”

  “What, now?”

  “Not right this second, but soon. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable with this.”

  “I think so. I just wish I could talk to her, you know? Maybe get a sense of understanding. What she did for my sister is something I can never repay, regardless of whether it was right or wrong. No one will ever know the impact that monster had on her.”

  Sam sat on one of the chairs as she listened and Clara followed suite, dropping into the couch closest to the fireplace.

  “I doubt anyone could ever understand what your sister went through. None of the victim’s families for that matter. That’s what makes this so hard. She has her own demons to fight and killing people isn’t going to fix her. She needs to be stopped.”

  There was a brief silence, the women listening to Tim walking around upstairs, His footfalls came through the ceiling, the timber creaking every so often. Finally, Clara asked a question Sam didn’t know how to answer, because it wasn’t one she had even considered herself up to that point.

  “What will you do once you catch her?” Sam looked at her for a moment, her mind racing as the question seemed to avalanche its way through her thoughts.

  “To be honest, I don’t know.”

  “He’ll kill her, won’t he?” Clara nodded up to the ceiling and Sam wondered whether she was right in her assumptions.

  “Maybe. But I doubt it will be as clear-cut as that. First, we have to catch her.”

  The home was perfect and once Tim had inspected the house in its entirety, returned to the living room.

  “Let’s do this,” he said, nodding for Sam to initiate the message. “We need to get her attention fast if we want to save lives. She might be already tracking her latest victim for all we know.” Clara’s faced instantly changed, her fears rising to the surface.

  “What if she knows? Suspects? She’ll come after me.”

  “Then you better hope the message is received in the manner we need it to be,” Tim informed her.

  Sam sat beside Clara as she opened her cell and did what she needed to do, to get into the message board. Tim stood behind the couch, watching carefully as the prewritten message was copied and pasted into the box. She hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, then pressed the send button. Clara looked at Sam, then turned her head towards Tim.

  “Can I go now? It’s done.”

  “Not until we know she’s read it.”

  “But I did what you asked,” Clara protested, rising to her feet to face Tim. “You said you only needed me to send the message.”

  “Yes and now we need you to wait until we know she’s taken the bait.”

  “But-“ she began, but Tim refused to listen.

  “When it’s done,” he snapped, cutting her off.

  Clara looked at Sam for support but quickly realized it wasn’t going to come from her either. She was alone in her protests and instead of continuing, dropped back onto the couch. For the moment, they had her cornered.

  12

  Paul Burns had been a man Grace had heard of before she saw his name on End the Pain. He had been charged with embezzling his employer the previous year and the press had been relentless in their pursuit of him, right up to the moment he had been acquitted. But like so many others, the negative exposure had impacted him substantially, leading to alcoholism, drug use and of course, violence.

  Grace had the man in her sights, especially since learning that he’d put his 74-year old father into the hospital. After his wife had run out on him, taking their 6-year old daughter with her, Burns’ life spiraled more
and more out of control. After losing his home and then his car, he was soon forced to move back in with his parents, something that only served to enhance his demons.

  It had been Burns’ sister who posted the message, begging for someone to help with a man that had lost all sense of direction in his life. The pain he was inflicting on his parents, both who were simply trying to survive retirement, was abhorrent. There were suspicions that Burns had been sexually assaulting his own mother, who had been wheelchair bound for years, with his father catching him in the act.

  This was another one of those people that lived a sadistic life at the expense of others, normally substantially weaker than themselves. He needed to be ended and Grace knew his time was fast approaching.

  Grace had parked her car down the street from where the Burns family lived, far enough away to not raise suspicions, but close enough to still see what she needed to. As she sat waiting for signs of life from the home, she continued to scroll through the message boards, filling her mind with the stories of those who had nowhere else to turn.

  She couldn’t imagine why people needed to create horror movies when the world was already filled with such confrontational material, some which was enough to make one cry. There were stories of rapes and beatings inflicted on children, wives, partners, sisters, brothers, parents, the elderly and sometimes even the pets.

  When it became too much for her, Grace would simply shut off her cell, close her eyes and remember a sister whom she missed more than anything, someone she had considered to be a piece of her heart. It was Lucy’s strength that had helped Grace through many situations, her younger sibling somehow able to boost her own courage through their unspoken connection.

  She pulled out an old photo of Lucy and stared at it for a long time, feeling the pain of her death as fresh as if it happened the previous day. Grace’s biggest fear was losing that pain completely, feeling it slowly recede, like some of the memories of their time together that had begun to disappear.