Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [463]
“You’re more alike than you want to believe.” Maggie watched closely as he listened, his fingers forgetting as he did so. “Even your DNA was close enough to throw us off. We thought Everett killed those girls.”
He smiled, pleased by this. “I really did have everyone fooled, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” Maggie said, playing along. “You certainly did.”
“And I have photos of his unfortunate demise. Just got back from Cleveland with the exclusive.” He waved a free hand at the duffel bag on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.
He pulled the old woman with him, getting close to the bag. She was breathing more steadily now. Garrison seemed unaware of the loosened noose as he tried to find his precious film. “Haven’t decided yet who I’ll give the exclusive to. Looks like it might be a bigger story than I thought. Especially now. Now that you’re here. Now that you’ve changed everything.”
He didn’t seem angry about this. No, he seemed resigned. Perhaps he was just as happy to be caught, so that he could finally share all his illicit photos, all those horrible images, and get the credit, receive the fame—no matter what the cost—just to stroke his overactive ego. It wasn’t that unusual. Maggie had known of other serial killers who purposely got caught, just to show off their handiwork, just to make sure they didn’t go unrecognized.
She found herself releasing the tension in her arm. She kept the gun pointed at him, but her trigger finger relaxed. Garrison’s mind was preoccupied, his only concern on the film, on his fame.
“Three fucking rolls in living color,” he said, reaching into the duffel bag as if to show her, dragging the old woman with him.
She expected to see black film canisters. The pistol was in his hand and he fired before she could duck. It ripped through her shoulder, knocking her into the wall. She tried to regain her balance. Instead, she felt her body sliding down the wall. She couldn’t move her arm. Tried to raise her gun. The arm and the gun wouldn’t move.
Garrison was pleased.
“Yes, looks like I’ll be very famous, indeed,” he said, smiling. Then he shoved the woman aside and at the same time raised the gun.
“No!” Maggie screamed at him.
In one smooth, easy movement he shot the old woman. Her small body slammed against the wall with a sickening snap of bones and flesh as her body crumpled into a heap.
Maggie tried to raise her own gun again. Damn it! She couldn’t feel her fingers. She couldn’t even feel the gun. It was still gripped in her hand, but she couldn’t feel it, couldn’t move it. The bullet had paralyzed her arm from shoulder to fingers.
He came at her, his gun aimed at her chest. She needed to lift the goddamn gun. She needed to point, to squeeze, but her arm wasn’t obeying. Just as she reached for her weapon with her left hand, Garrison was there, standing above her. His black boot kicked at her useless fingers, knocking the gun out and sending it skidding across the floor.
There was a stinging pain in the side of her neck, but still no feeling in her right arm. She could feel blood trickling down her sleeve and could see several spots on the floor. She still couldn’t move the goddamn hand.
“Where’s the book?” he said, standing over her. Then he saw it in her jacket pocket and pointed at it.
“You’ll need to get it yourself,” she told him. “I honestly can’t move.” She would make him get it. She still had one good hand. She could grab him, grab the gun.
But he didn’t make a move toward her. In fact, he no longer seemed to care about the precious book. He glanced back at the old woman, then looked around his apartment as if assessing the damage, as if trying to decide what his next move should be.
“You keep it,” he said, to Maggie’s surprise, and he went back to the kitchen counter, rummaging through his duffel bag. “Just remember it goes with the photos,” he told her as he took out several black canisters and set them on the counter. “This can’t be anything less than a front-page exclusive—above