The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [103]
“Fine, then run it.”
Bledsoe leaned forward, rested his hands on the armrests of Hancock’s chair. “Come on, Hancock. We know about the affair.”
“What affair?”
“Don’t insult us any more than you already have. We have a very reliable source who’ll be more than willing to testify.”
Pushing Bledsoe’s large, unyielding frame out of his way, Hancock struggled to stand. “I don’t have to sit here and take this. If you had something, you’d have cuffed me by now.” He shook his head, his lips bent into a frown. Shaming them. “You people have a viable suspect—Karen Vail—but you’re not interested. You think you hold all the cards? Wait till I let the media know Lee Thurston’s finest is dodging the investigation, overlooking the one person who’s quite possibly the Dead Eyes killer, all because they’re protecting one of their own.”
“Gather your things and get the hell out of here,” Bledsoe said. “In case you’re wondering, you’re off the task force. There’s no senator to pull strings for you. And the police chief won’t touch you with a ten foot pole.”
Hancock snatched up his attaché, threw assorted papers inside, and grabbed his coat.
Robby rose from his chair and rested his hands on his hips. “Talk to the media, and you’ll only bring more heat on yourself.”
Hancock stormed to the front door, stopped, and turned around. “You people are imbeciles.”
“At least we’ve got jobs,” Sinclair said. “You’re an unemployed imbecile.”
The door slammed and Hancock was gone.
forty-two
I usually take some cheese into my secret room for Charlie to munch on. He’s getting a little fat, probably because I feed him too much. But whenever I go there, it’s like I’ve come home and he comes over to say hi. He climbs into my lap and sniffs around. Probably looking for more food. Damn parasite, that’s all he is. Give me, give me, give me.
I’m not in the mood today. The prick’s latest whore saw me last night and made fun of me. I didn’t need that, I get enough of it from him. I’d like to make him feel the way he makes me feel for once.
Charlie climbs up on my chest and looks at me, his tiny nose wiggling and his whiskers shaking accusingly at me.
“What the hell is your problem?” I shout, then stop to think if anyone is home. I can’t let this little rodent ruin things. He looks at me with those eyes, evil eyes. “Don’t look at me that way! I hate you!”
I grab him by the neck and reach to my right, where there are some nails left over from the construction I’d done to expand the room. I pick one up and jam it right through his eye socket. He stiffens, then goes limp in my hand.
My heart is beating rapidly, and I feel high, like I’m floating. What a feeling! I’m wired, I can’t get a deep breath.
I throw Charlie’s body down on the shelf mounted on the wall and pull out my pocket knife. I wonder what he’d look like if I just make a slice right here. I pant like a dog, unable to control myself. A dog. Now that would be something. Do this to a dog—
He remembered that day quite well. Certain memories just stick in your mind like a piece of chewing gum on the bottom of a shoe. You pull and twist and stretch and the damn gum just won’t let go.
He shut down the laptop and put it aside. He had a little less than an hour before students started arriving for his advanced pottery class and he needed to decompress, turn his thoughts away from his childhood. He grabbed an unfinished sandwich from the small refrigerator and switched on the television. But of course he wouldn’t be able to escape it altogether. After all, he’d made the news. Literally made it. The Dead Eyes killer was a nightly story, if only as a feature piece on public safety. But he was always mentioned.
Yet somehow, the police had managed to keep a tight lid on the Linwood murder. Guess it would