Killing Ways Read online

  ‘That kind of trauma has profound effects on a brain that age,’ said Sylvie. ‘It was some tough work. The father … that was possibly one of the most difficult moments of my career. He had to sit in with Tyler, and to see the man trying to hold it together was …’ She shook her head. ‘I spoke with him alone first – the little guy was with his grandmother. I have never seen a man so utterly devastated in my life.’ She walked over to Ren’s desk, holding her clipboard to her chest.

  Ren read the gold lettering on the pencil.

  Take your mind away from the horror. Hay-Adams Hotel, Washington D.C. Swish.

  ‘Will he be able to block out that memory?’ said Ren. ‘Or is it with him for life?’

  ‘Well, blocking out is not the healthy way to deal with anything, really,’ said Sylvie.

  Ren sat back in her chair. ‘Now, that’s where I’ve been going wrong all these years.’ She turned to Everett. ‘Who are you, again?’

  They laughed. Sylvie tried to.

  ‘So,’ said Ren, ‘are you ready to do your thing?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sylvie. ‘Thanks, Ren.’

  There is something different in your attitude toward me, Miss Ross. What could it possibly be?

  The conference room slowly filled with the task force. When everyone had gathered, Ren introduced Sylvie, and dissolved into the crowd.

  ‘OK,’ said Sylvie. ‘Here’s what I’ve put together based on my interviews with Carly Raine’s three-year-old son. So I’m talking you through this from how I see it going down, not in his words. If you want to read how I came to these conclusions based on a combination of the evidence and what Tyler Raine told me, please read the report.’ She laid a manicured hand on top of the document.

  ‘OK,’ she said, ‘Carly Raine was in the back garden hanging washing on the line. The UNSUB came into the house, unbeknownst to her. The back of the house contains the kitchen – which has a window and door onto the garden – and the living/dining area – which has a wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling glass window. The kitchen can be closed off from the living/dining area by a partition, which the UNSUB closed when he arrived, leaving Tyler in the living/dining room, looking out the window. Then, Carly Raine was naked, the UNSUB was with her, and then they were both gone.

  ‘I think what happened after the attack was that the UNSUB came back into the house alone, took Tyler and locked him in the downstairs bathroom under the stairs. He then carried Carly Raine from where he left her in that wooded area, through her back yard and into the dining area where we found her.’

  Ren felt empty inside, listening to this.

  Sylvie continued. ‘The Raines’ bathroom door is one of those that locks on one side, but has a safety lock on the other that you can open with a coin or anything that fits in the slot. The father had mounted it the opposite way, so that the kids couldn’t lock the bathroom while they were in there, but that adults could if they were using the bathroom. The father said the little guy had seen him unlock it before, so he must have known where the coin was and how to use it.

  The terror he must have felt, the desperation.

  ‘As you’ve seen from the crime scene,’ said Sylvie, ‘when he got himself out of the bathroom, Tyler found his mother in a devastating state, and made every attempt to awaken her. It looks like he may have been alone with her for several hours. He said that the baby was upstairs asleep in her crib. The little guy went to check she was OK, eventually, and it was only then that she woke up. Tyler was unable to give me any description of the UNSUB, just that he was taller than his mom. But his mom was only five four, so that doesn’t give us a lot.’

  Afterwards, when Sylvie was gone, Ren and Janine were in the ladies’ room together.

  ‘So, how’s Ben?’ said Janine.

  ‘I don’t know – it’s really claustrophobic when he’s here,’ said Ren. ‘There is one bedroom. There is nowhere to go. When he is here, he is here.’

  ‘Just a question,’ said Janine, ‘but when he used to come to Annie’s, didn’t you spend most of your time in the same room together, regardless of how many rooms were in the house?’

  ‘Yes, but … it’s …’

  ‘Psychological maybe?’

  ‘Maybe …’ She paused. ‘But, it’s like I feel he’s just watching me the whole time.’

  ‘Looking at you adoringly, you mean.’

  ‘Hmm, I’m not sure.’

  ‘Really? Why?’ said Janine.

  ‘I don’t know – just a feeling.’ That I can’t shake.

  They went back into the bullpen. Gary was standing in the center, his hands on his hips.

  ‘I think Sylvie’s going to talk to the kid again, see if she can get some more information from him,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Ren. ‘It’s not likely, is it?’

  ‘Why?’ said Gary. Terse.

  ‘He was locked into a room, the attack happened mainly out of his line of vision – thank God – and he’s three years old – what else can he know?’ said Ren.

  ‘What you heard from Sylvie is what she’s been able to report for now—’

  ‘Give the poor family a break,’ said Ren. ‘Sylvie said that the husband is distraught, and really had to get his shit together not to fall apart during—’

  ‘I know that,’ said Gary. ‘But—’

  ‘Look, it’s not likely Tyler will have heard “Hey, Mrs Raine, my name is XYZ and I’m going to—”’

  Gary glared at her. ‘Ren, can I see you in my office, please?’

  Sweet. Jesus.

  32

  Gary and Ren sat down in Gary’s office.

  ‘I’d like you to listen to something,’ said Gary. ‘This is a voice recording of a call to a law enforcement agency called … Safe Streets.’ He hit play.

  ‘Hello, Rodney Viezel here. Is that Special Agent Bryce?’

  Ren shifted in her seat. Oh, fuck. Rodney. ‘That’s that idiot who’s been looking at the office space with Valerie, rattling the guardrails—’

  ‘Ren – listen,’ said Gary.

  ‘Hello, Rodney … again. Yes, it’s Special Agent Ren Bryce here … again.’

  Rodney laughs. ‘Well, what are the chances?’

  ‘Pretty high, Rodney, pretty fucking high. One in eleven. My boss doesn’t lower himself to take these kind of calls.’

  ‘What kind of calls?’ says Rodney.

  ‘Crank calls!’ said Ren. ‘Come on, Gary. Give me a break. Ever since he came to view this place, and I – foolishly, I admit – engaged with him, he’s been calling for some bullshit reason or another.’

  Gary glared at her. ‘Keep listening.’

  ‘I just wanted to follow up on an electrical concern,’ says Rodney. ‘Your building doesn’t seem to have a backup generator …’

  ‘As a courtesy, Rodney, I’ll respond to that, even though it’s not my job,’ Ren says. ‘This is a very old building. Building code states that because we are under six stories high, we’re not required to have a backup generator. However, yes, we could have one retro-fitted, but that requires many other factors to be taken into consideration – like the space needed to house it, noise levels, etc. This is a matter for the building owner. Or, at the very least, it’s something Valerie can help you with.’

  ‘And,’ says Rodney, ‘that light switch that was loose in the lobby, the socket …’

  Ren laughs, not unkindly. ‘You’re like a superhero with your supersonic vision.’ Wrong, but who cares?

  ‘Supersonic relates to sound,’ says Rodney.

  ‘Anal eyesight, then,’ says Ren.

  Gary hit Stop. ‘There’s more along those lines, as you know.’ He looked at Ren. ‘If he didn’t have a crush on you, this would have been posted online for the world to hear. Instead, I got it, so I could have a word with you. What were you thinking?’

  ‘But you know none of this has anything to do with me!’ said Ren. ‘I don’t own the building, I’m not a realtor, I’m not an electrician. The closest thing I can c
ome up with is I have a lot of energy. None of which I want to spend on calls with Rodney fucking Viezel. After that last woman and the aliens …’

  ‘Ren, you can’t control who ends up on the other end of a phoneline – none of us can. Consider this how not to take a call.’ He paused. ‘You don’t know whether someone is nuts or not. We can’t afford to alienate people.’

  ‘Aliens – see what you did there?’ said Ren.

  ‘Go.’

  After work, Ren got in the Jeep and dialed Valerie’s number as she pulled out of the parking lot.

  Thanks for the reminder, Rodney!

  Ren left a voicemail for Valerie.

  ‘Valerie, it’s Ren Bryce here from Safe Streets. I was just wondering if you could help me find a home. There’s only so long I can handle the apartment! Please call me whenever you get a chance. Thanks so much!’

  Ren started to drive home. Her mind wandered to Amanda Petrie, the girl who stumbled across the Jane Doe.

  I never visited her. She might tell me more about the woman and the lyrics that are haunting me.

  Ren arrived at Amanda Petrie’s house at seven p.m. She got no answer when she rang the bell. She went to the neighboring house, where a woman in her early fifties, in paint-spattered clothes, answered.

  ‘Hello,’ said Ren, flashing her credentials. ‘I’m Special Agent Ren Bryce with the FBI. I’m wondering if you know Amanda Petrie.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do,’ she said. ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Ren. ‘I’m just following up on an incident that happened last month. Amanda wasn’t home just now. Her car is in the drive. I was wondering if you’d seen her today.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did,’ she said. ‘Coming back from the beauty salon. It’s her sister’s fortieth birthday party tonight.’

  ‘Is it on right now?’ said Ren.

  ‘I guess so,’ said the neighbor. ‘She was home from the salon at four o’clock, looked like she just needed to throw on her dress. She probably had to go early to make sure everything was OK at the venue.’

  ‘You didn’t see her leave …’ said Ren.

  ‘I just got back from the store an hour ago,’ said the neighbor. ‘Do you want me to give you her cell phone number?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Ren. ‘I won’t bother her tonight.’

  ‘Well, Amanda’s a sensible girl – she won’t be out too late, so you could probably get hold of her first thing in the morning. She’s not the type to need to sleep off a hangover.’

  Ren glanced at Amanda’s car in the driveway. ‘And she didn’t drive?’

  ‘No, I guess she took a ride with family or got a cab. She was probably planning at least to have a cocktail or two.’ She smiled.

  ‘OK, well, I can try her tomorrow,’ said Ren.

  I don’t want to burst her party bubble by reminding her of a maggot-riddled lady and a car accident. Not tonight.

  Ren’s cell phone rang when she got into the car.

  She picked up. ‘You can be my hero, baby.’

  ‘Well, that might just be the case,’ said Rodeal.

  ‘I like the sound of that.’

  ‘I’ve got something,’ he said. ‘A connection of sorts – goes back to what you were saying about Jane Doe – the people who brought her in.’

  Ren felt a shiver up her spine. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘We’ll need your help on the other end of things, but what we’ve got is – we picked up a license plate on video close to two of the scenes: it was a rental car, registered to Kurt Vine – he’s the young man who was driving the pickup that crashed into Sky Ridge. It was totaled: his insurance gave him a replacement. It was caught driving west on I-72 the night of Hope Coulson’s murder. And on the night Carrie Longman was last seen.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Ren.

  ‘Now, we did some digging on this guy – he lives in Sedalia.’

  I knowww! I was there! Which I can’t say out loud. Because Gary will kill me for going alone.

  ‘It’s about five minutes from where he picked up the Jane Doe, and the young woman helping her,’ said Rodeal. ‘We just didn’t have the resources to search that entire property at the time she was picked up – it’s easily over four hundred acres. A couple of our detectives called to the house, got no answer, took a look around. They didn’t find anything hinky. Anyway, I looked the guy up today – he doesn’t really register anywhere. He doesn’t seem to have a job, a life, a membership to a club, nothing. No priors. He has a website – ForTheForgotten.net – a whole bunch of photos of abandoned buildings. Anyway, I get the impression this is a guy who lives online. And we don’t have the kind of resources to get any further into that.’

  ‘Well,’ said Ren, ‘luckily we have the resource that is Everett King! He could be our hero. He mightn’t break his arm in the process, but he will definitely do some damage to a keyboard.’

  The next morning, Ren watched Everett get to work, marveling at how his fine fingers struck the keys so lightly, how his eyes scanned the screen so swiftly.

  ‘Oh, how huge your tiny mind is,’ she said, smiling.

  Everett winked, without looking up. ‘Takes one to know one.’

  Ren laughed. She brought him coffee, glancing up at him every now and then to admire his talents.

  Eventually, he stopped.

  ‘Are you ready for this?’ he said. ‘There’s an underground online game that Kurt Vine plays called Hufuki. A game created by losers, played by losers—’

  ‘Lost by … losers!’ said Ren. ‘What kind of game?’

  ‘A hunting game is all I know. But I can’t just rock up and ask to play without drawing suspicion. This is a delicate maneuver. I will use my wiles to join the forum now, then request to play tonight.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Ren, ‘if I could get some spa treatments as part of the investigation …’

  ‘This will be neither relaxing nor sleep-inducing …’ said Everett.

  ‘You haven’t met my masseuse,’ said Ren. ‘Someone’s going to file an assault charge on her …’

  Ren’s phone rang. She picked up.

  ‘Ren, it’s Rodeal – I just wanted to let you know – a Missing Persons report came in last night on Amanda Petrie: apparently she was a no-show at her sister’s birthday party.‘ The one she organized.

  Oh. Fuck. ‘Oh my God – I was at her house.’

  ‘Yeah – the neighbor said she spoke with you. Why were you there?’

  ‘I was following up on the Jane Doe after I spoke with Edie.’

  ‘You didn’t see anything suspicious …’

  ‘No,’ said Ren. ‘But I just rang the doorbell – that was it. I didn’t look in the windows, go around back or anything. I mean, I was just there to ask about the Jane Doe. I wasn’t thinking Amanda Petrie could be in some kind of danger. Shit.’

  ‘Did you get anything on that Kurt Vine guy?’ said Rodeal.

  ‘He’s a gamer. Everett’s going online to play tonight, find out more, maybe make a connection.’

  ‘OK,’ said Rodeal. ‘Keep me posted.’

  Ren put down the phone. Her stomach tightened.

  Did my presence at the house bring something bad to bear on Amanda Petrie? Was she in there while I was outside? Was she in trouble?

  Ren filled Everett in on Amanda Petrie.

  ‘No Amanda Petrie, no Kurt Vine – it might be a coincidence,’ said Ren, ‘but it might not. Get playing as soon as you can, see if we can get a window into his world.’

  The next morning, Everett arrived into Safe Streets, white-faced.

  ‘It turns out that Hufuki stands for – wait for it – Hunt, Fuck, Kill.’

  ‘What the—’

  ‘I’ve been up all night playing. I’m scarred. It’s not good. Or it is – depending on your angle. It’s basically about chasing women through woods, and you can work out the rest …’

  ‘What is wrong with people?’ said Janine.

  ‘And,’ said Everett,
‘it appears its most successful player is one “twistedvine”.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ said Ren. ‘Amanda Petrie …’

  Everett pinned up an aerial map of Kurt Vine’s property, with all the buildings marked in, and a floor plan of the main house.

  Kurt Vine was at the end of Level 9. He had been playing for sixteen hours straight. He couldn’t stop. He was chasing this hot bitch through the woods. She was dressed like one of those Seventies chicks, tiny red shorts, white knee-high socks with the red stripes, red sneakers, tight white top, pointy tits, about to die. Sweat stung Kurt’s eyes. This was incredible. His heart was pounding. He was about to reach LEVEL 10. LEVEL FUCKING 10.

  It all became insignificant as two strangers, dressed in black, appeared in his doorway.

  Kurt dropped the console, scrambled back in the sofa, grabbed a cushion to cover his erection.

  Weird shit just keeps on happening to me, he thought.

  The room erupted in crazed laughter from the television screen. It lit up with: YOU’RE THE BITCH WHO DIES! BURN, BITCH, BURN!’

  He turned to the two strangers. ‘Who the FUCK are you?’

  33

  Kurt Vine’s blacked-out living room smelled of nachos, cheese dip, salsa, and cigarettes. There were discarded chip packages around the floor, shards of nachos on every surface, ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts and balled-up tissues. The screen glowed. It was frozen on YOU’RE THE BITCH WHO DIES! BURN!

  ‘What are you playing?’ said Ren, following the trail of wires across the floor to the sofa.

  Kurt Vine’s eyes darted left and right. ‘Uh …’

  ‘Just to save me the trouble of having to eject the cartridge,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve got a sore back.’ She smiled.

  ‘Uh … well,’ said Kurt, ‘it’s a Japanese game called Hufuki.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Ren. ‘Hunt Fuck Kill!’

  Vine hung his head.

  ‘What level are you at?’ said Ren.

  ‘It’s just a game,’ said Kurt.

  ‘We know that,’ said Ren, laughing. ‘Just, I’m a competitive person. And a former Mario Bros. addict.’

  Kurt sucked in a breath. ‘Level 10.’

  ‘Impressive,’ said Ren. ‘That’s where the real girls come in.’