Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Yes, Ted claimed it belonged to an infirm uncle who was now deceased. We are still in the process of confirming this.”
I remember BK’s coughing and his raspy voice. “Is it possible Ted’s ‘uncle’ was the Bondage Killer?” I ask my team. “BK had definite respiratory issues on the roof. This medical equipment could be his.”
“It’s possible. We’ll keep digging.” Hamish sounds grim.
“Don’t beat yourself up for missing it,” I say. “Ted could’ve stashed BK somewhere before you searched here.”
“You think Ted was taking care of BK while they planned and executed the final showdown?” Victor asks. “Or was it Ted who decided it was time for BK to die and set up the explosives?”
I imagine the second scenario, and bile rises in my throat. I don’t want to think of BK as a helpless old man, so it’s possible Ted was calling all the shots in the end. “We’ll never know.”
To distract myself, I grab the TV remote and turn it on to a news channel. On-screen, the helicopter explodes over and over.
We find photography equipment in Ted’s bedroom, along with some notes.
I read one aloud, “‘Pool cleaner, fuel oil, duct tape, zip ties.’ He used the last two to tie up the Walkers.”
“The first two are useful for creating explosive devices,” Victor says coolly. More evidence that Ted was rigging the explosions.
We finish tossing the room, but I don’t find anything of use. No journals laying out his master plan or any dead birds. He must keep them offsite.
“Look for keys,” I tell Victor. “Or bills with another address that he might be using as a hideout.” I head to the kitchen to give it another pass.
“Mina, is there any property in Ted’s name? Even a storage unit?” I keep seeing Rex held in a dark room with photographs taped to the walls. But there’s no room like that here.
“When we dug into him earlier, there was nothing like that,” Hamish says. “But we must have missed it. Perhaps he has access to someplace through his work?”
“On it,” Mina says.
I find a set of keys in a junk drawer and go out to the hall to try them in the front door. The twins hover close, keeping guard.
One of the keys works, but the other doesn’t. What door does it open?
The neighboring door opens, and a stooped senior lady appears, holding a white bag of trash. Her eyes fall on the twins and she jerks back, her hand grasping for the doorknob.
“Excuse me,” I call to the neighbor.
One of the twins catches the door before it closes. The lady cries out, looking terrified.
“It’s okay,” the twin says in a kinder voice than I expected. “We won’t hurt you.”
The lady doesn’t look convinced.
“We don’t mean any harm,” I say, stretching out a hand. “We’re just looking for Ted.”
“I don’t know any Ted!”
“Your neighbor,” I correct. My guess is Ted was antisocial. “You might have seen him with a camera? He’s a photographer.”
Camera. Dark room. No windows. . . Photographers sometimes use dark rooms, right?
“Is there any storage space available in this building?” I hold up the keys.
“Basement,” the lady says and points toward the stairwell.
Yes! That must be it.
“Thank you,” I say. Twin One sticks his head into Ted’s apartment and whistles for Victor to join us.
“Is this trash for the dumpster?” Twin Two asks the lady. When she nods, he lifts the bag out of her arms. “We’ll take it for you. You stay inside for a bit, okay?”
The lady blinks but nods. He lets her shut her door and turns to catch the rest of us staring at him.
“What?” he shrugs.
“Aren’t you just a good boy?” Victor purrs. “By all means, let’s take out the trash.”
The men close around me as we head downstairs. Each step I take jostles my sore muscles, but the pain carries me forward, singing sweetly with every step, and it’s like Rex is with me.
Then we hit the bottom of the stairs, and it’s like I’ve stepped into a cloud of black, acrid smoke. I hold my breath, trying not to cough out the stinking miasma stinging my eyes. It feels like ashes are coating my throat.
“He’s here,” I whisper.
The twins box me in. Twin Two must have set down the trash bag because he’s got his gun out. I draw my weapon and flick the safety off. Victor goes first, a long knife glittering in his hand. We all move quietly into the basement.
We pass several wire cages containing dusty furniture and long-forgotten exercise equipment. My helmet shifts to night vision, and I can see the shapes outlined in green.
Victor stops, and we stop with him. He crouches down to pick something up. When he rises, he holds it out for us to see.
It’s a black feather.
We’ve found Ted’s lair. But where is he? And where is Rex?