Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Once I’m at the top of the stairs looking down, I find Jack staring back at me. He’s also managed to make the standard gear of a jumpsuit and boots ridiculous by simply being himself, not to mention the goggles perched on his head, hair poking from beneath it in four different directions. The man is goofy and the only person outside of myself that I’ve ever known to be more comfortable with death, we’re killers. I’m not sure what that says about me or him. I walk down the stairs and collect his offerings. “Where’s Leonard?”
“Booted up and looking around for evidence.”
Acting like a real, and maybe even good, FBI agent. Proof an unhealthy obsession with Kane does not make an FBI agent bad at their job. I should know. The road to marriage was laid in obsession and denial. I’ve pulled on my garment and footwear, when Leonard appears. “Anything?”
“I only did a brief scan of every room in the place on the lower level, but it’s pristine, which leads to the question of why? Why one room versus the other?”
“Where the water flows and the window allows access is the answer,” I say. “I’d bet my badge on it.”
“You’re right,” Jack says, tapping the air as if he’s notched a scoreboard. “The hose is beneath the window in the very room where our victim is hanging with no hands.”
In other words, the water wasn’t crisis management. The killer knew exactly where he planned to go when he got here. He knew he was going to use the water hose. Everything about this murder is starting to look staged. In which case, Ghost and the mob are back on the table.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A few minutes later, I’m standing in front of the body with Leonard beside me. “His teeth are intact,” Jack says, reaching high, and holding back his upper lip with his gloved hand. “The mob takes the teeth.”
“He clearly was not killed here,” Leonard says. “And the wounds are dry. Was the killer trying to wash away his own blood?”
The same thought I had for about thirty seconds. “And he just happened to pick this room, where there’s access to a hose?” I ask but answer myself. “No. This is all a staged murder scene.”
“And the blood?” he asks.
“You think that’s pig’s blood?” Jack asks.
Leonard scowls at him. “We think this is some sort of Umbrella Man copycat?” The question comes out as an insult meant to mock Jack, as if he’s literally a moron.
I’d correct Leonard, but Jack is on his game, thinking out loud and oblivious to the nastiness. He’s in his zone, as he should be, and it works for him. “If it were a true copycat,” he replies, “we’d be wading in blood right now. But stealing ideas from other killers commonly happens. For instance, Mark Twitchell, a Canadian filmmaker who emulated the fictional character Dexter Morgan from the TV show Dexter, but his execution was flawed and he only managed to claim one victim. And then there’s—”
“No,” I say, my tone absolute. “We get the point, Jack, but,” my lips curve with a remark I just can’t resist, and I’m already highly amused with myself before I even attempt a perfect delivery, “you know what they say about FBI agents who assume—”
“They make asses of themselves,” Jack supplies.
Leonard is already scowling and I love it.
“No,” I reply, my eyes meeting Leonard’s. “They end up dead. Now both of you give me a few minutes in the room alone.”
“You were going to tell me how the hands were cut off, agent,” Leonard snidely points out, as if trying to tell me he’s not afraid of me or Kane, when we both know it’s a lie. That fear swims like a piranha in his eyes, ready to devour him.
“Blunt force sharp blade,” Jack says, having no idea what is passing between me and Leonard, as he adds, “perhaps a sword but I’ll need to test it in the lab.”
“What about an axe?” Leonard asks, trying to act oh so cool, when he doesn’t have a cool bone in his body.
“No,” Jack replies. “The cuts would be thicker and not as clean, which is why they make better horror movie weapons than they do real life execution tools.”
Leonard just stares at him a beat. “You sound like a crazy person.”
“All three of us are standing in front of a dead man who just happens to have his hands cut off,” I say. “I’m sure that makes us all perfectly sane. Clear the room.”
“I object,” he pushes.
“Overruled and don’t piss me off. I have a dark passenger of my own I’ve come to love. You don’t. I see the butterflies in your eyes.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I’ll tell you when I have time to deal with your meltdown.” I firm my voice. “Go check on the progress beyond this room.” I lift a gloved hand at Jack. “Give your team a head’s up that I’m almost done.”