“What did she taste like, Barry? Can you remember that?”
“I can’t remember anything.”
Time to get serious.
“I bet you do remember it. I bet you remember what a rush it was, to cut off her head. I bet it gave you such a sense of power and control. You fucked her too, didn’t you? Do you remember if it was before or after you yanked out her heart?”
Barry was really putting on a show now, sobbing loudly. But I wasn’t buying.
“Drop the act, Barry. I know you’re lying. You remember every sick little detail. I bet you jerk off to those memories every night in your lonely little cell. You make me sick. I hope they fry your ass in the chair, tumor or no tumor, you piece of shit.”
When Fuller pulled his hands away from his face, he was grinning. I’d expected anger or outrage, but he looked outright amused.
“You’re wearing a wire, aren’t you, Lieutenant?”
I didn’t reply.
“You want me to be honest, but you won’t be honest yourself? Let me see the wire.”
I considered my options. Knowing Barry was faking this seemed more important than proving it. I took out the recorder, then switched it off.
“Fine, Barry. Just you and me. You ready to drop this stupid amnesia ploy and come clean?”
Fuller closed his eyes and clasped his hands together, as if in prayer. Then he lifted his arm and rubbed his face on his sleeve, back and forth.
“Onions.” He blew his nose. “Under my fingernails. Instant tears, courtesy of the wonderful chicken soup served up nice and hot by the Department of Corrections. Pretty good performance, huh? Anything I need to improve before I give it in court?”
I felt myself get very cold.
“How much do you remember, Barry?”
“I remember everything, Jack.”
“The murders?”
“Every detail. And you were right. At night, when I’m all alone in my cell, I abuse myself thinking about them. Spit and a fist are a poor substitute for a bleeding, screaming whore. But I have to make do until they let me out.”
He made a kissy face and winked at me. My stomach rolled over, and I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“So there was no reason for this? Just bloodlust?”
“Just bloodlust? You say that like you’re disappointed. What’s a better reason for murder than that? Money? Revenge? Lust is so much purer.”
“So you’re a sociopath.”
“Actually, no. I’ve had a lot of time in here to read, sort things out. According to the
“High on killing?”
“Headaches, Jack. Terrible headaches. Caused by the tumor, probably, but I’ve had them my whole life, and they tell me the tumor can’t be more than a year old. Killing makes the pain go away. I figured out it has something to do with endorphin. Endogenous morphine. The body manufactures it to block pain, and it’s a hundred times more powerful than an equivalent dose of heroin. Killing gives me an endorphin rush. At least, that’s what I think. I’d like to ask all of these shrinks watching me 24-7, see what they think, but I’ve got to keep up appearances.”
“So now that the tumor is gone?”
“Tumor doesn’t matter, Jack. I’m addicted to killing.”
He grinned, his eyes as black and lifeless as a shark’s.
I stood up, not needing to hear any more. I got what I came for.
“Leaving so soon, Jack? But I haven’t told you my plans yet.”
“What plans?”
“For after they let me out. I’m going to be looking you up, Jack.” He waggled his tongue at me, and began to rub his crotch. “We’re going to have a real good time, Lieutenant. I got something special planned for you, and that fat partner of yours. I hated you before, because you wouldn’t take me in Detective Division. Since you put me in this hellhole, I’ve grown to hate you even more. I’ll show you, soon.”
I turned my back on him, and tried to walk to the door without shaking too badly.
“Don’t worry, Jack. It won’t be right away. First I’m going to kill everyone in your life. Everyone you know and care about.”
I pounded on the steel, harder than I intended.
“Give my best to your mom and boyfriend, Jack. Be seeing you soon.”
I pounded again, and Carver opened up.
“You okay, Lieutenant?”
I nodded. But I wasn’t okay. My hands were quaking, and I had an overwhelming urge to vomit.
“Jack?” Herb had concern in his eyes.
“He’s faking, Herb. Faking big time. We can’t let him get out.”
“What happened in there? Do you have the tape?”
I held Benedict’s eyes and grabbed his arms, squeezing hard.
“We can’t let him get out, Herb. We can’t. No matter what.”
CHAPTER 26
“Open cell eleven.”
“Opening cell eleven.”
The electronic lock disengages with a clang, and the cell door opens. Fuller eyes the prison guard escorting him; the man is eight inches shorter, with a neck so thin Fuller could strangle him with one hand.
The skinny guard unlocks Fuller’s ankle irons, while the second guard, a fat guy with a face like a bulldog, stands at the ready palming a can of pepper spray.
“Thanks,” Fuller says instead. He smiles, playing his role. The thin guy takes off his handcuffs, and Fuller enters his cell. It’s tiny, cramped. A lidless steel shitter dominates one corner, next to a steel sink. In the other corner is a steel cot, a two-inch-thick cotton mattress resting on top.
There isn’t enough room in here to do a decent push-up, so Fuller compromises, putting his palms on the cool concrete floor and his feet on the sink.
“One, two, three, four…”
He touches his chin to the floor with each tip, feeling the burn build up in his shoulders and chest. His face begins to turn red, and he smiles.
“Eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”
Fuller looks at the cot. There’s a small slit in the mattress, along a seam, with more pieces of onion and some other things. Things that will produce dramatic court theatrics.
“Thirty-seven, thirty-eight-”
The lie detector tomorrow will be fun too. He still has the staple, secretly liberated from his attorney’s paperwork. A staple is all he needs to pass with flying colors.
“Sixty-five, sixty-six…”
Everything is going his way. His bitch of a wife is dead, finally. He got his lawyer to pass on word to Rushlo to keep quiet – and the little toady will no doubt follow orders. If all goes as planned, Fuller will be back out on the street soon – probably in a few weeks. Then he’ll pay Jack a visit, make good on his promise.
“Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one…”
Only one thing is bothering him. Though the doctors assure him his tumor is completely gone, he’s still getting headaches. They aren’t as sharp as before, but they’ve been increasing in intensity over the past few weeks.
“Hundred twenty, hundred twenty-one…”
So far, aspirin is helping. But he foresees a time when that won’t be enough. He’ll need to kill again. Soon.
“Hundred fifty.”
Fuller’s feet touch the floor and he stands and stretches, knuckles dragging across the ceiling. He’s breathing hard. There’s a metallic taste in his mouth – he’s bitten his tongue.
The taste is arousing.
After a minute’s rest, he puts his feet back on the sink and begins another set of push-ups. His teeth work on the cut in his tongue, making it larger.
“Twenty, twenty-one…”
He closes his eyes, pretending the blood he’s swallowing is Jack’s.
CHAPTER 27
I dialed Libby from Benedict’s car and gave her the short version. The excitement in her voice was obvious.
“I knew he was playing us!”
“We don’t have evidence.”
“But now that we know for sure, we’ll get some. The polygraph examiner we’ve got is the best. He pegged Ted Bundy. He’ll get Fuller too. You did good, Jack.”
“Thanks.”
