Midnight Rambler_ A Novel Of Suspense Part 45

"I need to see it," I said.

We climbed into the back of the van. The interior was filled with sophisticated electronic monitoring equipment. Saunders's partner sat up front wearing a pair of headphones, and he gave us the thumbs-up.

One wall of the van was nothing but digital monitors. Saunders played the tape of Winters going into Skell's suite. Winters wore loose-fitting designer clothes, a baseball cap, and shades. His diamond earring sparkled as he walked. Clutched to his chest was an open cardboard box containing several bottles of champagne. Dangling from his fingers was a plastic bag from CVS.

Winters used his foot to knock on the door to Skell's suite. The door opened, and Skell stuck his head out. He looked around, then put his arm around Winters's shoulder and ushered him inside.

The tape ended. Saunders. .h.i.t a b.u.t.ton, and the monitor switched back to real time.

"I want to know what's inside that bag from CVS," I said.

Saunders looked at Linderman as if seeking confirmation.

"I think that's a good idea," Linderman said.

Saunders called the CVS pharmacy on the corner. A minute later he had an answer.

"Chase Winters made six purchases on his Visa Card," Saunders said. "Razors, shaving cream, a box of cotton b.a.l.l.s, rubbing alcohol, a package of sewing needles, and a can of black shoe polish."

Linderman looked at me. "What did he want with that stuff?"

I shook my head. There was no way of knowing what Skell was up to.

"The movie producer is coming out," Saunders's partner announced.

On the monitor we saw Chase Winters emerge from Skell's suite. He was holding the cardboard box up to his chest, and his baseball cap was pulled down low. His diamond earring continued to sparkle. He walked to his own suite, unlocked the door, and went in.

Something didn't feel right. Without thinking I lifted my head, and banged the roof of the van. The pain made me see the discrepancy.

"Play the tape again," I said.

Linderman and Saunders stared at me.

"Come on," I said.

Saunders replayed the tape. I brought my face to the screen and stared at Winters's feet. He was wearing black tennis sneakers. They didn't match his outfit, and I was reminded of Shannon Dockery's abduction at Disney. Her abductors had painted her shoes instead of switching them because shoe sizes were hard to predict.

Then I knew. The man we'd just seen wasn't Chase Winters. It was Skell, wearing Winters's clothes and earring, his sneakers colored with dark shoe polish. He had staged his escape right beneath our noses.

"That's Skell," I shouted.

The FBI agents beat me out of the van and across the lot.

With weapons drawn, they took down the door to Winters's suite. I waited a few seconds before following them inside. This was their show, not mine.

The living room was empty, save for the cardboard box lying on the floor. I walked into the bedroom and found Saunders and his partner climbing through an open window that led to a courtyard behind the motel. They had checked Skell's suite for escape windows, but not Winters's suite. My nightmare had become reality. Skell was free.

As Saunders and his partner ran across the courtyard in pursuit, Linderman frantically punched numbers into his cell phone and called for backup.

"Where's the other teams?" I asked.

Linderman looked at me, not understanding.

"You said there would be three teams of agents a.s.signed to watch Skell. Where are the other two teams?"

Linderman shook his head. He didn't know. I cursed and started to leave.

"Where are you going?" Linderman asked.

"Next door," I said. "I want to see what he did to them."

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE.

The door to Skell's suite was unlocked. So as not to taint the crime scene, I twisted the k.n.o.b using my s.h.i.+rttail, then used my shoe to open the door.

I stuck my head into the darkened s.p.a.ce. So did my dog, who'd climbed out of the 4Runner to join me.

The living room had its shades drawn, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The sounds of a man's tortured breathing filled the void and painted pictures in the dark too gruesome to describe. I opened the door all the way and let sunlight flood the room.

A hazy cloud of cigarette smoke hung lifelessly in the air, as did the sweet smell of champagne. I drew my Colt as I stepped inside.

"Ahhh."

The voice was m.u.f.fled. My eyes scanned the room's interior. Leonard Snook sat in the corner, tied to a chair with a bedsheet. A sock was stuck in his mouth, and his face was turning a violent shade of blue. He had also soiled himself.

"How's the book coming?" I asked.

"Uhhh."

"I should let you die, you know that."

"Ahhh."

I pulled the sock out of his mouth, and Snook sucked down air.

"Tell me what happened," I said.

Snook began to weep. The shock was so great he could not speak. I kicked the leg of the chair with my foot. The jolt made him sit upright.

"Start talking," I said.

"He made me watch," the attorney sobbed. the attorney sobbed.

"Did he kill them in front of you?"

Snook shut his eyes, forcing out tears.

"Yes."

"The FBI was listening to the room," I said. "You had to know that. Why didn't you scream for help?"

"He said if I screamed, he'd kill me."

"You're a coward," I said.

"Untie me, please."

I heard Buster whining. He was standing at the bedroom door with his hackles up. I left Snook and went to the door. It was closed, and I covered my hand with my s.h.i.+rttail before twisting the k.n.o.b. Then I went in.

The bedroom was dark, and I flicked on the lights as I entered. A man lay on the bed in his underwear. The left side of his head was crushed in, and his throat was slit from ear to ear. His eyes were wide open, as was his mouth. I looked at the recognizable portion of his face and decided it was Chase Winters.

A broken champagne bottle lay beside Winters's body. I guessed that Skell had killed him while celebrating, then stolen his clothes. The wounds Skell had inflicted were so severe that Winters had bled out, and I pulled my dog back so he didn't step in it.

I made Buster sit in the corner, then noticed several loose sheets of paper lying on the floor beside the bed. I picked one up without bothering to cover my hand. It was the cover page to a movie contract with Paramount Pictures for a film based on the life of Simon Skell. The working t.i.tle was Midnight Rambler Midnight Rambler.

My dog let out a pitiful whine. He could smell the death and despair and pure evil that had inhabited the room. I looked around the room for Lorna Sue Mutter. She wasn't in the closet or stuffed beneath the bed. I noticed a sliver of light streaming out from beneath the bathroom door. I crossed the room and knocked gently on the door.

"Lorna Sue?"

Nothing. I tapped again.

"Are you in there?"

Still nothing. I wanted to believe she might still be alive, even though I felt certain she wasn't. Despite our run-in outside the police station, I did not hate her. She had found it within her heart to love a monster. If more people had done that with Skell, he might not have become the person he was.

"I'm coming in."

My body pressed against the bathroom door, and I heard it click open. I pushed the door open a few inches, and Buster pushed it open a few more.

The bathroom was large and contained a shower stall and a tub. The sink was filled with clippings from Skell's beard. On the floor I spied a b.l.o.o.d.y cotton ball, which Skell had used to pierce his own ear.

Lorna Sue Mutter lay in the tub, submerged in water. She was faceup, and her big hair floated in the water like a dead animal.

Like Winters, her eyes and mouth were wide open. I'd heard it said that death was the ultimate aphrodisiac, but the look on Lorna Sue's face told me otherwise. It was the look of betrayal, and love gone horribly bad.

CHAPTER FIFTY.

I walked outside into the blinding suns.h.i.+ne. A police cruiser pulled into the parking lot, and two cops hurried inside. Linderman stood nearby with his phone pressed to his ear and a disgusted look on his face. He said, "All three of them dead?" walked outside into the blinding suns.h.i.+ne. A police cruiser pulled into the parking lot, and two cops hurried inside. Linderman stood nearby with his phone pressed to his ear and a disgusted look on his face. He said, "All three of them dead?"

"He spared Snook," I said.

"You never know when you'll need a good lawyer."

"You on hold?"

"Waiting for the police," he said.

Although I knew the answer to my next question, I asked it anyway.

"Any trace of Skell?"

"Looks like he stole a car and took off. Tell me what you think of this."

He removed a photograph from his pocket and handed it to me. It showed Melinda lying provocatively on a bed without any clothes on. She was smiling through clenched teeth.

"Saunders found it in the courtyard behind the hotel," Linderman said. "He thinks Skell dropped it running away."

"How would Skell have gotten this?"

"Snook must have given it to him."

I stared at the photo. Melinda looked just like the other victims I'd seen in Bash's trailer. That surprised me, and I flipped the photo over. There was writing on the back.

#9.

The number's significance was slow to register. When it did, I showed the writing to Linderman. He didn't understand, and I grabbed his arm.

"I was wrong," I said.

"About what?"

"Skell isn't obsessed with Melinda."

"I thought you said she had sent him over the edge."

I pointed at the #9 on the back of the photograph.

"This is how the gang identifies the victims, by numbers. Melinda's just another number to him. She isn't what fuels his rages."

The FBI had given Linderman an award for his accomplishments in hunting down serial killers. Understanding a serial killer's motivation was the only possible way of stopping them. He took the photo from my hands and studied it.

"Then why did Skell come to Fort Lauderdale?" he asked.