Jason Sullivan pulled the Mustang up in the driveway and grinned. He could see lights in the house. Get the bad guys, that's what cops did. He would do that now.
Lisa's confession had rocked him. He'd never expected that she would connive with a cop-killer. He was disappointed in her as he'd never been before. Here he'd thought she might be the one, and boom, it had all fallen apart. There was no way he could be with her now. Not if she let a woman who had killed so many cops go free. But now he had a mission. Something to focus on. It helped.
He wasn't unreasonable. Susana Alvarez would get a trial. The fact that she'd helped bring the Bludgeon Man to justice would not be hidden. Lisa had said something about the FBI hiding evidence. If that was true, it would not be repeated. Cops were only human like anyone else. But when it came time for her trial, she'd get what was coming to her. Detective Sullivan could even agree that she could keep her life. She'd spend it in prison, though.
Jason reached for his cell phone. He dialed the main number for the police switchboard. Here, he could get cops from all over the city to back him up. This would be his finest hour.
"Boston police," the bored dispatcher said.
"Hey," Jason said. "This is Detective Lieutenant Sullivan. I need major backup here. We've got two serial killers holed up in a townhouse here. A third may be on the way."
The dispatcher seemed surprised. "What? You serious?"
"Hell, yes," Jason said. "Susana Alvarez and Thomas Creed. You'll see 'em on the FBI's most wanted. Armed and extremely dangerous."
"I'll have backup your way as soon as I can," the dispatcher promised.
Jason glanced in the windows of the townhouse. He saw a man standing in the dining room. He appeared to be just sitting there, cooling out. Probably Creed. An upstairs light flicked on. That meant Alvarez would be upstairs. Probably going to the bathroom or something.
Professor Creed's eyes dropped to his Mustang and then to him. Shit. They'd made him. He didn't want to wait for backup. Susana Alvarez had performed her raid against the van Creed was in with military precision and a high-powered rifle. By the time backup got here, God only knew what firepower they might have. If he could get Creed in cuffs, that was all he needed to do. Susana Alvarez had gone to a lot of effort to get Creed sprung. A threat to blow his head off if she didn't sit tight was a threat she would probably listen to.
Jason Sullivan charged the door. It yielded on the first kick. Weird; he would have thought a woman who'd been a fugitive from justice would have better locks. He swung around, his pistol high. Professor Thomas Creed was his own height, and a big old target in the middle of the sights.
"Freeze!" Detective Sullivan ordered.
Professor Creed sighed and put his hands in the air. "Very well," he said mildly. "You've got me, Detective. No need for pyrotechnics."
"Turn around," Sullivan ordered. "Put your hands on your head." The professor complied.
He cuffed the professor, making him sit down. In his pocket were some flex-cuffs, plastic strips that served as handcuffs in a pinch. Sullivan didn't like using them unless he had to; they could cause more damage to somebody's wrists if they struggled, and then they'd sue the department. Sullivan had seen the police department fork over more money to criminals than he cared to see. But he used the flex-cuffs to attach Creed's handcuffs to a table leg. They worked just fine for that.
"Don't you move and don't you try and warn her," Creed said. "You do and I'll blow her head off. If she comes easy I'll just arrest her, same as you."
Professor Creed nodded and seemed tired somehow. "Of course, Detective."
Sullivan's eyes narrowed. This seemed too easy. Was Creed just a pansy after all? Nah, he didn't want his wife But he had to do something. And if backup arrived and they were both in cuffs already, catching the Bludgeon Man would be easy.
But Creed was behaving himself. He was already in this situation, and Susana Alvarez Lecter was free and running around her house. Better to try taking her down. She might be descending the stairs with a 9mm in her hand.
Calmly but tensely, Jason Sullivan pointed his gun in front of him and began to walk up the stairs.
…
Darryl Schantz, the Bludgeon Man, walked along the busy street. His hands clenched and unclenched. After all this time, revenge was at hand. The bitch. The bitch who had taken his manhood away from him. Part of him – the part that could still think rationally – realized this might be a trap of some kind. But his rage and his anger overrode that. For twelve years he had suffered over what the btich had done to him. A chance to pay her back might not exist in his lifetime.
Darryl had done some research into his tormentor. In the joint, there had been little to do other than read books and lift weights. He had done both. The prison had let him read a few old Tattlers in which there was information about her. He knew she was rich – way richer than any sort of working joe like him. He also knew she was pretty damn vicious, but he didn't need any fuckin' newspaper to tell him that.
Revenge. Re-venge. Now that sounded sweet.
The townhouse looked like any other, but it would be forever burned into Darryl Schantz's mind. The door was slightly open, and that surprised him. A couple of cars parked in the driveway. He glanced around and saw no one waiting to spring on him. Not a trap, then. Good. He wanted to settle his score with Alina-fucking-Lektor. Or Susana, or whatever her goddam real name was. He kicked the door hard. If someone was waiting on the other side they'd get mashed. No cry came. He strolled inside, bag of weapons slung over his shoulder.
The place didn't seem to have changed a whole lot. Same furniture. Seemed kind of sterile, though. No mail on the table; no magazines or stuff. The fridge was open. Nothing in it. She wasn't living here. Didn't matter. She would die here. Hard.
…
Professor Creed watched the cop go. He was still mildly surprised the cop had bought his immediate surrender. But he had a plan, and it did not involve returning to death row.
Susana Alvarez Lecter had been a fugitive for years, and she had quickly schooled him in things he would need to know in order to remain free. There were also things that she had learned to do. Here was one such example.
During their respective terms of captivity, both Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Susana Alvarez Lecter had improvised handcuff keys. Professor Creed had done so as well, but he was never in a situation where freeing himself from handcuffs was all there was between him and freedom. Since Susana had recovered her freedom, she had more options open to her than a prisoner would. And she had shared with him as unselfishly as she had shared everything else.
Professor Creed twisted his right wrist in the cuffs and touched the wristwatch on his left wrist. His thumb and finger worked their way between the watch and his wrist. Between his watch and his wrist was a plastic shell. In the middle of the shell was a short black handcuff key made of plastic. Professor Creed thought the design of this ingenious. It was much better than any prisoner could have improvised. Susana wore one of these under her Patek Philippe watch, and she'd given one to him in the car to wear under the Rolex she had given him. If they were to be arrested, neither of them should fight being handcuffed. Far easier to open the cuffs at his leisure and strike when the cops were calmer and not expecting it.
It took only a moment or two to open his handcuffs. Calmly, Professor Creed locked them and put them under the couch. If the cop had Susana, Creed could take care of him. If Susana thought he was down for the count, she would fight. If she knew he was there, she might not.
There was a sudden bang. The front door burst open. Quickly, Professor Creed ducked behind the couch to see who it might be. It was a man he did not recognize. He wore a goatee and had a nasty look on his face. His head was shaved. He seemed quite muscular. He wore a ragged shirt and inexpensive jeans. A black nylon bag was slung over one shoulder.
This, Professor Creed realized, was the Bludgeon Man. The man whose career of killing had resulted in his own freedom. That didn't mean that he was an ally; far from it. Susana had simply played him like a card. She meant to trade him for Creed himself.
The Bludgeon Man turned and went upstairs. Professor Creed did not see a gun in his hand, but there were doubtlessly several nasty weapons in that bag of his. He waited until the Bludgeon Man had headed upstairs. Then he slipped out of his shoes and began to pursue the other man upstairs. He had a pistol and a knife on his belt. He rarely used pistols, and would prefer the knife if he had the choice; hitting Susana would be horrible irony.
Thomas Creed drew his flat, black pistol and began to slowly creep up the stairs. Behind him, the door opened again. Creed stopped and stared at it, wondering who was behind him.
…
Jason Sullivan edged around the door of the bedroom. He'd checked the bathroom and the other two bedrooms already. No Susie. She was in here. As he approached the door he could hear her humming. For a moment he wondered what a serial killer's bedroom was supposed to look like.
He shoved open the door suddenly and entered the room to find out. Susana's old bedroom was white and quite pleasant. A large bed dominated the room. A dresser stood against one wall. A makeup table and chair, with a lighted mirror around it, stood against another wall as a mute testament to Susana's mild obsession with her appearance.
Susana Alvarez Lecter was standing in the center of the room, arranging something out of a suitcase. She was humming to herself as she worked. Sullivan grinned. This was gonna be easier than he thought.
He stepped forward and aimed his weapon at her chest.
"Freeze!" he commanded.
Susana turned and stared at him in surprise. She recovered quickly. Sullivan's lips split back from his teeth in a hard grin.
"Move and you're dead," he said. "Turn around. Keep your hands in the air where I can see them."
She said nothing but stared at him, thinking.
"I'll blow your goddam head off if you don't do what I say, cop-killer," Sullivan said. He meant it, too. She'd get what she had coming, but to get it she was gonna goddam well cooperate. Otherwise she was gonna get her brains blown out. Jason Sullivan had no intention of his name being added to Susana's list of victims.
"You needn't be rude," Susana said, but she put her hands in the air obediently. Sullivan's eyes narrowed again. This just seemed too easy. Or were they just cowards? Shit, you never knew. Maybe that was it. Or maybe they just both knew that they were licked. He decided he would check on Creed once he had Susana in cuffs.
"Turn around," Sullivan ordered, blissfully unaware that not one but two serial killers were creeping up the stairs towards him. Susana complied. She cocked her head and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
"Where's Lisa, Detective Sullivan?" she queried.
Sullivan stopped and tensed. The muzzle of the pistol wavered visibly.
"Never mind that," he said.
"I suppose she told you her little revelation. Didn't care for it, did you?"
"Shut up." His voice wavered.
"Honestly, Detective, who are you to be so high and mighty? You're planning to shoot me here, aren't you? Execution style."
The idea had crossed Jason Sullivan's mind. To his way of thinking, cop-killers were the lowest scum of the earth. But he was more interested in bringing her in.
"No," he said, and got the handcuffs on one wrist. She was compliant as he shackled her other wrist. His eyes narrowed. This was way too easy. He read the Miranda warning from rote. Susana simply sat on her bed and looked down regretfully, like any other of a thousand criminals he had arrested in his career. Maybe she was thinking about her kid. Well, too bad; she should've stayed wherever she was hiding. She should've left his city alone.
…
The Bludgeon Man walked up the stairs ever so quietly. He was feeling better now, more like the hunter he wanted to be. At the top of the stairs, he stopped and stared. There she was. The bitch. The fuckin' bitch who had castrated him and made his twelve-year prison term a living hell. She was sitting on the bed, looking down sadly, like any one of the bitches he'd hunted either as Darryl Schantz or as the Bludgeon Man.
But there was some guy standing over her with a gun. What the hell? Had the bitch done this to other guys too? No way, Darryl Schantz thought, no freakin' way. This was his revenge. He'd waited twelve years for this. A burst of rage coursed through him, the same rage that had fueled him for so long.
The other guy looked at him curiously.
"Hey," he said. "So backup finally arrived. Don't recognize you. What station you work out of?"
Aha. Cop. Darryl hated cops only slightly less than Susana.
Susana's eyes scanned his, and he was elated to see fear in them. Her jaw worked once and her lips opened.
"Detective, that's the--," she began.
Nuh-uh, no way. She was his. Darryl Schantz was going to punish her as he had once decided to punish her years ago. And now there was a lot of interest to pay. But the cop would have to go down first.
Darryl Schantz withdrew his Gurkha knife from its sheath. It was a wicked, heavy-bladed knife with a curve in it. A knife designed for war. It felt good in his hand. The cop turned, his gun finally beginning to move off the bitch on the bed and towards him.
Darryl stepped in close, cleared the knife from its sheath, and swung from all his might. The knife bit into Detective Jason Sullivan's shoulder and went through. There was a tremendous burst of pain up Sullivan's arm, and then a spreading numbness. Sullivan's gun hand suddenly fell from its sleeve, the arm neatly severed just above the elbow. Blood jetted in an arterial spray, covering the Bludgeon Man. He didn't mind. It was like freakin' war paint. How proper that she see him like this before she died, covered in blood. He wiped it from his eyes and stared down at her. She began fumbling with something almost immediately.
Jason Sullivan stared down at his stump and at his arm. His mind gibbered. His arm was…was…on the goddam floor. The hand, severed from the mind that controlled it, relaxed, letting the gun slide from its grip. Pieces of ragged sleeve trailed up from it. He could see the tip of the bone protruding from it, shockingly white amongst the red. Then he collapsed to the floor himself.
"Hello, Alina," the Bludgeon Man said softly. "That's right. It's really Susana, isn't it? Well…I been waiting twelve years to talk to you."