Splintered Page 12

  “Oh, I will catch you, you miserable fucking animal.”

  He loved to hunt dangerous animals, and yes, this guy was the lowest form of animal. He was, effectively, a human being, yet more of an interspecies, a predator; looked human, but the way he operated was on a foundation that was more akin to that of an animal than a human. Hutch now had the advantage as the killer had allowed his narcissism, his animal instincts, to master him.

  Hutch continued to look out at the windows beyond. Do you see me? Are you watching me? Take a good look at this face. It will be the last one you see before the iron bars close on your sorry excuse for a life. Oh yes, I’ll catch you, he vowed as his lip curled into a satisfied smile.

  As he finished his cigarette and stubbed it out, his cell phone vibrated against his hip. He pulled it from its clip and hit Accept. “Hutchinson here.”

  “Special Agent Hutchinson, it’s Noah Walker.”

  Hutch instantly stiffened at the tone of Noah’s voice. The guy sounded scared. Hutch hadn’t talked to him since he’d left the man’s apartment, but he had “checked” his whereabouts on the computer. Noah hadn’t left his house once.

  “Noah, what is it?” he asked in alarm.

  “I… I’m not really sure but….” Hutch heard the sound of the phone being shifted around and then a heavy sigh. “I hate to ask you this, but could you come over? I…. There’s something I think you need to see.”

  “I’m on my way,” Hutch said without hesitation and clicked his phone off. “Byte, get your ass up. We’re heading out,” he called out as he rushed into the room.

  “What? Where are we going?”

  “Who were you talking to?” Granite added.

  Hutch grabbed his weapon and holster and shrugged it on, hooking the buckle into place as he moved. “That was Noah. He said he had something he thought I should see, and he sounded scared.”

  “Noah, as in the guy we are tracking?” Byte asked as he set his laptop aside and went to his feet.

  “Yeah.”

  “What does he want to show you, did he say?” Granite asked, a frown marring his brow. “Like maybe a small cardboard box that stunk to high heaven?”

  “He didn’t say, and I didn’t wait around to play twenty questions. You want to come with too?” Hutch inquired as he grabbed his jacket, wallet, and keys, then headed for the door.

  “You want me to?”

  “Up to you,” he tossed over his shoulder, but he didn’t wait for a reply, already in the hall and rushing to the elevators.

  An elderly woman in a flowered dress, blue hair, and a walker was just starting to enter the elevator.

  “Shit! We’re taking the stairs,” he yelled back at no one in particular, not caring at this point if they heard or were even following him.

  “Right behind ya,” Byte responded.

  Hutch glanced back briefly when he shoved through the door to the stairs. He didn’t see Granite, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to wait to see if he was coming. Hutch took the stairs two at a time. The tone of Noah’s voice had caused Hutch’s heart to race. He’d witnessed the man in the throes of anger, grief, and pain, and none of those brought out the foreboding sound he’d just heard on the phone. Whatever it was that Noah wanted to share with him, it had to be from or about their killer.

  He didn’t slow until he was behind the wheel, already pulling out before Byte even had time to close the door, his first priority, his one thought to get to Noah. As he pulled out into the early evening traffic, Hutch cursed the rental car with its nonexistent red and blue flashy lights.

  “C’mon, move your ass,” he screamed at the car in front of him, moving at a snail’s pace.

  “You do realize they can’t hear you?” Byte asked him with a hint of sarcasm as he clicked his seat belt into place.

  “Well, maybe they’ll be able to hear this,” Hutch growled and laid on the horn. “Move it or get off the road!”

  “Yeah, I’m sure that will help,” Byte responded with a soft laugh.

  Hutch glared at him and then shook his head in amusement. “Okay, I’m a bit tense,” he admitted.

  “What exactly did Noah say that has you so freaked?”

  “Like I said, it wasn’t what he said, it was the tone of his voice. If you would have been there the other day when Noah was reliving his childhood, you’d have heard gut-wrenching pain and fear, but….” Hutch halted the car at a stoplight and turned his head, glancing at his partner. “I don’t know, man. This tone made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Something is seriously wrong.”

  Byte held his gaze for a long moment, then suddenly rolled his window down before reaching over and hitting the horn. “C’mon, move your ass,” he echoed Hutch.

  Hutch held out his fist, and Byte bumped it with a sly smile.

  It took some maneuvering, more curses and horn-blowing, but Hutch finally made it to Noah’s complex, leaving Byte to pry his grip from the dashboard as he stepped out of the car and hurried up the walkway.

  “Noah’s not the only one who’s going to need assistance,” Byte muttered as he caught up with Hutch just as he stepped into the lobby.

  Hutch’s eyes shifted to Byte, and he forewent the snappy comment that came to mind, instead his mind instantly returning to Noah. It felt like it was taking them forever to get there. Although it had only been minutes, the tension was once again gripping him and speeding his pulse as he rapped on Noah’s door.

  “Who is it?” Noah’s familiar voice asked through the closed door.

  Hutch and Byte exchanged questioning glances; the tone of Noah’s voice hadn’t changed. “It’s Hutch—” The door flew open before he could even complete his sentence.

  “Thank god you’re here,” Noah exclaimed in obvious relief, then stepped back to allow Hutch and Byte to enter.

  Noah was dressed in a thread-worn pair of sweats and a wrinkled gray T-shirt, and his hair was disheveled. What really caused Hutch’s concern to intensify were the dark circles below Noah’s bloodshot eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Hutch asked.

  “You’ll have to excuse the place.” He waved a weak hand around his cluttered apartment, papers strewn around as if Noah had been searching through his stacks of research, throwing papers around haphazardly as he dug for whatever it was he was searching for. “Can I get either of you some coffee. I… I’m going to have coffee,” he muttered and went to the counter.

  “No, I’m good,” Hutch responded, following after him. “What I want is to know why you’re so freaked out.”

  “At first I thought I was losing it,” Noah started as he poured cream into his mug before adding the coffee. “The night after you left, someone knocked on my door. It was like three in the morning, which caused a bit of concern, so I engaged the chain before opening it. There wasn’t anyone there, nor could I see anyone in the hall. I figured it was someone playing a prank, which is pretty common in this building.” Noah brought his cup to the small kitchen table and took a seat, wrapping his hands around his mug. “I went in and took a bath and fell asleep. When I woke up, my front door was open, and I was freaked the fuck out until I got a call from security. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had issues, so I blew it off.”

  “And now you feel differently,” Byte nudged.

  Noah shook his head and took a sip of coffee—the shaking in his hands obvious as he brought the mug to his lips. “They sent an officer to take my statement. The only other issues in the building were vandalism to the camera security. Still, I figured it was just a thief who was interrupted when he tried to break into my place, but I know differently now.”

  “What do you mean?” Hutch asked.

  “The envelope is over there,” Noah informed them with a nod toward the counter.

  A large manila envelope sat next to the sink. Hutch pulled his pen from his pocket and used it to flip it over. Written in the same scribbled script as the box delivered to his hotel was “Noah Walker.”

  Hutch�
��s pulse quickened with foreboding. He wasn’t the only one being taunted. Noah was too, and the thought made Hutch’s gut roil with worry. “Do you happen to have any rubber gloves?”

  “No, sorry,” Noah sighed. “Guess it doesn’t matter. You’ll find my prints all over it. I didn’t know what it was.”

  Hutch glanced around the area. He knew there wouldn’t be any prints, fibers, or DNA on the letter, their guy too smart for that, but he still didn’t want to take a chance of ruining any possible evidence, just in case. He spotted a roll of paper towels. Not perfect, but it’d have to do. He grabbed one, tore it in half, and then, careful to only touch the very edge, lifted the envelope and poured out the contents.

  Byte stepped up behind Hutch just as the contents spilled out, and he echoed Hutch’s initial thoughts when he muttered, “Fuck!”

  Hutch used his pen to move the photos. The first one was of him, Noah, and Granite sitting at the coffee shop. He slid that one aside to see him and Granite leaving Noah’s building, then their car, Noah’s door. The last photo explained why Noah was so scared. It was a crime scene photo of Mike Disson, manipulated to superimpose a picture of Noah’s face over the victim’s. The rage was instantaneous and burned like an inferno. This motherfucker had gone too far.

  “It’s the killer, isn’t it?” Noah asked quietly.

  Hutch looked back at Byte; the look in his partner’s eyes said it all. They both knew the stakes in the game had changed. For whatever reason, he was transfixed on Hutch, and Noah had been pulled into the insanity right along with Hutch.

  Keeping his features neutral and doing his best to push down the turbulence rocking him, Hutch turned toward Noah, who was looking up at him with a questioning gaze. “It’s him, isn’t it?” he asked again.

  “We can’t be sure,” Hutch said, trying to sound a bit reassuring, but his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

  “But I can tell by the look on your face, you think it’s him.”

  “I think I will have that cup of coffee,” Hutch said instead of answering Noah’s question and turned away, no longer able to hold his gaze without revealing too much.

  He wasn’t sure it was the same guy; there was a slight chance it wasn’t—oh hell, who was he kidding? Hutch knew that was complete and utter bullshit. There was no fucking way someone would have come across Mike Disson’s severed penis and decided to fuck with him for shits and giggles. Still, he needed a moment to get his thoughts together, decide how much he was going to reveal to Noah.

  “I’m going to go grab a specimen bag out of the car. Be right back.” Byte turned and walked to the door.

  Hutch nodded in acknowledgement as he took a seat next to Noah who was still staring at him, waiting.

  As soon as the door shut behind Byte, Hutch finally answered Noah’s question. “Yeah, I do,” he admitted reluctantly.

  “So, what now?”

  “I send Byte to take the photos to the lab, and I hang out here with you until we get results.”

  Noah’s expression changed. He now looked terrified and relieved in equal measures, if that were possible.

  Chapter 16

  IF THERE was one good thing that came out of the shittiness that had been the last couple of days, it was Todd Hutchinson. It didn’t even bother Noah that Hutch might see him as a coward, he’d change that persona soon enough. Nor did it bother him any longer that he’d relived the worst moments of his life or that Hutch had witnessed him doing so. As Hutch sat across the table from him, munching on fries from the takeout order that had just arrived, he looked at Noah, not with contempt but compassion. Noah liked the look shining in Hutch’s dark blue eyes; it softened them as well as the hard features of his face.

  From the first moment he’d laid eyes on Hutch, Noah had been attracted to him. It was more than just his position, intelligence, or profession—although those things were a turn-on too—physically, Noah had never seen a sexier man than the agent, in real life or in fantasy.

  His dark hair was always mussed from the way he was constantly running his fingers through it, something Noah ached to do. He also would love to run his palm along the perpetual stubble along Hutch’s strong jaw. That wasn’t the only place Noah would love to rub on Special Agent Hutchinson, against, off, whatever. And just how sick was that?

  He was studying one of the worst serial killers he’d ever encountered, a sick and twisted individual who was now watching him, photographing him, and yet, at the moment, none of it seemed to be enough to dampen the thrill of excitement Hutch produced in him. Noah gave himself an internal shake and stabbed his fry in ketchup before popping it into his mouth. He needed to focus on why Hutch was sitting across from him eating greasy take-out food. Although he was surprised he could eat given the news Hutch had shared with him. A severed penis? Noah shuddered.

  “So he hasn’t contacted any other investigators?” Noah prodded.

  “Not that we are aware of,” Hutch responded around a bite of his burger.

  “Why you? Numerous deaths, even more investigators, why did he pick you?”

  Hutch cocked his head, his lip curling into a slight grin. “I have my theories, but I’d love to hear your professional opinion.”

  Hutch had been trying to put Noah at ease since Byte had left, and it was working. One slight smile and Noah could think of nothing else but how fucking hot Special Agent Hutchinson was. It took him a moment to rearrange his thoughts and get his mind back to the case, his research, and his studies.

  “Well, normally, taunting the police would mean one of two things. The killer probably has some massive grudge against a police force. He wants to make the police look inadequate since they are arriving after the bodies are being discovered. The second thing is, like the Weepy Voice Killer or the Lipstick Killer, these communiques are often a cry from the individual, taunting as they may be, so they can get caught.” He grabbed another fry and pointed it at Hutch before swiping it through the ketchup. “But with you it’s for a different reason. He finds you worthy, or at the very least, your title is worthy. While he doesn’t plan to nor does he think he will ever be caught, he still wants recognition of his crimes. He’s thanking you for showing up.”

  “Impressive,” Hutch said, looking truly dazzled by Noah’s explanation. “You’ve studied Thomas Guillen.”

  Noah puffed up a bit, his gut fluttering pleasantly at the thought of impressing someone as brilliant as Hutch. “I’ve quoted him a lot in my research. I study a lot of the greats in the field, including you,” Noah added shyly.

  Hutch’s smile broadened, and didn’t that just increase the crazy flopping sensation in Noah’s gut and cause a warmth to surge through him. He looked away and pushed the food around on his plate.

  “Thank you,” Hutch responded. “I appreciate the compliment.”

  “Oh, it’s not just a compliment,” Noah answered honestly as he looked up from beneath his lashes, cheeks heating. “It’s the truth. I’ve read everything you’ve ever written, attended numerous seminars you’ve given. As I’ve mentioned, your work on autoasphyxiation and the sexual deviant was beyond brilliant. And don’t even get me started on your profiling journals. You have a true talent for describing a suspect. I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t predict what color underwear he wore.”

  Hutch shifted in his seat. He looked uncomfortable with the praise, as evidenced by the pink tint to his cheeks. Noah found it adorable that this big, powerful man, with brains to boot, would get embarrassed by a well-deserved compliment.

  “Have you come to any conclusions about the reason for his need to thank me?” Hutch asked in an obvious attempt to shift the focus off him.

  “I think he feels he’s found a worthy opponent. For someone as inner-directed as CS is—”

  “CS?” Hutch interrupted.

  “Chicago Slasher,” Noah clarified. The puzzled look on Hutch’s face had Noah adding, “It’s not his official nickname. Not as flashy as, say, the Night Stalker or the Son of Sa
m, but seeing as he hasn’t gotten any attention in the media yet, it’s what I’ve dubbed him.”

  “Insane is what I’d label him,” Hutch muttered.

  “You and I both know that’s not true,” Noah said as he rolled his eyes. “You may wish he was, as he’d be a hell of a lot easier to catch. CS is highly intelligent. I’d even go as far as to classify him as a genius.”

  Hutch crumpled up his food wrappers and took them to the trash and his dirty plate to the sink. He then turned and leaned back against the sink, hands resting on the edge of the counter.

  He met Noah’s gaze, holding it, with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yeah, I guess I do wish he was,” he finally admitted. “This guy is scary as hell, but far from nuts, at least in the clinical sense of the word, and I think you’re right. This guy is a lot smarter than me.”

  Todd Hutchinson was Noah’s hero, someone he’d looked up to for quite some time, the epitome of everything Noah hoped to achieve, but doubted he ever would. To see this larger-than-life man showing a weak moment, a human moment, did nothing to take away from the worship/envy Noah had for him. In fact, his idolization grew.

  “I think….” Noah shook his head. “No, I know you are smarter, and you will get this bastard,” he said with complete conviction.

  “Maybe, eventually,” Hutch responded, shrugging one shoulder, looking anything but convinced. “But how many more men have to die between now and then?”

  What could he say? Hutch was right, more than likely there would be more murders unless CS made a stupid mistake or the cops got lucky. And that might not be for a very, very long time if luck was on the side of CS. Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer, committed his first confirmed crime in July of 1982, but he wasn’t caught until November 2001, nineteen years and forty-eight confirmed victims later. The thought that CS could rack up such a staggering number of victims was sobering.