Darkness, Take My Hand (Kenzie & Gennaro 2)

“Tell us more about John, Doctor.”

“Yes, yes. John, according to Alec, disguises himself as his polar opposite. Only with his victims and his closest intimates—Hardiman, Rugglestone, and now Arujo—does he remove the mask, lets them see the ‘pure fury of his true face,’ as Alec put it. When you look at John, you see what you want to see in a person; you see benevolence and wisdom and gentleness. But John is none of these things. According to Alec, John is a ‘scientist’ who studies human suffering first hand for clues to the motives behind creation.”

“The motives behind creation?” I said.

“I’m going to read to you from notes I took during a session with Alec in September of seventy-eight, shortly before he stopped mentioning John entirely. These are Alec Hardiman’s words:

“‘If God is benevolent, then why do we have such a capacity to feel pain? Our nerves are supposed to alert us to dangers; that’s the biological reason for pain. Yet we can feel pain far past the level necessary to alert us to danger. We can feel acute levels of pain beyond description. And not only do we have this capacity, as all animals do, but we further have the mental capacity to suffer it again and again emotionally and psychically. No other animal shares that capacity. Does God hate us that much? Or does He love us that much? And if neither, if it’s just an arbitrary flaw in our DNA, then isn’t the point of all this pain He’s given us to inure us? Make us as indifferent to the suffering of others as He is? And so shouldn’t we emulate Him, do as John does—revel in and prolong and improve upon pain and our methods of inflicting it? John understands that this is the essence of purity.’”

Dolquist cleared his throat. “End quote.”

Bolton said, “Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“Right off the top of your head, describe John.”

“He’s physically powerful, and if you met him, you’d be able to see that, but it wouldn’t be overt. He’s not a bodybuilder, you understand, just a strong man. He appears to others to be quite sane and rational, maybe even wise. I would expect that he’s beloved in his community, a doer of good deeds on a small level.”

“Is he married?” Bolton said.

“I doubt it. Even he’d have to know that no matter how good his facade, his spouse and his children would sense his disease. He may have been married once, but not anymore.”

“What else?”

“I don’t think he’s been able to stop killing for the past two decades. It would be impossible for him. I believe he chose only to keep his kills quiet.”

We all looked at Angie and she tipped an imaginary hat.

“What else, Doctor?”

“The primary thrill for him is the kills. But secondary to that, and only barely, is the joy he gets living behind his mask. John stares out at you from behind that mask and laughs at you from behind the cover it provides. It’s very sexual to him, and that’s why he has to finally take it off after all these years.”

“I’m not following you,” I said.

“Think of it as a prolonged erection, if you will. John has been waiting to climax for over twenty years now. As much as he enjoys that erection, his need to ejaculate is even more pressing.”

“He wants to be caught.”

“He wants to expose himself. It’s not the same thing. He wants to take off the mask and spit in your face as you’re looking into his real eyes, but that’s not to say he’ll accept handcuffs willingly.”

“Anything else, Doctor?”

“Yes. I think he knows Mr. Kenzie. I don’t mean knows of him. I mean, he’s known him for a long time. They’ve met. Face to face.”

“Why do you say that?” I said.

“A man like this establishes odd relationships, but no matter how odd, they’re extremely important to him. It would be paramount to him that he know one of his pursuers. For whatever reason, he chose you, Mr. Kenzie. And he let you know by having Hardiman send for you. You and John know each other, Mr. Kenzie. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Bolton said. “I’m assuming the reason you read from your notes is because you have no intention of releasing them to us.”

“Not without a court order,” Dolquist said, “and even then you’d be in for a battle. If I find anything else in there which I think can stop these murders, I’ll call immediately. Mr. Kenzie?”

“Yes?”

“If I could have a word with you alone?”

Bolton shrugged and I shut off the speaker, cradled the phone to my ear. “Yes, Doctor?”

“Alec was wrong.”

“About?”

“About my wife. He was wrong.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said.

“I just wanted that…to be clear. He was wrong,” Dolquist repeated. “Good-bye, Mr. Kenzie.”

“Good-bye, Doctor.”

“Stan Timpson is in Cancun,” Erdham said.

“What?” Bolton said.

“It’s correct, sir. Took the wife and kids down there three days ago for a little R and R.”

“A little R and R,” Bolton said. “He’s the district attorney of Suffolk County during a serial-killer crisis. And he goes to Mexico?” He shook his head. “Go get him.”

“Sir? I’m not a field agent.”

Bolton pointed his finger at him. “Send someone, then. Send two agents, and bring him back.”

“Under arrest, sir?”

“For questioning. Where’s he staying?”

“His secretary said he was staying at the Marriott.”

“There’s a but here. I can feel it.”

Erdham nodded. “He never checked in there.”

“Four agents,” Bolton said. “I want four agents on the next plane to Cancun. And bring his secretary in, too.”

“Yes, sir.” Erdham picked up a phone as the RV turned on to the expressway.

“They’ve all gone for cover, haven’t they?” I said.

Bolton sighed. “It appears so. Jack Rouse and Kevin Hurlihy can’t be found. Diedre Rider hasn’t been seen since her daughter’s funeral.”

“What about Burns and Climstich?” Angie said.

“Both deceased. Paul Burns was a baker who stuck his head in one of his own ovens back in seventy-seven. Climstich died of a coronary in eighty-three. Neither left descendants.” He dropped the photo into his lap and stared at it. “You look just like your father, Mr. Kenzie.”