Джеффри Дивер - Nothing Good Happens After Midnight - A Suspense Magazine Anthology

The curtain was pulled aside and the prisoner was once again visible.

“Stephen Raye Vaughn,” Warden Doheny said, his voice sounding loud, but tinny, through the speakers. “You’ve been sentenced to death for your crimes. Do you have any final words?”

Vail squeezed her eyelids shut tightly.

C’mon, asshole. Give us the name.

Vaughn was silent.

Just like Singletary. When am I gonna learn?

“I wanna kill him,” Bledsoe whispered.

“The state’s going to do that in less than a minute.”

“Too late, if you asked me.”

“Decades too late.”

“He’s gonna take the name to his grave, isn’t he?”

Vail sighed. “Looks that way.”

“Yeah,” Vaughn said. “I got something to say. Agent Vail out there?”

“I’m here,” Vail said, rising from her seat and waving her hands at the glass. She realized that was unnecessary. The warden knew she was present.

“She’s here,” Doheny said.

“Tell her the van’s license plates begin with a W T F. Don’t remember the rest of it.”

“That it?” Doheny asked.

“I want it in that museum,” Vaughn said. “Near the Unabomber.”

Fat chance of that happening. After forensics is done with it, it’s going straight to the scrap heap. And I’m driving it there.

“That right?” Bledsoe said, nudging Vail with his elbow and starting to type on his phone.

“No. He’s fucking with us. W T F, Bledsoe?”

He looked up from his screen. “Oh.”

“The killer’s name is,” Vaughn said through the speakers — “is Agent Vail listening?”

Doheny turned toward the viewing gallery, even though he could not see those in attendance. “She’s listening, Mr. Vaughn.”

There was a long moment of silence. The warden looked down at Vaughn and waited, then said, “Mr. Vaughn? What’s the name you want to give Agent Vail?”

Vaughn lay there a long moment.

“Mr. Vaughn,” Doheny said, “I’m gonna need you to finish that sentence. Time’s up.”

Vaughn chuckled sardonically. “Time is up warden. Not just for me. It’s up for the kidnapped woman, too. Tell Vail the name of the killer is John Q. Public.”

Doheny frowned and looked out at the glass, as if knowing Vail was thinking about putting her fist through the large pane — and hoping she waited until Vaughn’s heart had stopped beating.

Doheny shook his head and nodded to a guard five feet to his left. “Let’s do it.” He looked down at Vaughn, leaned in closer and said, “Have a good trip to hell, sir.”

A smile flitted across Vaughn’s lips.

Vail sat heavily and canted forward, leaning both elbows on her knees and burying her face in her palms.

Bledsoe placed a hand on her back. “I’m sorry, Karen. You tried.”

Vail sat up, tears filling the lower lids of her eyes. One spilled over its threshold and raced down her cheek.

The tubes protruding from the divider jiggled a bit, one more than the others, and Vaughn’s eyes began blinking rapidly. He took a few deep breaths, his eyes fluttered and slowly closed, as if he were falling asleep. In fact, he was. But this was one nap he would not wake up from.

His chest continued to rise and fall — and then it ceased to move.

Doheny summoned the doctor over. He put a stethoscope to Vaughn’s chest, nodded, and then backed away.

“Time of death,” Doheny said, looking at the wall clock, “12:01 AM.”

Vail leaned back in her chair, neck fully extended, eyes examining the plain ceiling.

As they exited the penitentiary, Vail was uncommonly quiet.

“You should be happy. I mean, I know he didn’t give it up, but—”

“He smiled, Bledsoe.”

“Smiled? What are you talkin’ about?”

“Vaughn,” Vail said. “Before they injected him. After he told us to fuck off with that John Q. Public bullshit, he grinned.”

“I didn’t see a grin.”

“I’m telling you, he smiled.” She stopped and heaved a mouthful of vapor into the night chill. “What the hell was it for? They were about to inject him. His life’s over. What’s so funny about that?”

Bledsoe shrugged. “He didn’t give up the name. We were there, waiting for something he was never gonna give up. Joke was on us.”

Vail considered that, replayed it in her mind. “No, it’s more than that. Like he knew something we don’t know.”

Bledsoe snorted. “Here we go again. You’re reading into it.”

“Maybe. But my intuition is usually semi-accurate.”

“This time it’s wrong.”

“Hey,” Robby called as he trotted over to them. “Get what you came for?”

“I got closure on my old case,” Vail said. “I didn’t get the name of the offender who kidnapped the kid. On balance, it was not a good evening.”

“Sorry.”

“And there’s something else. And it’s bugging me.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Bledsoe said. “She’s reading into things. Manufacturing something where there’s nothing.”

Robby looked at Vail. “Not so sure, Paul. You know Karen.”

Bledsoe’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and glanced at the device. “Got the roster of visitors who came to see Vaughn. There were a bunch.”

“Such a friggin’ celebrity,” Vail said. “And?”

“Kearney did his homework,” he said, scrolling down the document. “Backgrounds and bios on all of them. Wanna take a look? Maybe one will jump out at you.”

“He jumps out at me, he better be prepared for a swift kick in the balls.”

“Just texted it to you.”

Her phone rumbled and seconds later she began reading while Bledsoe and Robby huddled together to share Bledsoe’s screen.

Finally, Vail spoke up. “This one. Vincent Caruthers. Herndon.”

“You sure?”

Vail looked at Bledsoe. It was a look that spoke volumes.

“Okay, I get it. An educated guess.”

“An educated guess. Best I can do right now. No crime scenes, no behaviors to analyze.”

“Understood. Let’s roll.”

As they began walking, Bledsoe grabbed Vail’s arm. “I still got the chopper here. It’s hot. Much faster.”

Vail turned to Robby. Her face probably said all he needed to know.

“Meet you at home,” he said.

She nodded. “Don’t wait up.”

“Really, Karen? I’ve learned that’s a losing proposition.”

Vail and Bledsoe jogged toward the helipad.

“You shouldn’t be running,” Bledsoe shouted, the noise building as they neared the whipping rotors.

“Yeah, I know.”

They got into the chopper and put on their headsets. X-ray raised the collective and they lifted off into the midnight sky.

“Swat is en route,” Bledsoe said. “Detective Kearney’s gonna meet us there, too.”

“Looking forward to meeting him,” Vail said absentmindedly, her attention on her Samsung’s screen, going through the list of individuals who had visited Vaughn over the years.

She recognized a number of national journalists, which was not surprising. Vaughn liked the attention and the media loved running stories on depraved minds who killed gobs of people. It was a match made in Internet eyeball click-bait heaven.

But then a name caught her gaze.

“Hang on a second. Bledsoe, look at this.”

He leaned over and snatched a look at her phone. “Lots of names there. Can you be more specific?”

“Here.” She zoomed the screen on Harrison Vaughn.

“So? It’s his son. Besides, you asked Vaughn about him. Didn’t get anything.”

Vail replayed that exchange.

“You ever talk to him when you were doing your victimology on Vaughn?”

“Of course. Family history’s important. Never married, no girlfriends. Menial labor. Not as sharp as dad and didn’t seem to exhibit psychopathic tendencies. But I eliminated him as an accomplice with the few facts we had. Tenicia was a big part of that. She said it was just Vaughn. Which made sense because if he had help, no way she would’ve escaped alive.”