Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

“Like?”

“You’re fishing.” Pink’s rosebud mouth pursed scornfully.

“You’re faking.”

Something bright and inimical lit the empty depths of Pink’s eyes. “No, you little squirt. I’m not. You tell Kennedy to go over all his reports. All his files. All his notes. All his crime scene photos. His autopsy reports . He missed something ten years ago. Something he should have seen from the start. Something they all should have caught. You tell him to look again and look good. And then come and see me himself. I’m not wasting my time with the B Team.”

Jason nodded, picked up his file and rose. Pink watched him with cold satisfaction.

“Oh, wait.” Jason turned back. As though the idea had just struck him, he said, “Could you be talking about the mermaids?”

There was no clock, but he could hear the moments ticking by in the resounding silence.

Pink seemed genuinely stricken. Still as a statue, he stared at Jason. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

Jason smiled. “You don’t know what I mean, do you?”

Pink stammered, “Y-you—they—how do you know? No one ever—”

It was sort of fascinating to watch Pink’s confidence crumble. He’d been clutching that secret to his black and twisted heart all these years. So sure that in the final analysis he had outsmarted everyone even if only on this one point.

To him it would have been a major point.

Jason said, “There was already so much evidence against you. The trophies you took from the victims. The DNA splattered all over that van. All that hard forensic evidence. And the last thing anybody wanted to do was romanticize those homicides. So that piece of information was withheld until such time it was needed. Except it never was needed. It didn’t take that jury even eight hours to convict you.”

“No one knew,” Pink whispered. “No one else could have known.”

“Somebody knew. I’m thinking the Huntsman.”

“ I am the Huntsman!” Pink leaped to his feet and nearly overbalanced. His leg irons were fastened to the floor. He steadied himself on the steel edge of the table, breathing hard. “I am the Huntsman. Me. There is no one else.”

The guard had buzzed open the door, but Jason held up a hand. He threw over his shoulder, “We’re okay here.”

Pink sat down in the chair. He began to rock in a tiny, tight, agitated motion.

“Why mermaids?” Jason inquired.

Pink flicked him a peculiar look but did not answer.

“Well, you probably don’t know that either.”

This time the look Pink cast suggested Jason would be dead if things were different. They were not different, so there was more rocking back and forth.

“Because you’re not the Huntsman,” Jason pressed harder.

“I saw a mermaid once.” Pink stared down at the table.

“Where?” Jason was thinking of Rexford. Pink, who had extensively hunted and fished the area around Kingsfield, would almost certainly be familiar with Rexford. Maybe he’d seen the Fiji Mermaid. Maybe the sight of that grotesquery had sent him off his rocker.

Or maybe he was born with it.

“She had long blue hair,” Pink said. He smiled at the memory. “Down to her waist. And blue and gold scales on her tail. Cute little fins. And her boobs were covered by these two gold shells.”

“Where was this?”

“She stuck her tongue out at me.” Pink was still smiling. “And I thought…some day I’m going to cut that cute little tongue right out of your big mouth, you fucking fish cunt.”

Pink leaned forward to spit out the last three words with unsettling viciousness. Jason didn’t move a muscle, didn’t let anything show on his face.

What he was thinking was, they should have put you down when they had the chance .

“I bet you got that a lot,” he said.

Pink tilted his head. “What’d you say your name was again? Agent North? South? East? West .”

“That’s right,” Jason said. “Special Agent West. I’m in the phone book under F.U. So how do you think this copycat found out about your mermaid? You must have told someone.”

Pink rolled his eyes. Was he being devious, or was he just trying to look like he was being devious? Mostly he just looked unhinged. Granted, that went with the territory.

“He promised,” Pink mumbled. “No one would know. It was our secret. Only the two of us. No one else would ever know.”

Jason asked skeptically, “Who would never know?”

“ Him . My disciple.” Pink rose. “Guard!” He thumped the table with his manacled hands. “Guard! We’re done here. Guard! ”

Jason stepped away from the table as the guard entered the room.

As Pink was led away his eyes met Jason’s. There was an unholy gleam of laughter in his gaze.

Chapter Eleven

“You think Pink had an accomplice?” Kennedy asked.

They had left the prison and gone for coffee, although by then Jason could have used a real drink. He was glad to sit out on this patio, glad of the open air and sunlight. Even the exhaust of cars circling the small parking lot was refreshing after the gray atmosphere of MCI Cedar Junction.

“I think at the end he was trying to make me think he did,” Jason replied.

Kennedy’s face was grim, and no wonder. If he had missed this—missed an accomplice to Pink’s crimes—there would be no living that down.

Jason was pretty sure that was not the case. He said, “I think, belatedly, he wanted to create the illusion he’s the one in control. He’s still the mastermind. He’s the important one.”

Kennedy drummed his fingers on the pink melamine surface of the patio table, thinking. “Not bad, West.”

Jason scowled. “Don’t sound so surprised. I did graduate from the academy.”

All at once he seemed to have Kennedy’s complete and critical attention. “I know. And you did very well. Top of your class. You’re on the fast track to promotion from everything I hear. I’m curious as to why someone with a Masters in Art History would want to go into law enforcement.”

“I like to keep busy.” Jason crumpled his cup and tossed it into the trash bin.

Kennedy, continuing to eye him, offered one of those humorless smiles.

Jason wasn’t sure if he was flattered or alarmed Kennedy had bothered to check up on him. Especially now.

“And a Harley to boot.”

Jason narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t worry. I have no idea who the Harleys are. Nor do I care.”

Now that Jason believed. He asked, “What’s the real reason you sent me in there to talk to Pink rather than interviewing him yourself?”

Kennedy’s blue appraisal grew unexpectedly chilly. “The real reason? I needed an impartial judge.”

Jason thought this over. “To determine whether Pink really was the Huntsman?”

“You got it. It’s what you’re here for, right? To make sure I didn’t screw up that earlier investigation—and that I don’t screw up this one.”

“No one suggested you screwed up the earlier investigation.”

Kennedy’s gaze grew mocking. “Tactfully put. You’ll do well in management.”

“Fuck off,” Jason said quietly.

Kennedy’s pale brows rose.

“Sir,” Jason added.

Kennedy laughed. It was a sound of genuine amusement. “Or maybe not. Anyway, don’t sir me. I’m not your supervisor as you know very well.”

Yes, they were both aware of their roles. Even so, Jason was a little startled by his reaction. Kennedy had a way of getting under his skin. But then, Kennedy had a way of getting under everyone’s skin. That was part of what made him good at his job.

It was also part of why he didn’t have a lot of friends to back him up when he needed it.