Читать книгу Malicious - Jacob Stone - Страница 13

Chapter 6

Morris reached blindly to turn off the clock radio, then collapsed back onto the bed. His mouth and throat tasted as if he had gargled with sawdust, and his head throbbed as if it were being squeezed in a vise. Too many of those blueberry mojitos, he thought. Too much rich food also. But damn, those charbroiled oysters were good!

He lay on his back, listening to Natalie’s rhythmic breathing as she continued to sleep, and then struggled to open his eyes against the morning light. When he heard a rustling noise from the hallway, followed by a soft whimper, he remembered that because Nat didn’t have to be in her office until eleven, he had decided he’d leave later himself, and so had set the alarm for eight instead of the usual six a.m. If he had planned things better he would’ve arranged for Parker’s twenty-four-year-old occasional dog walker, Kat McKinty, to have shown up earlier that morning. But he hadn’t, so he had better get out of bed pronto to take Parker outside.

Morris tried to be quiet so he wouldn’t wake Natalie as he stumbled out of bed and slipped on a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt. He grabbed his cell phone and keys, and when he opened the bedroom door he fought to keep Parker from charging into the room. The dog let out an impatient yelp and jumped up and tried to lick him in the face.

“I know, buddy, I’m late this morning. No excuses. Let’s get you outside.”

The word outside elicited several excited grunts from the bull terrier, who proceeded to race down the stairs. Morris badly wanted coffee right then, but that would have to wait. He made a quick pit stop for himself, then continued on to the front door where he found Parker waiting with his leash in his mouth. This was their morning ritual: a tug-of-war before Parker would let go. This time Parker gave up the leash right away.

They were a block away from home before Morris turned on his cell phone. When he checked the text messages, a coolness filled his head as he saw that there was a long string of them from Doug Gilman at the mayor’s office. The first message had been sent an hour ago, and read “Call me right away. It’s important.” The next three were similar, except that “important” had become “critical.” Before Morris could read any more of them, his phone rang. The caller ID showed Los Angeles Mayor’s Office.

This had to be about a horrific murder. That was the only reason Gilman would be this anxious to get ahold of him. Morris considered not answering the call and simply sending Gilman a text reminding him that MBI was no longer taking on homicide investigations. Instead, though, Morris tapped on the answer button. Before he could say anything more than, “I’m sorry, Doug—”, the mayor’s deputy assistant interrupted him, asking if Morris had seen his text messages.

“I was just going through them when you called.”

“You haven’t seen my last text?”

“No, not yet.”

“Before you say another word, take a look at it.”

The world around him grew uncomfortably quiet as Morris scrolled through the messages. He stopped walking and ignored Parker’s impatient tugging on the leash as he found the message that read: this is what was found pinned to the victim. A photo attached to the message showed a business card dotted with two drops of blood. The card read: To Morris Brick: I’m just beginning—R. G. Berg, Serial Killer Extraordinaire.

“You said there was a victim?” Morris asked, his voice sounding tinny and unnatural to his own ears.

“Half of one, anyways.”

Gilman gave Morris the details he had, and Morris agreed to meet him where they had found the victim. Or at least where they had found a part of the victim.