"Ready?" he asked me.
"It's your show."
We got out of the car.
Suddenly, tearing down the street with much squealing of tires, a black Mustang convertible bypassed the police barricade and bounced over the curb and onto the sidewalk. It screeched to a stop on Charles Kork's front lawn, digging up four rolls of sod.
A man in a trench coat, holding what looked like a gallon jug of milk, leaped from the car and ran up to the porch.
I cleared leather with my .38 and limped in pursuit. Someone with a megaphone yelled, "Freeze! Police!" At ten yards away I dropped into a Weaver stance and kept a bead on the figure.
"Freeze! Hands in the air!"
The man put his hands up, still clutching the jug.
"Turn around! Slowly!"
I felt my backup fill in behind me. There was a tense pause. Then the man slowly craned his neck around and stared at me.
"Kinda funny how history repeats itself, huh?"
Harry McGlade.
Chapter 39
WAKE UP, MY LOVE."
He slaps his ex-wife across the face, watching the blood rush to her cheek. She whimpers, eyelids fluttering.
"It's Charles, honey. Wake up."
Diane Kork opens her eyes and stares at the man standing above her. She tries to move but can't.
"Charles, what are you --"
He cuts her off with another cuff to the mouth.
"You talk too much, Diane. Always talking. Always criticizing. I don't want to hear it anymore. All I want to hear are your screams."
He walks away. Diane lifts her head, looking at what restrains her. Twine. Her ankles and wrists are bound with twine. She's in her bra and panties, stretched out on a cement floor. Her hands and feet are tied to posts that have been driven through the concrete.
"I've got four tapes." Her ex-husband is standing off to her right, next to a video camera mounted on a tripod. "That's four hours. Most women can't scream anymore after the third hour, but I've got high hopes for you. You've got such a big mouth."
Charles Kork walks to a table and picks up a hunting knife.
"Charles, please, untie me. This isn't funny."
"You don't think so? I think it's high comedy. This is the American Dream, Diane. Killing the woman you married. For four years, I listened to you bitch and nag. And I took it. Why? First of all, because you were a perfect cover. Cops look for loners, not married guys. A single guy gets attention. A married guy is invisible."
"Charles --"
"I'm not finished!" He hits her again. "Do you want to know what I was doing on those nights I never came home? You thought I was cheating on you, right? That's why you left me."
Charles leans over her, gets in her face.
"I was really out killing people, Diane. Stalking and killing people. Not cheating. Not really, anyway. I may have fucked them before I killed them, but I wouldn't say I was having any affairs."
Diane squeezes her eyes shut. "This isn't happening."
"Was I a bad husband, Diane? I spent time with you. I took you places. We even baked cookies together. Remember?"
He grabs a lacquered gingerbread man from the table, the last one, and thrusts it before her eyes.
"Look familiar? I was your perfect little suburban husband. I mowed the lawn. I paid the bills. I went out with your stupid friends and took you to movies and bought you flowers. I kept up my end of the bargain."
He bends down and smashes the cookie in her face.
"And then, out of the blue, you decide to leave me. Leave me! On television, in front of millions of people! Who do you think you are? Nobody leaves me!"
She's crying now. "Charles, please --"
"You don't get it, Diane. I've killed almost thirty people. Your younger sister, who ran off? She didn't run off. I buried her in a shallow grave in a forest preserve in the suburbs. Sneakers the cat? I broke his goddamn little neck. Haven't you been watching the news? I'm the Gingerbread Man."
Diane's eyes get wide as Charles kneels beside her. She begins to hyperventilate.
"We've got four hours of tape to fill." He brushes the tip of the knife over her quivering lips. "Four hours of quality time."
"Please, Charles. I'm your wife."
The Gingerbread Man cackles. "Till death do us part."
His knife enters her flesh.
Chapter 40
DAMMIT!" I UNCOCKED MY PISTOL."Hold your fire!"
I stormed over to Harry, who was smiling ear to ear.
"I hope you didn't scare away the bad guy with all that screaming, Jackie."
"Drop the milk and put your hands on your head, McGlade. You're under arrest."
"It's not milk. It's filled with concrete."
"This isn't a game, Harry. Now put --"
Before I had a chance to finish the sentence, McGlade rushed the front door, swinging the milk jug at the knob like he was bowling. The door burst inward, momentum taking McGlade into the house.
I saw the entire bust fall apart before my eyes, and without even thinking I hobbled in after him.
"Around the back!" I yelled to whoever was listening. "Cover the perimeter!"
The house was dark and silent. All the curtains had been drawn. There was a sickly-sweet smell in the air, disinfectant masking something else. Something rotten. I tried a light switch, but it didn't work.
"He's cut the power." McGlade was halfway down the hall, moving in a crouch. He'd dropped his plastic jug in favor of a .44 Magnum. It was the kind of gun I'd expected Harry to have -- big and loud.
"McGlade, you asshole!" I whispered viciously at his back. "You're blowing this arrest!"
"Just say you deputized me."
"I'm not Wyatt Earp, McGlade. Now put down --"
"Hey, Charlie!" he yelled. "You've got company!"
Somebody screamed. A woman.
"Basement." Harry rushed through the house opening doors. Closet. Bathroom. Stairway.
We peered down. The stairs were dark and old, curving slightly so we couldn't see the bottom.
Behind us, cops flooded in.
"Cover me." McGlade headed down the stairs.
"We've confirmed a woman in the basement," I said into my lapel mike. "We're going down." I followed him, keeping one hand on the railing, trying to keep the weight off my bad leg.
"Don't shoot me in the back of the head, Jackie."
We made our way down several more steps, the soupy darkness engulfing us. I heard a jingle of keys and tensed, and then a little light went on in Harry's hand.
"Key light. Best buck-fifty I ever spent."
The basement floor came into view, and the smell wafted over us like a fog.
"Christ." Harry wrinkled his nose. "Something dead down here."
A noise at the top of the stairs made us turn. Two uniforms.
"Flashlight!" I whispered.
They shook their heads. They'd taken off their flashlights when they put on the Kevlar.
"There's the circuit breaker." Harry played the light over a wall near the bottom of the stairs. "Go turn on the electricity. I'll cover you."
I cleared my throat and passed McGlade on the stairs. There was a sound to our left.
"Help me."
A growl followed, and then a heart-wrenching scream.
I ran for the circuit breaker.
Chapter 41
THEY'VE FOUND HIM.
He has barely started on her, barely even drawn blood, and now it's all going to end.
He curses, controlling the urge to cut her head off, forcing himself into action.
The Gingerbread Man can handle this. It isn't expected, but he's planned ahead far enough to foresee this possibility. He puts the knife in his belt, checks his pocket for the lighter, and grabs his gun.
He hears the front door burst in and he hits the circuit breaker, plunging the house into darkness. Someone yells his name.
Diane screams. He walks to her in the dark, guided by the flame on his Zippo.
"Scream again and I shoot you."
The gun goes into her mouth to drive his point home. Then he uses the knife to cut her free.
"Kneel, bitch."
She kneels on the concrete floor, whimpering. He flicks his lighter again and finds the master fuse on the floor, running along the back wall.