Blood Angel Page 10

  She logged into the prison database and did a generic search, starting with last names that began with each letter of the alphabet. Her explanation, if asked, was going to be that someone new had asked her to participate, and she wasn’t sure how to spell his name. She did a few cursory searches and scrolled down just enough to make it look believable, until she came to the R’s. It didn’t take long. The man she was looking for, the one she’d come to that specific prison to meet and study, was near the top.

  * * *

  Her next session was not for another hour. Plenty of time, she thought.

  She went down the corridor toward the main station, past the cafeteria and barbershop, and down the three o’clock corridor. No one needed to tell her to stay outside of the red zones any longer. Some of the prisoners greeted her and she said hello back. There was one room on the right side of the corridor, almost as large as the cafeteria, with windows that had been obscured by racks and racks of books. She opened the door and went in. The prison library was completely silent. Strange, after the cacophony of the hallways just outside the room. Its blue industrial carpet was worn but clean. There were tables and chairs, all mismatched, set up along the floor. All the chairs were pushed in. It was empty except for the prisoner sitting at the desk.

  The man looked different than she’d expected. His head was shaved and he wore a goatee. He looked the same as many of the other prisoners, and she thought that was intentional. He watched her come in, then went back to the book he was reading.

  “It’s so quiet in here,” she said.

  “Well, it is a library,” he said.

  She stood near the front of the desk. “What are you reading?”

  He held up the book to show her the cover.

  “Accounting For Canadians For Dummies.” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning on moving to Canada and becoming an accountant?”

  “All our books are donated. This came in last month, and it’s the only thing I haven’t read yet.”

  He went back to reading and she turned to look at what books were on the shelves. Several variations of the Bible and other religious texts. The biography of a vaudeville performer. How-to books that looked like they were printed in the seventies. Half an encyclopedia set. Thick paperback books with no cover and nothing but the glue on the binding of the spine. She glanced back at him. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He turned a page in his book and kept reading.

  “I’m Linda Shelley. I work in the psychology department here. You’re Jacob Rein, the police detective, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I know the guards sure won’t. They probably love you for what you did to Krissing. A lot of the prisoners too, from I’ve heard about their feelings toward child rapists.”

  He glanced at the clock on the wall behind her and closed his book. “The library is closed.”

  He waited for her to her to leave before he flicked off the lights and pulled the door shut behind him.

  * * *

  She showed the paper bag to the guard and said, “Do you want to go through these, or can I just take it through the metal detector?”

  “What is it?” He peered in and scowled. “Books?”

  “I’m making a donation to the library.”

  “None of these mutts can read the ABC’s let alone any of this. Just go through.”

  She carried the bag past the main station and made a right instead of her usual left. She clenched the bag to her chest tight with one hand so it didn’t fall and opened the door with her other to let herself in.

  She set the bag down on the desk in front of Jacob Rein and put her hands on her hips. “I heard you all were in need of some books.”

  Rein picked the first book off the top of the bag and looked at the cover. It was a red softback with a bear holding a balloon. “The Tao of Pooh?”

  “I read all the rules online,” she said. “No hardcovers. No romance novels. Nothing with weapons on the covers.”

  “No textbooks,” he added.

  “Shoot. I sell all my textbooks back to the library. Are you kidding? Those things are expensive as hell.”

  “Thank you for your donation,” he said. He put the bag on the floor next to his desk and picked Accounting For Dummies For Canadians back up and continued to read it.

  “You’re seriously still going to read that? I brought you real books.”

  “I’m almost finished with this one. I feel like it’s going to get good any minute now.”

  She laughed and he didn’t, but he did almost smile.

  * * *

  She came back for him the next day and was pleased to see him reading one of the books she’d brought. “This is starting to become a habit,” he said without looking up.

  “I was hoping we could talk.”

  “You can’t find other people to talk to?”

  “None in this place.”

  “I’d say it’s odd, then, that you chose to work here.”

  “Listen, I just want to ask you a few questions. A short, short, interview, I promise.”

  “I see,” he said. “You want to ask me about Walter.”

  “Actually, I’m more interested in you. They mentioned your name in the Cambridge study on Anton Ola. You were the detective who figured out he killed the woman in Norristown, weren’t you?”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “Did you know he was sexually molested by multiple family members growing up? So was Walter Krissing.”

  “What a shame.” He licked his thumb and turned to the next page on his book.

  “I’ve heard Anton Ola referred to as The Blue Worm several times but it’s not in any of the paperwork and no one will say why. It’s like an inside joke or something. Will you at least tell me why they called him that?”

  “I have no idea. Please leave.”

  “I just want to ask about your work with—”

  He slammed the book shut so hard, it sounded throughout the quiet library. He closed his eyes and went still. When he opened them again, he said, “My work has ended.”

  “Well, mine hasn’t,” she said.

  “Is your work annoying me?”

  “My work is preventing people like Walter Krissing and Anton Ola from ever existing. I want to figure out how to identify them from the earliest stages, to stop them before they hurt anyone.”

  “Not possible.”

  “What do you mean it’s not possible?”

  “Because a lot of kids are abused and molested. Only one in a hundred thousand, maybe a million, of them will grow up to be a Krissing or Ola. There aren’t enough indicators early enough to stop them before they develop a fetish for killing.”

  “Then I’ll figure out what to do with them after they’ve been identified and make sure they never hurt anyone again. Not too long ago, society viewed schizophrenia as demonic possession. They thought exorcism was the proper treatment. All I’m saying is that maybe if we tried a new approach, we could save lives. I’m asking you to help me.”

  Rein leaned back in his chair and considered her more carefully. Reading her. Whatever decision he needed to make about her, it was over in seconds. He went back to his book. “Do yourself a favor and stay as far away from these people as possible.”

  “I’m not leaving until you help me, so I can help them.”

  “Anton Ola thought alien worms were infesting the human species with their own kind. He was convinced that pregnant women had been abducted and implanted with worms. It was actually the women’s intestines. He cut their stomachs open and pulled out the fetuses then ripped all of their intestines out and chopped them to pieces. Have you ever seen intestines when they’re emerging from the human body?”

  “ No.”

  “That’s why they called him The Blue Worm.”

  “What did he do with the fetuses?” Linda whispered.

  “He ate them,” Rein said.

  The muscles in her jaw tightened. “How interesting,” she said.

/>   Rein smirked and went back to his book.

  “How did you wind up in Norristown looking for Anton Ola?”

  “I tried to tell Homicide they needed to go, but no one believed me, so I went.”

  “Were they mad when you proved them wrong?”

  “Very. It ruined my career in the city.”

  “Can you tell me why you felt strongly enough about catching The Blue Worm that you risked your career?”

  “I think we’ve talked enough.”

  “That’s my last question. Honest.”

  Rein looked at her over the top of his book. “I was married at the time and my wife was eight months pregnant with our son. So was the first victim. I guess you could say I took it personally.”

  “I suppose I would have too,” she said. “That must have been hard for you to see.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Fine, I’ll go,” she said. “But just so you know, you’re wrong. People like Anton Ola and Walter Krissing can be helped. Just because no one has figured out how to do it yet doesn’t mean it can’t be done. I’m going to do it.”

  “You go ahead and do it,” Rein said.

  “I will.”

  “You know what?” Rein said. “I think maybe you’re right.”

  “Of course I am. I’m also a lot of fun to hang out with and talk to. See how much better this is than just sitting here by yourself all day?”

  Rein smiled at her. “You know, all this talk about the old days reminds me of some good stories.”

  “Oh really?” She tucked her hair behind her ear. She liked the way he looked when he smiled. “Tell me one.”

  “You won’t be bored?”

  “Not at all!”

  “Okay,” Rein said. “This is the weirdest call I ever had. I was still on patrol, right out of the academy. You know how people rescue dogs?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, this lady rescued boa constrictors.”

  “Say what? That’s different. Was she taking them from laboratories that experimented on snakes or something?”

  “No, from houses where people bought them as exotic pets and couldn’t take care of them. The snakes started getting so big, the owners would release them into the Pennypack River and it would cause a huge commotion. So she’d go around and rescue boas from people who couldn’t take care of them. She must have had a dozen giant snakes in her house.”

  “So what was the call you got there?”

  “This part’s comical. Ready? Her neighbors found her on her front yard with one of her boa constrictors wrapped around her entire head.”

  “Oh my God! That’s insane. Did you have to pull it off of her?”

  “Eventually.” Rein’s eyes narrowed on her. “There was no rush. She was already dead.”

  “What?”

  “It attacked her at feeding time. She ran through the house and managed to get outside, hoping someone would see her and get help. But it was too late.”

  “That’s awful,” Linda whispered.

  “Her neighbor saw her pounding it on the sides with her fists, her legs kicking like crazy, but then she just went limp. Can you imagine? Trying to breathe against all that slithering flesh while it constricts around your throat, your face? It must feel like steel cables cinching down on you. You die listening to the sound of your own skull cracking. See, she rescued these snakes. She fed them. She loved them. Then one killed her.”

  Rein got up from the desk and headed toward the door.

  * * *

  “My mind is a train station, and my thoughts are just trains, passing through,” she said in unison with the group of prisoners seated around her. Their voices filled the meeting room. “If I find myself on the wrong one, I can just get off, anytime I choose.”

  Linda opened her eyes and pressed her hands together to thank them. “Today was an excellent session. Everyone did wonderful. Thank you so much.”

  Miguel put his hands together and bowed his head back at her. She dismissed the group and all the prisoners stood up to leave. Miguel stood up with the others, but hung back as the rest filed past him. He picked up two of the chairs and carried them to the wall before she could stop him.

  “Thank you, Miguel,” Linda said. “But you know you have to go when I dismiss you.”

  “I know,” he said. “I just wanted to show you something.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small and intricately folded butterfly made from purple paper. “My grandfather was Japanese. He used to do these paper cuttings and sell them at festivals. He taught me origami. I forgot most of it, but I’ve been practicing in here.” His fingers trembled as he held it out for her to take.

  “It’s beautiful,” Linda said. She turned it over in the palm of her hand to inspect it. “You’re very talented.”

  “You think?”

  “Thank you for showing it to me,” she said and tried to hand it back to him.

  “I made it for you.”

  “I can’t accept anything from you, Miguel. You know that.”

  “It’s a secret. Nobody will know, and it’s just paper, so it won’t set off any of the alarms or anything. See? I thought it through.”

  “I really appreciate it, but I can’t.”

  He winked at her as he backed toward the door.

  “I could get fired and never be able to come back here. I’m serious, I can’t accept this.”

  The crucifixes tattooed on his face grew straight and rigid. “Then throw it the fuck out then. Fuck it.”

  “That is enough!”

  “Fuck you, black bitch.”

  She aimed her finger at the door. “Get out of this room, right now! I will have you written up.”

  He stood between her and the door. A hundred people in the hallway behind him walked past. None of them could hear her over the noise in the corridor. He threw his arms wide. “You think I care, pinche idiota?”

  “Miguel,” she said. “Listen to me.”

  He grabbed his crotch with one hand and shook it. “Métetelo por el culo, puta.”

  There were cameras in the corners of the room. They were monitored by the guards in the main station. If they weren’t too short on manpower to staff the main station that day, she thought. And if they weren’t too distracted by all the prisoners in the hall to notice.

  Physically, it was in her to fight. Her hands tightened into fists. She had the ability to scratch and claw and bite and scream her head off until the guards came rushing in like a sea of gray uniforms and batons.

  Her mind betrayed her, as it always did. It threatened to drag her off to that same faraway place she’d found as a child. That distant island in the dark sea that wrapped its sickly tentacles around her and would not let her act or move or cry out for help. In the end, all she did was stand there, staring at him, unable to move.

  Miguel clicked his tongue against his teeth. He pulled the door open and stepped into the stream of prisoners rushing past. He grinned at her, the corners of his mouth touching the underside of each long black crucifix and then vanished into the sea of orange jumpsuits.

  * * *

  Rein didn’t look up from the book on his desk when she walked into the library. It was an old thesaurus she’d donated. The book was nearly a thousand pages and heavier than a brick. Rein licked the tip of his thumb and turned the page. “I’ve always loved old reference books,” he said. “If you have any others, I’ll take them.”

  Her lips trembled. She ran her fingers across her forehead to move the wet strands of hair away from her face. She took a quick, sharp, breath, and said, “Okay.” Another breath. “I’ll check.”

  Rein closed the book. “What’s wrong?”

  The word Nothing squeaked out of her as she fanned her face. Sweat was coming down the small of her back. She was shivering.

  Rein came around the desk and took her by the elbow. He guided her into his chair and helped her sit down. “Something happened.”

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “
I’m fine.”

  He went to the library door and peered through it. There was nothing but prisoners and guards outside. He went back to the desk and picked up a Styrofoam cup and carried it to the water fountain next to the entrance. He filled the cup and carried it back to the desk. “Drink,” he said.

  She wrapped her hands around the cup and raised it to her mouth, spilling some of it on her chin before it reached her lips. “Shit,” she said. She blinked sweat out of her eyes and wiped her face with her palm. “I think I’m having a panic attack.”

  Rein opened one of the desk drawers and found a roll of paper towels. He ripped off a few sheets and dampened them with water. “Press this against your forehead and breathe.” He walked over to the fountain and refilled her cup.

  She held the wet towels to her forehead with one hand and reached for the cup of water with the other. She sipped it and set it down. Her breathing was getting more regular. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “It was nothing.”

  He peeled the wet towels off her forehead and tossed them into the trash. He pulled off several more sheets and trickled less water than before, just enough to make them moist, and handed them back to her. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

  “Which time?”

  “About men who grow up to be like Walter Krissing and Anton Ola. You won’t find any answers here. I may have someone you can talk to, though.”

  She tossed the paper towels aside and grabbed her notepad and pen. She laid them on the desk and said, “Tell me.”

  “Tucker Pennington,” Rein said. “He called himself The Master. I arrested him when he was a juvenile. He’s a sadist, but he hasn’t killed. At least, not yet.”

  There was excitement in her hand as she wrote. Excitement in her voice too. “Where is he?”

  “Sunshine Estates.”

  “What is that? It sounds like some kind of retirement community.”

  “It’s a psychiatric facility where they house certain offenders under a civil commitment.”