The Eyes Die Last (41 page)

“She really didn’t die, huh?”  Ed’s voice got louder, and he sounded pissed.  Frank slid out from under Ed’s arm, and took a step closer to his desk.  Ed kicked the office door closed. 

“That’s what I heard.” 

“Son of a bitch.  How could she not die?  If he stabbed her, why didn’t she die?” 

Ed’s face seemed bleached of all color.  Sweat beaded the anchor’s forehead. 

Frank kept his voice calm and quiet.  “Not only do you look like you’ve taken a beating, now you’re acting strange.  Maybe you should go home and catch some shut eye.” 

“No time.  I need to get cleaned up, change my shirt and get over to the hospital.  I want to check this out myself.  See what’s going on.  Get a look at this possible suspect.” 

“I think it could wait a couple of hours.” 

“No it can’t wait.  I told you, I need to see what the hell happened.  Find out why the whore didn’t die.” 

Frank flinched.  “Hey there, buddy.  I know we trash talk a lot about making money off of murder, but Hersh, it’s a good thing the cop didn’t die.  Hell, you can still do a story on her.  A better story.  An inside, one-on-one survivor story.  So how about you just calm down?” 

“It’s not a good thing, Frankie.  Ah, screw it, you’d never understand.”  “Obviously not.” 

“I’ve got to get moving.” 

Ed began to unbutton his shirt and Frank got a good look at his shirt sleeves.  The cuffs were spattered dark brown. 

Frank stared.  He knew who the prostitute killer was.  His throat filled with bile and he felt like his knees were about to buckle.  He gripped the desk for balance. 

“It was you, Hersh?  You killed all those women?  What were you thinking?”  He looked around the room, searching for a way out past the maniac between him and the door.  “Tell me you didn’t do it for the ratings.” 

Ed put his arm around Frank and smiled.  “It wasn’t all for the ratings, Frankie.  Turns out I actually enjoy killing.  I’m destined to be great and I’m afraid I’ve come too far to let you ruin it for me.” 

“God Almighty.  You really did fit the serial killer profile.  I was joking about that.” 

“Apparently it wasn’t a joke.  Sorry, pal.” 

Ed slid his arm up around Frank’s neck and gave Frank’s throat a firm squeeze, cutting off his air.  Frank flailed, trying to escape, but he wasn’t strong enough.  He kicked his chair over and knocked stuff off his desk, but he knew no one would come in.  They were used to unusual sounds coming from his office.  His eyes rolled back in his head.  He could barely think.  Ed pushed him into the closet behind his desk, heard the tearing of cloth and then felt it as the dirty fabric was forced into his mouth.  Moving quickly, Ed tied his hands with another piece.  Apparently content that Frank was securely bound, Ed closed the door and Frank heard the lock click into place. 

Ed
shook out the crisp, clean shirt and put it on.  Using the electric razor he’d brought in from his desk drawer, he shaved, leaving his face fresh and smooth to the touch.  He dug a mint out of the tin box squirreled away in Frank’s desk and tossed it in his mouth.  With a few quick swipes of a small horsehair dauber, he shined his loafers. 

“So, the bitch didn’t die.  No problem.  I’ll just have to alter my plans a bit.” 

He put on a clean tie and smoothed back his perfect hair, peppered with just the right amount of gray. 

“Time for another date with Detective O’Brien.” 

Nick
arrived at
St. Louis
’ little pink house just as the man was being led out onto his porch.  Parked on the street out front were four Metro police cruisers with their light bars flashing a steady stream of color.  An unmarked car sat in the driveway and members of the SWAT team were stowing their equipment.  Several uniformed cops blocked onlookers and news teams vying for a closer look. 

Detectives Tenuta and Sparks were on the porch with a nervous looking
St. Louis
sandwiched stiffly between them. 

Kennedy’s lieutenant stood with them. 

Nick’s eyes met Hazelwood’s and the cop waved him over. 

The uniforms let him through and he joined the group.  He wanted—no, he needed—to beat
St. Louis
to a pulp.  He needed justice for Kennedy.  His hands closed into fists. 

Lieutenant Hazelwood stopped him.  “Mr.  Campenelli, good to see you again.  I just left Detective O’Brien’s room.  It was good to see her out of the ICU and looking much better.”  Lieutenant Hazelwood stuck his hand out, and Nick shook it.  “Mr. 
St. Louis
has asked to have a word with you.” 

His chest tightened and he felt his lips thinning. 
“I’d like a few words with him
too.” 

Louis grabbed his arm, his nails digging into Nick’s sleeve.  “Nicky, tell these guys I didn’t kill the whores.  They deserved to die, but I didn’t do it, I swear I didn’t.” 

Detective Tenuta pulled out handcuffs at the same time Lieutenant Hazelwood stepped between Nick and Louis.  “I’d advise you against hitting the bastard, Campenelli.  He’s not worth it.” 

Detective Tenuta, still holding the handcuffs, stepped in behind
St. Louis
.  “We’re not arresting you for the prostitute murders.  You’re under arrest for the murder of your mother, Janet
St. Louis
-Miller.  You have the right to remain silent...”  The detective snapped on the handcuffs as he continued to read the man his rights. 

“Don’t let them do this, Nicky.  I had to kill her.  Don’t you see?  Mother was a whore, an embarrassment to me, no better than the whores on our streets.  She sold her body to anyone willing to pay.” 

Tenuta shook his head in
disgu
st
.
“I suggest you exercise your right to shut the hell up.”  He passed
St. Louis
off to two uniformed officers who led him, still pleading, to a cruiser and tucked his head while helping him into the back seat. 

Nick looked to the Lieutenant.  “What the hell is going on?  Are you saying Louis isn’t the prostitute killer?  He didn’t attack Kennedy?” 

“No, it doesn’t look like it.  We had his house staked out all night while waiting for his arrest warrant to come through.  The man never left.  There’s no way he could have attacked Detective O’Brien.” 

“Crap.  If it wasn’t Louis, who was it?  Who the hell else hates me?”  He wished John had been a bit more coherent.  And it hit him square in the face.  “
Chri
st
.
That rotten son of a bitch.”  There was one other man Nick knew hated him.  Edfucking-Hershey.  He turned to run, but Hazelwood caught his arm. 

“What’s going on, Campenelli?” 

“The killer is Ed Hershey.” 

He broke free and ran as the Lieutenant turned to Sparks and Tenuta.  “You two finish up here, take
St. Louis
in and process him.  I’m following Campenelli.  He needs to explain this new notion of his.” 

“You better hurry, Lieutenant.  Campenelli is going to hurt Hershey big time if he gets his hands on him first.” 

“Call Wilder.  He’s at LVTVS.  Give him a heads up about Ed Hershey and let him know that Campenelli is on his way.  Tell him to stay on Hershey’s back until I get there.” 

“I’m on it, Lieutenant.” 

“I’m going to try and keep Campenelli out of trouble.” 

Keep up with me if you can.  Nick, already throwing his car into gear, didn’t give the lieutenant a second thought. 

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

WILDER WALKED INTO LVTVS AND TOOK IN HIS SURROUNDINGS AS HE CHECKED IN WITH THE UNIFORMED OFFICERS BY THE NEWSROOM DOORS.

“Anything?”

“Not yet, Detective.”

“The newsroom looks empty.” 

“Too early for anyone except the early show employees, and most of them are in the studio doing the broadcast.” 

“Stay alert.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Wilder ambled to Ed Hershey’s desk in the back of the room.  Ed was speaking animatedly on his landline and motioned for Wilder to sit down. 

Hanging up the phone, he turned to Wilder.  “Detective James, how is Detective O’Brien this morning?” 

“How’d you know?  Her name hasn’t been released yet.” 

“I have informants who keep me up to date.  Face it, Detective James, the public will know all about Detective O’Brien’s incident pretty soon, anyway.  You might as well fill me in.” 

Wilder ignored Ed’s last comment.  “You’ve received an AFTER photo from the killer already, haven’t you?”  It had to be how Hershey already knew about Kennedy, the only thing that made sense. 

“Yes, I have.  It was on my desk when I arrived.” 

“I thought you said you learned about O’Brien from an outside source.” 

“That’s true, but my informant’s call came to me at home ...  it’s, uh, the reason I came in early.” 

The man was hiding something, it was written all over his scumbag face.  “You just admitted you looked at the photo?  You were warned not to open the envelopes when they arrive.  Now, as usual, your fingerprints are all over it.  Why didn’t you notify one of the uniformed officers?”  Dumb question. 

“I opened it without thinking.  It was early and I don’t think I was totally awake.  I was just getting ready to call you.” 

“Right.  Tell me, Mr.  Hershey, how did the killer get the envelope past the cops at the front door to place it on your desk?  It’s too early for it to have come in the mail.” 

“I couldn’t begin to answer that question.”  Ed shuffled papers around on his desk, avoiding looking Wilder in the eye.  “Is there any chance you’re closing in on the murderer?” 

“We’ll get the piece of shit.  It won’t be long.”  Wilder answered while still digesting the idea that the killer had hand-delivered another photo without either of the cops in position noticing. 

“That’s a shame.” 

“Excuse me?”  Wilder went rigid. 

“I said, it’s a shame you’re about to catch the killer.” 

That was the last thing Wilder thought he’d hear the man say.  “What the hell is wrong with you?  You’re being more of an asshole than usual.” 

There was something different about Hershey, something off balance, way off balance.  He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. 

“I’m just saying it’s a shame for the station.  For all the local news stations, actually.  When the killings stop, viewers tune out and our ratings plummet.  The viewership is already declining.  If there’s no big news story to keep up with, they turn to reruns and game shows.  Or worse, cable TV.  How sad is that?” 

Wilder couldn’t believe what Ed was saying.  “How sad is that?  Are you serious?” 

“Very serious.  Murder is what keeps our ratings up.  Don’t look so shocked, Detective, it’s what keeps you employed, isn’t it?” 

Wilder grabbed Ed up by the collar and pulled him halfway across his desk.  “You rotten son of a bitch.  My partner could have died last night.” 

“Detective O’Brien should have died last night.  Now that would have been a great news story.”  Ed shook himself loose from Wilder’s hold and sat back. 

“Do you want the AFTER photo of Detective O’Brien or not?” 

Ed reached into a drawer, but instead of pulling out the envelope Wilder expected, he brought out a gun.  Wilder recognized it instantly.  Kennedy’s Sig. 

Ed kept it low, hidden behind a stack of paper, but pointed steadily at Wilder. 

Ed is the prostitute killer. 

Wilder looked down.  There was a single spatter of blood on one of Ed’s shoes. 

Ed followed his gaze and narrowed one eye.  “Looks like I missed a spot.” 

“You sick little fuck.  You’ve been murdering women to boost your career?” 

“At
fir
st
.
The networks loved me when Hadley Cox used me to lead the cops to him.”  Ed held up a hand.  “Don’t even ask.  Hadley really was the killer that time. 

My viewers couldn’t get enough of me back then.  They love me again now that the prostitute killer is on a rampage.” 

“How many women have to die to feed your sick ego?” 

“I’m almost finished.  But I have to tell you, when I killed that first hooker, it felt good.  Now, Detective James, don’t look so shocked.  Some people like to read, some paint or do needle point.  I just happen to prefer killing as a hobby. 

“I love to look into their eyes afterwards and watch the life slowly flicker out.” 

Wilder’s hand twitched, but Ed raised Kennedy’s gun.  “Don’t force me to use this.  After I blow your brains out, I’ll take out your two fellow officers and the small handful of my co-workers hanging around.  You surely don’t want that to happen, do you?  All that bloodshed.  So messy.” 

“You won’t get away with this, Hershey.”  “Maybe not.  I guess we’ll see.” 

“What about me?  You can’t run far enough to get away from me.”  “I’ll take care of you later.  You and a few other loose ends.” 

“Don’t you hurt her again.”