Dimitri shrugged.
Rick brought his mouth close to Dimitri’s ear. Hissed. “Answer me, goddamnit. What are those mics for?”
“You’re breaking my arm. Can’t you let up? I won’t go anywhere.” Dimitri sniffled, then when Rick didn’t release him, he answered. “My hobby. Sometimes I practice radio stuff.”
“Practicing your calls as First Time? Seeing how you’d sound on the radio?” Rick waved his hand around the room. “You’re a regular computer whiz, huh? I bet you can build all kinds of neat things.”
Rick thought he felt Dimitri straighten up a bit.
“Show it to me. I want to see how it all works,” Rick said. He could feel his anger ready to boil over. To explode in a red fury. One of his fans, one of the people he connected with daily, one of the people who had invited him into his home every afternoon to chat with, was a stone-cold killer. Rage fueled him.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, asshole. Show me how you can disguise your voice. How you can keep your calls from being traced. How you prey on the weak.” Rick screamed at Dimitri. Spittle flew from his lips. He could see the terror reflected in Dimitri’s weak and watery eyes. “Show me how you can kill someone and cut off their goddamn arms and ears and tongues. Show it all to me.” Rick slammed Dimitri into a metal rack, sending a few loose tools clattering to the ground.
Dimitri wailed. “It’s not me. I helped him. I made calls for him. I covered for him. But I didn’t kill anyone. I swear, I swear, I swear.”
Rick heard the words, but it took a few seconds for them to penetrate his anger. Someone else was involved? “Who? Who did you help? Who’s First Time?”
Dimitri’s eyes widened at the mention of the name. Then he began to shake his head violently. “No. No. NO. NO. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill me if he finds out. Please don’t tell him. Please.”
“Tell who? Tell who?” Rick shook Dimitri, trying to jar the answer loose.
Dimitri went on, ignoring Rick. A monologue driven by fear and panic and insanity. “He’ll kill me. He’ll cut off my fingers and toes and eat them one-by-one. After he’s done with the girl, he’ll kill me next. I’m afraid of death. I don’t want to die.” Dimitri’s head cocked at a funny angle, and he bared his teeth. “And he’ll kill you, too, if you try to stop him. He hates you now. For what you did to him. On the air. In front of America. He hates you. You. You. YOU.”
Rick shook Dimitri violently, trying to break the spell. Then he balled up his fist and slugged him in the face. A few drops of blood flew from the little man’s mouth and landed on Rick’s shirt. Dimitri screamed. A loud, shrill shriek.
Rick grabbed Dimitri with his other hand, preventing him from crumpling to the floor. “Who’s First Time? Goddamn it, who is it?” He tried to make eye contact with Dimitri, but the smaller man just whipped his head about, screaming and crying. Rick slapped him hard across the face. “Who is First Time? What girl does he have?” Then Dimitri’s eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp in Rick’s hands, head lolling around like a bobblehead doll with a busted spring.
A voice called to them from the living area. “Police. Fairfax County Police. Everything all right? Come out of there.”
Rick slapped Dimitri again, trying to bring him back from his near catatonic state. He had to find out who First Time was before the cops got him. Something told Rick that Dimitri would clam up when the cops arrested him. He tried again. “Who’s First Time?”
Dimitri’s head stopped bobbing, and his beady eyes cracked open. They fixed on Rick’s. Focus had returned, at least for a fleeting moment. “I’m sorry. So sorry, Rick. I loved you. Please forgive me. But you must hurry, it’s almost done.” Dimitri collapsed onto the floor, eyes closed.
Rick stood above Dimitri, staring down. Rage filled his mind, his heart. How could someone participate in such a heinous scheme? He was vaguely aware of a cop storming in, gun drawn. He wanted to pounce on Dimitri and wring the truth out of him. Continue until he felt the last, dying breath of the scumbag flutter on his cheek.
“Hey. Hey.” The cop was nudging him. “You okay?”
Rick nodded. Turned away from Dimitri as another cop tended to the unconscious man.
“I better call this in.” The cop requested an ambulance and got patched through to Adams.
Rick stood there, trying to will his body back to stasis. He’d been so close to getting Dimitri to reveal First Time’s identity. His powers of persuasion had failed him. With any luck, the cops would be able to sweat it out of Dimitri in short order. Assuming they could revive him from his shock. He eyed the banks and banks of electronics. The forensic investigators would have a field day with all this stuff. Surely they could get the clues they needed, once they combed the memory of all these machines. It was going to be all right, wasn’t it?
The cop hung up and spoke to Rick. “Adams says you’re cool. What went on here?”
Rick explained, glossing over some of the less complimentary parts. The cop took notes, interrupting the narrative only once to brief the EMTs on the situation when they arrived. When Rick finished recounting the incident, the cop flipped his notebook shut.
Rick felt like he’d boxed twelve rounds. He wanted to collapse too. Into his bed. He addressed the cop. “All done?”
“Here. Adams wants you to meet him at the station. Give a detailed statement.” The cop tilted his head and eyed him. “That a problem for you?”
“No. Not at all,” Rick said, defeated. First Time had slipped away from him again.
A
S
R
ICK LEFT
Dimitri’s apartment, he felt like he was walking in hip-deep water, everything moving in slow motion. He’d been so close, but he’d blown it. Twice in less than a day. Would he get another shot at the madman?
When he reached his car, he thanked God for small favors. No one had ticketed his car for being illegally parked at a hydrant. Rick slid in, then slumped over the steering wheel. He should have tortured that little creep until First Time’s name came spilling out. Due to his failure, the life of some innocent girl was still in jeopardy. He saw Dimitri’s pathetic face, crying and contorted. Eyes full of unspeakable anguish. It would be so pitiful in any other context.
Rick started up the engine but didn’t put the car in gear. Why was Dimitri apologizing? Why the last look of such extreme sorrow? Why did he want him to hurry? A terrible feeling gained purchase deep within Rick’s chest as he played back Dimitri’s words. The feeling grew, accelerated, spread through his limbs into his head, racing out of control like a wildfire. His heart jumped, froze, then started palpitating. His fingers trembled.
He jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cell. Hit the speed dial. One ring. Two rings.
Pick up, damnit.
Three rings. His stomach tumbled and rolled. Four rings. Where the hell were they?
“Hello.” Barb’s angelic voice was a prayer answered.
“Hey.” Rick croaked out the word, but didn’t say more, afraid his cracking voice would give away the terror he’d felt. His heart slowed.
“Rick? You okay?”
He swallowed and closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m okay. Now. How are you?”
“Fine. Just reading a book. It’s nice to have a little time to myself.”
“What do you mean?”
A pause. Then Barb said, “Well, Ray’s taking a nap. And Livvy’s at the mall—”
“Who’s Livvy with?”
“Relax, dear,” Barb said. “She’s with Winn.”
Rick cursed under his breath. What was Winn doing with Livvy? “What do you mean? Tomorrow’s Friday. Tomorrow’s Winn’s day.”
“I know. He came by this afternoon, said he needed some cheering up. Luckily, Livvy and I hadn’t made any other plans. Being cooped up here was getting her down. They’re really great for each other, don’t you think? Two unique personalities, all right.” She gave a little chuckle.
The wildfire was ablaze again in his brain. Snapping and crackling, burning and destroying. Charring everything black. Hot. Hot. Hot. “Where are they?” he snapped into the phone.
“At the mall. I told you—”
“What time did they leave?”
“Rick, you sure nothing’s wrong, you sound—”
“What time, Barb? What time did they leave?”
“Jeez. About four, four-thirty. They were going to have an early dinner, then visit the arcade. You really need to chill out.”
Rick hung up. “Good idea,” he said to no one. “Good fucking idea.”
Tin Man and Marie resumed their show after the call from First Time. Celia told them to keep things going, keep taking calls, keep revving up the listeners. But Tin Man had a different idea. No more callers today. He had some things he wanted to say, some things he wanted to broadcast to the millions of
Circus
fans. He was going to reveal a different side of the Tin Man to his listeners. Celia could pound dirt if she didn’t like it.
J.T. pointed at him. On-air. “Welcome back,
Circus
fans. This is Tin Man.” He cleared his throat again, and in a deeper-than-usual voice said, “Sit back everyone. Put the phones down. Tin Man has a few things he’d like to unload. And relax, it won’t hurt a bit.” He cued up a cheering crowd sound effect and let it play for eight seconds. It felt good playing God.
And God had a few things to say about the whole First Time ordeal.
Rick cursed the traffic. He needed to know Livvy was okay before he could meet Adams at the station. Adams would understand, and if he didn’t, well, he could sic the department on him.
Winn had Livvy. Crazy ideas swirled in his head and every one got the worst-case spin. Was Livvy the girl Dimitri referred to? Why did he have to hurry? What was about to happen? And the craziest thought of all: Was Winn really First Time?
Sterling Commons Mall. To get there, he had to negotiate the main drag to the Fairfax County Parkway north, then take the Toll Road west to Route 28. Mostly high-speed roads, but at rush hour, the normal fifteen-minute drive could easily stretch into an hour or more. In the Washington suburbs, a little fender-bender could snarl things for hours.
He flipped open his cell, called up Winn’s number, hit the send button. Let it ring until the message kicked in. He knew Winn often didn’t have his phone on. Always joked about not wanting to be interrupted during his naps. Rick snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the passenger seat.
He drove by instinct, as fast as he could, ignoring the angry blares of the motorists he cut off as he veered from lane to lane. People driving home after work didn’t want to cede the right-of-way. They were tired. But their little girl wasn’t in trouble.
Winn Hummel, the man he’d known for years. His daughter’s
godfather
, for Christ’s sake. Impossible. No way. No fucking way could Rick be that wrong about a person.
In the background, the car radio played softly, tuned to the
Afternoon Circus
. Tin Man’s nasal voice spoke to millions.
When will the cops catch this madman? How many more innocent people have to die before they nab him? But let’s not throw all the blame at the police, our dedicated public servants. Let’s look inward, take some of the blame upon ourselves…
Upon ourselves. Maybe this whole thing could have been prevented if Rick had responded to the warning signs. Winn was lonely. Despondent. Drinking way too much. Irascible. Had Winn been calling out for help? Had he failed his friend? The analytical side of Rick took charge. Even if Winn had fallen on hard times, that didn’t transform someone into a murderer.
What possible reason could Winn have for killing people? Thrills? Rick had a hard time believing that. Dimitri seemed like a thrill-seeker, a risk-taker. But Winn? It just didn’t make any sense. And he didn’t see Winn putting up with Dimitri’s bullshit for one second. It didn’t add up.
Up ahead, a column of brake lights extended as far as Rick could see. Like red, bloodshot eyes staring at him, taunting him. He cursed his luck and banged his palms on the steering wheel, a captive of the commuter rush.
The radio played on. Rick thought Tin Man sounded unfettered, stronger.
What kind of parents raise a murderer? Do they see their ten-year-old boy trapping squirrels and think it’s cute? Do they share some brewskis with him when he’s thirteen? Let’s take some responsibility for ourselves, and our neighbors. I tell you, people, this country would be in a much better spot if we issued licenses for parents just like we do for drivers…
What possible motive did Winn have? An insidious thought popped into his head. Money. Winn could be doing it for the dough. During their last conversation, Winn seemed preoccupied with money. It was funny how everyone was so up, so giddy, when they thought the SatRad deal would make them millionaires. Then, the happiness had come crumbling down with the Rhino’s death.
They’d all told themselves the deal wasn’t dead yet, that there was still hope, that hard work and perseverance would save the day, but Rick didn’t think many of them really believed it. And the station’s morale had suffered. No room for Pollyanna at a radio station.
The SatRad deal wasn’t dead, not officially. If their ratings were good enough, they’d push forward and sign the
Afternoon Circus
. And it wasn’t a coincidence the ratings had been off the chart since First Time arrived. An old fox like Winn would see the perversity of killing people for ratings. Maybe he even had Celia’s blessing. Maybe everyone was in on the conspiracy except him. The quest for killer ratings.
Rick shook his head and laughed aloud, the sound echoing in the car. It was crazy. Insane. But then again, people were killed every day for far stupider reasons. The traffic inched forward. Rick squinted into the distance, trying to determine if the back-up was due to an accident or if it was just the normal mass of vehicular humanity.
He remembered the prescient words of Harrison Caldwell. First Time was someone he knew. Someone associated with the show. He’d dismissed his prophecy as show-biz fluff, as just some outrageous talk to get himself invited back to the show or get people to visit his blog. At the very most, he thought maybe a deranged listener had gone off the deep end. Did Caldwell really have some kind of super-psychological intuition? Had he suspected it was Winn all along?