The Poet's Blood (Heinous Crimes Unit Book 7), page 6
Windsor shrugged. “Then I’ll come back here and finish my time. I can help. If I don’t, a lot more people are going to die. This killer isn’t going to stop.”
Patrick glanced at the harpy as she shook her head. Lord, she had tears in her eyes.
“It’s not just whether they’ll send you back here to finish your sentence. It’s about what else could happen if you get involved,” Patricia Windsor pleaded with her son, trying to get him to see her meaning. “It’s not worth what it’s going to take from you if they’re just going to send you back here.”
“What about what doing nothing will do to me?” Windsor’s chains scraped loudly across the table as he leaned back in his chair. He ignored everyone but Patrick. “There’s something else. You’re not going to like it.”
Ice formed in the pit of Patrick’s stomach. “What?”
“I can’t work from in here,” Windsor told him. “I have to go to the crime scenes. I have to be there to see what the killer saw. Otherwise, I’m no use to you. I can’t do anything to help you from inside here.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes at Windsor. “You had a hunch that someone else was killed. You figured that out from in here.”
Windsor showed no agitation at Patrick’s accusatory tone. “Getting a hunch is very different to doing what you’re asking me to do. It’s up to you. If you want my help, you’re going to have to let me come with you.” He shrugged and lifted his manacled wrists, the chains dangling from the cuffs like horrible jewelry. “Keep me chained if you need to. I don’t care. Otherwise, the deal doesn’t matter. I’m useless. You might as well leave.”
You’re out of your depth here, Patrick thought. Way out, because him leaving this prison was never part of the thought process, not for anyone.
Yet, Patrick didn’t think Windsor was lying.
Terringer shook his head. “That’s not in the agreement.”
Windsor didn’t glance at the lawyer. “Then I guess we’re done.”
Patrick closed his eyes. It looked unprofessional, but he didn’t care in the slightest. He needed the clarity of a park or the wilderness, but that wasn’t going to happen.
Are you willing to risk your career for this man? he asked himself. Are you going to go ask your boss for permission to walk around crime scenes with him, and risk the media circus that will happen if it gets out that the FBI is working with the infamous Christian Windsor?
Windsor said nothing. Patrick felt his stare boring into him as if he could read the thoughts tumbling through his mind.
What if you don’t? Patrick wondered. There’s an old lady with no eyes and no tongue. If the Greeks are right, she’ll be blind and unable to talk for all of eternity. How many more will join her?
He opened his eyes. Windsor was staring at him, waiting for an answer.
Patrick nodded. “I’ll have to get approval. I think I can. I’ll know within a few hours.”
He thought about asking Windsor if he could be trusted, the same as Windsor had asked him. In the end, he kept his question to himself.
Expecting someone insane to tell him the truth would put him in the same category.
Patrick stepped out of the room and called his boss.
“What do you need?” Sins asked.
“He says he needs to get out to help,” Patrick told her. “He needs to visit the crime scenes with me.”
“Seriously?” Sins asked.
Patrick nodded, although his boss couldn’t see him. “Yeah. He says he’s not going to be any use to us inside this prison. The agreement only permits him to get out if his contribution leads to the criminal’s capture. This is something completely different.”
“Son of a bitch,” Sins responded. “You’re there with him. What do you think of him?”
Patrick looked through the window in the closed door. He couldn’t see Windsor from this vantage point, just the opposite wall inside the room. He was quiet as he thought through Sins’ question. He’d been focused on completing the task given to him. Getting Windsor to help. He hadn’t considered the complication yet. However, he’d read Windsor’s file.
“You there, Collins?” Sins asked after long seconds had passed.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just considering my answer. I think he’s damaged. I haven’t spoken to him enough to know how damaged, or where the damage lies. I know that he looks at the world as if a predator might leap out and eat him alive. He’s scared.”
“Is he insane?” his boss asked.
Patrick shrugged. “I mean, I’m not a psychologist. Based on what happened to him? Yeah, I’d say he’s not all there, but he didn’t attempt an insanity defense.”
“Damn it, Collins. You know what I’m asking. If we let him leave with you, is he going to go off the reservation and start kidnapping people? Is he going to build a bloody altar to Titan?”
Patrick turned away from the door and walked down the hallway. He didn’t know what could be heard inside the room, but didn’t want to be overheard.
“I don’t know. How can I know? I only met the guy a few days ago, and we’ve probably spent an hour total around each other. If you’re asking whether or not I can handle him? Yeah, I can. I can keep him shackled, and I’ll keep an eye on him all the time. He’s not physically imposing.”
Sins sighed. “Is he telling the truth? Can he really not help from inside his cell?”
Patrick stared down the hallway but saw nothing. He was inside his head, considering her question. “I think he’s being truthful. The way he caught all of those criminals was by examining the crime scenes. Whatever he does, I don’t think he can do it without seeing the chaos.”
“Chaos, huh?” Sins mocked.
“Well, whatever you want to call it.”
Another sigh, then Sins said, “I can’t make this call. I don’t want to, either. If someone’s ass is going to get burned for this, I’d rather it not be mine. I’m going to run it up the flagpole. I’ll call you back shortly. Has Agent Trunner been in contact with you about the latest victim? I want you in the loop.”
“Yeah. She’s sending me the reports as they finish them,” he answered.
“Jesus, this last woman was in her sixties and living in the middle of nowhere in Butt-fuck Alabama. We’re not sure how the killer found out where she lived, let alone about the existence of those letters. This thing is getting messier by the day. Her son, Senator Pinkington? He might come to my office and cut my eyes out based on how he’s speaking to the press.” She paused for a moment. “Look, I’m rambling. Let me see what my boss says about this. I honestly hope he says no and we can just cancel this whole thing with Windsor. I’ll call you back soon. Keep your phone on.”
She hung up without another word.
The warden had given Patrick and Terringer a room to use while they waited for word to come down from on high. Patrick went in to wait with Terringer, hoping that the answer that came back was no.
He agreed with Sins. If they were told no, then the arrangement with Windsor died on the vine. He wouldn’t be able to help from inside the prison, and if he said he could help, they’d all know he was lying. Patrick didn’t want anything to do with this man, even if it meant lives might be saved.
There was something deeper driving the fear Windsor radiated. While Patrick didn’t know where it originated, he thought it might be catching. If he stayed around Windsor too much, he thought he’d start looking at the world in the exact same way. Whatever was in his head might crawl into Patrick’s like a diseased spider.
Patrick’s phone rang and Terringer looked up from his computer. “That her?”
Patrick picked it up from the table and looked at the name. He nodded at Terringer. “Yeah.” He answered the phone and put it to his ear. “Collins.”
“You’ve got the green light,” Sins said. “Windsor is allowed to work with you outside of his prison to solve the case. He will be under your direct supervision at all times. If you need help, you have the authority to ask me for another agent. You have authority to decide whether he will be in restraints the entire time. Tell the lawyer he’ll need somewhere to print out the new deal that should be in his email in the next few minutes. All of that make sense, Collins?”
Collins chuckled in exasperation at the responsibility that had been placed firmly on his shoulders. “Yeah, it makes sense. You sent it up the chain, and they sent it back down. This is on me. I’m in control of everything to do with Windsor, and if something goes wrong it gets pinned on me. That about right?”
Sins didn’t take the bait. She didn’t get to her position by not knowing how to play the political game. “We’re doing everything we can to stop more people from dying, Collins. Given that you’re the one working with Windsor, it makes sense that you have control over how much freedom you give him. We’re willing to give you more resources if you need them. Do you need any more resources right now?”
Patrick stared past Terringer at the bare back wall. He could play the political game, too. It was the only way to move up in this bureaucracy. “Not at the moment. I’ll let you know if that changes.”
“Please do,” Sins said, maintaining the professional tone that she usually discarded around him. “If Windsor agrees to the deal, all of the paperwork will be processed tonight. He’ll be under your supervision from then until you decide he’s no longer necessary to the case, or we catch this killer.”
Patrick swallowed his misgivings. “Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Christian knew his mother wasn’t happy with him taking the deal, but she’d gone along with what he wanted in the end. The documents were signed. While waiting for his release to be processed through the prison system, he sat in his cell looking at the walls that had become his home for the past two years. Up until the past few days, he’d believed this would be his home for the next two years. It was a strange feeling, realizing that he might never see these walls again or hear the door slam with its ruthless finality.
He waited for the guards to come and get him, fearful of what he had to do before then. He knew it was unavoidable, but he desperately didn’t want to discover what awaited him.
“I have to do it,” he whispered into his empty cell. “I should have gone before now. I have to know if it’s even possible.”
Christian closed his eyes and went back to the place that he never wanted to visit again.
CHAPTER NINE
Christian opened his eyes. Instead of the four walls he called home, he found himself standing outside his mansion. He didn’t need to glance around. He knew that the dead, brown prairie stretched for miles and miles in all directions. It had once been lush, green grass that always smelled freshly cut. Wind blew against him, smelling of dust and age despite the fact that he was outside.
The last time he’d seen his mansion, he’d been drowning and it had been as small as a toy house at the bottom of an ocean. The dead had been reaching for him, trying to pull him down with them.
Looking at the mansion, he saw no water damage. No signs of weathering on the brickwork. The two years he’d spent avoiding this place had done nothing to the building he’d built. The windows facing him remained shuttered. When he was inside the mansion, he’d never wanted to look outward. The mansion had been a place of peace for him. Inside it, he had shielded himself from the outside world.
Christian stared apprehensively at the massive oak doors that towered ten feet tall before him. The iron handles had a metal chain wrapped through them multiple times. A padlock secured the ends. He knew that the chain would fall away as if it was made of ancient paper if he touched it.
I don’t want to, he thought. It’s not safe.
He walked up the steps, stopping in front of the doors to listen. He heard nothing behind the doors. No whispers from creatures that should have never existed. No wild laughter from the monstrous mouth that lacked any other body parts.
Christian didn’t care how silent everything appeared. He knew the truth. More than the answer to who was killing these people waited inside for him. The apparitions that Christian had locked away had not ceased to exist.
Not yet, he told himself. I’ll have to go in soon, but not yet.
The mansion was still here. It was locked up, but intact. That was all he needed to know. That he could get inside.
There was no avoiding it. He would have to face the things waiting for him if he was going to catch the killer.
Christian left the prison much the same way he’d entered; chained and wearing jailhouse orange. Some prisoners had a box of personal belongings in their hands when they left. Christian only had one item. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with the letter from Luke in his back pocket yet.
The appropriate documents had been signed, but the chains connecting Christian wrists and legs let him know that he wasn’t truly leaving the prison. The prison was coming with him wherever he went.
Collins waited for him at the curb, leaning on a black FBI issued cruiser. His dark suit contrasted sharply with Christian’s orange jumpsuit.
The guard escorting Christian pulled lightly on his right arm and brought him to a stop. “Just sign these and he’s all yours.” He handed his clipboard to Collins. “Prisoner Transfer” was written across the top.
Collins took the clipboard and pulled a pen out from his suit pocket, then scribbled his signature at the bottom of each page before handing it back to the guard. “Thanks.”
“Good luck,” the guard said. “To both of you.”
He nodded to Christian and left him with his new jailer.
Collins crossed his hands over his chest. “They seem to like you here.”
“I do what they tell me and I don’t ask for anything,” Christian responded. “I imagine I’d make a pretty good boyfriend.”
Collins raised an eyebrow. “You know how to joke?”
Christian glanced away from the agent’s searching gaze. “It’s a rare thing, but yes.”
A moment of silence passed and Christian couldn’t tell if it was awkward or not. For him, nothing was awkward, yet simultaneously, everything was. He supposed asking for context was out of the question. “What now?” he asked instead.
“I want to talk with you before we get in the car.” There wasn’t any humor in the agent’s voice. “Without any of the lawyers or family members around. Just you and me. No bullshit.”
Christian nodded and dropped his gaze to his shoes.
“They like you here, and you seem to be a model inmate,” Collins said. “I don’t know how familiar you are with Charlie Manson and his crew of misfits, but the women who killed Sharon Tate are all model inmates, too. They adapted to their surroundings. Maybe that’s what you do, adapt. I don’t know. I do know that you and I are going to be working very closely together over the next few weeks, or however long this takes.”
He paused for a moment and Christian bore the increasing pressure of his stare with difficulty.
“If you’re just pretending, and you’re still really fucked up, I’m going to find out,” Collins continued. “I have no problem with putting you down if I need to, Windsor. Genius or not, I’ll shoot you dead if you do something that endangers me or anyone else. I want you to understand that, and I want you to tell me you understand it so we start off on the right foot.”
Christian looked up and met the cold stare of the agent. “You’ll kill me if I don’t do what you say. I understand. It’s not much different from back there. But you get a bonus with me. I don’t ask for much.”
The two stared at each other for a few moments, then Collins nodded. “That’ll work. We need to get started. Go ahead and get in.”
Collins held the car door for Christian as he shuffled off the curb and slowly lowered himself into the vehicle, then shut the door and went around to his side. He started the car and pulled away from the curb, navigating the parking lot toward the main road.
Christian said nothing as he stared out the window. Two things were on his mind, the first being how long he should wait before asking if they could get Subway. The second was the letter in his pocket. He didn’t want to bring up Luke, but what was he supposed to do? Ignore that he knew Luke was following the case? Keeping it from the FBI was tantamount to asking to be shot, especially after what Collins had just told him. I’ll put you down.
“How much do you know about Luke Titan?” Christian asked as they reached the highway.
Collins glanced at him, his eyes narrow with suspicion. “I know everything that’s in your files. I know his past generally, and I’m fully aware of everything he did prior to meeting you.”
Christian nodded and turned his head back to the window.
“Why?” Collins demanded.
Christian sighed. “He wrote me a letter. It came a little while before you did, but I didn’t read it until the day you showed up.”
Collins’ left hand gripped the steering wheel harder. His knuckles turned white. “This would have been useful to know before you left the prison, Windsor. I’m working on good faith here.”
“It’s about the case,” Christian responded. “Luke knew you’d be coming to see me. Well, not you, specifically. The FBI. He’s following these murders.”
Collins shook his head and grunted in exasperation. “Does Titan write to you often? There wasn’t anything about that in your case files, and the warden never mentioned it.”
“No. He wrote me when I first went to prison, but I ignored it and I haven’t heard from him in two years. I thought they might have taken away his privileges, but I guess he just didn’t have anything else to say.”
“Do you have the letter?” Collins asked.
Christian nodded. “Yeah. It’s in my back pocket.”
“This gets better and better,” the agent said. “We’re heading to the airport now. We’ve got a chartered plane that’s taking us to Alabama, and I have all the case files ready for you to read. You’re going to give me that letter, and I’m going to think about what the hell to do about this. Got it?”
