Fic [Generation Kill] Favorite Color: Red
Title: [Generation Kill] Favorite color: Red
Character(s)/Pairing: Nate, Brad, Ray, Walt, Trombley, Rudy, Evan, slight Nate/Brad, plus one spoiler pairing that I won’t tell you ;)
Type/Rating: Slash/NC-17
Warnings: AU, language, explicit sex, blood play, gore, explicit violence, character death
Word Count: 7,754
Summary: It starts how it always does: We meet in a chat room, exchange some la di da, some slipslop before we really start. It’s clear that they want to meet up after maybe twenty minutes. I give them the name of a motel and room number.
And there, I wait for them.
Nate Fick has had enough. Seven months on the case, five people dead, and he didn't have one clue who the "Painter" might be.
Notes: Written as a mini bang for serialkillerbb 2012. Artist kymericl. LINK TO ART POST
It starts how it always does: We meet in a chat room, exchange some la di da, some slipslop before we really start. The pictures they send me are embarrassing. The ones I send them on the other hand make even me hard. It’s clear that they want to meet up after maybe twenty minutes. I give them the name of a motel and room number.
And there, I wait for them.
~~~~~
Nate Fick has had enough. He crumpled the little note on his desk in his fist and angrily shoved a pile of papers off his desk. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning and he was already pissed. The note said that his boss wanted to see him in the conference room, joined by his team. And that meant that they had found another body.
Seven months on the case, now five people dead, and he didn’t have one clue who this killer might be. All he and his team at the FBI knew was that he was Caucasian, 25-35 years old and that he drove a black SUV. Half of that were assumptions, though. And the other half fitted almost half of the population of San Francisco.
When Nate entered the conference room, the rest of his team was already there; Walt Hasser, who was one of the best profilers the Bureau had to offer, James Trombley, who, despite his red-neck attitude, knew the City like the back of his hand, Ray Person, their IT specialist who was slightly addicted to caffeine which you didn’t notice at all as he always was high on the right amount already, and of course their supervisor Rudy Reyes, who hated to miss out on the fun that was chasing bad guys himself, while he was stuck behind a desk.
Nate also noticed another guy standing in the far corner or the room, as if he needed to overlook everything. He hadn’t seen him before, but he was clearly FBI, as well. The way he wore his suit and badge on the belt indicated, though, that he was different than the other old stagers. He was still young, too, maybe two or three years older than himself, Nate thought when he watched him. He was very cool and seemed as if he wasn’t on the job for long. But Nate knew damn well himself that first impressions could not always be trusted.
“Nate,” Rudy started and pointed at the stranger. “This is Brad Colbert. He has just been transferred to our office, and I thought he’d make a good addition to this team.”
Nate reached out to shake Brad’s hand. “Fick, Nate.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Brad replied, looking straight into Nate’s eyes. And there was something about this look that Nate couldn’t shake off.
“If you need anything,” Reyes said and brought them both out of their moment. “I can stay and help.”
Finally, Nate let go of Brad’s hand and turned to his supervisor. “Thanks, but I think we have everything for now.”
“Fine,” Rudy said, trying to suppress a sigh. “I’ll, uh, be in my office then. As usual.”
He left and closed the door behind.
Nate cleared his throat before he went on. “Are you familiar with the case?” He asked Brad.
“I’ve read the file, yes. And of course, I know what the news said about him.”
“Oh, forget about the press immediately,” Walt said. “Nothing but rubbish and tall-tales.”
“So, what’s this guy really about?” Brad asked then.
“This.”
Nate took the file from the desk, opened it and threw some pictures of previous victims on the table in front of Brad. Those were cruesome pictures of bodys covered in blood, people who had been beaten to a pulp, barely recognizable as human beings, seperated body parts and of course the paintings.
Unshaken about the pictures it seemed, Brad asked, “Yeah, what’s that all about, anyway?” As he pointed at the last pictures of the bizarre motives that were painted on the victims’ backs.
“He likes the color red,” Trombley said and looked rather fascinated at the photos. “He mentioned that in a letter he left with the first victim, Joey Vega. Lab results showed that it was painted with the victim’s own blood.”
“Did he leave letters with the others, too?”
“No. That’s the only one.”
“I’d like to read it,” Brad said.
“You can do that in the car,” Nate told him. “On our way to this motel,” he looked at the new papers his boss left in the file, “’BlueNites’. It’s about an hour from here, so we better get going.”
He turned to face his team and continued, “Ray, check the registration of that motel. It’s a longshot, I know, but maybe he used one of his fake names from before. Trombley, help him with that. I wanna know why he went to this exact motel. Does it have a special meaning? Was it just the cheapest in the area when he passed through? You find it out, alright?”
“Got it,” Trombley said and left with Ray.
“Walt, stay here and check incoming calls about the murder. Maybe someone saw something that might be important. You know the drill.”
Walt nodded, took his coffee mug he had barely drunk from and left the room, as well.
Facing Brad, Nate asked, “Got anything you need to take care of before we leave?”
“Nothing of importance, sir.”
“Good,” Nate said, took the file and turned to leave. “And you don’t have to call me ‘sir’,” he added with a smile.
~~~~~
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ! Now I know why I’ve never been down here!”
These were Trombley’s first words when he entered the sacred world that was Ray Person’s office.
Ray had the whole basement to himself. It was a rather large room, extreme brightly lit by neon lights on the ceiling and there was a constant humming from all the machines and computers in the air. Besides all the technical, necessary stuff to help Ray in his work, the room was packed with what seemed personal belongings of Ray’s: a surfboard stood in one corner [Ray didn’t surf], a Magic Eight ball [which was stuck on ‘Reply hazy, try again’], various comic books, computer and porn magazines [which Trombley avoided to even look at; he didn’t want to imagine what Ray was doing while flipping through them], empty fast food cartons and lots and lots of empty as well as full energy drink cans.
Ray took one of those and settled behind a computer. He typed in some codes and passwords and logged into the FBI data base. On a laptop right next to him, he started typing, as well, and opened the Google homepage. [‘Google never fails’ was Ray’s mantra] And on yet another laptop which Trombley couldn’t quite see the screen of, Ray logged in on something that made him break into a wide smile. Trombley wanted to ask what he was looking at, but thought it safer not to.
He had been working with Ray for several years now and knew what kind of guy he was. And it was better not to get him into a talkative mood; he was hard to stop then. Also, if it had to do with Ray’s sex life, no one wanted to know. Really.
“When was the last time you slept?” Trombley asked Ray.
“Sleep is for the weak,” Ray scoffed and opened his can to take a long sip.
“Alright, let’s get this party started,” he said and rolled back with his chair to the FBI computer. Very fast, he entered some commands and turned to Trombley. “All we have to do is wait.”
“That’s it?”
“Jup.”
“That’s your job? All of it?”
“Jup.”
Ray drank from the can again, emptied it and threw it under his table where he slightly missed the overflowing trash bin. Satisfied, he rolled back to his personal laptop and started clicking through some sites.
“I have no idea what I’m even doing here,” Trombley said and just shook his head at Ray.
Suddenly, there was a loud moaning sound coming from Ray’s laptop. Trombley almost choked on his own spit.
“Sorry,” Ray said laughing. “Forgot to turn off the sound. Usually, I’m alone down here.”
“I think I know why.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Trombley said quickly and despite his fear, he came closer and looked over Ray’s shoulder, who wasn’t in the slightest embarrassed.
The screen showed a video of a half naked, very handsome guy, throwing kisses at the viewer. What Trombley disturbed, maybe just a little, was that it was only the lower half of the guy’s body that was naked.
“And this is what you’re doing during working hours,” Trombley said. It wasn’t a question.
“Well, yeah! I just said that I’m alone all the time.”
Ray stopped talking, smiled and turned around in his chair to look at Trombley.
“Does this offend you, my dear James?”
“No! No, I mean, yeah. Maybe a little. But then, it’s none of my business what you do in your, uh, free but paid time.”
“Hm,” Ray just said.
“Hm? What?”
“I was just wondering…”
“What?” Trombley asked again, a little nervous now.
“Oh, just whether you’re interested in this, as well?” Ray said and smirked up at Trombley.
“What? Me? God, no! I’m not gay”!
“Can I give you an advice?” Ray asked.
“I’ll probably regret this, but… okay. You’d probably say it anyw…”
“James,” Ray interrupted him. “Sex is the most normal thing in the world. And let me tell you, sex with a stranger - man or woman - is the best sex there is! Take it from someone who knows.” Ray winked at him.
Trombley seemed a little shocked. That was definitely something he hadn’t expected coming from Ray, but then he was Ray and everything was to be expected. But before he could say anything more about this topic, the FBI computer beeped. Trombley sighed in relief.
Ray’s search had come up with a couple of addresses of motels with the same name as the one the latest murder had happened in. Ray printed the page and gave them to Trombley.
“Alright, that’s a start. I’ll go and check these upstairs on the map.”
“We can do this here, too,” Ray said and pointed at the computer. “It’ll be faster and…”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Trombley said. “I’ll just get out of your hair and let you work.”
Ray smiled again. “Well, if you wanted to get into my hair, you’d just have to ask…”
“Bye,” Trombley left so fast, slightly red in the face that it made Ray laugh out loud. Oh, he loved having his fun with James Trombley.
~~~~~
I kill for free, and I kill for fun,
If you want to catch me, you gotta run!
I’m a man of few words, you’re gonna see,
Let my actions speak, it is what makes me me.
Ah well, let’s stop with the rhyming. You know I’m not that good at it, don’t you, agent? What I am good at though, is this. What you see here is what I am, what I do best. I make art. I admit, a very, very expressionistic one. But you like it, no? Don’t judge me, yet. I’m only just learning.
“It’s addressed to you!” Brad stated in a surprised voice, but Nate shook his head right away.
“No, it just says ‘Agent’. He knew that the FBI would be on the case eventually. My name only got mentioned in the news after his second murder, when the case got bigger.”
Brad quickly scanned the letter again. “He’s an egomaniac.”
Nate glanced at Brad. “You’ve got a good eye. He is, indeed. He uses the word ‘I’ a lot. Everything is pointed at him, as if he wants to say, ‘Hey, look at me! Here I am!’”
“’And you can’t do anything to stop me.’”
Nate looked away from the road again and at Brad. “Exactly.”
Traffic was slow and it took them nearly two and a half hours to arrive at the BlueNites Motel. For this time of the year, it was quite hot and Nate inhaled sharply the hot air when he stepped out of the air-conditioned car and into the burning sun. A small pearl of sweat trickled down his left temple, but nevertheless, he took his jacket from the backseat and put it on. He could think of a hundred better ways to spend the afternoon, of which - to his own surprise - at least three involved Agent Colbert.
He banned the thoughts from his mind [for now] and walked around the car to join Brad as he stepped into the not much cooler motel’s registration office. The man behind the desk fulfilled the cliché of the typical motel owner perfectly: He was small, overweight and almost completely bald. The hair that was left looked greasy, as well did the bushes on his back and arms. He was watching some daily soap on a small television behind the counter. It seemed that he had noticed Brad and Nate coming in, but he didn’t bother to look up. How Consuela seduced Maria’s husband Pablo was obviously more interesting.
Nate cleared his throat and tapped his badge on the counter.
“Number 6 is free,” the guy said, still not looking up from his tv. “It’s 35 bucks a night. But the tv is broken, so you’ll have to find other…,” he finally looked up, not the slightest impressed. “…things to do.”
“Agent Fick. This is Agent Colbert. There are some questions we’d like to ask you.”
The man looked from Nate to Brad and back to Nate. “It’s still 35 the night.”
Brad started to smile at Nate, who, on the other hand, grew impatient.
“Sir, there’s been a murder in your motel and we…”
“Yeah, yeah,” the guy interrupted Nate angrily. “Don’t you think I know that? I still haven’t heard back from you, whether I could start renting it out again. You ruin me!”
“Yeah, right, look,” said Brad. “As much as I would like to spend the rest of the day with you, watching terrible daytime television, the two of us,” he pointed at Nate and himself, “we actually have real work to do. So, if you don’t mind…”
The man grumbled something under his breath but muted the televison at least.
“It’s a rerun, by the way,” Brad added. “Pablo won’t leave Maria in the end.”
After about half an hour, the motel owner had told them everything he remembered from the night of the murder. There was only little new they got from him, though. He couldn’t give them a description of the person renting the room, for example. It was a man, that was all. Height, hair or eye color were a dead end.
Nate and Brad decided to eat something somewhere before they drove back into the City.
“My treat,” Nate announced, and he needn’t to tell Brad twice.
They talked about the case some more, when Nate said, “What I don’t get though is, when did you watch that Spanish soap?”
Brad was surprised at this statement but grinned. “I was alone in my motel room last night,” he answered cockily. “I plan on changing that for tonight, though.” At Nate’s surprised expression, he added, “It’s not my favorite thing to watch.”
“Yeah,” Nate said. “Mine neither.”
After lunch, Brad took out his wallet and Nate said, “I said I’ll pay.”
“Oh yeah, I know,” Brad said subtle. “I’m just checking if I have 35 bucks.”
~~~~~
Lunchtime at the Bureau meant for Ray that he had an extra thirty minutes to play on his Xbox.
“I can’t believe you brought another television in here!” Walt almost had to yell to drown out the noises that came out of the game, - and Ray.
“You should know me by now,” Ray simply answered. “Look behind you! Behind you! Kill that ogre!”
Walt waved his controller energetically, as if that was helping the game. “You have to help me!”
GAME OVER flashed over the screen and Ray exhaled in disappointment.
“New game?” Walt asked, when one of the computers gave a low beep.
Ray rolled over with his office chair to his personal laptop, pressed a key and the screensaver vanished.
“One player then,” Walt said when he saw the grin on Ray’s face. “Who is it this time?”
“Don’t know him yet,” Ray said and started to type.
“You know,” Walt said while starting a new game on his own. “I’m still no fan of that whole internet dating thing.”
“I’m not dating these guys,” Ray said without looking up. “I’m just fucking them.” Glancing at Walt after all, he added with a purr in his voice, “Unless you’d give it a go with the two of us, after all.”
Walt looked at Ray and regretted it the second after, when he had his head chopped off in the game.
“Ray, I told you that I don’t mix my real life with the job. I just don’t.”
“I know, I know,” Ray said. “But we did have fun, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Walt smiled as he remembered. “We certainly did.”
“Was I the best night of your life? I was, wasn’t I?”
Walt sighed, but didn’t answer. He just looked at Ray, who then raised a fist into the air and mouthed ‘Yes!’ and turned back to his chat.
SuperCock: I’m so fucking hard right now, U have no idea!
MrBigStar: Glad you liked the pic.
SuperCock: Have to meet U!!!
MrBigStar: Know the B&M motel down Corolla Ave?
SuperCock: I’ll find it! When?
MrBigStar: Tomorrow. 11 pm.
~~~~~
Nate couldn’t think of anything at the moment how the owner or the motel itself could help them with the case any more, so he decided they better headed back to the office. Maybe Ray did have some luck and found something out by now. He had only started the car when his cell phone rang. He pulled it out from his inside pocket; Ray’s name was flashing on the display.
“Got something, Ray?” Nate said when picking up.
“Jup, I got something,” Ray answered cheerily. “It just came up in one of my searches.”
“I’ll put you on speaker,” Nate said, turned on the speaker on his cell phone and placed it on the dashboard, so Brad could listen, too.
“So, I checked the motels where the murders happened and their possible connections. The motels are all the same; cheap and within a City radius of twenty miles. But it turns out that the room where we found our fourth victim, Cooper Harris, is different from the others in one thing.”
“And that is?” Asked Brad.
“That motel has internet connection available in the rooms.”
“And now you think that our killer spent his free time before or after the murder on the internet?”
“Well, if I had official permission to hack into the motel’s data, I could find out whether he went online or not.”
Nate knew that this request was meant for him. He sighed.
“Do what you can, Ray.”
“Already one step ahead of you!” Ray announced happily. He knew that Nate would give his Okay.
“The Painter did indeed use the internet connection from exactly 10:32 pm to 10:55 pm.”
“That’s about fourty minutes before the time of death of Cooper Harris,” Nate said in a low voice, more to himself.
“Yes,” Ray said, as he had heard what Nate said. “And I can even tell you which sites he visited.”
Nate and Brad listened up.
“BeMyLoveR.com and QuickXXX.com,” Ray told them. “And what if I told you that I checked with our other victims’ records and found out that our fifth victim, Robert Lee Benson, had accounts on both those sites, as well?”
Nate and Brad were speechless.
“Ain’t I just your best Ray Ray? But oh wait, you haven’t heard the best part, yet: I could trace Robert Lee Bensons last steps back to an internet café. I’ll text you the address.”
“Ray…,” Nate began.
“I know, I know,” Ray said. “I’m magic.”
“Voodo, if you ask me,” Brad said after Nate ended the call with Ray and started the drive back into the City.
“Sometimes, I don’t really get what he says or does, but he is kinda brilliant,” Nate said.
They drove in silence for a while, until Brad said, “So, that bastard already chatted with Robert Lee Benson while waiting for Cooper Harris. That’s more than sick.”
“Yeah,” Nate said kinda tired. “I can’t believe we had to let five murders happen before we finally got a hot trace on the Painter.”
“This is the case that’ll haunt you forever, isn’t it?”
Nate didn’t answer.
~~~~~
Traffic back home was even worse than before. When they finally arrived at the address that Ray had texted Nate, the internet café was already closed for the day.
“We’ll have to come back in the morning,” Brad said.
“Alright,” Nate replied disappointed. “I don’t think there’s anything going on at the office anymore tonight. Want me to drive you to your motel?”
“If you join me for a drink at the bar?” Brad asked smiling.
And as much as Nate wanted to say ‘yes’ and maybe even spend the night with Brad, he thought that it felt wrong at the moment. So, he denied, drove Brad to the hotel and went straight home himself.
The next morning didn’t bring any more news. Though, they were happy with what they had by now. Finally, a trace that lead right to the Painter. After all this time, it was something.
It seemed as if Ray had slept in his office - again - but even though he worked half the night, he didn’t have much more info, let alone a hint to who the Painter might be. So, Rudy agreed with Nate that he and Brad went to the internet café again to speak to the owner and maybe some regulars; whether they saw or heard anything that could help.
There was a tension in the car that both, Nate and Brad, could almost touch. Neither could deny that something was going on between them; they both felt it. But neither wanted to give in first, either, it seemed.
“What were Pablo and Maria doing last night?” Nate asked to break the awful silence.
Brad chuckled. “Nothing. Well, something, probably. But I wasn’t watching. I showered and went straight to bed, which, unfortunately, I occupied alone last night.” He didn’t even need to glance at Nate to see how pink he got in the face.
“Brad,” Nate started, “we can’t possibly…”
But again, the ring of Nate’s cellphone interrupted him. He answered without looking on the display.
“Yeah.”
“It’s me,” Ray was saying. “I just wanted to tell you, the owner of the place, his name’s Evan Stafford. No criminal history, only got two speeding tickets in the past.”
“Okay, thanks,” Nate said and hung up.
“You were saying?”
Nate had hoped that the call would have distracted Brad from their previous conversation. Obviously, not. Nate had no other choice than to answer.
“We can’t… I mean, would you…?”
“Oh, I would!” Brad interrupted him. “I thought that was obvious.”
“Yeah… But…”
“No but… It’s either, or… You decide.”
Great. Thanks. Nate thought. He sighed and gave in.
“I just meant that we really can’t do this, even if we wanted to. Not when we’re supposed to work together. It could become a problem.”
“It could, yes. But only if we let it become one.”
“Can we maybe talk about this later?” Nate asked.
“No,” Brad simply answered and Nate looked at him this time. “If we don’t get it settled now, you’ll back out. I’ve known you for one day and I just know you would.” Brad smiled at Nate.
Nate was glad that in just that moment they arrived in front of the internet café. But when he was about to open his door, Brad held him back.
“Go on a date with me. Just one and we’ll see.”
“Oh god,” Nate laughed. “A date? Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date?”
“I can imagine,” Brad replied, the smile still spread across his face, as if he knew Nate’s answer to his question.
“Fine,” he finally said. “But you pay this time.”
“Fine by me,” Brad said and started rummaging through his jacket pockets. “I should have those 35 bucks here somewhere…”
“You’re cute when you’re being naive,” Nate said with a laugh and got out of the car.
“See that?” He asked suddenly, and Brad looked to where he was pointing.
“Black SUV,” Brad said quietly, more to himself.
“Two of them, even. What do you think, Brad? How big is the chance that one of these belongs to our killer?”
The door to the internet café opened silently, no ring, nothing. Brad stepped in behind Nate and looked around, instantly. It was still early in the morning but a couple of seats were already taken. A young man who simply embodied the cliché of a computer nerd, a pretty blonde woman, trying to type a letter, it seemed, though it was a bit hard with her two inch fingernails.
Brad followed Nate to the counter, or bar, rather. Behind it stood a young man with short dark blond hair, mixing a milkshake. He was very good-looking, muscular. Brad’s type exactly, he thought.
“Morning,” he greeted the two suit-wearing men. “Would you like a coffee before you sit down?”
Nate flashed his badge. “Thanks, but no. You’re Evan Stafford?”
Evan’s smile vanished when he looked at the badge and back at Nate. “Yes. Something wrong?”
“We just have a couple of questions.” Nate introduced himself and Brad and went on. “Those black SUVs outside, do you know who they belong to?” He asked and indicated Evan to point out the owners, if they were sitting in the café.
“Well, I don’t know about the other one, but one is mine,” Evan answered.
Nate and Brad exchanged looks.
“Do you know some of the people in here?”
Evan looked around. “Uh, well… Marty over there,” he jerked his chin to the young man sitting in a corner, the one Brad had identified as the typical computer nerd, “he comes here every day by bike. And Cybill there, I don’t think she can drive even.”
“Wouldn’t think so,” Brad said under his breath as he watched the blonde woman still trying to type with her murderous nails.
“As far as I know, she’s unemployed at the moment. She comes here maybe once or twice a week to write some applications. Usually, her boyfriend picks her up after. I don’t know about this guy, though.” He pointed in the other direction, where a man in his early fourties sat, sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper. “He comes here a couple of times, but rarely uses the computers. He sometimes brings his own laptop. Says, he likes my coffee so much, so he comes here to write.”
“I bet that’s the reason,” Brad said and glanced at Evan’s muscular arms.
“Let’s talk to him, shall we?” Nate suggested.
They walked over to where the man was sitting. For his age, he wasn’t that bad-looking. Some gray hair here and there, but other than that, he looked good.
He looked up from his paper when he noticed them. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”
“FBI,” Nate said and showed him his badge, as well. “We’re investigating a case and would like to ask you some questions, if that’s alright?”
“It’s about those horrible murders, isn’t it?” The man said right away. “I’ve read about them.” He shook the newspaper in his hands. “Awful, really terrible.”
“Sir,” Brad said. “By any chance, that black SUV outside, is that yours?”
“Why yes!” The man said surprised. “Why are you asking?”
Nate became excited, but kept calm when he said, “Can you show us some ID maybe, Mr…?”
“Smith. John Smith,” he said and started looking for his ID.
“Naturally,” Brad muttered and smiled at Nate.
John Smith gave Nate his ID and stood up from his chair. “Is everything alright? I mean, you don’t suspect that I… Oh god!”
“No, it’s alright,” Nate said. “It’s just a routine. I hope you understand. You could be a real help to us.”
“Really?” John Smith asked eagerly.
“Yes. Would you mind showing us your car?”
“Yes! Yes, of course!” John Smith took his jacket and newspaper and lead the way out.
With a last look at Evan Brad said, “Thanks! Have a nice day!”
“You, too,” Evan said and waved him goodbye.
Behind Evan, Brad had to look twice, was a rather impressive painting hanging on the wall.
“What’s that?” Brad asked.
Evan looked behind himself. “Oh that? Isn’t it great? A friend painted it for me years ago, when I opened the café. He, uh, died recently, so it’s a wonderful reminder of our friendship.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Brad said. “Well, goodbye.”
He stepped out, blinded by the sun that was slowly creeping up between the buildings and followed Nate and Mr. Smith to his car.
“What are you looking for?” Mr. Smith asked.
“If you just opened the trunk for us, maybe, that would be great,” Nate said and stepped around the car.
It looked brand-new, - or freshly cleaned. It would be hard for their experts to find fibers, hair or even blood if it had been chemically cleaned. If that was even the right car. And of course, it was just as Nate had feared; the car was clean, not a single abnormality that caught his eye.
“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” Nate said. “That would be all for now.”
“But… But I did help, right?”
“Sure you did,” Brad said.
Nate handed him back his ID. “We’ll call you if we need anything else.”
They walked back to their own car, leaving a puzzled Mr. Smith behind.
“So, we’re just letting him go? What if he’s our guy?”
“He’s not,” Nate said and got behind the wheel. “I’ll have Ray check his name, but I don’t think he’s the Painter.”
“He’s something,” Brad said. “But you’re probably right. What are we doing now?”
“I don’t know,” Nate admitted. “I was hoping we’d get a little closer to the Painter by going here, but it was a waste of time. It’s like I said when I started this case, the description of the killer fits half of the people in this City. And see? Two black SUVs in a hot spot - literally, and not one belongs to our guy. Just my luck.”
“Well, you know what to do now, don’t you?”
“And what would that be?” Nate asked, looking exhausted, even though the day had barely started.
“Keep looking.”
~~~~~
To Ray’s liking, the day went by rather quickly. The check-up on John Smith came up blank. Well, for their case at least. Mr. Smith had a few minor felonies on his sheet; parking tickets and indecent behavior. Apparently, good old John liked to grant his assets enough air, preferably in public. This was not to be taken lightly, of course, but it was irrelevant for the case of the Painter. He didn’t need those embarrassing performances to get attention. His work was much more profound and thought through.
Right on finishing-time, Ray left the office. In the elevator, he met Walt.
“What?” Walt said surprised. “You’re already going? No all-nighter tonight?”
“Something much more important came up.”
“More important than the Painter case?”
“Jup,” Ray said delighted. “I’m getting laid in about…,” he checked his watch, “six hours.”
“Yeah, I can see how that is so much more important.” Walt rolled his eyes, but laughed a little, too.
The elevator stopped and as soon as the doors opened, Ray stepped outside.
“Just…,” Walt said and Ray stopped and turned around to face him. “Be careful.”
“I’ll take this as code for ‘Have fun!’,” Ray said, winked and waved Walt goodbye.
At home, Ray took a shower, ate something and packed some things of which he knew he would need them later on. It wasn’t his first sex date, after all. In a rucksack, he put a fresh t-shirt and underwear, just in case it got messy [Ray liked messy], deodorant, a bottle of water, lube and of course, enough condoms to last through the night. And Ray had planned a long night with this MrBigStar.
Lastly, he checked his email. No messages from his partner, so all would go as planned. Ray was excited. And got even more excited and horny when he viewed the pictures again which he had got from MrBigStar. Ray knew that pictures could lie; he had found out the hard way himself, in his early days of online dating. But he had a feeling that this one was for real: Muscular, broad shoulders and a face to die for. Although, if everything went as Ray had planned, he wouldn’t get the chance to see much of his lover’s front side.
At around 10 pm, Ray took his stuff and was on his way. It wasn’t a long drive; the motel was only about half an hour from where he lived. From the outside, it looked as shabby as Ray had imagined. He got all tingly inside.
He parked his car and went inside the registration office.
“Hi. I’m meeting someone. Mr. Big?” He said to the man behind the desk, who looked exactly the opposite of Ray: tired and bored.
“He told me to give you the spare key. Room 7,” the man said a little disgusted, as if he already knew what was about to happen in there, and made a mental note to have his wife clean that room especially thorough.
Ray took the key, smiled, but more to himself, and went outside again. It was a great night, he thought, and it would only get better from now on.
He had done this so often by now, he wasn’t really nervous to open the door, though, he took a deep breath before he inserted the key card. Only the lights on the nightstands had been turned on, but it was just enough for the mood. A man sat on the bed, and waited. He got up when Ray closed the door again.
Ray spoke first. “MrBigStar?”
“SuperCock?”
“Oh, you’re about to find out,” Ray said, let his rucksack slip on the floor and moved forward.
In one swift movement, Ray grabbed the other man’s neck, pulled him closer by his shirt with his other hand and embraced him in a passionate kiss.
When they parted, MrBigStar said, “Coming to the point quickly? I like it.”
And they started kissing again, pulling each other’s clothes off and collapsing on the bed. Ray lay on his back and felt his partner’s kisses all over his body, starting on his neck, slowly moving down to his chest, his nipples; biting, licking, kissing.
“God, you’re driving me crazy!”
“Just wait for it,” the young man said. “You in for the ride of your life.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Ray gasped when MrBigStar had moved down to his cock and started sucking on it.
Ray was gripping the sheets while he moaned and moved under his lover’s caresses. It didn’t feel as if he had been in this room for only fifteen minutes but he already had to stop his partner, or he would have come too soon. And he wanted to enjoy every minute of their night together.
“Already have enough? And I thought we were only getting started.”
“No, god,” Ray breathed heavily. “Just let me give it to you now.”
MrBigStar didn’t object and kneeled on the bed while Ray sat up and started stroking his cock now. Ray thought he knew why he was called MrBigStar, and the thought alone, of having him inside any moment made him even harder than he already was, and he had to get a grip on himself, so he wouldn’t skeet.
Then, Ray took him into his mouth, sucked, licked and he got even bigger.
“Yes, oh!” The man moaned and started to move in and out of Ray’s mouth, gripping Ray’s hair. He didn’t even stop when Ray started to gag.
“Mh! Got a little carried away here,” he said and bent down to kiss Ray again. “Want to feel me inside of you now?”
“Jesus, fuck, yes!” Ray said and turned around on all fours. “I’ve got condoms in my bag,” he added.
“I’ve got some, as well,” MrBigStar said and Ray saw him take one out of the drawer next to the bed. “But first…”
He got down behind Ray, wet his fingers and started playing at Ray’s hole. Ray closed his eyes and leaned on his forearms. He jerked a little when he felt a finger slowly penetrating, but it felt great. And then, an even better feeling was added to the addition when he felt a big, hard cock brushing his ass.
MrBigStar spit in his hand and wet his cock with his saliva, and then, suddenly and forcefully, he thrust into Ray, whom escaped a yelp, as he felt him pushing in and out, tearing him apart. And before he knew it, Ray came. It was overwhelming; there was a piercing in his back, mixed with the incredible emotion of the orgasm. A tear escaped his eye and his head collapsed onto the pillow. But then, he felt it. Pain.
Slowly, the Painter withdrew the knife from Ray’s back. He put it aside and pushed some more in and out of Ray. It seemed that with every thrust more blood came out of the wound and that gave him reason to push harder, faster. That was what really turned him on and he almost roared when he came.
Ray was panting as he fell onto the bed. The knife had hit his lung and it was only a matter of time now until he suffocated on his own blood. He knew that as well as he knew whom he just had sex with.
His attacker didn’t speak for a while, and Ray couldn’t move much. Everything hurt, and then, at the same time, it didn’t. When he lay still, he felt actually okay, but as soon as he took too deep of a breath, or tried to get up, his body failed him. So, he lay there, waiting for what was about to happen next. Though, of course, he knew.
Ray watched the Painter open a bag from which he took a plastic bag in which he put the used condom. Stupidly, he hoped that the Painter would just get dressed and leave him there. But the Painter didn’t get dressed, he didn’t even bother to get a towel or something, but sat on the bed next to Ray.
“I know,” he started to say, in a voice which still sounded calm and nice and of which you never thought it belonged to a killer. “You had something else in mind how this night would end, didn’t you? But you were a great fuck, I’m admitting that much.”
Ray wanted to say something, even though it was stupid to reply to this crazy nonsense, but he realized that he wasn’t able to. He could taste blood in his mouth and felt it move up his throat. Breathing became difficult. Only a few more minutes now…
Walt. Why did he have to think of Walt all of a sudden? He had tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t hear it. It had been a great fuck, though…
Ray felt his senses going numb. He closed his eyes, only for a second, but it must have been longer. It had felt longer indeed, when he opened them again. The piercing pain was back. He felt a weight on his hips and his outstretched hand touched skin. The Painter was sitting on top of him. And he did what his name had made him famous for…
And then, Ray didn’t feel anything anymore. He lay very still, his eyes open, but he didn’t notice the Painter getting up to shower. He didn’t see him clean the room of his belongings. And he didn’t see him get out of the door.
Ray lay very still, his eyes open. But he wasn’t there anymore.
~~~~~
It’s all about control. And I’ve got lots of it.
It took all of Nate’s might not to rip the letter to shreds.
“That’s the first time he’s left a note since Joey Vega,” Brad said quietly.
“That’s because he knew Ray was one of us.”
Nate couldn’t take his eyes off Ray’s maltreated body. He lay naked in his own blood, one arm hanging from the bed, his eyes still open. On his back, forever carved into his skin, the horrible picture of a sun, shining down on a rose whose petals started to fall…
The flashlight of the cameras from the crime scene investigators who took pictures of the room and body brought him out of his thoughts. Nate didn’t even hide the tear that trickled down his cheek. He had known Ray.
Brad put his hand on Nate’s shoulder and wanted to push him outside to get some fresh air when one of the investigators called them back.
“Agent, you gotta see this!”
Grudgingly, Nate stepped closer to the bed. The smell of blood was everywhere. He should be used to it by now, but this was something different.
“I think it’s a finger print!”
Nate squinted his eyes and looked closer. He almost couldn’t believe it, but there really was a bloody finger print on the lower back.
“You took a picture of that?” Nate asked.
“Yes,” said the investigator.
“Send it to the office right away! Let’s see if the bastard isn’t in our system already.”
Nate drove as fast as he could back to the office, where he ran to Walt’s office.
“Anything?” He asked before he even entered the room completely.
Walt only shook his head and kept staring at the screen. His eyes were red; he had cried. Opposite to that sign of weakness, his face was hard. He didn’t even want to hide his anger.
“When we get him, Nate, give me five minutes with that son of a bitch.”
“We will get him, but you have to let justice take its course, as hard as it is to say that. You have no idea how much I wish to blow this guy’s brains out and use my whole clip to do that.”
The computer beeped.
“It’s a file from a youth custody,” Walt read. “It’s locked but the computer searched those, as well.”
He entered the code to open the file and hit ‘Enter’.
“I don’t believe it,” Nate breathed when he looked at the screen and was almost out of the door already, when Brad got to see what had upset him.
The picture of Evan Stafford was flashing across the screen.
“Do you think he left it on purpose?” Brad asked Nate when they were driving full speed with sirens and lights through the City, the arrest warrant for Evan Stafford on the dashboard.
“He wanted to get caught, you mean?” Nate pondered. “I don’t know. Possible. Maybe he’s had enough now that he killed one from the FBI.”
“Or maybe he had it planned as his master piece, all along.”
Anger and relief, both pulsed through Nate in that moment. Finally, they had found the Painter. Now, he would pay for everything. For Ray.
Sharply, Nate stopped the car with screeching tires in front of Evan Stafford’s internet café. Only now, he really noticed its name flashing over the door: SHIFTing CONTROL.
Holding the arrest warrant tight in his left hand, he put his right one on his gun, ready - and willing - to draw. Brad was right behind him, as were two more officers.
“Evan Stafford!” He bellowed. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Ray Person! And you’re under suspicion to be responsible for the killings of Joey Vega, Alexander Parks, Henry Norrington, Cooper Harris and Robert Lee Benson!”
Evan Stafford stood behind the counter, like the last time they had seen him. He didn’t seem disturbed by these accusations, on the contrary, he looked amused, he smiled. He didn’t even object when Brad stepped behind the bar to put handcuffs on his wrists. And he didn’t speak until they were at the Bureau.
“You’re welcome,” he simply said when Nate sat on the chair in front of him.
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s be honest,” Evan said. “Without my help, you never would have caught me.”
“Your help?” Nate asked.
“I left my finger print on your partner, Ray. Or should I rather say, SuperCock? Because he really was, believe me.”
Nate was up and about to jump at Evan’s throat, if it hadn’t been for Brad.
“He’s not worth it, Nate!”
“Oh, I am, sugar,” Evan looked Brad up and down. “You should have a taste.”
“You disgust me!” Nate hissed and shook Brad off.
There was a knock on the door, Walt peeked in, his eyes a little too long on Evan. He handed Nate a file.
“You were right,” he said and looked at Brad.
Nate read through the papers quickly and this time, he was the one who smiled.
“We got you, asshole,” he said calmly and threw the file onto the table for Evan to see. “That’s proof that you indeed killed one of the other victims.”
“You know, I kinda liked that painting in your café,” Brad said. “But I had this feeling… Something was off. So, we had it tested. It was painted with the blood of Alexander Parks, the second victim.”
The smile on Evan’s lips thinned a little, he gulped.
“I bet you thought you would get away with a few years in prison, didn’t you? You’re still young, so what are fifteen or twenty years, right? This is the death penalty.”
“Why did you do that?” Nate asked at last.
It seemed as if Evan had to think about an answer for a moment, but then he simply said, without the slightest expression of fear on his face or in his voice, “I liked the color.”
Character(s)/Pairing: Nate, Brad, Ray, Walt, Trombley, Rudy, Evan, slight Nate/Brad, plus one spoiler pairing that I won’t tell you ;)
Type/Rating: Slash/NC-17
Warnings: AU, language, explicit sex, blood play, gore, explicit violence, character death
Word Count: 7,754
Summary: It starts how it always does: We meet in a chat room, exchange some la di da, some slipslop before we really start. It’s clear that they want to meet up after maybe twenty minutes. I give them the name of a motel and room number.
And there, I wait for them.
Nate Fick has had enough. Seven months on the case, five people dead, and he didn't have one clue who the "Painter" might be.
Notes: Written as a mini bang for serialkillerbb 2012. Artist kymericl. LINK TO ART POST
It starts how it always does: We meet in a chat room, exchange some la di da, some slipslop before we really start. The pictures they send me are embarrassing. The ones I send them on the other hand make even me hard. It’s clear that they want to meet up after maybe twenty minutes. I give them the name of a motel and room number.
And there, I wait for them.
~~~~~
Nate Fick has had enough. He crumpled the little note on his desk in his fist and angrily shoved a pile of papers off his desk. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning and he was already pissed. The note said that his boss wanted to see him in the conference room, joined by his team. And that meant that they had found another body.
Seven months on the case, now five people dead, and he didn’t have one clue who this killer might be. All he and his team at the FBI knew was that he was Caucasian, 25-35 years old and that he drove a black SUV. Half of that were assumptions, though. And the other half fitted almost half of the population of San Francisco.
When Nate entered the conference room, the rest of his team was already there; Walt Hasser, who was one of the best profilers the Bureau had to offer, James Trombley, who, despite his red-neck attitude, knew the City like the back of his hand, Ray Person, their IT specialist who was slightly addicted to caffeine which you didn’t notice at all as he always was high on the right amount already, and of course their supervisor Rudy Reyes, who hated to miss out on the fun that was chasing bad guys himself, while he was stuck behind a desk.
Nate also noticed another guy standing in the far corner or the room, as if he needed to overlook everything. He hadn’t seen him before, but he was clearly FBI, as well. The way he wore his suit and badge on the belt indicated, though, that he was different than the other old stagers. He was still young, too, maybe two or three years older than himself, Nate thought when he watched him. He was very cool and seemed as if he wasn’t on the job for long. But Nate knew damn well himself that first impressions could not always be trusted.
“Nate,” Rudy started and pointed at the stranger. “This is Brad Colbert. He has just been transferred to our office, and I thought he’d make a good addition to this team.”
Nate reached out to shake Brad’s hand. “Fick, Nate.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Brad replied, looking straight into Nate’s eyes. And there was something about this look that Nate couldn’t shake off.
“If you need anything,” Reyes said and brought them both out of their moment. “I can stay and help.”
Finally, Nate let go of Brad’s hand and turned to his supervisor. “Thanks, but I think we have everything for now.”
“Fine,” Rudy said, trying to suppress a sigh. “I’ll, uh, be in my office then. As usual.”
He left and closed the door behind.
Nate cleared his throat before he went on. “Are you familiar with the case?” He asked Brad.
“I’ve read the file, yes. And of course, I know what the news said about him.”
“Oh, forget about the press immediately,” Walt said. “Nothing but rubbish and tall-tales.”
“So, what’s this guy really about?” Brad asked then.
“This.”
Nate took the file from the desk, opened it and threw some pictures of previous victims on the table in front of Brad. Those were cruesome pictures of bodys covered in blood, people who had been beaten to a pulp, barely recognizable as human beings, seperated body parts and of course the paintings.
Unshaken about the pictures it seemed, Brad asked, “Yeah, what’s that all about, anyway?” As he pointed at the last pictures of the bizarre motives that were painted on the victims’ backs.
“He likes the color red,” Trombley said and looked rather fascinated at the photos. “He mentioned that in a letter he left with the first victim, Joey Vega. Lab results showed that it was painted with the victim’s own blood.”
“Did he leave letters with the others, too?”
“No. That’s the only one.”
“I’d like to read it,” Brad said.
“You can do that in the car,” Nate told him. “On our way to this motel,” he looked at the new papers his boss left in the file, “’BlueNites’. It’s about an hour from here, so we better get going.”
He turned to face his team and continued, “Ray, check the registration of that motel. It’s a longshot, I know, but maybe he used one of his fake names from before. Trombley, help him with that. I wanna know why he went to this exact motel. Does it have a special meaning? Was it just the cheapest in the area when he passed through? You find it out, alright?”
“Got it,” Trombley said and left with Ray.
“Walt, stay here and check incoming calls about the murder. Maybe someone saw something that might be important. You know the drill.”
Walt nodded, took his coffee mug he had barely drunk from and left the room, as well.
Facing Brad, Nate asked, “Got anything you need to take care of before we leave?”
“Nothing of importance, sir.”
“Good,” Nate said, took the file and turned to leave. “And you don’t have to call me ‘sir’,” he added with a smile.
~~~~~
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ! Now I know why I’ve never been down here!”
These were Trombley’s first words when he entered the sacred world that was Ray Person’s office.
Ray had the whole basement to himself. It was a rather large room, extreme brightly lit by neon lights on the ceiling and there was a constant humming from all the machines and computers in the air. Besides all the technical, necessary stuff to help Ray in his work, the room was packed with what seemed personal belongings of Ray’s: a surfboard stood in one corner [Ray didn’t surf], a Magic Eight ball [which was stuck on ‘Reply hazy, try again’], various comic books, computer and porn magazines [which Trombley avoided to even look at; he didn’t want to imagine what Ray was doing while flipping through them], empty fast food cartons and lots and lots of empty as well as full energy drink cans.
Ray took one of those and settled behind a computer. He typed in some codes and passwords and logged into the FBI data base. On a laptop right next to him, he started typing, as well, and opened the Google homepage. [‘Google never fails’ was Ray’s mantra] And on yet another laptop which Trombley couldn’t quite see the screen of, Ray logged in on something that made him break into a wide smile. Trombley wanted to ask what he was looking at, but thought it safer not to.
He had been working with Ray for several years now and knew what kind of guy he was. And it was better not to get him into a talkative mood; he was hard to stop then. Also, if it had to do with Ray’s sex life, no one wanted to know. Really.
“When was the last time you slept?” Trombley asked Ray.
“Sleep is for the weak,” Ray scoffed and opened his can to take a long sip.
“Alright, let’s get this party started,” he said and rolled back with his chair to the FBI computer. Very fast, he entered some commands and turned to Trombley. “All we have to do is wait.”
“That’s it?”
“Jup.”
“That’s your job? All of it?”
“Jup.”
Ray drank from the can again, emptied it and threw it under his table where he slightly missed the overflowing trash bin. Satisfied, he rolled back to his personal laptop and started clicking through some sites.
“I have no idea what I’m even doing here,” Trombley said and just shook his head at Ray.
Suddenly, there was a loud moaning sound coming from Ray’s laptop. Trombley almost choked on his own spit.
“Sorry,” Ray said laughing. “Forgot to turn off the sound. Usually, I’m alone down here.”
“I think I know why.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Trombley said quickly and despite his fear, he came closer and looked over Ray’s shoulder, who wasn’t in the slightest embarrassed.
The screen showed a video of a half naked, very handsome guy, throwing kisses at the viewer. What Trombley disturbed, maybe just a little, was that it was only the lower half of the guy’s body that was naked.
“And this is what you’re doing during working hours,” Trombley said. It wasn’t a question.
“Well, yeah! I just said that I’m alone all the time.”
Ray stopped talking, smiled and turned around in his chair to look at Trombley.
“Does this offend you, my dear James?”
“No! No, I mean, yeah. Maybe a little. But then, it’s none of my business what you do in your, uh, free but paid time.”
“Hm,” Ray just said.
“Hm? What?”
“I was just wondering…”
“What?” Trombley asked again, a little nervous now.
“Oh, just whether you’re interested in this, as well?” Ray said and smirked up at Trombley.
“What? Me? God, no! I’m not gay”!
“Can I give you an advice?” Ray asked.
“I’ll probably regret this, but… okay. You’d probably say it anyw…”
“James,” Ray interrupted him. “Sex is the most normal thing in the world. And let me tell you, sex with a stranger - man or woman - is the best sex there is! Take it from someone who knows.” Ray winked at him.
Trombley seemed a little shocked. That was definitely something he hadn’t expected coming from Ray, but then he was Ray and everything was to be expected. But before he could say anything more about this topic, the FBI computer beeped. Trombley sighed in relief.
Ray’s search had come up with a couple of addresses of motels with the same name as the one the latest murder had happened in. Ray printed the page and gave them to Trombley.
“Alright, that’s a start. I’ll go and check these upstairs on the map.”
“We can do this here, too,” Ray said and pointed at the computer. “It’ll be faster and…”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Trombley said. “I’ll just get out of your hair and let you work.”
Ray smiled again. “Well, if you wanted to get into my hair, you’d just have to ask…”
“Bye,” Trombley left so fast, slightly red in the face that it made Ray laugh out loud. Oh, he loved having his fun with James Trombley.
~~~~~
I kill for free, and I kill for fun,
If you want to catch me, you gotta run!
I’m a man of few words, you’re gonna see,
Let my actions speak, it is what makes me me.
Ah well, let’s stop with the rhyming. You know I’m not that good at it, don’t you, agent? What I am good at though, is this. What you see here is what I am, what I do best. I make art. I admit, a very, very expressionistic one. But you like it, no? Don’t judge me, yet. I’m only just learning.
“It’s addressed to you!” Brad stated in a surprised voice, but Nate shook his head right away.
“No, it just says ‘Agent’. He knew that the FBI would be on the case eventually. My name only got mentioned in the news after his second murder, when the case got bigger.”
Brad quickly scanned the letter again. “He’s an egomaniac.”
Nate glanced at Brad. “You’ve got a good eye. He is, indeed. He uses the word ‘I’ a lot. Everything is pointed at him, as if he wants to say, ‘Hey, look at me! Here I am!’”
“’And you can’t do anything to stop me.’”
Nate looked away from the road again and at Brad. “Exactly.”
Traffic was slow and it took them nearly two and a half hours to arrive at the BlueNites Motel. For this time of the year, it was quite hot and Nate inhaled sharply the hot air when he stepped out of the air-conditioned car and into the burning sun. A small pearl of sweat trickled down his left temple, but nevertheless, he took his jacket from the backseat and put it on. He could think of a hundred better ways to spend the afternoon, of which - to his own surprise - at least three involved Agent Colbert.
He banned the thoughts from his mind [for now] and walked around the car to join Brad as he stepped into the not much cooler motel’s registration office. The man behind the desk fulfilled the cliché of the typical motel owner perfectly: He was small, overweight and almost completely bald. The hair that was left looked greasy, as well did the bushes on his back and arms. He was watching some daily soap on a small television behind the counter. It seemed that he had noticed Brad and Nate coming in, but he didn’t bother to look up. How Consuela seduced Maria’s husband Pablo was obviously more interesting.
Nate cleared his throat and tapped his badge on the counter.
“Number 6 is free,” the guy said, still not looking up from his tv. “It’s 35 bucks a night. But the tv is broken, so you’ll have to find other…,” he finally looked up, not the slightest impressed. “…things to do.”
“Agent Fick. This is Agent Colbert. There are some questions we’d like to ask you.”
The man looked from Nate to Brad and back to Nate. “It’s still 35 the night.”
Brad started to smile at Nate, who, on the other hand, grew impatient.
“Sir, there’s been a murder in your motel and we…”
“Yeah, yeah,” the guy interrupted Nate angrily. “Don’t you think I know that? I still haven’t heard back from you, whether I could start renting it out again. You ruin me!”
“Yeah, right, look,” said Brad. “As much as I would like to spend the rest of the day with you, watching terrible daytime television, the two of us,” he pointed at Nate and himself, “we actually have real work to do. So, if you don’t mind…”
The man grumbled something under his breath but muted the televison at least.
“It’s a rerun, by the way,” Brad added. “Pablo won’t leave Maria in the end.”
After about half an hour, the motel owner had told them everything he remembered from the night of the murder. There was only little new they got from him, though. He couldn’t give them a description of the person renting the room, for example. It was a man, that was all. Height, hair or eye color were a dead end.
Nate and Brad decided to eat something somewhere before they drove back into the City.
“My treat,” Nate announced, and he needn’t to tell Brad twice.
They talked about the case some more, when Nate said, “What I don’t get though is, when did you watch that Spanish soap?”
Brad was surprised at this statement but grinned. “I was alone in my motel room last night,” he answered cockily. “I plan on changing that for tonight, though.” At Nate’s surprised expression, he added, “It’s not my favorite thing to watch.”
“Yeah,” Nate said. “Mine neither.”
After lunch, Brad took out his wallet and Nate said, “I said I’ll pay.”
“Oh yeah, I know,” Brad said subtle. “I’m just checking if I have 35 bucks.”
~~~~~
Lunchtime at the Bureau meant for Ray that he had an extra thirty minutes to play on his Xbox.
“I can’t believe you brought another television in here!” Walt almost had to yell to drown out the noises that came out of the game, - and Ray.
“You should know me by now,” Ray simply answered. “Look behind you! Behind you! Kill that ogre!”
Walt waved his controller energetically, as if that was helping the game. “You have to help me!”
GAME OVER flashed over the screen and Ray exhaled in disappointment.
“New game?” Walt asked, when one of the computers gave a low beep.
Ray rolled over with his office chair to his personal laptop, pressed a key and the screensaver vanished.
“One player then,” Walt said when he saw the grin on Ray’s face. “Who is it this time?”
“Don’t know him yet,” Ray said and started to type.
“You know,” Walt said while starting a new game on his own. “I’m still no fan of that whole internet dating thing.”
“I’m not dating these guys,” Ray said without looking up. “I’m just fucking them.” Glancing at Walt after all, he added with a purr in his voice, “Unless you’d give it a go with the two of us, after all.”
Walt looked at Ray and regretted it the second after, when he had his head chopped off in the game.
“Ray, I told you that I don’t mix my real life with the job. I just don’t.”
“I know, I know,” Ray said. “But we did have fun, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Walt smiled as he remembered. “We certainly did.”
“Was I the best night of your life? I was, wasn’t I?”
Walt sighed, but didn’t answer. He just looked at Ray, who then raised a fist into the air and mouthed ‘Yes!’ and turned back to his chat.
SuperCock: I’m so fucking hard right now, U have no idea!
MrBigStar: Glad you liked the pic.
SuperCock: Have to meet U!!!
MrBigStar: Know the B&M motel down Corolla Ave?
SuperCock: I’ll find it! When?
MrBigStar: Tomorrow. 11 pm.
~~~~~
Nate couldn’t think of anything at the moment how the owner or the motel itself could help them with the case any more, so he decided they better headed back to the office. Maybe Ray did have some luck and found something out by now. He had only started the car when his cell phone rang. He pulled it out from his inside pocket; Ray’s name was flashing on the display.
“Got something, Ray?” Nate said when picking up.
“Jup, I got something,” Ray answered cheerily. “It just came up in one of my searches.”
“I’ll put you on speaker,” Nate said, turned on the speaker on his cell phone and placed it on the dashboard, so Brad could listen, too.
“So, I checked the motels where the murders happened and their possible connections. The motels are all the same; cheap and within a City radius of twenty miles. But it turns out that the room where we found our fourth victim, Cooper Harris, is different from the others in one thing.”
“And that is?” Asked Brad.
“That motel has internet connection available in the rooms.”
“And now you think that our killer spent his free time before or after the murder on the internet?”
“Well, if I had official permission to hack into the motel’s data, I could find out whether he went online or not.”
Nate knew that this request was meant for him. He sighed.
“Do what you can, Ray.”
“Already one step ahead of you!” Ray announced happily. He knew that Nate would give his Okay.
“The Painter did indeed use the internet connection from exactly 10:32 pm to 10:55 pm.”
“That’s about fourty minutes before the time of death of Cooper Harris,” Nate said in a low voice, more to himself.
“Yes,” Ray said, as he had heard what Nate said. “And I can even tell you which sites he visited.”
Nate and Brad listened up.
“BeMyLoveR.com and QuickXXX.com,” Ray told them. “And what if I told you that I checked with our other victims’ records and found out that our fifth victim, Robert Lee Benson, had accounts on both those sites, as well?”
Nate and Brad were speechless.
“Ain’t I just your best Ray Ray? But oh wait, you haven’t heard the best part, yet: I could trace Robert Lee Bensons last steps back to an internet café. I’ll text you the address.”
“Ray…,” Nate began.
“I know, I know,” Ray said. “I’m magic.”
“Voodo, if you ask me,” Brad said after Nate ended the call with Ray and started the drive back into the City.
“Sometimes, I don’t really get what he says or does, but he is kinda brilliant,” Nate said.
They drove in silence for a while, until Brad said, “So, that bastard already chatted with Robert Lee Benson while waiting for Cooper Harris. That’s more than sick.”
“Yeah,” Nate said kinda tired. “I can’t believe we had to let five murders happen before we finally got a hot trace on the Painter.”
“This is the case that’ll haunt you forever, isn’t it?”
Nate didn’t answer.
~~~~~
Traffic back home was even worse than before. When they finally arrived at the address that Ray had texted Nate, the internet café was already closed for the day.
“We’ll have to come back in the morning,” Brad said.
“Alright,” Nate replied disappointed. “I don’t think there’s anything going on at the office anymore tonight. Want me to drive you to your motel?”
“If you join me for a drink at the bar?” Brad asked smiling.
And as much as Nate wanted to say ‘yes’ and maybe even spend the night with Brad, he thought that it felt wrong at the moment. So, he denied, drove Brad to the hotel and went straight home himself.
The next morning didn’t bring any more news. Though, they were happy with what they had by now. Finally, a trace that lead right to the Painter. After all this time, it was something.
It seemed as if Ray had slept in his office - again - but even though he worked half the night, he didn’t have much more info, let alone a hint to who the Painter might be. So, Rudy agreed with Nate that he and Brad went to the internet café again to speak to the owner and maybe some regulars; whether they saw or heard anything that could help.
There was a tension in the car that both, Nate and Brad, could almost touch. Neither could deny that something was going on between them; they both felt it. But neither wanted to give in first, either, it seemed.
“What were Pablo and Maria doing last night?” Nate asked to break the awful silence.
Brad chuckled. “Nothing. Well, something, probably. But I wasn’t watching. I showered and went straight to bed, which, unfortunately, I occupied alone last night.” He didn’t even need to glance at Nate to see how pink he got in the face.
“Brad,” Nate started, “we can’t possibly…”
But again, the ring of Nate’s cellphone interrupted him. He answered without looking on the display.
“Yeah.”
“It’s me,” Ray was saying. “I just wanted to tell you, the owner of the place, his name’s Evan Stafford. No criminal history, only got two speeding tickets in the past.”
“Okay, thanks,” Nate said and hung up.
“You were saying?”
Nate had hoped that the call would have distracted Brad from their previous conversation. Obviously, not. Nate had no other choice than to answer.
“We can’t… I mean, would you…?”
“Oh, I would!” Brad interrupted him. “I thought that was obvious.”
“Yeah… But…”
“No but… It’s either, or… You decide.”
Great. Thanks. Nate thought. He sighed and gave in.
“I just meant that we really can’t do this, even if we wanted to. Not when we’re supposed to work together. It could become a problem.”
“It could, yes. But only if we let it become one.”
“Can we maybe talk about this later?” Nate asked.
“No,” Brad simply answered and Nate looked at him this time. “If we don’t get it settled now, you’ll back out. I’ve known you for one day and I just know you would.” Brad smiled at Nate.
Nate was glad that in just that moment they arrived in front of the internet café. But when he was about to open his door, Brad held him back.
“Go on a date with me. Just one and we’ll see.”
“Oh god,” Nate laughed. “A date? Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date?”
“I can imagine,” Brad replied, the smile still spread across his face, as if he knew Nate’s answer to his question.
“Fine,” he finally said. “But you pay this time.”
“Fine by me,” Brad said and started rummaging through his jacket pockets. “I should have those 35 bucks here somewhere…”
“You’re cute when you’re being naive,” Nate said with a laugh and got out of the car.
“See that?” He asked suddenly, and Brad looked to where he was pointing.
“Black SUV,” Brad said quietly, more to himself.
“Two of them, even. What do you think, Brad? How big is the chance that one of these belongs to our killer?”
The door to the internet café opened silently, no ring, nothing. Brad stepped in behind Nate and looked around, instantly. It was still early in the morning but a couple of seats were already taken. A young man who simply embodied the cliché of a computer nerd, a pretty blonde woman, trying to type a letter, it seemed, though it was a bit hard with her two inch fingernails.
Brad followed Nate to the counter, or bar, rather. Behind it stood a young man with short dark blond hair, mixing a milkshake. He was very good-looking, muscular. Brad’s type exactly, he thought.
“Morning,” he greeted the two suit-wearing men. “Would you like a coffee before you sit down?”
Nate flashed his badge. “Thanks, but no. You’re Evan Stafford?”
Evan’s smile vanished when he looked at the badge and back at Nate. “Yes. Something wrong?”
“We just have a couple of questions.” Nate introduced himself and Brad and went on. “Those black SUVs outside, do you know who they belong to?” He asked and indicated Evan to point out the owners, if they were sitting in the café.
“Well, I don’t know about the other one, but one is mine,” Evan answered.
Nate and Brad exchanged looks.
“Do you know some of the people in here?”
Evan looked around. “Uh, well… Marty over there,” he jerked his chin to the young man sitting in a corner, the one Brad had identified as the typical computer nerd, “he comes here every day by bike. And Cybill there, I don’t think she can drive even.”
“Wouldn’t think so,” Brad said under his breath as he watched the blonde woman still trying to type with her murderous nails.
“As far as I know, she’s unemployed at the moment. She comes here maybe once or twice a week to write some applications. Usually, her boyfriend picks her up after. I don’t know about this guy, though.” He pointed in the other direction, where a man in his early fourties sat, sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper. “He comes here a couple of times, but rarely uses the computers. He sometimes brings his own laptop. Says, he likes my coffee so much, so he comes here to write.”
“I bet that’s the reason,” Brad said and glanced at Evan’s muscular arms.
“Let’s talk to him, shall we?” Nate suggested.
They walked over to where the man was sitting. For his age, he wasn’t that bad-looking. Some gray hair here and there, but other than that, he looked good.
He looked up from his paper when he noticed them. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”
“FBI,” Nate said and showed him his badge, as well. “We’re investigating a case and would like to ask you some questions, if that’s alright?”
“It’s about those horrible murders, isn’t it?” The man said right away. “I’ve read about them.” He shook the newspaper in his hands. “Awful, really terrible.”
“Sir,” Brad said. “By any chance, that black SUV outside, is that yours?”
“Why yes!” The man said surprised. “Why are you asking?”
Nate became excited, but kept calm when he said, “Can you show us some ID maybe, Mr…?”
“Smith. John Smith,” he said and started looking for his ID.
“Naturally,” Brad muttered and smiled at Nate.
John Smith gave Nate his ID and stood up from his chair. “Is everything alright? I mean, you don’t suspect that I… Oh god!”
“No, it’s alright,” Nate said. “It’s just a routine. I hope you understand. You could be a real help to us.”
“Really?” John Smith asked eagerly.
“Yes. Would you mind showing us your car?”
“Yes! Yes, of course!” John Smith took his jacket and newspaper and lead the way out.
With a last look at Evan Brad said, “Thanks! Have a nice day!”
“You, too,” Evan said and waved him goodbye.
Behind Evan, Brad had to look twice, was a rather impressive painting hanging on the wall.
“What’s that?” Brad asked.
Evan looked behind himself. “Oh that? Isn’t it great? A friend painted it for me years ago, when I opened the café. He, uh, died recently, so it’s a wonderful reminder of our friendship.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Brad said. “Well, goodbye.”
He stepped out, blinded by the sun that was slowly creeping up between the buildings and followed Nate and Mr. Smith to his car.
“What are you looking for?” Mr. Smith asked.
“If you just opened the trunk for us, maybe, that would be great,” Nate said and stepped around the car.
It looked brand-new, - or freshly cleaned. It would be hard for their experts to find fibers, hair or even blood if it had been chemically cleaned. If that was even the right car. And of course, it was just as Nate had feared; the car was clean, not a single abnormality that caught his eye.
“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” Nate said. “That would be all for now.”
“But… But I did help, right?”
“Sure you did,” Brad said.
Nate handed him back his ID. “We’ll call you if we need anything else.”
They walked back to their own car, leaving a puzzled Mr. Smith behind.
“So, we’re just letting him go? What if he’s our guy?”
“He’s not,” Nate said and got behind the wheel. “I’ll have Ray check his name, but I don’t think he’s the Painter.”
“He’s something,” Brad said. “But you’re probably right. What are we doing now?”
“I don’t know,” Nate admitted. “I was hoping we’d get a little closer to the Painter by going here, but it was a waste of time. It’s like I said when I started this case, the description of the killer fits half of the people in this City. And see? Two black SUVs in a hot spot - literally, and not one belongs to our guy. Just my luck.”
“Well, you know what to do now, don’t you?”
“And what would that be?” Nate asked, looking exhausted, even though the day had barely started.
“Keep looking.”
~~~~~
To Ray’s liking, the day went by rather quickly. The check-up on John Smith came up blank. Well, for their case at least. Mr. Smith had a few minor felonies on his sheet; parking tickets and indecent behavior. Apparently, good old John liked to grant his assets enough air, preferably in public. This was not to be taken lightly, of course, but it was irrelevant for the case of the Painter. He didn’t need those embarrassing performances to get attention. His work was much more profound and thought through.
Right on finishing-time, Ray left the office. In the elevator, he met Walt.
“What?” Walt said surprised. “You’re already going? No all-nighter tonight?”
“Something much more important came up.”
“More important than the Painter case?”
“Jup,” Ray said delighted. “I’m getting laid in about…,” he checked his watch, “six hours.”
“Yeah, I can see how that is so much more important.” Walt rolled his eyes, but laughed a little, too.
The elevator stopped and as soon as the doors opened, Ray stepped outside.
“Just…,” Walt said and Ray stopped and turned around to face him. “Be careful.”
“I’ll take this as code for ‘Have fun!’,” Ray said, winked and waved Walt goodbye.
At home, Ray took a shower, ate something and packed some things of which he knew he would need them later on. It wasn’t his first sex date, after all. In a rucksack, he put a fresh t-shirt and underwear, just in case it got messy [Ray liked messy], deodorant, a bottle of water, lube and of course, enough condoms to last through the night. And Ray had planned a long night with this MrBigStar.
Lastly, he checked his email. No messages from his partner, so all would go as planned. Ray was excited. And got even more excited and horny when he viewed the pictures again which he had got from MrBigStar. Ray knew that pictures could lie; he had found out the hard way himself, in his early days of online dating. But he had a feeling that this one was for real: Muscular, broad shoulders and a face to die for. Although, if everything went as Ray had planned, he wouldn’t get the chance to see much of his lover’s front side.
At around 10 pm, Ray took his stuff and was on his way. It wasn’t a long drive; the motel was only about half an hour from where he lived. From the outside, it looked as shabby as Ray had imagined. He got all tingly inside.
He parked his car and went inside the registration office.
“Hi. I’m meeting someone. Mr. Big?” He said to the man behind the desk, who looked exactly the opposite of Ray: tired and bored.
“He told me to give you the spare key. Room 7,” the man said a little disgusted, as if he already knew what was about to happen in there, and made a mental note to have his wife clean that room especially thorough.
Ray took the key, smiled, but more to himself, and went outside again. It was a great night, he thought, and it would only get better from now on.
He had done this so often by now, he wasn’t really nervous to open the door, though, he took a deep breath before he inserted the key card. Only the lights on the nightstands had been turned on, but it was just enough for the mood. A man sat on the bed, and waited. He got up when Ray closed the door again.
Ray spoke first. “MrBigStar?”
“SuperCock?”
“Oh, you’re about to find out,” Ray said, let his rucksack slip on the floor and moved forward.
In one swift movement, Ray grabbed the other man’s neck, pulled him closer by his shirt with his other hand and embraced him in a passionate kiss.
When they parted, MrBigStar said, “Coming to the point quickly? I like it.”
And they started kissing again, pulling each other’s clothes off and collapsing on the bed. Ray lay on his back and felt his partner’s kisses all over his body, starting on his neck, slowly moving down to his chest, his nipples; biting, licking, kissing.
“God, you’re driving me crazy!”
“Just wait for it,” the young man said. “You in for the ride of your life.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Ray gasped when MrBigStar had moved down to his cock and started sucking on it.
Ray was gripping the sheets while he moaned and moved under his lover’s caresses. It didn’t feel as if he had been in this room for only fifteen minutes but he already had to stop his partner, or he would have come too soon. And he wanted to enjoy every minute of their night together.
“Already have enough? And I thought we were only getting started.”
“No, god,” Ray breathed heavily. “Just let me give it to you now.”
MrBigStar didn’t object and kneeled on the bed while Ray sat up and started stroking his cock now. Ray thought he knew why he was called MrBigStar, and the thought alone, of having him inside any moment made him even harder than he already was, and he had to get a grip on himself, so he wouldn’t skeet.
Then, Ray took him into his mouth, sucked, licked and he got even bigger.
“Yes, oh!” The man moaned and started to move in and out of Ray’s mouth, gripping Ray’s hair. He didn’t even stop when Ray started to gag.
“Mh! Got a little carried away here,” he said and bent down to kiss Ray again. “Want to feel me inside of you now?”
“Jesus, fuck, yes!” Ray said and turned around on all fours. “I’ve got condoms in my bag,” he added.
“I’ve got some, as well,” MrBigStar said and Ray saw him take one out of the drawer next to the bed. “But first…”
He got down behind Ray, wet his fingers and started playing at Ray’s hole. Ray closed his eyes and leaned on his forearms. He jerked a little when he felt a finger slowly penetrating, but it felt great. And then, an even better feeling was added to the addition when he felt a big, hard cock brushing his ass.
MrBigStar spit in his hand and wet his cock with his saliva, and then, suddenly and forcefully, he thrust into Ray, whom escaped a yelp, as he felt him pushing in and out, tearing him apart. And before he knew it, Ray came. It was overwhelming; there was a piercing in his back, mixed with the incredible emotion of the orgasm. A tear escaped his eye and his head collapsed onto the pillow. But then, he felt it. Pain.
Slowly, the Painter withdrew the knife from Ray’s back. He put it aside and pushed some more in and out of Ray. It seemed that with every thrust more blood came out of the wound and that gave him reason to push harder, faster. That was what really turned him on and he almost roared when he came.
Ray was panting as he fell onto the bed. The knife had hit his lung and it was only a matter of time now until he suffocated on his own blood. He knew that as well as he knew whom he just had sex with.
His attacker didn’t speak for a while, and Ray couldn’t move much. Everything hurt, and then, at the same time, it didn’t. When he lay still, he felt actually okay, but as soon as he took too deep of a breath, or tried to get up, his body failed him. So, he lay there, waiting for what was about to happen next. Though, of course, he knew.
Ray watched the Painter open a bag from which he took a plastic bag in which he put the used condom. Stupidly, he hoped that the Painter would just get dressed and leave him there. But the Painter didn’t get dressed, he didn’t even bother to get a towel or something, but sat on the bed next to Ray.
“I know,” he started to say, in a voice which still sounded calm and nice and of which you never thought it belonged to a killer. “You had something else in mind how this night would end, didn’t you? But you were a great fuck, I’m admitting that much.”
Ray wanted to say something, even though it was stupid to reply to this crazy nonsense, but he realized that he wasn’t able to. He could taste blood in his mouth and felt it move up his throat. Breathing became difficult. Only a few more minutes now…
Walt. Why did he have to think of Walt all of a sudden? He had tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t hear it. It had been a great fuck, though…
Ray felt his senses going numb. He closed his eyes, only for a second, but it must have been longer. It had felt longer indeed, when he opened them again. The piercing pain was back. He felt a weight on his hips and his outstretched hand touched skin. The Painter was sitting on top of him. And he did what his name had made him famous for…
And then, Ray didn’t feel anything anymore. He lay very still, his eyes open, but he didn’t notice the Painter getting up to shower. He didn’t see him clean the room of his belongings. And he didn’t see him get out of the door.
Ray lay very still, his eyes open. But he wasn’t there anymore.
~~~~~
It’s all about control. And I’ve got lots of it.
It took all of Nate’s might not to rip the letter to shreds.
“That’s the first time he’s left a note since Joey Vega,” Brad said quietly.
“That’s because he knew Ray was one of us.”
Nate couldn’t take his eyes off Ray’s maltreated body. He lay naked in his own blood, one arm hanging from the bed, his eyes still open. On his back, forever carved into his skin, the horrible picture of a sun, shining down on a rose whose petals started to fall…
The flashlight of the cameras from the crime scene investigators who took pictures of the room and body brought him out of his thoughts. Nate didn’t even hide the tear that trickled down his cheek. He had known Ray.
Brad put his hand on Nate’s shoulder and wanted to push him outside to get some fresh air when one of the investigators called them back.
“Agent, you gotta see this!”
Grudgingly, Nate stepped closer to the bed. The smell of blood was everywhere. He should be used to it by now, but this was something different.
“I think it’s a finger print!”
Nate squinted his eyes and looked closer. He almost couldn’t believe it, but there really was a bloody finger print on the lower back.
“You took a picture of that?” Nate asked.
“Yes,” said the investigator.
“Send it to the office right away! Let’s see if the bastard isn’t in our system already.”
Nate drove as fast as he could back to the office, where he ran to Walt’s office.
“Anything?” He asked before he even entered the room completely.
Walt only shook his head and kept staring at the screen. His eyes were red; he had cried. Opposite to that sign of weakness, his face was hard. He didn’t even want to hide his anger.
“When we get him, Nate, give me five minutes with that son of a bitch.”
“We will get him, but you have to let justice take its course, as hard as it is to say that. You have no idea how much I wish to blow this guy’s brains out and use my whole clip to do that.”
The computer beeped.
“It’s a file from a youth custody,” Walt read. “It’s locked but the computer searched those, as well.”
He entered the code to open the file and hit ‘Enter’.
“I don’t believe it,” Nate breathed when he looked at the screen and was almost out of the door already, when Brad got to see what had upset him.
The picture of Evan Stafford was flashing across the screen.
“Do you think he left it on purpose?” Brad asked Nate when they were driving full speed with sirens and lights through the City, the arrest warrant for Evan Stafford on the dashboard.
“He wanted to get caught, you mean?” Nate pondered. “I don’t know. Possible. Maybe he’s had enough now that he killed one from the FBI.”
“Or maybe he had it planned as his master piece, all along.”
Anger and relief, both pulsed through Nate in that moment. Finally, they had found the Painter. Now, he would pay for everything. For Ray.
Sharply, Nate stopped the car with screeching tires in front of Evan Stafford’s internet café. Only now, he really noticed its name flashing over the door: SHIFTing CONTROL.
Holding the arrest warrant tight in his left hand, he put his right one on his gun, ready - and willing - to draw. Brad was right behind him, as were two more officers.
“Evan Stafford!” He bellowed. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Ray Person! And you’re under suspicion to be responsible for the killings of Joey Vega, Alexander Parks, Henry Norrington, Cooper Harris and Robert Lee Benson!”
Evan Stafford stood behind the counter, like the last time they had seen him. He didn’t seem disturbed by these accusations, on the contrary, he looked amused, he smiled. He didn’t even object when Brad stepped behind the bar to put handcuffs on his wrists. And he didn’t speak until they were at the Bureau.
“You’re welcome,” he simply said when Nate sat on the chair in front of him.
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s be honest,” Evan said. “Without my help, you never would have caught me.”
“Your help?” Nate asked.
“I left my finger print on your partner, Ray. Or should I rather say, SuperCock? Because he really was, believe me.”
Nate was up and about to jump at Evan’s throat, if it hadn’t been for Brad.
“He’s not worth it, Nate!”
“Oh, I am, sugar,” Evan looked Brad up and down. “You should have a taste.”
“You disgust me!” Nate hissed and shook Brad off.
There was a knock on the door, Walt peeked in, his eyes a little too long on Evan. He handed Nate a file.
“You were right,” he said and looked at Brad.
Nate read through the papers quickly and this time, he was the one who smiled.
“We got you, asshole,” he said calmly and threw the file onto the table for Evan to see. “That’s proof that you indeed killed one of the other victims.”
“You know, I kinda liked that painting in your café,” Brad said. “But I had this feeling… Something was off. So, we had it tested. It was painted with the blood of Alexander Parks, the second victim.”
The smile on Evan’s lips thinned a little, he gulped.
“I bet you thought you would get away with a few years in prison, didn’t you? You’re still young, so what are fifteen or twenty years, right? This is the death penalty.”
“Why did you do that?” Nate asked at last.
It seemed as if Evan had to think about an answer for a moment, but then he simply said, without the slightest expression of fear on his face or in his voice, “I liked the color.”