Jack of Spades Read online

  David dragged his gaze from out the window and directed it across the table at Spader.

  “I don’t want you to take me out of school.”

  Spader sighed. “We know you don’t. But we’ve been over this again and again. We’re not changing our minds.”

  David looked down at his big, strong hands, picked at a fingernail, and said, “You’re ruining my life, Dad.”

  “We are?”

  “No, you are.”

  “Me? Just me?”

  Olivia said, “Your father and I made this decision together, David. And we still believe it’s the right one.”

  “It was Dad’s idea, Mom. I was there when it first came up. You just went along with it so you could avoid another argument with him.”

  “That’s not true,” she said. “And it’s not fair. We wouldn’t make such an important decision affecting your life without thinking it all the way through.”

  David didn’t bother to respond and instead stared straight at Spader. “If you change your mind, she’ll change hers.”

  Olivia’s voice hardened. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here, David. Do you understand?”

  David kept his eyes on his father. “You’re ruining my life.”

  Spader had heard this before. After four academically respectable high school years, David had just finished a far less respectable freshman year at Merrimack College. His first semester was below his standards, but nothing to worry too much about. Spader knew that a lot of kids struggled in their first semester, as they adjusted to life away from their parents’ watchful eyes. They had to learn to balance study with a social life, and it sometimes took time to get the balance right. But David’s second semester was far worse than the first, with his average slipping from the B range to the C-minus range. He’d even had two Ds, a letter which, other than those in his name, had never before darkened one of his report cards. He’d had hopes of jumping right from freshman lacrosse to varsity, but the coach told him he couldn’t let his grades slip any more if he had any hope of retaining his scholarship, much less playing on the team.

  “It looks to me, David,” Spader said, “like you’re trying to ruin your own life. You had a good thing going. Half your tuition paid through your scholarship, a chance at varsity lacrosse. But it’s clear to your mother and me that something’s wrong, and it started to go wrong when you got to school.”

  “I just need you to give me a chance to work things out, that’s all.”

  “You had a chance. We warned you after your first semester that things had to improve. And they only got worse. We’re spending a lot of money to supplement your tuition. We had to take a second mortgage out on our house.”

  “On Mom’s house.”

  “On Mom’s house, so we could send you to school. And we aren’t paying that money to watch you waste it.” He paused. “We’re worried, David.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know you will be. Eventually. But you’re not fine right now, and that’s got us concerned.”

  The guys David had hung around with in high school—good kids all, Spader thought—had scattered to colleges and universities around the country, and his son had started spending his time with all new people. Spader hadn’t met any of them, but he knew some of their names—Kenny, Desmond, Lucas—and they hadn’t been positive influences on his son. As big and strong as David was, as much a man as he sometimes seemed, he could be insecure in some ways. A follower at times rather than a leader. Still, he’d never before allowed himself to be led down certain roads. He said he’d never used drugs in high school and Spader believed him. Then he was caught smoking pot with a couple of his new friends in his college dorm room and had been put on probation. David swore it was the first time, and that he’d never touched any of the more serious drugs, but Spader didn’t know what to believe anymore. David was a different kid since he got to college.

  Spader had been relieved when summer arrived, thinking David would start seeing his old high school friends again, the ones that had also come home until school began again in the fall. But Olivia said she hadn’t seen any of them. She also said that David hadn’t spent a single evening with her or at home since school let out, and he wouldn’t say where or with whom he’d been spending his time. They had to assume he was seeing his friends from college, those who either lived locally or chose to stay in the area during the summer break. Olivia worried that he was drinking too much or maybe even using drugs.

  “David,” Spader said, “here’s the story. You’re screwing up your grades, risking your scholarship, hanging out with the wrong people. You’re drinking now, more than you should, and you know it.” When he didn’t deny it, Spader plowed ahead. “You’re out almost all night and you won’t tell your mother or me where you go. And it all began when you started college. We have no choice but to believe that either you’re not ready for school, or something about Merrimack College isn’t good for you. Either way, we’re pulling you out.”

  “I’ll lose my scholarship.”

  “Maybe you can get another one at another school.”

  “The only other schools that accepted me are out of state. The closest is in Illinois.”

  “So? Maybe that would be good for you. A complete change of scenery.”

  “I don’t want a change of scenery, Dad,” he said, spitting out the last word as if it tasted sour. “I want to continue to live my life—because it’s my fucking life to live. Not yours. And I should be able make my own decisions about it.”

  David had never spoken to him that way. He glared defiantly at his father, the muscles in his forearms rippling as he clenched his fists in his lap. Spader took a breath and said quietly. “First of all, don’t ever speak to either of us that way again. Second, you can make the decisions about your life when you’re on your own, paying your own way.” He wondered when in his life he had started channeling the spirit of his dead father.

  “I’m covering half my tuition with my scholarship. And the money I’ve made painting houses the last few summers pays my living expenses.”

  “That still leaves half your tuition, David, which we’re paying. And we’re not going to pay it just so you can use it to drink and screw around and throw away your chance for a good education.” He paused. “Is it a girl, David? Is that why you don’t want to leave Merrimack? Because if so, you can always keep in touch with her, see her over breaks, during the summer.”

  David snorted and shook his head but didn’t respond. “You’re just acting like a hard-ass to impress Mom.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You obviously still have a thing for her, even though she’s dating another guy now, and you’re trying to look like the big, tough father, thinking she’ll be impressed.”

  “That’s ridiculous, David,” Olivia said. Spader said nothing. His son was right about him still having feelings for his ex-wife, but wrong about the reason for his stance on David’s schooling. “Look, honey,” Olivia continued, “going back to the money for a second, we’re not saying we won’t help you pay for school. We’re just saying that Merrimack doesn’t seem to be right for you. So you take a year off, get your head together, and in the fall you apply to other schools. The ones that accepted you last year would probably do so again—”

  Unless you screwed up your grades so badly that they no longer want you, Spader thought.

  “—or you can apply to new schools, ones closer to home, if that’s what you want. But you need to take some time off, because it isn’t working right now, David, and if you go back to Merrimack right now, things could get worse.”

  “Yeah? How?”

  Spader said, “You could get in serious trouble with alcohol or drugs. Or you could drive your GPA so far down you can’t bring it back up far enough to do you any good. Graduate with a D average and see what kind of jobs you get after school. If you fail too many classes, they might even toss you out. You think other colleges are going to be knocking
on your door if that happens? And besides, if you lose your scholarship, we can’t afford to keep you there, anyway.”

  David was staring out the window again. He said, very softly, “I can’t even tell you how much I hate you right now.” He’d said it to both Olivia and him, but Spader thought it wasn’t really directed at his mother.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Spader said. “I really am. Because I love you as much as anything in this world. I’d do anything, even face your anger and resentment, to keep you safe.”

  “Would you die for me?”

  Spader didn’t hesitate. “In a heartbeat.”

  David turned and looked squarely into Spader’s eyes. “Prove it.”

  The double message was clear. Olivia gasped and seemed about to say something, but Spader shook his head. “Our minds are made up, David, so I suggest you get used to it. You aren’t going back to school in September. So for now, I think you should keep painting houses, saving your money. Stop drinking or doing whatever the hell you’re doing every night now. Stay away from people who are tempting you to do the wrong things. And start looking at colleges for next year.”

  “You’re ruining my life, Dad,” he repeated, “and I’ll never forgive you for it.”

  Yours wouldn’t be the first life I’ve ruined, Spader thought. Then his cell phone vibrated.

  “Excuse me,” he said as he pulled it out and flipped it open. “This is Spader.”

  “Galaxo was active again last night.” It was Dunbar.

  “Shit.” He’d said it quietly, but both Olivia and David looked over at him. They watched him as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing.

  TEN

  “This is a tough question, Mr. Golding, but I’m sorry, I have to ask. Did the intruder…did he…”

  “No, he didn’t fucking ejaculate, Detective Spader. It wasn’t…” Golding squeezed his eyes shut, as if by doing so he could squeeze the memory out of his head. “It wasn’t in my mouth long enough.”

  Spader nodded and jotted something down in his notebook, not because he really needed to write down that Galaxo hadn’t spent himself, but because he thought perhaps Golding wouldn’t want to make eye contact at the moment. Spader had saved this interview until the evidence team had left the scene. He was conducting it alone, as Dunbar was investigating an anonymous tip that came into the tip line, one that probably wouldn’t lead anywhere but was just credible and intriguing enough to make it worth his time. So with the CSS team gone now, there was no one in the house but Spader, Mr. and Mrs. Golding, and their son, who was playing in his room. He’d already spoken with the boy, in his parents’ presence, and had learned nothing helpful.

  Golding blew out a breath. “It wasn’t in long enough. And it wasn’t even…shit!”

  “I know it’s difficult, but please go on.”

  “I didn’t even want to call you guys,” he said. “My wife made me.”

  “I understand that, sir, and I’m glad you listened to her. There was a crime committed here last night by a man who has murdered two people and maimed another for life. And anything we learn about him might help us find him and stop him from hurting other people.”

  “I saw the news stories,” Emily Golding said. “I knew this was the same man. I knew we had to call.”

  Mrs. Golding was sitting beside her husband on the sofa. She slid her hand onto Golding’s thigh and gave a soft, supportive squeeze. He pushed her hand away.

  “Jesus Christ,” Golding said. “Is this gonna be on the news? I thought I saw a news van out there earlier. Holy shit, my life is over.”

  “No, Mr. Golding, it isn’t going to be on the news,” Spader said. “We’ll release the fact that you had an intruder, that we think it might be the man who has been breaking into people’s homes wearing a Galaxo mask, but we won’t release the details. I promise you that.”

  Golding rubbed his eyes with his strong fingers. He was a big guy, a little bigger than Spader, with a head like a block of cement sitting on a thick, muscular neck. He clearly worked out every day. The pictures on the wall told Spader that he was a real tough guy. Spader knew, therefore, how much he was dying inside during this interview.

  “Mr. Golding, you were saying something just now. You said, ‘it wasn’t even,’ then you stopped.”

  Golding gritted his teeth and said, “It wasn’t even hard. His dick…his penis. It wasn’t erect.”

  Spader nodded, starting down at his notebook again. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Golding, but I guess I am thirsty after all. I’ll take that iced tea, if the offer’s still good.”

  She looked at him, then at her husband. “Of course. I’ll be back soon.”

  Spader stared down at his notes until she was out of the room. “Where was I? Okay, here I am. Let’s back just a minute up, Mr. Golding. You said you agreed to…to do what he wanted you to do.”

  Golding’s jaw muscles tightened. “I had to. He said he was going to hurt Emily, to…to cut off one of her breasts.”

  “I understand that. It’s a good thing you went along with him, because the man who was here last night is a killer who would have had no compunction about carrying through on his threat.”

  “And he said if I rushed him, he’d shoot her. But the gun was only a pellet gun. And it wasn’t even loaded. He left it here, left it right on my chest, and it was a pellet gun that wasn’t even loaded.”

  “But you couldn’t have known that at the time. All you saw was a gun at your wife’s head. You did the right thing. Okay, so he unzipped his own pants, is that what you told me?”

  “Yeah, that’s what happened.”

  “Did he pull down his underwear, too?”

  “Jesus, do we really have to talk about this anymore?”

  “I’m sorry, I really am, but I have a few more questions. I’ll be as brief as I can be. So did you pull—”

  “No, I didn’t pull down his shorts. He pulled his fucking dick through the flap in his underwear. They were boxers, I think, or boxer-briefs maybe, and he pulled his prick out through the flap.”

  Spader nodded. “Okay, so then you…took it in your mouth and…”

  “I had it in my mouth, and the fucker thrust his hips a couple of times, then he pulled it out and pushed it back into his pants with his free hand, the one without the gun. It was only in there, in my mouth, for a few seconds. Five, maybe ten at the most. Felt like a fucking lifetime, though.”

  Spader scribbled something in his notebook.

  “Mr. Golding, this is a really tough question to ask, but is there any chance that he left behind any hair?”

  “You mean in my mouth? Jesus!”

  “Perhaps you spit one out after. Or pulled it out of your mouth. Anything like that?”

  Golding stared out the window over Spader’s shoulder. The muscles in his square jaw tightened. “No. No hair.”

  And no goddamn DNA evidence, Spader thought. “Okay, here’s another tough one, Mr. Golding. Do you think you’d remember his penis if you ever saw it again? I hope you never have to, but if we need you to identify a suspect by viewing—”

  “I had my eyes closed most of the time, Detective.”

  “Of course.” He called out, “Mrs. Golding, I have a question or two for you now.”

  She appeared immediately in the doorway, a glass of iced tea in hand. She crossed the room and handed it to Spader, who took a sip even though he wasn’t the least bit thirsty. She sat next to her husband and laid her hand on top of his, which was resting on the sofa beside him. He slid his hand out from beneath hers.

  “What happened after the intruder told you to stand back up, Mr. Golding?”

  “He sat down again. He kept the gun to Emily’s head the whole time. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t make a move on him because he had that gun right at her head. I thought it had bullets in it. Real bullets. I mean, why wouldn’t I think that?”

  “Anyone would have thought the same,” Spader said. “Anyone would have believed he’d have ma
de good on his threat if you didn’t do what he said, that he’d kill Mrs. Golding if you attacked him, or mutilate her if you refused to do what he wanted.”

  Golding shook his head. “I mean, originally he said either I’d have to die or Emily would, and I would have chosen that it be me in a heartbeat, I would have, but then he changed it and it was either Emily or…or…”

  “I know,” Spader said. “I understand. Now please, tell me what happened after he sat down again.”

  Golding told the story, and his wife supplemented it, and what they said was that Galaxo told them he had to leave a message for someone and it had to be written in blood. He apologized, saying he hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone tonight, he’d already done what he came to do, but he really had to leave that message, and it had to be in blood. Galaxo said he wasn’t going to volunteer his own blood, and seeing as Emily was busy kneeling on the floor with a gun to her head, the choice was either wake up little Danny and take his blood, or Golding would have to supply it. Without moving the gun from Emily’s head, and without taking his eyes from Golding, Galaxo leaned to his left, into a small gym bag sitting on the floor beside the recliner, which Golding hadn’t noticed before, and pulled out a hunting knife with a six-inch blade. He tossed it to Golding, who caught it without cutting himself, which seemed immaterial as soon as Galaxo ordered him to cut himself with it, deep enough to draw a nice amount of blood. Golding cut his palm—Spader looked down at the bandage around his left hand—and, at Galaxo’s instruction, dipped his right index finger into the pool of blood in his hand and wrote a message on the wall above the television. Then he flicked a playing card to Golding and had him use the knife to pin it to the wall beneath the message. Spader looked up to where it still read, in crude, thickly drawn reddish-brown letters, “Are my new tricks hard to swallow?” Just beneath those words was a slit in the wall where a jack of spades had been held in place by the knife.