Seven Ways to Die

  “Yes, sir,” she teased, pretending she hadn’t spotted the culprit that was causing his shy response. “Off to the sauna with you.”

  She waited for him to wrap himself with the towel, then led him to the door to the sauna, which she’d turned on while he was sipping his wine. “It’s good for you to—“

  “—sweat out the stink,” he interrupted her, remembering his childhood on the reservation.

  To his disappointment, she closed the sauna door after him, leaving him in the dark room wishing she had joined him there.

  When he was dressed again and at the front door, Amelie stood on her tiptoes to give him a chaste kiss good-night. “Good body,” she said. “Take care of it for me.”

  38

  Wednesday, October 31

  Halloween

  It was shortly after midnight that the tipsy trio arrived back at Hamilton’s E. 59th Street penthouse. Patricia was hesitating. “Can I just watch?” she ventured.

  “Sure,” Victoria responded. “Just don’t be embarrassed. Free yourself.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “We’re good friends. Anytime you want to join in just say so,” Ward said. “Liberate yourself.”

  “Okay…”

  They moved closer, stood in a tight group, the two women facing Hamilton.

  He took out a joint and lit up, taking a deep hit and holding it. Then he moved toward Victoria and pressed against her.

  She moved her hips against him as he kissed her and exhaled while she inhaled.

  Victoria closed her eyes and held the smoke in as he put his hands against her cheeks and pulled her even closer to him. They swiveled against each other slightly as she slowly exhaled.

  Ward moved his hands up. His thumbs caressed her nipples, teasing them even harder.

  “Um,” Victoria said, looking into Patricia’s eyes. “Go under…”

  He slid his hands under her blouse and stroked her breasts as she took another hit, held it, and leaned back to allow him to slip her chemise off.

  Patricia watched intently, her breath beginning to come harder as Victoria leaned back and Hamilton kissed her breasts and sucked her nipples.

  “Sure you don’t want a hit?” he asked Patricia.

  She hesitated.

  He slipped Victoria’s skirt off and took another hit. Victoria was wearing black, see-through panties. Her thick hair curled over the top of them and around the tight-fitting crotch. As Hamilton leaned in and kissed her again, exhaling, she slipped his pants off. His cock was getting hard. Victoria pressed against it as she twisted slightly, rubbing their nipples together.

  Patricia was getting very hot, her enormous dark nipples straining against her silk blouse. Victoria reached over, pulled her closer to them. Patricia could feel Hamilton’s leg against her crotch. “Okay, I’ll try,” she stammered.

  Hamilton took a long hit, turned to Patricia and standing tight against her pressed his now full hard-on against her pussy through her skirt. Then he kissed her.

  Her mouth was wet and it was a deep kiss. He exhaled into her mouth and reached up and ran his thumbs against the sides of her full breasts, stroking them but careful not to touch the nipples. She turned slightly, maneuvering for his fingers to rub her steel-hard nipples. Patricia’s exhale was a sensuous groan.

  Hamilton placed the joint between her lips again. This time as she inhaled he slid her skirt off. Her white bikini panties were fluffed out from her silken, blonde hair. He slightly brushed her crotch with his cock, which was now fully erect.

  “Oh,” she gasped and exhaled into his mouth. She was trembling slightly. Ward deftly slid her blouse off. Her breasts were large, very firm, the nipples standing up like blackberries for him to relish one after the other while pressing his cock more tightly against her. He slid one hand over her ass and turned back to Victoria.

  She was breathing hard too, her perfect hard breasts swelling.

  Ward offered her the next hit.

  Victoria took the hit, stepped back and began to stroke his cock as he slid his free hand between her legs and caressed her.

  Patricia watched, her breathing even harder.

  Victoria was moving her ass as Hamilton stroked it. He slid his hands between her legs from behind. She lifted up slightly until his middle finger found her asshole through her panties. She exhaled into Hamilton’s mouth. He continued to move his cock against her hand.

  Victoria licked her fingers and slid them under his shorts.

  He licked his hand and slid it under her panties, pulling them down.

  Patricia stared down at their hands, saw Ward’s caressing Victoria’s clit. She was transfixed by Hamilton’s cock, which was now its full seven inches and rock-hard. She could hear the liquid sounds from Victoria’s pussy as Hamilton began to masturbate her while she did the same for him.

  Hamilton took another deep hit, turned to Patricia, exhaled into her mouth and moved his hand around to find her clit, moist and throbbing under her panties. Gently his finger stroked it.

  With his other hand he continued to masturbate Victoria who was now breathing aloud and grinding against his hand.

  Patricia began to do the same, synching her groans with Victoria’s. She slid her panties down as she kissed Hamilton, and then looked down to observe all three of their organs throbbing in unison.

  Patricia added her hand to Victoria’s on Ward’s cock while he continued to caress them both.

  “Oh God,” Patricia groaned. Her legs were trembling. She felt the drop of come at the end of his cock and her hand began to pinch the corona to hold him back.

  Victoria was humping now, thrusting her swollen clit against Hamilton’s wet hand. Patricia imitated her motion.

  “Oh Jesus, it’s coming,” Victoria said, moving faster.

  Hamilton turned to her, took Patricia’s hand and guided it to press his cock between Victoria’s legs.

  Now he was stroking Patricia hard. She gasped as she guided his cock against Victoria’s cunt.

  “It’s coming…” Victoria stammered.

  Groaning again, Patricia pressed herself hard against Hamilton’s hand and hunched against it while probing Victoria’s clit with Ward’s cock.

  They were all trembling now.

  “Me too,” Patricia stammered. “Oh God, me too.”

  “Who wants it first?” Hamilton whispered.

  Patricia couldn’t say the words. She was mesmerized by their simultaneous movement, by this dance she had never danced before.

  Victoria reached down to the base of Ward’s cock, pushed it toward Patricia’s cunt.

  Ward felt Victoria teasing Patricia’s clit with it, faster and faster until Patricia reached behind him, grabbing both cheeks of his ass.

  He pressed his finger against her asshole as he continued to masturbate her with his cock, his other hand still wildly stroking Victoria.

  “Oh God, I’m coming,” Victoria yelled, “I’m coming, baby. Fuck her, fuck her. Oh yeah, oh yeah!”

  In a single smooth movement, Hamilton shoved himself inside Patricia. As they merged together, Victoria pressed her breasts against them spreading her legs wide to take in Ward’s hand.

  As Ward’s cock entered her fully, Patricia screamed with delight, coming again and again.

  With Ward’s hand inside her, Victoria’s orgasm was continuous. Her screams and moans were in harmony with Patricia’s.

  Victoria’s back arched. “NOW!” she cried, as Ward thrust again deep into Patricia, leaning forward so his cock rode high inside her swollen, wet, cunt.

  Her eyes locked with Victoria’s, Patricia was groaning like a wild animal. “There,” she screamed. “That’s it. Right there!”

  He felt the little curl deep inside her and kept riding her until her cunt was throbbing, squeezing his cock with each orgasm.

  “C-c-coming, c-c-coming, oh, OH! Oh yes, you did it!”

  Hamilton felt his cock throbbing as it thrust deep into Patricia’s orgasm. “Here it comes,” h
e cried.

  “Yes,” Patricia cried out. “Come inside me. Right now!”

  But Ward pulled out of her, and in one smooth motion twirled Victoria around, bent her against the white sofa, and roughly entered her.

  Victoria grunted with pleasure, wiggling against him until he was buried deep inside her perfect ass.

  Patricia sobbed in disappointment, and moved around in front of Victoria, pressing her cunt to where Victoria could reach it with her lips. As Ward frantically fucked her ass, Victoria’s tongue brought Patricia, who was arching her back in delirious pleasure, to one orgasm after another in a primal rhythm worthy of Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring.”

  “Again,” he cried out. “AGAIN!” And he continued the pounding until they all achieved a simultaneous triple orgasm.

  Then, with a chorus of grunts and cries and whimpers, it was over.

  The disentanglement began. Patricia’s glazed eyes began to focus. She looked around, frightened, as though in disbelief at what she’d participated in. She reached for the floor to retrieve her panties.

  “Let me,” Victoria said, snagging the sheer white material and using it like a slingshot to sting Patricia’s face.

  “Ow!” Patricia cried. “Why did you do that?”

  “Just for fun,” Victoria said.

  “Yeah, we’re kinda weird that way,” Hamilton agreed. He took her by the hand and led her toward a piece of furniture in the middle of his den that was covered with a red chenille throw. Victoria whipped the throw off—to reveal the old-fashioned barber’s chair. “Sit here for a minute. The best part is yet to come,” Hamilton said, planting Patricia firmly in the chair.

  Suddenly Patricia realized the fun was over.

  “The fun has just begun,” Victoria said, cuffing Patricia’s legs to separate legs of the chair.

  Before Patricia could open her mouth to protest Ward had slipped her brassiere into her mouth, and tied it firmly behind her head.

  Now her eyes were wide open with fear. What were they going to do to her?

  “Sorry to use your own underwear for this, dear,” Victoria was saying. “But I never wear one myself.” She thrust her chest out proudly, to display the firmness of her breasts that showed no trace of sagging.

  Hamilton held her down until Victoria finished with her legs. Then she moved to Patricia’s arms, handcuffing them at the wrists to separate arms of the chair.

  “Now we can finish off the book,” Hamilton said, watching with satisfaction as Patricia thrashed and writhed in vain trying to free herself. But the tapes were strong and the chair was firmly riveted to the floor.

  “Better get some shut-eye, buttercup,” Victoria said to Hamilton.

  He nodded. “I agree. Tonight’s the night.”

  “And it’s going to be a busy one.”

  The fear in Patricia’s eyes turned to terror as she saw Hamilton lean down, twist a dial beneath the chair.

  Then the ticking began.

  39

  Cody slept like a log. Charley nearly had to drag him from the bed in time for their routine rendezvous with Waldo at the diner.

  While Charley continued working the lamb shank Waldo had generously provided, Cody opened the Melinda Cramer file, which was still on his desk from Monday. In the middle of breakfast he realized he was one hundred percent certain that he’d found the key to the Rubik’s cube that was TAZ’s current challenge. He called Vinnie and Si into the office, and told them to make five copies of the file—for them, and also Rizzo, Bergman, and Kate to comb through looking for similarities with Androg. “Get me a list of her effects, too,” he said. “Every stitch of clothes she could have worn that night, and everything except the furniture that was found in her apartment.”

  An hour later the crew squeezed into his office to report their unanimous opinion that Melinda’s murder had Androg written all over it. The list of her effects would take longer to retrieve, but there was no doubt: She was found naked. Death by strangulation, but made to look like blunt trauma so that the coroner missed it entirely until Cody had demanded a reexamination.

  Was Melinda Number One instead of Raymond, after all? That’s what they wanted him to believe. But he still had the same feeling he’d expressed to Amelie. If she was Number One, why had it taken Androg two years to strike again? Then why had he struck two more victims in so few days? Something didn’t quite add up, but Cody could sense, like the hunter he was, that they were at least approaching the right trail. Maybe it took Androg two years to plan this week’s killings, starting with choosing the victims and then making sure they were taken out, one by one, and executed like clockwork.

  Two years. Twenty-four months.

  Cody looked at the file again. Melinda died shortly after midnight, having returned from a Halloween rave.

  Tonight was Halloween night.

  Δ

  As neat as a good plot.Or a well-written crime book.

  But writers weren’t the real artists when it came to murder; they were just the critics, the aficionados.

  Serial killers were the maestros, the true artists of the medium. Cody was pretty certain who he was up against.

  But he knew damn well he couldn’t reveal his suspicions without solid evidence. He’d be the laughingstock of NYPD if he confided who he thought Androg was. He would bide his time, awaiting his break, but now with the assistance of selective perception. He knew what he was looking for, and that would make it all the easier to find. He would do a little medical background check.

  Around nine Wolfsheim reported that Song’s blood count was 97.2. “While you were dancing with the fat cats last night, I was working,” Wolfsheim couldn’t resist the barb.

  That meant Song was dead less than six hours when they located her. “You won’t be surprised to hear that the odor Rizzo thought was cyanide and the brown powder found on her lips and in her mouth was an intentional misdirect. The powder was applied to Song’s lips after she was dead already—and it smelled like “burnt almonds” because it was burnt almonds.

  Androg had gone to the trouble of bringing the misleading evidence along just for the sake of putting icing on the cake.

  Plus, there was no trace of the Excedrin—which was not laced with anything—in her system. The partially empty bottle was another misdirect.

  Cody was getting impatient with Wolfsheim’s overly deliberate rhetorical style. “I know you found something, Wolfie,” he interrupted. “Get to it, Goddamit. The son of a bitch is out there right now preparing the next victim for us.”

  Wolfsheim grunted his acknowledgement. “When we started shaving her skull,” he said, “we found a single gunshot wound—entry on the back of her head.”

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Cody said. “She was shot?”

  Wolfsheim nodded.

  “What caliber?”

  “I’d say .22 judging from the size of the entry wound. But it’s impossible to tell. There was no bullet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The damage to her brain made it clear the gunshot wound is what killed her—fired at point blank range, but through some kind of cloth—probably surgical gauze—which is why we found no trace of blood on her hair at first examination. Though we didn’t find the bullet, we found an ounce of water in her brain. The bullet was made of ice.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Cody said. “Who else knows about this?”

  “No one except Annie,” Wolfsheim said.

  “Let’s keep it that way for a few minutes. We’ve got a leak somewhere and I need to plug it before we go back to normal procedure.”

  “You think it’s inside TAZ?” Wolfsheim asked, surprise in his voice.

  “I sure as hell hope not,” Cody replied. “That’d be enough for me to hand in my badge.” His thoughts went to the Chief’s office, and that didn’t make him happy either.

  As if by response, the black phone on Cody’s desk rang. When he glanced at the caller i.d., he nodded for Wolfsheim to stay.

/>   “I found Number Three,” Stinelli said.

  “What?”

  “On a hunch, I called Philadelphia P.D. this morning early and asked about the details of Steamroller Jackson’s death. The investigating officer just called me back. Jackson was found in an alley, slumped against a wall—naked.”

  “Sitting down?” Cody asked.

  “Yes,” Stinelli answered.

  “Cause of death?” Cody asked, punching Stinelli onto speakerphone so Wolfsheim could hear.

  “They wrote it off to a heart attack induced by drugs and alcohol overdose,” the Chief answered. “The poor guy had been homeless for two years, and was a familiar face to the cops on the beat. I asked them to do an autopsy. They still have him in the morgue, waiting for a distant family member to claim him.”

  “I want to be there,” Cody said.

  “Me too,” said Wolfsheim.

  “I’m pulling up outside right now,” Stinelli said. “Bring your coffee… In spill-proof mugs, please.”

  Δ

  Cody and Wolfsheim both liked their coffee scalding hot, so neither dared a sip until they were onto the Turnpike. When Wolfsheim grumbled about the city’s potholes, that seemed especially treacherous on the West Side, Stinelli cut him short. “What would you rather have, smooth streets or extra cops?” he asked.

  Nothing to argue about there.

  When the Chief asked about the case, Cody asked him to close the courtesy window.

  Stinelli’s eyebrows went up, but he pushed the button.

  “Can’t be too careful,” Cody said. “That bastard Hamilton has inside information, and I don’t think he’s getting it from our side.”

  “For chrissakes,” Stinelli said, “Berno’s been with me for fifteen years.”