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I was reading my email and contemplating a nap when Arnie called. I was dressed in jeans and had gotten my gear together earlier, so I took off immediately. I missed my handy black outfit, but it wasn't appropriate for daytime work. I had my thin black gloves. Like most of my breaking and entering, I wanted this visit to go undetected, and I didn't plan to leave fingerprints around.
Getting inside was easy. I walked right up to the front door and had the old lock open in about the same time it would take someone to use a key. Since most of the street’s residents were either at work or staying inside out of the uncomfortable afternoon sun, there was no one out and about to observe my actions. At first glance, I was sure it would be easy to toss the whole place in a lot less time than I had allowed myself. I began in the living room and worked my way back. After going through the living room, kitchen, dining nook, a bathroom, and two small bedrooms, I'd found nothing. The inside of the house was filled with useful built-ins and had a charm that newer construction rarely provided, but I hadn't found any information proving Devon had committed murder.
According to Arnie, the man didn't go anywhere except the cemetery. Convinced I must be missing something, I walked through the house again and ended up standing in the kitchen, beginning to believe there really was no incriminating evidence to find. I'd used up one full hour of my two-hour time limit. I did one more walk-through before giving up. So once more I looked in all the cabinets. I even checked out the refrigerator and stove. Next, I opened the small closet that was probably once a broom closet but had been converted to a pantry. This time, when I glanced at the floor, I saw a small metal ring embedded in the wood. When I reached down and gave it a tug, a section of the floor lifted easily, exposing stairs to a cellar. No wonder I hadn't found it before. Houses in Arizona didn't have basements. Either this neighborhood was the exception, or this feature had been added later.
Fishing my small flashlight out of my pack, I started down the stairs, assuming I would find some kind of light at the bottom because there hadn't been a switch at the top. When I realized I was expecting to find some kind of kill room, I knew I'd been watching too much TV. I finally found a light switch at the bottom of the stairs. What I discovered when the room brightened was every bit as astounding as the things I’d been imagining and was a kill room of sorts. Every wall was covered with huge glass cases. Each case was individually lit, and the overhead lights were blindingly bright. All the cases were filled with insects of every size, shape, and color. Each one was skewered on its little pin, and each one had a small tag listing all the information you'd expect to find attached to museum specimens. As well as being a killer, Devon Cantwell was also a damn fine entomologist. The insect collection there was scientifically handled, but the overall effect was creepy.
Besides the insects, there were jars of liquid filled with strange creatures and stacks of hand-drawn bug pictures that looked more science fiction than science. Expensive equipment nearly covered the work counter. I wound my way around the display cases, giving each one a cursory exam. In the last case I found the evidence of murder I’d been searching for, but it wasn't the journal or plan book I'd been hoping for. Instead, the case contained something Devon had taken from each of the people he had killed. At the top of the case pinned in the middle of a large gold star was a photograph of Judy, and below that, also with little explanatory tags, was an item taken from each of the victims. There was everything from a watch to an ear, and each tag listed everything from the date of the killing to the victim’s name. This display was some kind of sick memorial to his sister. I was snapping pictures with my phone when I became conscious of footsteps on the floor above. Checking my watch, I saw Devon shouldn't have arrived home for at least another fifteen minutes. I'd stayed longer than I planned, but I should have still been safe. Obviously, I was not.
I wouldn't die down here if I had to wait for the next time Devon left the house, but there was no chance he would go that long without visiting his underground lab. From the kill jars full of insects waiting to be pinned, I knew he'd show up soon. Up the stairs and through the kitchen to the back door was the only feasible way out. I'd never make it out of the cellar unseen, let alone clear across the house to the front door. I could hide, or I could think of some way to subdue him when he came downstairs. Neither plan seemed like a good one. Believing I'd have the place to myself while I searched, I hadn't brought my stun gun or pistol, so I quietly began pulling open drawers, looking for something to use as a weapon. I had my knife, but I didn't want to kill the man. I just wanted to put him in jail. I found nothing I thought would be helpful and was about to take off my shirt to soak in formaldehyde, thinking I could use that to knock him out, when I saw a stack of files in the drawer I'd just opened. They were labeled with the names of all the people that had been in the restaurant the day Judy had been killed. Pushing everything else from my mind, I began taking pictures of every page in the folders. Fortunately, they only contained five or six pages each.
I was on the last file with only four pages to go when I heard a distant bell. Recognizing it as the doorbell, I knew this could be my only chance to escape. I would try to duck out the back while Devon was busy answering the door at the front of the house. Quickly snapping the last four pages, I climbed the stairs, clambered out into the closet, and eased open the door. I could hear Devon and someone talking. To my surprise, the other voice was Arnie's, giving Devon some off-the-wall sales pitch. He must have realized I was trapped and needed a diversion. That man was definitely worth his exorbitant fee. In a flash I was out the back door and on the way to my car. Maybe, thanks to Arnie, I'd achieved my goal of keeping Devon from knowing he'd had a visitor in his lab.
As eager as I was to transfer the information I'd found to my computer, print it, and begin reading, I took the time to check my phone messages first. The only one that needed a return call was John. He must have been bored at home because he answered right away. When I asked him what was up, he said, “Not a lot. I wanted to let you know all the players in the prostitution ring have now been arrested. As expected, they have lawyered up big time, but the prosecutor isn't worried. He's sure that they have more than enough to get a conviction.”
“That's good news. Are you looking forward to going back to work next week?”
“More than you might think. I left several things unfinished before I got kidnapped. I also wanted to let you know the police picked up your client's BMW this morning. Naturally, it had been stripped bare by the locals, but there was still enough blood on the ground that they are trying to figure out what happened. The car was registered to some big corporation, but when the police contacted them, they swore they didn't have any idea who had been driving the car. At this point, the police have no leads.”
“That's just as well, I suppose. I'd like to know who the shooter was, though. Somebody owes me the price of some car repairs, and I don't like being that close to flying bullets.”
“I hear that, but since there was no evidence left at the scene proving there had ever been a shooting other than some blood, they don't have much to go on.”
“I guess you're right. Hey, I've been meaning to ask you what you know about a guy named Devon Cantwell?”
I was curious to know what he would say because we still hadn't talked about his serial killer, and I hoped he was ready to tell me about it. I was surprised by his answer.
He said, “I definitely know the name. At one time, I suspected him in some murders I was investigating, but I gave that up when it turned out he had an alibi. Why do you ask?”
Obviously, that was all he was willing to share at the moment, so I said, “No special reason. A friend mentioned him to me the other night, and I wondered what kind of guy he is.”
I was sure he hadn't believed my lame explanation, but John let the subject go without any further questions. This was his normal way of keeping information to himself that he didn't want to share. As soon as we hung up, I began downloading the pictures and paperwork I'd photographed. Most of the shots were decent, considering how rushed I'd been. Once I'd printed out the whole mess, I sat down for some heavy reading.
The first file I picked up wasn't about any one person. It contained random and disjointed notes on the people that had been in the Coffeehouse Café with Judy. There were long rants about how they had killed his sister. Some papers were ideas on how to track them down and some were lists of different ways to kill people. One of the most chilling things in this file was a handwritten page listing the pros and cons of killing John Perez because he was hunting for the murderer. I knew this page had to have been added recently because all the other items in this file were written before Devon had killed anyone. He could have only known about John once he'd begun his killing spree.
The rest of the files were each dedicated to one potential victim. They listed contact information and the preferred method for killing that intended victim. The last page in each file, on the people already dead, was a detailed description of the method used to kill them. If the police searched the man's house and found the original files, they would have more than enough to convict him of murder. I couldn't give them my copies since I hadn't obtained them legally. I considered calling John and giving him a heads-up on where to find the files, but did a little more investigating on my own first. If the police went looking and didn't find the files, it would be a warning to Devon that they suspected him. Also, I was sure John wasn't completely recovered and didn't want to put him in harm's way. The fact that John had told me Devon had some sort of fake alibi for at least some of the murders made it impossible to turn him over to the police yet. I needed to give some thought on how to put Devon in a situation where the police would have to arrest him. As long as Arnie was watching him, I could take the time I needed to formulate a plan without worrying about what he was up to.
This seemed like the perfect time for the nap I'd wanted earlier. Later, I planned to make the rounds of the clubs I visited regularly. I wanted to keep up my contacts. I couldn't afford to lose touch with what was happening around town. Using the name Tammy Carson, I kept in contact with a lot of people. It often required that I party three or four nights a week, but I didn't find that a hardship. I enjoyed it.