PROLOGUE
| HE LIT A cigarette and looked down the hallway, past unmarked doors and the stark interior to the door leading to the cells of Kinross Correctional Facility. He only had about a few weeks to find out what it was he'd come here to do so, and he was determined to do just that. For in about that period of time the person he wished to speak with would be gone, downstate to Marquette or Jackson, where he belonged. The overcrowding of these prisons was the reason for the delay. After several moments he saw a policeman coming his way, looking through a folder. He reached out and took his arm. The policeman stopped and looked at him.
"I'm looking for a file on someone you got here," he said. "So what?" the cop said. "Hey, who let you in here? You should be--" The man flashed a badge. "Detective Jaime Watts. I'm investigating the homicides downstate. Perhaps you've heard." "Yeah, we have," the cop replied. "What exactly are you looking for?" "A file on one of your prisoners." The cop snorted. "Listen, pal, we don't have time for people to come in here all the time asking for information like that. What makes you think one of our inmates would know anything about murders going on seventy-five miles away?" "Because," Detective Watts replied, "these murders follow the same pattern as his." The cop was silent for a moment, then continued on to his office and turned around a computer screen. "Who you looking for?" "His name's Broderick. Luther Broderick," Watts said, following him in. The cop looked up at him. "You've got to be kidding me." Watts shook his head. The cop sighed but typed in a few words and waited. A file flashed onto the screen. The cop turned the computer screen to face him. "Here it is. Not too pretty though." Watts knew that already. In fact, he knew the charges by heart. Luther Broderick, convicted serial killer, involved in Satanism, and charged with--at least, as now investigators were revealing more--seven counts of murder, five counts of attempted murder, four counts of arson, and six counts of rape. Most people thought he was crazy--even the brother of one of his victims--and said even if Michigan had a death penalty, he shouldn't get it. Instead he'd received a life sentence. It was a miracle that he'd even been caught. The police had been after him for eight years, and had little hope of ever catching him or any in his following of fanatics, until a near-disastrous face-off at their hidden compound. They'd thought that it would all be over once he was snagged and in prison. But Watts knew they were wrong, dead wrong; for someone out there remembered. "Where're you keeping him?" he asked, barely looking at the file, except to stare at the computer image for a moment. "Solitary confinement," the cop replied. "What for?" He shrugged. "For his record, I suppose. He's the most notorious guy we got here. The security isn't too good for the likes of him, and we all figured he was pretty good at getting out of tight places since it's been eight years, you know--so we put him there." "Does he ever cause any trouble?" "Him? Nah. No trouble at all. At least not the way we expected. Every time one of the guards goes to bring him his food he just sits there and stares at you like looks could kill. Doesn't say a word, doesn't try to escape. We had him in cuffs and manacles when we brought him in but he never even struggled. Bizarre guy." "Do you think I could talk with him?" "I don't know; he's probably sleeping now. He's weird that way; he seems to like to sleep during the day and stay awake at night. Kinda like a vampire." He laughed at the irony. "And even if he is awake, I really don't think he'd be in the talking mood. He's exercised his right to remain silent quite well--he hasn't said a word since we brought him in, and he didn't say a peep at the trials either." "I'd like to try and talk with him if possible." The cop sighed. "It'll get you nowhere," he said, but paged another section of the prison. "Hey, Loris?" he called. "Got some detective guy here wants to talk to Broderick." "Broderick?" a voice answered. "Who wants to talk with him?" "Like I told you, a detective! Just let him in. It's not like anything'll come of it." "Yeah, sure," the voice replied. The barred door behind the cop slid open. He gestured towards it. "There you are. Go talk to him. But I'll be damned if the crazy bastard says a peep to you." "Thanks," Watts replied, entering the hallway. It was a long walk to the end where he saw a big white door marked SOLITARY CONFINEMENT: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. A paper was posted underneath. The first words Watts saw were BRODERICK, LUTHER and a serial number, followed by all of the things he already knew. After all, he had written the report on this guy, though few of the cops knew that. A policewoman got up from where she was seated on a stool next to the door, getting out her keychain and unlocking it for him. She peered through the tiny window near the top of the door, then opened it slightly. "He's awake. Go on in." Watts did so, turning to see the door close behind him and hear the sound of it being locked again. It didn't make him the least bit nervous. After all, what could he do? He turned back to view the room, which was dim. For some reason the light was out. He shrugged it off. Maybe Broderick liked it that way. He scanned the length of the room, at first unable to make out anything but a bed, but then he could barely see two gleaming eyes staring at him from the shadows. As his own eyes became accustomed to the dark he could see their owner, silently giving him a cold stare. "How you doin'," Watts said, not meaning it to be answered. Luther didn't reply anyway. Watts lit another cigarette, shaking out the match and letting it drop to the floor. Luther's eyes followed it, then returned to the detective. "Don't worry. It'd only cause a fire. It's water you're worried about." Watts glanced at the prisoner, then continued as if he'd gotten a response. "Oh, I know about that. I know all about you. Hell, I wrote the book on you. So don't let it get to you any." He walked slowly around the room, which was devoid of any other furniture other than a small stool which he placed his foot upon. From here he eyed Luther coolly. "So this is where you finally end up," he said. "Nice place, isn't it?" He gave a bitter smile. "Better than any death penalty. You're lucky Michigan doesn't have a death penalty. Personally I think that's kinda too bad." He looked right into Broderick's eyes and Luther looked back, as if they were having a stare-down. Watts knew Luther would win but that didn't bother him either; he'd known all along that it was useless to engage in any kind of contest with Luther since there was small chance of the competitor winning. "Betcha thought you'd never get caught. Huh? I bet you thought that all along. Did you? Did you?" Again, no reply. He may as well have been a bug crawling on the wall in Luther's eyes. Watts smiled again and stood up straight. "Of course you did. That's serial killer mentality. You think you're invincible. No one can touch you. You'll always be safe, doing what you enjoy doing. Well, I got something to tell you, friend." leaning over again, "I'm gonna make sure that you ain't safe. No, not even behind these walls. Not even in your little steel cage or your little padded room. As long as I'm around you'll never be safe. And you don't show it but I know that deep down somewhere you're just a little bit scared of that. Don't deny it." He moved so his face was just inches away from Broderick's, so he could reach right out and touch him should he want to. "I'm going to make sure you never make it out of here alive. All of those things you did to other people? I'm gonna do the same thing to you. Only worse. When I'm through with you not even your own mother will recognize you. What've you go tot say to that, Pretty Boy? Or should I call you Loony Luther? That's what everyone else around here calls you. Loony Luther. What do you think of that?" Dead silence. Only that and Luther's icy stare in response. Watts stood back up to go out but as he did so he could barely see Broderick's mouth start to move. He stopped, and turned back to hear what he had to say. Three little words greeted him. "Go to hell," Luther whispered in a hiss. Watts smiled crookedly again. "I'll meet you there first," he replied, before knocking on the door and leaving the room. Only one was inside to watch it close again and lock before silence once more filled the room. |
CONTINUE
LUTHER
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