The Straw Men 3-Book Thriller Collection: The Straw Men, The Lonely Dead, Blood of Angels

‘Serial killers,’ he said, and at that the man in the coat looked up. ‘Just fan sites. Pages of stuff about guys who kill, laboriously typed up by dweebs without the ambition to become real dangers to society.’

‘Could you show me the first page again?’ the woman asked.

He shook his head. ‘It’s gone. I checked back when I was done looking at fuzzy pictures of wackos. File no longer on the server, presumably moved somewhere else.’

‘You didn’t bookmark the pages it linked to?’

Bobby shrugged. ‘I didn’t see any reason to. All I had was guys with paranoid delusions and a hard-on for serial killers.’

‘It’s a leak,’ the coat guy said, handing the papers back to the woman. ‘Fan sites is right. That’s all this is. Somehow The Delivery Boy’s real name got out, and some psycho wannabe has set this shit up using his name. An interactive experience for people who want to drool over killer stats, complete with spooky moving site address. The net is full of this shit. Cannibal clubs slung up by fucks who can’t earn a five-star badge working at McDonald’s.’

I stared at him: ‘The Delivery Boy?’

‘That’s what the press called the man we’re looking for.’

‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘You’re still looking for that guy?’

‘And will be until he’s dead. Nina, I’m going for a cigarette. Then I suggest we head back to civilization.’

He got up and walked out of the room.

‘He means “apprehended”,’ the woman said, quietly, after he was gone. ‘Apprehended is what he meant.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Bobby said. ‘You ask me, that’s someone who needs keeping on a very tight lead.’

‘What’s the deal with these Straw Men?’ she said.

‘Tell her, Bobby,’ I said, standing up.

‘Take it very easy,’ Bobby said, pointing a finger at me. ‘And remember what I just said.’

I left them and walked out into the lobby. I could see the guy in the coat standing a few yards outside the main doors.

‘You got a cigarette?’

He looked at me for a long moment, then reached into his pocket. When I was lit, we stood in silence for a while.

‘You’re that cop, aren’t you?’ I asked eventually. He didn’t reply. ‘Right?’

‘I was a cop,’ he said. ‘Not any more.’

‘Maybe so. But I was living in San Diego at the time. I read the news. There was one cop in particular, someone who was supposed to be a serial killer hotshot. Didn’t catch him, then dropped out of sight. That would be you, I’m thinking.’

‘Seems like you remember a lot about the case,’ he said. ‘Sure you don’t have a vested interest? Maybe you’re looking to see how many fans you got. Checking you’re still a celebrity.’

‘You thought I was him, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. So don’t jerk me around.’

He took a last drag of his cigarette, and then flicked it across the lot. ‘So what are you doing?’

‘I’m looking for the people who killed my parents,’ I said.

He looked at me. ‘These The Straw Men you mentioned?’

‘I think so. What I don’t know is if they’re connected to the man you’re looking for.’

‘They’re not,’ he said, glaring out across the lot. ‘This whole thing is bullshit and a waste of time we don’t have.’

‘Your friend doesn’t seem to think so. Frankly, I don’t care. But it seems to me that inside that hotel we’ve got two people who are connected to law enforcement agencies. Who can get things done. On the other hand, we’ve got you and me, who are currently connected to dick. We can stand outside and piss into each other’s tents, or we can see where this leads and try not to get too much in each other’s faces.’

He thought a moment. ‘Good enough.’

‘So what’s your name, dude?’

‘John Zandt.’

‘Ward Hopkins,’ I said, and we shook on it, and walked back into the hotel.

At the door to the restaurant my cell phone went off. I waved Zandt on and ducked back into the lobby.

I paused a second before hitting the connect button, trying to work out the right way to sound to an old guy who was running scared. I couldn’t work out how that might be. All I could do was listen to what he had to say. And not shout at him, probably.

I answered the call and listened, but it wasn’t him. I had a brief conversation, and then thanked someone. I put my phone away.

When I walked into the restaurant they were all sitting round the table, Zandt more in the loop this time. The woman looked up at me, but it was to Bobby that I spoke.

‘Just got a call,’ I said.

‘Lazy Ed?’

‘No. Girl from the hospital.’

‘Yeah, and, so?’

‘She spent the afternoon yesterday chasing down records.’

‘You must have really made an impression.’ I didn’t reply, so he added: ‘You going to tell what she found?’

‘She traced both my parents back to their hometowns,’ I said. ‘Neither of which were the ones I had been given to believe.’

My voice was a little cracked. Zandt turned round to look at me.

‘I didn’t get as far as this bit,’ Bobby said. ‘But there’s a sibling Ward’s parents didn’t get around to telling him about.’

‘I don’t think they really told me much at all. Much that was true, anyhow.’ I was aware of the woman’s eyes still on me; that, and how Hunter’s Rock and everything I had thought I’d known now seemed like a favourite story I had been read, time and time again, but of which I could now remember only the title.

‘What is it?’ the woman asked.

‘My mother couldn’t have children.’