Sliders: Bloodline (3 of 4)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

Wade burst out of the shop by Arturo's side, barely able to contain herself. When they got onto the street that Wade thrust a fist into the air. "Yes! We got him! We got him on tape!"

"What are you talking about, Miss Welles?" Arturo asked.

Wade pulled the tape recorder out of her coat and thrust it into his face. "We got a confession. It's all here. All we need to do is send it to the police."

Arturo shook his head. "I would hardly call that a confession."
Wade's jaw hung open. "Oh, come on. All that stuff about wanting to feel something, a bloodlust. You telling me that didn't sound like the words of a killer?"

Arturo held out his hands again in a condescending gesture that really annoyed her. "All I am saying is that it would hardly hold up in court. You asked him a question. He answered it in a fairly insightful fashion. You cannot arrest someone for voicing an opinion."

Wade hurried to the cab idling at the curb. "Yeah, but with this, plus the knives and stuff in his shop, the cops would at least be pointed in the right direction."
She climbed in and leaned towards the driver. "Take us to the nearest police station, please."

Arturo climbed in. "Stop."

Wade glared at him. "What?"

"Remember our deal, Miss Welles," Arturo said. "We do not go to the police until we have solid, conclusive evidence. We cannot risk sending an innocent man to jail."

"Innocent? All right, fine." Wade shoved him out of the way, climbing over him to get out of the cab.

She walked briskly to a payphone. She flipped through a Yellow Pages bolted to it. When she found Lynch's name, Wade memorized the address, and headed back to the cab.
As she scooted into the backseat, Wade repeated the address, adding, "And step on it."

The driver nodded and sent the cab into traffic.

"Now where are we headed, Miss Welles?" Arturo asked.

The leather seat creaked underneath her as Wade settled back. "To Lynch's house."

"What?" Arturo yelled. "Are you insane?"

"Nope. You want proof? We'll get proof. And there's nowhere on Earth where there's more proof than in Lynch's own home."

Arturo threw up his hands as he slumped back in his seat. "This is ridiculous. I knew this excursion would get out of hand."

"Relax, professor. Everything's gonna be just fine." She hoped.
                         
* * *

The house looked calmer than Wade expected, a two-story in a quiet, peaceful neighborhood. Children played football on the street as the taxicab pulled up in front of Lynch's house.

"Interesting neighborhood," Arturo said as he climbed out of the cab. "Calm, friendly. Not the domicile of a killer."

"Yeah," Wade murmured. "That's what they always say about serial killers. 'He was so nice, so normal, so good with kids.' Then whack-whack, he chops their heads off."

She headed up the sidewalk to the front walk of the house. The freshly-painted gate opened to a walk with smooth pavement and a neatly-trimmed lawn. An arrangement of flowers rested on the front porch, casting a pleasant aroma into the air.

Wade stopped at the front door.

Arturo waited beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. "Well, Miss Welles? What is our next move in this little investigation?"

"We get in, we search the place, we get some evidence, and go to the police."

"And how do we do that?"

Wade pushed the doorbell. The pleasant chime rang through the house. "First, we make sure he's not home. Then, I pick the lock."

She got ready to get a couple of pins from her coat when a high voice emerged from inside the house.

"Just a minute," it said.

Wade froze. She looked at Arturo.

The front door clicked as locks disengaged. A woman opened the door, smiling at Wade and Arturo. She had a bowl of cake mix in one hand, and a wooden spoon in the other.

"Sorry," she said, "I'm baking. Can I help you with something?"

"Uh..." Wade looked up at Arturo, then back at the woman. She forced a smile. "Yeah, uh, hi. We're looking for Richard Lynch."

"I'm sorry, he's not home right now. But I'm his wife. Can I help you with something?"

Wade swallowed. She hadn't planned for this. "Uh, I think so. Um, actually, we'd like to talk to you. May we come in?"

Mrs. Lynch shrugged. "Sure, I guess. Come on."

She headed deeper into the house. Wade and Arturo held back, lingering in the doorway.

"You never told me he was married," Arturo whispered.

"He wasn't," Wade whispered back. "At least, not on the last world."

She headed deeper into the house, pleasantly decorated with an obvious woman's touch. The open drapes, allowed sunlight to fall into the living room. Wade thought she could detect the smell of potpourri and cookies, but none of the blood and rotting flesh she had expected.

Mrs. Lynch's voice emerged from the kitchen. "Make yourselves comfortable. I'll be out in a minute."

Wade sat down on the couch, sinking deep into the cushions. "Nice place."

Arturo took a seat next to her. "Yes, hardly what one would expect of a sociopath."

Wade bit her lip, struggling to think in the presence of the conflicting images in her mind. "Can a killer be married? I mean, can he be killing all these women and not be noticed by his own wife?"

"I'm not an expert on these matters." Arturo's eyes roamed the house. "I couldn't say. Are you having second thoughts, Miss Welles?"

"I guess I am. This isn't turning out the way I expected. Maybe Lynch isn't the killer, after all."

Mrs. Lynch stepped from the kitchen with a tray of sugar cookies. "I had some of these left over. Do you want some?"

"Uh, yes," Arturo said. "Thank you."

As he helped himself to some of the cookies, Mrs. Lynch sat down across from them. "So, are you friends of Richie?"

"No," Wade said. "Actually, we, um, can we ask you a few questions? About your husband?"

Mrs. Lynch crossed her legs. "Like what?"

"Has he been acting strange lately?"

Mrs. Lynch's smile flickered. "Strange? Like how?"

Wade gestured in the air, struggling to look casual. "Well, has he been doing anything unusual? Staying out late at night, doing odd things. I don't know. Just anything that makes you suspicious."

Mrs. Lynch's smile had collapsed into a firm line. "I don't know who you people are, but I'd like to know what you're implying."

Wade sighed. No point dancing around the issue. They didn't have time. "Okay, ma'am, we're concerned citizens who have reason to believe that your husband is the Golden Gate Killer."

Mrs. Lynch started to laugh, and then stopped. "Are...are you serious?"

"Quite," Arturo said. "Although, of course, we can't be absolutely sure."

Mrs. Lynch shook her head. "What makes you think my husband is a murderer?"

Wade winced. "It's, um...kind of complicated. But we would like to get your side of the story. Can you think of anything that might point in that direction?"

"No." Mrs. Lynch's mouth opened and closed a few times before saying, "Well, there is the basement."

Arturo stopped chewing. He spoke around the cookie in his mouth. "The basement?"

Mrs. Lynch rubbed her hands in a nervous gesture as she glanced into the hallway. "Yes. A few months ago, Richie gave me strict orders never to go into the basement. He said he was building something, a surprise for me. I started seeing him go in and out of there at all hours. Then the murders started."

"Can we see this basement?"

Mrs. Lynch pressed a hand against her cheek. "Oh, I don't know. I mean, he told me not to, and I always do what he says...but...I guess it couldn't hurt to look."

She stood up, smoothing down her dress. "Well, all right. Maybe just a peek. But there must be some misunderstanding."

Wade and Arturo stood to follow her into the hallway. Mrs. Lynch drew a keyring out of her apron and sifted through the keys until she selected one. She unlocked the door. She pulled it open, revealing it to be incredibly thick.

Wade reeled as a sickening stench blasted up from the open doorway, a mixture of rotting meat, burning metal, and other odors she didn't want to identify. Arturo and Mrs. Lynch weren't immune to it, either. Mrs. Lynch clapped her hands over her mouth and nose while Arturo staggered back, coughing.

"What," Mrs. Lynch gasped. "is that smell?"

Arturo pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it over his face. "The smell of death, Mrs. Lynch."

He stepped into the darkness beyond, followed by Wade and Mrs. Lynch.

The staircase groaned beneath them as they descended it. The stench intensified as they went deeper into the shadowy cavern of the basement. The only light came from the open door behind them, and it faded as they moved into it. Arturo groped in the darkness until he found a cord for a lamp. He pulled it.

The lights came on, illuminating a slaughterhouse. Blood caked the floor in huge brown stains. A handmade wooden table supported a vast collection of knives, razors, hammers, pruning shears, and metal spikes. All arranged in careful rows, except for one stained with blood. A wooden chair served as the centerpiece for the basement, one fitted with straps for pinning down the arms and legs of anyone who sat in it. Padding on the walls and ceiling made it soundproof.

"Good lord," Arturo whispered.

Wade could only nod. The horror of what she saw almost overwhelmed, making her dizzy.
A muffled scream came from one of the padded walls.

Wade jumped down the staircase, trying to ignore the intense odors that filled the room. As she drew near to the wall, she realized a plank of wood rested across it to keep it closed. Wade knocked the wood aside to pull open the door.

Another, smaller room inside held a huddled woman in torn clothing. Deep cuts covered every inch of her body, some caked with dried blood. Rope bound her wrists and ankles. She screamed around a rag stuffed in her mouth.

"Oh, man." Wade leaned into the homemade cave to drag the woman out into the basement.

She looked up at Mrs. Lynch and Arturo and began to scream louder.

Wade pressed a hand over her forehead, trying to cool her burning-hot skin. "It's okay. We're gonna get you out of here."

She began to work on the ropes around the woman's wrists. "Call the police. We've got Lynch right where we want him."

"Of course. Well done, Miss Welles." Arturo turned and hurried to the stairs. He froze. He began to back down it.

Richard Lynch took slow, measured steps down into the basement. His ice-blue eyes swept over the inside of the basement. His hands trembled against his sides.

His gaze fixed on his wife, and then on Wade. "What's going on here?"

Wade lunged towards the worktable. She grabbed the longest knife in the collection. She held the blade out at Lynch. "Stay back, you animal. Your sick games are over."

Lynch blinked. "What's happening down here? Helen?"

Mrs. Lynch glanced at Wade, and back at him. "I'm sorry, Richie. I had to let them down here. You need help."

"He doesn't need help," Wade said. "He needs to die. And you will, Lynch. We've got all the proof we need, including an eyewitness."

Wade yanked the rag out of the woman's mouth.

The woman screamed. "He's not the one! It's her! She's the Golden Gate Killer!"

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