Blood Men: A Thriller

“Take a seat,” Barlow says, and Schroder notices the study is laid out the same way he imagines Barlow’s office in town must be laid out. Barlow takes a seat behind the desk and leans back in his leather office chair. He picks up a pad and a pen, seems to realize his mistake, and puts them back down. He interlocks his fingers and rests his hands on his knees. Schroder sits opposite him in another leather office chair—thankfully not a couch. There are a couple of diplomas on the wall and some expensive-looking art. There’s a manual typewriter in the middle of an oak desk, both of which are perhaps from the fifties. There’s a closed laptop up on a shelf behind Barlow and a small cactus plant next to it.

“This is no doubt about Edward Hunter?” Barlow asks.

“You’ve been listening to the news?”

“Yes. I heard what happened. He helped his father escape from the hospital, though I’m not sure why he would do such a thing. Edward despises his father.”

“Edward Hunter had his daughter kidnapped by the men who killed his wife.”

“Oh dear,” Barlow says. “Oh no, the poor girl. And Hunter helped free his dad because he thought his dad could help find her?”

“Yes.”

“And did they?”

“They found her, but it was already too late,” Schroder says.

“Too late? Oh . . . you mean . . . ,” he trails off.

“She was suffocated.”

“You have the men who did it?”

“Jack Hunter found him first. It was just one man who killed her.”

“And he killed him?”

“Yes. But first he killed a man who used to assault him in prison, and now he’s looking for the rest. We picked up Edward this morning. He had his daughter with him. He had taken her to the cemetery to visit his wife, and then he took her to a motel to protect her. He was acting . . . well, I think he was acting like . . .”

“Like she was still alive?” Barlow asks.

“Yeah. I think so.”

“You have any idea where Jack Hunter is?”

“No. It’s why I’m here. I know you dealt with him all those years ago. Tell me, where do you think he may go?”

“I think he’ll find the men responsible for killing his grand-daughter.”

“Then where?”

“I don’t know.”

“He stopped taking his medication.”

“What?”

“When we searched his cell we found his meds. He hasn’t been taking them for days.”

“Then if he can’t find the men he’s looking for, he’ll move on to what he knows best—killing prostitutes. He’s been in jail a long time, Detective, he’ll have desires. The sickness inside him—it will have desires. The problem is twenty years ago he was living two lives, and one of them he was protecting by killing women he didn’t think anybody would notice going missing. Now he doesn’t have that family life to retreat to, or to hide things from. He may go looking for prostitutes, but it’s doubtful he’ll restrain himself to only them. Anybody is fair game to him now, Detective, because he’s on the run and he knows being free is only a temporary thing. Damn it, why did he have to stop taking his medication!”

“He stopped when Jodie Hunter was shot.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose that makes sense. Detective, don’t doubt that Jack Hunter heard voices, and he was intelligent enough to hide it, and to deal with it. He knew he had a sickness, and he knew if he stopped taking his medication that sickness, that desire, would come back. You may want to look at the man who stabbed Hunter in jail, you might find it was Hunter himself who organized it. Probably on the same day. He probably figured he could use his son to help him escape.”

“I’ll look into it,” Schroder says, not in the mood to bolster the shrink’s ego by telling him that’s exactly what happened.

“Hunter is an intelligent man, Detective, and he’s still intelligent even off the meds—the difference is that when medicated, he can be controlled. Right now—well, right now he could be anywhere doing anything. Now that you have Edward Hunter in custody, I strongly suggest you let me see him. I told you he was a danger, and last night proved that. I should see him immediately. I can help him.”

“He’s not in custody.”

“What do you mean? You said you picked him up with his daughter.”

“And then we let him go. He lost his daughter, he was betrayed by his father, we couldn’t keep him after all that. None of this is his fault.”

“You need to pick him up.”

“Why?”

“What kind of state was he in when you released him?”

“He’s a defeated man. We dropped him off at his house. He’s not going anywhere. In fact I’m tempted to put a man on him just to make sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

“He’s certainly a candidate for that, but he’s also capable of something else. Edward Hunter is a man who holds grudges, Detective, and he’s a man who can justify those grudges in different ways. He may not go after the men who killed his wife, but what about the others?”

“Others?”

“From the bank. The bank tellers, the security guard, the media, even the police—anybody who has let him down could be a target.”

“He went to the security guard’s house.”

“What? When?”

“Tuesday night. He got drunk and went there but nothing happened.”

“And you didn’t think this was important enough to let me know?”