The Menace: A Thriller by Mickey Spillane & Max Allan Collins

Author:Mickey Spillane & Max Allan Collins [Spillane, Mickey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781685490713
Publisher: Rough Edges Press
Published: 2022-04-26T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

The scent of the delicious supper Helen had prepared—pineapple chicken—was still in the air when Roy met Chief Cutter at the front door. The chief had called and said he had significant information for them, and wanted to come straight over. Roy of course said yes.

Barely inside, a slightly hyper Cutter, Stetson in hand, said quietly, “Is your boy around? I don’t want him to hear any of this.”

“He’s upstairs,” Roy said, frowning, “with your man Jackson, showing him around the work-out set-up...” He dropped his voice to a whisper, not wanting his wife to hear. “...and probably show him how his ‘friend’ is well-positioned to keep an eye on things.”

Cutter managed a little smile. “Glad to get any help in the security department where we can get it.”

Helen took the chief’s windbreaker and hat, then asked if she could get anyone coffee and no one, including herself, took her up on it. She settled again in a straight-back chair with the fireplace—going strong now—at her back and the police chief and her husband on the couch, the two men angled toward each other.

The chief said, “Doctor, does the name Dennis Lee mean anything to you?”

Roy shook his head firmly. “No.”

“Probably a young patient. Possibly a little person.”

“No.”

“The parents, perhaps? Efram Lee? Rosemary Lee?”

Roy sighed, mildly irritated. “No. You have access to my files. My memory is pretty fair, but go ahead and check.”

“We will. And now I have to share some things with you that you may wish you could purge from your memory....”

Roy and his wife listened in shocked silence to the report of what had been recently learned by Detective Hodges about the three murdered doctors, and by Cutter and Hodges at the bizarre crime scene in Timber Lake.

When the chief had finished, Roy asked, “If I’m understanding this, our attacker would be rather young, even now.”

Cutter nodded. “We have the date of birth, which makes him twenty-one. Old enough to vote and to drive and, apparently, to kill.”

Helen, a look of alarm frozen on her features, asked, “Do you think the poor child was born a homicidal maniac, and kept chained up by his parents for their own safety? And his?”

Simultaneously shrugging and shaking his head, Cutter said, “We’re unlikely ever to determine that, unless we capture Dennis Lee and are able to question him. Of course, we don’t even know if he’s capable of speech.”

“Why on earth,” Roy said, appalled, “did these people handle their child in such a reprehensible way?”

“We can only speculate,” Cutter said.

Her brow tense, Helen said, “Well, I wish you would speculate. Frankly, my head is spinning. You can’t drop us into this horror show without some guidance...some professional interpretation.”

“Any educated guesses,” Roy said, leaning toward their guest, “would be greatly appreciated, Blake.”

Cutter was clearly torn. As a doctor, Roy could understand the chief’s hesitance to wade into the kind of conjecture that might come back someday to bite him in the tail.

“Please,” Helen said. She was framed by the glow of flames behind her as she sat forward, her interlaced hands between her knees.

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