“Please…you don’t have to do this.”

John’s whimpering tone made the man sick. He wasn’t worth the air he was taking up on the earth. That was why he had to be the next one to die. He edged closer to the tanned and buff John who was tied spreadeagled to the small bed, bare-chested with just his tattered jeans left on in the stuffy and dirty motel room. The window cooler continued rattling and struggling to keep the air to a bearable temperature in the Arizona desert heat, and he was almost hypnotised by the look of abject terror on his victim’s face.

“Actually, John. Yes I do. You disgust me. Everything about you is revolting.”

“I don’t understand…”

It looked like the thirtyish John’s wide, green eyes were filling with water.

Tears. God, it gets worse.

John’s pleading tone snapped him out of his reverie.

“Of course you don’t, you miscreant. Somehow the inherent weakness that you envelop around you like a cloak of honour has softened your mind. I would have to say that the truly most revolting thing you’ve done today—and there are so many I could choose from—was your offer to suck my dick if I would just let you live. Really? That’s all you’ve got? How pathetic.”

John made a little choking sound and the man knew he was fighting back sobs. “Anything. I’ll do anything you want.”

“True. You will. And what I want for you to do right now is die.”

John’s eyes widened even farther in sheer panic and horror, and as he opened his mouth to yell, the killer plunged the large hunting knife right into it, pinning his head to the bed. His final expression—eyes bulging and mouth held in the last throes of a scream for his life—would send a message that not only would weakness not be tolerated, but that it was punishable by death.

* * * *

“I’m afraid we’ve got another one, Jake. Aren’t you glad you joined homicide this month?”

Jake gave Maggie, his partner, the lopsided grin that he knew made one dimple in his left cheek stand out, and typically prompted a tease out of her. But there were bigger issues at hand, and he waited for her to join him at his desk. She had just come from the lieutenant’s office with info on the latest murder. Jake had got her text whilst he was down the street at the roach coach that parked near the precinct. They had the best chorizo tacos known to mankind—but he would never let his nana know that—his grandma would smack him upside his head for suggesting that hers were anything less than the ultimate.

“That’s what I’m here for, right? I’d better not start complaining now. I’ll be back trolling the streets of Mesa.”

“I wasn’t talking about your nightlife mijo, just the job.”

Jake shook his head, chuckling a little. It always cracked him up when the five-foot-two Irish redhead used Spanish—her accent was more Brooklyn than Baja. They’d started at the academy together five years earlier, right after she’d moved to Arizona from New York. She said she’d had enough cold and snow to last her a lifetime, and he had teased her that with her pale skin, she’d never survive the first furnace-like summer. But she was a toughie, and she had a lot of smarts. Jake had learnt to not only like the fiery petite woman, but to respect her as well. The beginnings of their relationship had been awkward though when she had developed a serious crush on him. He’d had to gently explain to her that he loved her as a friend only, and that he was only interested in men. Once she’d got over her hurt and disappointment, they had become best buddies. She had actually made homicide a full year before him, and he had been excited for her. Once he’d moved up in the ranks, and been partnered with her, it had got even better.

They were both pretty young to have moved ahead, but the Mesa area had seen such a huge growth spurt in the last decade and a half, that the department had unfortunately needed to increase their homicide team sooner, rather than later. There had also been some serious juggling of positions after two senior investigators, Clark and Johnson, had botched up a recent arson investigation, casting aspersions on the city’s beloved fire chief. In addition, none of the current detectives in homicide had any long-term experience, their most seasoned veterans retiring or transferring out within the last six months—bad for Mesa, good for Jake’s rapid career advancement.

“So…” said Jake, still waiting as she gathered her things, “Are we getting a briefing?”

Maggie turned back into her serious mode. “Actually, the lieutenant needs us to head out there immediately, he already handed me what we know so far. Also, it’s about a half hour out of town—I’d say fifteen minutes past Gold Canyon on Highway 60, and with the September temps this bad—well—the body…”

“Huh, out in the middle of nowhere—I gotcha. Fill me in on the way over.”

They drove the police issue SUV out to the murder site, and Maggie gave him the few details she had at this stage on why the sheriffs in Gold Canyon—the closest location to the murder site—were convinced that this was another one of The Bondage Butcher’s killings. If so, it would be the third one.

“For starters, the killer left the hunting knife impaled in the victim—this time in his mouth—and the male victim was tied up. We don’t know for sure yet if he was homosexual, but he checked into an out of the way motel known for its gay hookups and hourly rates.”

Maggie paused as she pulled the SUV out into the afternoon traffic. Jake pondered the info he’d been given so far. It was a lot of pressure on him to be assigned to such a high-profile case, and he wanted to make sure he didn’t get lost in that. Other than the obvious shake-ups in the department, he wasn’t completely sure why they had been given such a monumental task that more seasoned investigators should have received. But he had also overheard the lieutenant commenting to the captain about Jake’s dark Hispanic looks and Maggie’s unassuming and non-threatening appearance. Was that supposed to encourage the local Native population to suddenly start telling law enforcement everything they knew about the main suspect—Quinn—who was from one of the main tribes of the area?

Yeah. Right. And Maggie is non-threatening only if you’ve never had to deal with her.

As if on cue, Maggie yelled out a colourful stream of obscenities directed at the traffic headed out of town.

“Isn’t it possible this is a copycat?” said Jake, “Some freaky sex game gone wrong, or some psycho taking advantage of the headlines from the other killings?”

“Yes. That’s possible. Except the motel owner told the sheriff that he’s seen this same dead guy with the one…the only…can you guess?”

“Quinn.”

“Yup. See? That’s why I wanted you as my partner. You’re not even a little bit stupid.”

“Uh-huh. Except that we can’t seem to find anything tying this Quinn guy to the killings, other than him knowing the victims. Well, maybe he slipped up this time.”

“I hope so. I’m dying to question this guy, and with him refusing to come in, avoiding us like the grim reaper, we can only hope we get some probable cause to arrest him. I’d take unpaid parking tickets at this point.”

“I’m with you on that one.”

After finally escaping the urban sprawl of Mesa, they settled into some theories as to why—or why not—Quinn might be their man. One of the greatest things about their partnership as investigators was the fact that they were such good friends. They could banter back and forth in jest, but they were also tuned into each other when it came to their police work. Like an old married couple that finished each other’s sentences, their brainstorming was a thing to behold. It was the main reason Jake was able to hang onto some semblance of confidence in his new position—he truly believed that he and Maggie had what it took to be great detectives one day.

Shortly after they passed through Gold Canyon, they took one of the exits, then veered off onto a side road. Within a few minutes, they turned up the dirt and gravel driveway of a fairly run-down motel consisting of just two rows in an L-shape. The office was at the end of the building closest to the driveway. Prickly pear cacti that looked as though they were once considered a form of landscaping were now pretty ratty and dried up. It was as though the motel and the surrounding land were part of some sort of vortex of decay.

It was obvious which room the body was located in—yellow crime scene tape, a sheriff and his car, as well as a scruffy, skinny looking guy in a wife-beater tank and ripped up jeans gathered at the room, farthest from the office. It made sense that the murderer would have wanted as much solitude as possible to carry out his gruesome deed.

“Who’s doing the forensics on this one?” asked Jake, as Maggie pulled the SUV next to the Sheriff’s cruiser.

“Barry. He should be right behind us. He was testifying downtown, but they sent someone to go grab him while you and I were getting ready to go.”

“Gotcha. That’s good. He’s been at every scene so things will remain consistent.”

“Did you hear that the new girl Alicia and him aren’t getting along?”

They both climbed out of the black Chevy Blazer.

“Really,” said Jake, a big lover of any juicy gossip—part of why he and Maggie got along so well—she always had the best stories about everyone at the station.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “She keeps throwing around her whole ‘I took summer classes at Quantico’ thing, and it’s driving him crazy. He’s started calling her ‘Clarice’ to get under her skin.”

Jake laughed softly to himself as the Sheriff approached them.

“You’ll have to give me more details later, Mags.”

Without even extending his hand, the no-nonsense, seasoned Sheriff started right in.

“I’m Sheriff Parsons. Glad you could make it before dark. We need to get the coroner in here as soon as possible, as I have a town to attend to.”

Jake cleared his throat. Although he was unhappy with the attitude the older man was taking with them, he realised that the Sheriff was probably not too thrilled that a potential serial killer had descended upon his small town.

“Yes, sir. We’re going to get the body removed as soon as possible, forensics is on their way. Once we get some information from you, I’m sure it won’t be a problem to go and handle whatever it is you need to take care of.”

Jake was working as hard as he could to try to keep his tone even and professional. During his performance reviews in the almost five years he’d been on the force, the one thing that came up repeatedly was his smart mouth. Sometimes that sarcasm would just creep into his sentences without him even noticing it. So it was an area he’d been working hard on to improve. Unfortunately, he wasn’t having much luck today it would seem.

“Excuse me? What do you mean by that? Are you inferring that the welfare of the town which has been entrusted to me is of little significance?”

Jake groaned inwardly. “No, sir, I…”

Maggie jumped in on top of him. “Sheriff. We’re here to do a job just as you are. No one’s making any judgements about anyone. We’re just as anxious as you are to get things underway here.”

The sheriff looked down at the tiny woman, and Jake noted that her stance projected that she was not intimidated in any way. Without commenting, the Sheriff handed her some notes on the crime scene he’d already taken. Jake held back a smile, only slightly miffed that she had jumped to his defence. He knew it came from a good place, and he didn’t want to be like the other guys at the station either. There were those who gave her a hard time not only for being a woman, but for being a small woman in law enforcement. It was in the same vein that the few who suspected that he was gay didn’t openly taunt him, but could be very cruel in other ways. Sometimes he would be walking by, and he could tell they were whispering about him, or they would deliberately clear the locker room when changing or showering. So any time someone stood up for him, he didn’t want to disregard it.

“Well then,” said Jake. “Shall we?”

The scruffy guy had been standing back this whole time, nervously smoking a cigarette and looking as though the next gust of hot desert wind would blow him down the gravel driveway as easily as a tumbleweed. Maggie handed Jake the information that the Sheriff had already gathered from what turned out to be the motel owner.

They approached him as he stood just outside the crime scene. He began to stutter and stammer at Maggie and Jake.

“I didn’t see n-nuthin’, I swear, nuthin’! I didn’t hear n-nuthin’ either, can I go now? I’m closing up for tonight, ain’t no one c-come by these last few hours anyway. I n-need a drink man, I ain’t seen nuthin’.”

Jake stopped in front of the guy he’d assumed was about fifty or sixty years old from far away. Up close, he realised he was actually probably still in his thirties.

“What’s your name, sir?” asked Jake.

“You ain’t no cop. You ain’t got no uniform on. I don’t have to tell you n-nuthin’.”

This guy sure knows a lot about nothing.

Jake pulled out his detective’s badge from his shirt pocket. With the desert heat still in the hundreds even in late September, he didn’t wear a blazer. Both he and Maggie typically wore polo shirts, or short sleeve dress shirts, and kept their badges either in their pants pocket or shirt pocket. Their guns, however, were right on their hips for easy access.

“Is this clear to you?” Jake asked the dishevelled motel owner, as he showed him the badge.

“Yeah, it’s clear. But I already told everything to the Sheriff which is…”

“Nuthin’?” Jake interjected.

Scruffy guy just growled under his breath. “My n-name’s Stevie. I run this place for m-my grampa cause he’s too old.”

“Where’s Grampa?”

“He’s in the home, and I’m stuck out here. It’s p-pretty much turned into a queer joint since it’s so far out of the way. They know I’ll rent it b-by the hour. Hell, I’ll take whatever I c-can get to make sure I got m-my smokes and beer. Ain’t n-never no tourists unless they’s lost.”

Jake didn’t react to the ‘queer’ remark, especially as he’d heard every type of slur there was—and not just the homosexual ones—since he’d been on the force.

“Okay, Stevie, and had you ever seen the victim before?”

“Yeah. That’s what I told Sheriff Parsons already. John’s b-been here before—he’s one…uh…those rent boys I think they call ‘em, you know, like a whore for g-guys.”

“I see. Are you sure he’s the same one?”

Stevie’s fingers started shaking nervously, and he struggled to light up another cigarette. “I ain’t n-never seen n-nuthin’ like that before. It’s l-like a horror m-movie in there. I’m scared to even c-come back here ever again. What if the killer c-comes after me?”

Jake took a deep breath. He could see the guy was starting to lose it. He was probably still in a bit of shock, and Jake had to be very careful not to push him too much, or he could become too emotional, then Jake would never get anything coherent out of him.

“I can assure you, Stevie,” Jake said calmly, “The man who did this was after a specific type of person. A queer, like you said. Now you’re not one of those are you?”

“Hell no!”

“Then you have nothing to worry about, but it never hurts to be cautious, and to call nine-one-one if you feel you need any help. But in the meantime, we need your help to get this guy off the streets as quickly as we can, so that you never have to worry about him ever again. Sound good?”

“Yeah, all right. But I just don’t know what else I c-can do.”

“Think real hard, Stevie, now I know you said you saw nothing last night, and you told Sheriff Parsons that he checked in alone at about”—Jake looked at the notes that Maggie had handed him—“eleven p.m., but can you think of another time when John came here with someone else, or you saw him with someone else?”

“Yeah. I saw him with that tall injun guy. His name is Quinn.”

“And how do you know his name?”

“Well, he used to always pay for the room, and it was on his card. But he wasn’t much of a talker. I guess he was saving his mouth for other things.” Stevie chuckled at his own clever joke.

Jake resisted rolling his eyes. “I see. Did you ever see them fight, or did John ever say anything about Quinn being abusive or that he was scared of him for any reason? Anything you can remember, no matter how small, could help.”

“Nah. I don’t think that guy was using his mouth for talking neither.”

“Okay, Stevie. Here’s my card, and you call if anything else comes to mind, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a date with a bottle.”

The scruffy guy shuffled away, leaving Jake and Maggie to go and take a look at the body. By this time, the window unit was off, and the flies were rampant in the room. A sickly sweet smell filled the air, and he sincerely hoped that Barry was hauling his ass out to the motel as quickly as possible.

The body was presumably exactly as it had been found. Stevie had sworn to the Sheriff he’d barely stepped into the room, let alone disturbed the body. It was dim inside—the only light was from the blazing sun pouring in about five feet into the room through the doorway. Jake tried the wall switch—after putting gloves on—but it didn’t work. He pulled out his flashlight, not advancing any farther inside to avoid contaminating the scene. Casting his flashlight beam about the room, it landed on the victim’s face. He started with a sudden jolt of adrenaline—John’s head looked more like a grisly Halloween prop than someone who had been vibrant and alive less than twenty-four hours before. A memory of John clutched at his heart.

About a year prior, Jake had picked up John on Main Street on the east side of Mesa. There were several low rent motels there, and it was easy to do a prostitution bust, especially in the summer and on weekend nights. Even though Mesa had swelled in population, and was considered part of the Phoenix sprawl, it was a solid family city, and the intention was to keep it that way.

Jake remembered the young man well. He was a stunning example of male hotness. Almost six feet tall, with longish blond hair and a tanned, built body, he looked like a surfer who had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and had found himself lost in the desert. His demeanour had been like that of a gentle giant, friendly and sweet, but maybe not the sharpest tool in the shed. Jake had tried counselling the man that night, had tried to reach him, but John had been tweaking on crystal, and it had been impossible to connect with him on any meaningful level. It was just so sad for Jake to see someone like that, and he always hoped that the work he did on the force would somehow break through and help at least a few people in a positive way.

They heard the crunch of tyres on the gravel, and turned to see Barry’s beat-up sedan pulling in. Jake had no idea why the forensics master insisted on driving the seventies Buick nightmare. He was always saying, ‘They don’t make ’em like this anymore’. It made him sound like an old man, but he was actually only in his mid-forties, a little thick around the middle and with prematurely white—but lush—hair. Still, he was just as grumpy as if he’d been a hundred and seven and denied a seat at bingo.

“Are you guys fucking up my crime scene? Get the hell out of there!”

“Nice to see you too,” said Maggie, completely unruffled by his growly manner. “We didn’t desecrate anything, your lordship. I promise you we know what we’re doing.”

Barry skidded to a stop and tried to hide a little smile forming at the corner of his lips. Jake imagined he didn’t dare have his reputation as an unmitigated bastard ruined.

“Oh yeah? Are you sure you young ‘uns have graduated from the Academy yet? Aah, never mind all that, what have we got?”

Maggie filled him in, whilst Jake began to look around the property. They had at least a good couple of hours light left, and he planned on scouring the entire area for tracks, dropped cigarette butts or anything else that might give him some clue as to who was perpetrating these killings. Over by the office door, he noticed what looked like a small crumpled piece of paper on the ground. Its orange hue had drawn his eye, so he picked it up and smoothed it out. It turned out to actually be a business card, and it looked as though it had been washed a few times—it was soft and faded.

Maybe it had been living in someone’s jeans for a while, got washed and then came out when a wallet or hand was pulled from a pocket.

Jake visualised everything when he was trying to piece together the puzzle of a crime, and he could imagine this exact scenario. But who had dropped it? He read the card. The front was the name of an establishment in Mesa he wasn’t familiar with. It was called the Lo-Fi Coffee House, and gave the impression of being a somewhat artsy place. Jake turned it over. It simply said, ‘Quinn. 8:00 Tuesday’. Had it belonged to John? There was no question that he had had some type of relationship with him. It didn’t seem likely it was Quinn’s, as it would be silly for him to write his own name on the card. Or did it belong to a third, yet unknown party?

It was time to go back and try to figure out how to corner his number one suspect—Quinn. Because as he stared at the room where John’s corpse lay, he realised something—the time between the murders was diminishing. If his calculations were correct, the next one would take place within a couple of weeks. They were going to need to get a lucky break in the case very soon.