The Hangman (The Forgotten Files 3)

“We’ll go back there.”

“Yeah, sure.”

As the pair moved toward the back, Novak commented, “None of these customers were alive in the nineties.”

“Ancient history comes alive,” she joked.

“If the nineties are ancient, what does that make me?”

“Novak, you’re timeless. An old soul.”

He winced. “That hurt, Julia.”

She shrugged. “I bet you read the classics, smoke a pipe, and yell at the kids to get off your front lawn.”

He laughed. “Only two of the three.”

“Which one did I get wrong?”

Shrugging, he pushed through the swinging door. “Hang around and find out.” He paused. “What do you do on your off-hours?”

“Work at animal rescue shelters, bake cookies, and channel thoughts about world peace.”

“Seriously.” He wanted to know more about her.

“Run, weapon train, help Cindy at the bar. Nothing really noteworthy.”

“You might want to expand your interests.”

She paused, studying him closely. “Like what?”

He wanted to give whatever it was between them more time and nurturing. “How about we try a date?”

A brow arched as if she were waiting for a punch line. “Are you serious?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I am.”

She relaxed into a smile. “Maybe.”

As they moved along the hallway, he noticed she ran her finger along her belt until her right hand bumped her service weapon. Novak did the same. As routine as this visit felt, both understood routine could turn deadly on a dime.

At the end of the hallway, he found an open door and a workshop filled with dozens of old gaming systems. Many were dismantled and picked clean for parts.

In the center of it all was a large man with shoulder-length graying hair cinched back in a ponytail. He wore a black Pac-Man T-shirt and faded jeans.

“Mr. Vic Carson?” Novak asked.

The man looked up. Thick, dark-rimmed glasses made his gray eyes look large. “What is it?”

Novak introduced himself, holding off on Julia’s introduction. He didn’t want the Vargas name to be a distraction. “I hear you’re the creator of the Hangman website.”

Carson set down a small screwdriver and pulled off his glasses. “Why would you say that?”

“I have it on good authority you created it,” Novak said.

Carson sniffed. “There a law against setting up a website now?”

“No law against it. But it draws attention when anyone shows an immense interest in serial murders.”

“The twenty-fifth anniversary is this year. And as you can see from the crowds outside, there’s a yearning for the nineties and their murder and mayhem.”

“Your website is detailed.”

“Again, no law against it.” Carson looked at Julia. “Detective Novak, are you going to introduce me to Agent Vargas?”

“You know me?” Julia asked.

“Sure. How could I not?” He moved around the counter, and after wiping his hand on a rag, extended it to her.

She didn’t accept it. “How long have you been stalking me?”

“Stalking is a harsh word,” he said.

“Then what is it?” she asked.

“I’m simply a curious admirer. Your father was the lead investigator. I researched him extensively.”

“Did you know the original victims? You lived in the city at the time.”

“No, I did not. But I frequented Shockoe Bottom a lot and spent time in the bars near the crime scenes. I read all the newspaper accounts.”

“You have an alibi for the nights they died?” Julia asked.

Carson smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. I was working in Roanoke that fall doing temporary work.”

“That’s three hours west of here,” Novak said. “Easy to drive down and back in a day.”

“But none of the victims died quickly,” Carson said. “And all the shrinks I talked to about the Hangman said he liked to watch his victims die. Doesn’t make sense to string up a victim and then leave before the main event.”

“The main event,” Julia said.

“Do you know a woman named Lana Ortega?” Novak asked.

“No, should I?” Carson asked.

“Where were you on Tuesday night?”

“I was in California at a convention. I travel to promote the site, which brings in new customers both here and especially online. Keeping both my passions afloat takes work. Again, why are you here?”

“I think your site might have inspired someone to resurrect the Hangman,” Julia remarked.

Carson held up his hands. “I don’t like the direction this is headed.”

“What direction is that, Vic?” Novak asked.

His eyes narrowed. “I read the news and listen to the scan

ners. A woman was found in the warehouse district. Was she strung up?” His eyes glistened with interest.

“Does the idea of that excite you?” Novak asked.

“It’s strictly business for me, Detective,” Carson said. “If a new Hangman case emerges, it will be a boon to my business. And before you ask, none of my subscribers mentioned the killing to me. Besides, the bulk of my patrons simply have a fascination with death. They’re harmless.”

“Do you have a list of these followers?” Julia asked.

“You have a warrant?” Carson replied.

“You sell rope out front?” Julia fired back.

“Sure. It’s a novelty item. All of it can be bought in any hardware store.” He studied Julia. “I’ve watched news footage of your old man. Intense like you. Reminded me of a wound spring. I guess not a huge surprise when he shot himself. Is this discussion now your effort to clear his name? There are still plenty of people who thought he was the Hangman.”

“You have theories about the Hangman that you wrote about on your blog?” Novak asked.

“Sure. Who doesn’t?”

“Enlighten me,” Novak said.

Carson shrugged. “Any profiler will tell you the Hangman killings were more than murder. The killings were a statement, a form of art. He likes to be noticed. My guess is if this body you found is displayed like the others, he’s feeling irrelevant. Forgotten.”

“Irrelevant?” Julia asked.

“For whatever reason, he stopped killing, but with the silver anniversary approaching and people like me ginning up interest, he discovers he wants to be noticed again. Tuesday night would have been Halloween, and Jim Vargas died on November 1.”

“You sound like you know him pretty well,” Julia said.

“Hard not to seeing as I’ve crawled in his head enough times.”

Julia’s expression didn’t change. “How did you get hold of the video footage shot at the original crime scenes?”

Novak watched Carson closely, and the subtle tightening of the man’s left hand and the micro shift in his gaze told Novak that Julia had struck gold.