Ready. Set. Psycho.

Chapter Eleven: Reg

           

Reg was watching the latest video from Psycho — the one that Kevin had slipped to him, decoded from the audio of the latest posting to that gore site Psycho used. He felt guilty watching it, felt worse knowing that he was not even a cop yet, but he had to see it for himself. He watched Greg burn to death again and felt a surreal sense of loss. He had never met the man. He was graduating from Columbia Law about the time Greg was killed. But Reg had read his notes on Psycho's crimes and had grown a fondness for the detective, Greg's clearly protective stance with his partner, and his unbridled desire to see Justin Graham brought to justice.

That was clear, Reg thought. Where Sol wanted to kill Justin, Greg wanted to bring him in. Sol may not have known. Shortly after Sol was taken off the case and transferred to the negotiator's role, Greg wrote that he was concerned that Psycho's obsession with involving Sol would lead eventually to Sol catching up with him, and that one of them would die in the encounter. He needed to get to Psycho first, and urgently, as much to save his former partner from death as to save him from becoming a killer.

Everyone else wanted Justin dead. Especially Lisa and Clive. And probably Kevin, too. He had given these things to Reg and probably hoped that Reg would pass them on to Sol with the analysis — everything Kevin could figure out about Justin's timeline while away from home. Kevin and Lisa could not be seen with Sol, though Reg was not sure why. Something had happened, and only recently, that put Sol even more on the outs than usual. But Reg could. He was expected to be. So he could pass these along.

Reg did not want to do that until he knew a little more about what he was passing on. He turned off the video Kevin had decoded of Greg's death and went instead to a photo of the note fished out of Vera Glenn's throat. It was a picture of a sheep, a lump of iron and an eye. Ewe ore eye. You or I. A cheeky pun. Reg hated puns, particularly ones by serial killers to coax a cop to either kill himself or play some stupid game to find and kill him.

There was not much more analysis to be done. Reg felt like he was wasting time, not adding any value. He hated that. He hated empty moments and spinning his wheels. He knew how much he could accomplish when he applied hard work. He could climb mountains. He could sail through one of the toughest law programs in the world while training for ultra marathons.

He went back one video further and saw the message Justin had sent directly to Sol. It was a picture of Rainard Friederick, famous in NYC for running one of several Ponzi schemes that targeted wealthy people and broke during the 2008 market crash. Sol's own family had been caught up in it. His father lost almost every liquid asset he had and was forced to sell almost everything else to pay the debts — which were modest when compared with what his wealth should have been.

After a few seconds on Friederick's face came Juanita, the young girl he had kidnapped. At the end was the live feed address on www.goregoregore.com, the gore site that Justin enjoyed using toward the end of his victim's lives. Reg knew how that ended — Friederick falls to his death, coaxed, some say, by Sol. He had even seen the video. It went viral. It was hilarious, in another world, before Reg became so personally involved. Cop plays "Jump" by Van Halen when trying to talk a suicidal man off the ledge? That's dark humor, sure, but it was also genuinely funny.

And Juanita? Undead. Found. Sol watches Friederick die, gets texted the address where Juanita is being held, and then gets there as fast as he can. Justin was sitting there, according to Greg's report. But it was too late.

Reg stood up and called Sol. "Hey, buddy," he said as Sol answered. "Want to grab a beer?"

Sol obliged and met him at The Dog and Duck. Reg hated the place, but so did almost everyone else, so it was rarely busy. Sol was waiting when Reg came in. He was not sure what he was going to say.

Sol had a beer waiting for him. Reg took it, not sure what kind of beer it was — it had a 50 on the label, and he had never had one before. It was terrible. "So what's up?" Sol asked.

Reg put a USB key containing everything Kevin had given him on the table. "I'm pretty sure Kevin wanted you to have this."

"Yeah?" Sol said, not reaching for the key.

"Yeah." Reg said. "It contains..."

Sol interrupted. "I know what's on there. I have what's on there. I've got friends, too."

"Like Kevin?"

"Just like Kevin. And you, too, from the looks of it. I didn't realize you would get mixed up in this bit."

"Lisa gave us the file. Said it was important to know this was what drove you out of the force."

"And into a life of crime, as she calls it," Sol said, dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah. You know. Informed consent for a dangerous gig."

"I get it, kid. And I'd want to know that too, in your shoes."

"So are you looking for him?" Reg asked, instinctively taking a sip of his beer and then remembering why he avoided it.

"Nah," Sol said. "That's for Roger and Thomas, two other guys on the force. Me? I'm just focused on the heist. I can't chase ghosts."

"But he clearly wants you involved. Sent you this message."

"That's exactly why I can't be involved. I'm too close to it. And it feeds right into what he is looking for."

Reg nodded, not pressing the issue. He finished his beer in companionable silence and then got up to go home. "Can I just ask one more question?" he said, pausing and turning.

"Sure thing, Columbo," Sol responded.

Reg did not understand the reference. "Why won't Lisa or Kevin meet with you anymore?"

"Not allowed right now. I'm avoiding cops. Probably being followed, you know."

"No, that's not it," Reg responded.

Sol nodded. "Okay, so I saved a few lives and went pretty far off script, and now they're not allowed to come out and play with me."

Reg nodded and went home, leaving the USB key behind.