Page 38 of Killer Clone

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Construction workers strolled out of the building site next to the Woodycrest Shopping Forum, their fluorescent vests glowing in the streetlamps around the unfinished office building. A sign on the wire fence by the entrance instructed anyone that entered to be wearing a hard hat at all times.

Seeing as they didn’t have hard hats of their own, Hagen and Ander remained outside the workplace of Otto Walker’s uncle. They were there to perform the most difficult part of their job—inform the next of kin that a relative had died. A few minutes ago, they’d asked another construction worker to ask Phil Walker to please come see them.

An approaching construction worker eyed them with suspicion as he tromped through the gates of the wire fence.

“Phil Walker? I’m Special Agent Hagen Yates. This is Special Agent Ander Bennett. We’re with the FBI.”

The man took off his white hard hat. He had an untidy patch of salt-and-pepper hair that started halfway across his scalp. The streetlamp threw a silver pitch over the top of his forehead. “I’m Phil. What’s this about?”

Hagen looked at him with all the dignity he could muster. The best thing to do was to tell it straight. “Your nephew, Otto…he’s dead. He was found murdered in his apartment this morning.”

Phil dropped the hard hat to the ground. The top was scarred with black marks, the edges chipped. This was a guy who’d sought responsibility and was used to holding it. That responsibility sat heavily on him now, like he’d just seen a building crumble at his feet. “Fuck.”

“We’re sorry for your loss.”

After a few moments, Phil shook his head and stood up straight. “That kid never had any luck.”

“We just need to ask you a few questions about your nephew.”

“Go ahead.”

Ander brought out his notebook. “Did Otto mention anyone who was bothering him recently? Display any unusual behavior?”

Phil pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. “Otto was a…look, he was…troubled. He was a weird kid. Had a tough life.”

He lit a cigarette and took a long draw. The nicotine seemed to relax him. He placed both hands on his belt and stretched his legs. The heels of his boots sank into soft dirt.

Hagen pushed his hands into his pockets. “How did you come to look after him?”

“My brother. He died when Otto was five. Cancer. His mom passed a couple of years later. Same thing. See what I mean? Shitty luck.” Phil took another drag. The tip of the cigarette glowed an angry red. “Sometimes, life just picks someone and decides…that’s it. It’s gonna beat the crap out of them. Left jab, right jab.”

Hagen rested a foot on top of a stack of girders by the fence. “So you became his guardian?”

“Wasn’t easy. I never married, never met the right girl, so they made me jump through more hoops than an Olympic gymnast to keep him out of foster care. Tried to do the best for him, poor kid, but losing his parents at that age. Does something, you know?”

“Uh-huh.” Hagen had been a teenager when he lost his dad. That had done something. He couldn’t imagine what losing both parents before the age of ten might’ve changed in him. “How did the loss affect Otto?”

“I dunno. He was a dark kid. Always prodding at dead birds and roadkill and shit with a stick or something. I think he showed more interest in dead animals than live ones. Sometimes, he’d ask me what his parents were doing in Heaven, whether I thought they were happy. What was I supposed to tell him, huh?”

Ander lowered his notebook. “That they were happy? And looking down on him?”

“Yeah, I did all that. Didn’t help much. I don’t think he believed me.”

Hagen attempted to refocus the conversation. “Do you know why he left work early today?”

Phil shrugged. “First time I’m hearing about it. Last time I spoke to him was Thursday evening. Last week. He was supposed to come over Friday night, but he said he had plans and couldn’t make it. Told him that was fine. The guys were going out for drinks, so I joined them instead.”

“You know where he went?”

“Didn’t say. I was just glad he was getting out, you know?”

“Because he didn’t have a big social life?”

Phil flicked ash into the dirt. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He wasn’t very outgoing. It was too bad, you know. He was good-looking. Spitting image of my brother. I’d see the way the girls looked at him. But five minutes of conversation, and they’dbe tapping on their phones and side-eyeing the exits. I hate to say it, but the kid was a downer. I think he spent most of his time online.”

Hagen glanced at Ander. They’d heard that before. Patrick. Otto. Both had struggled socially, found a life online, and had that life ended in the most brutal way. That said, it wasn’t quite the same, since it was still very possible that Otto Walker killed Patrick Marrion, or at least was involved in that murder, one way or another.

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