The Keystroke Killer

by Melissa Caudle

  “I’m sorry sir, you don’t have immediate access to those documents.”

  “What do you mean I can’t have access?” Matthew’s face turned red. “They’re public records.” He clenched both fists.

  The clerk handed him a form. “Sir, there are policies and procedures I’m required to follow.”

  Matthew skimmed over the form. “What! Is this a joke? You expect me to fill this out and wait six to eight weeks to get it approved? Are we in the Dark Age?”

  “That’s the policy, sir. After Hurricane Vanessa, to obtain access to our archives that aren’t digital there’s a waiting period. If you don’t like it, I suggest you contact your city councilman.”

  “I have a better idea.” Matthew stomped away. Simply unbelievable. These people must be crazy.

  Matthew’s cell phone rang. What the hell do you want?

  ***

  Robby continued his autopsy on Roxy Starlite. “You must have been a troubled young lady. How do you girls get into this situation?”

  He examined her scalp, guided her head to one side and examined behind her left ear. A black ink swirl and the tattoo - “EpSos.de” grabbed his attention. He touched the side of his neck and twitched. That’s familiar. He strode to the cooler and pulled the drawer with Kara Haynes’ corpse. After removing the white sheet, he gently turned her head, looked behind her left ear and examined the same tattoo.

  “Deedra, what does EpSos.de mean?”

  “EpSos.de comes from a variety of sources often used by strong hardworking women to define themselves made popular by actor Angelina Jolie in the year two thousand five. It is believed to be a magical space that mixes joy, color and creativity. It is an acronym that represents: Epical, Prolific, Smart Open Source of Divine Enjoyment.”

  “Deedra, call Agent Mansfield.”

  “Agent Mansfield is connected.”

  “Good afternoon Dr. Ziegler. How can I be of service?”

  “I have an interesting finding for you. It may or may not be worthy of your attention.”

  “What girl are we talking about?”

  “That’s what is so interesting. When I performed the autopsy on Kara Haynes, I noted she had a specific tattoo behind her left ear with the acronym EpSos.de.”

  “Yes, I recall that information in your report.”

  “I found an identical tattoo behind Roxy Starlite’s left ear.”

  “That’s an interesting discovery.”

  “There’s more. When I reviewed the Surgical serial killer case files, each victim’s autopsy report revealed they too had tattoos that were also words. Two of those reports specifically identified them.”

  “Let me guess, EpSos.de.”

  “Correct. Our suspect pool has increased. You can add a tattoo artist to the veterinarian and medical personnel list.”

  “Thank you. I’ll contact my resource in Seattle. Oh, what does the tattoo mean?”

  “I asked Deedra. I suggest you do the same thing.”

  “Deedra, end call.”

  The phone disconnected. Robby returned to the autopsy table where Roxy Starlite lay. “Okay sweetheart. Let me see what else you can tell me about your killer.”

  ***

  Agent Locklear huffed and rolled her shoulders. “These cases get more entangled at every step. I’m confused. Roxy Starlite isn’t a victim of the Surgical serial killer.”

  Agent Mansfield rubbed his chin. “That we are aware of.”

  “Why would he change his signature? He didn’t remove her tongue or teeth.”

  “Maybe he was interrupted? Maybe he’s trying to throw us off?”

  “No, I feel it in my gut. It’s another unsub. Victimology is different; this murder was personal.”

  “Get your things. I have a list of tattoo parlors we need to visit. Maybe the artist can share light on the subject.”

  “Do you realize how many tattoo artists there are in New Orleans? Much less in the United States.”

  “That doesn’t matter. We’re looking for the one who put these tattoos on Roxy and Kara. We find him or her, we can investigate where he or she worked before.”

  “So far, this is our only solid lead.”

  THURSDAY, APRIL 4, 2058

  chapter 23

  Through the Barrel of a Gun

  At Tent City, Halo, Suicide and Privateer sat and chatted surrounded by a dozen others. Suicide rubbed his temples. “I’m telling you. That buzz is back in my head. The same buzz we got each time before our covert missions.”

  “Anyone else feel it?” Halo positioned himself to a full attention status.

  Suicide screwed up his face into an angry scowl. “How could they not?”

  Fiona’s eyes darted toward Suicide. She leaned close to one of the war heroes beside her. “There he goes again.”

  The veterans looked at Suicide.

  An electrical surge from the powerline shimmered blue as an electrical pulse transmitted from the wire downward onto the poll and zapped Suicide. He clenched his head screaming, “There it goes again.”

  Fiona rushed over to Suicide. “Man, you got hit hard. You okay?”

  Halo loomed over him. “Block it out, man. Block it out.”

  “They’re coming to get me.” Suicide perseverated and became short of breath.

  Fiona wrinkled her brow. “Who’s coming?”

  A black limousine turned the corner and came to a stop.

  “Do you believe me now?” Suicide froze upright.

  The window of the stretch limo rolled down midway. Dr. Angela leered smugly at Suicide.

  Suicide shuddered; a calm and compliant demeanor overtook him. He strode to the limo.

  The powerline surged and emitted a blue shimmer. Privateer vanished; yet, no one noticed but Halo.

  Dr. Angela opened the car door. “Get in, we have unfinished business.”

  Suicide complied as if Dr. Angela spoke a post hypnotic suggestion. He opened the limo door and he and Halo stepped in. The window closed as the limo pulled away.

  Fiona creased her brow. “What the hell?”

  ***

  The black limo continued the journey beneath the underpass. Dr. Angela and Suicide sat in the back. Halo sat in the jump seat invisible to Dr. Angela.

  “Why am I here?” Suicide grabbed a bottle of water.

  “We have unfinished business.”

  Halo moved next to Suicide. “Don’t let him control you. Stay in control. Stay focused.”

  “I am focused.”

  Dr. Angela frowned. “I alleged nothing to you about not being focused. I have a job for you that requires your specialty.”

  “Does it come with a room, a bath and a hot meal?”

  “Lux has already arranged your accommodations.”

  The Angela limousine pulled into the parking lot of a pay by the hour motel on Tulane Avenue – bed bugs were free. Dr. Angela retrieved a motel key from his vest pocket and handed it to Suicide.

  “Your room number is on the key. This is your home for now.”

  “It’s not the Saint Garrick, but it’ll do.”

  Dr. Angela handed a thick envelope to Suicide. “This is your down payment. When you finish the job, you’ll receive another. We clear?”

  “Not exactly. What’s the job?”

  “Your instructions and gear are in your room. Don’t call me when you complete your mission. I’ll watch it on the news.”

  Suicide nodded and vacated the car. Halo followed.

  The odor of stale smoke and mold permeated the motel room as Suicide entered. He switched on the lamp, threw the envelope onto the bed which landed by a green khaki duffle bag. He sat on the bed and bounced. “This will do. Not too hard and not too soft.”

  “There’s always the floor.” Halo leaned against the wall. “Look at yourself. You think you’ve died and gone to heaven having a roof over your head.”

  “This beats the streets.” He faced the mirror above the triple dresser.

  “That’s a matter of opin
ion.”

  “Look, we even got a remote.” Suicide turned on the television and quickly powered it off.

  “Are you through taking inventory of the room?” Halo’s impatience festered.

  “Nope. I gotta see what’s in the duffle bag.” He grabbed the bag and unzipped it.

  “I like it.” He pulled out sniper gear. “Okay. A radio transmitter. That could come in handy.”

  “Only if it’s a covert mission op.”

  “Don’t be such a Debbie Downer.”

  “You aren’t going to do anything for him, are you?”

  “I don’t have a choice. Now do I?” He grabbed a package of socks. “You heard his rules. You play by them or die by them.” Suicide plucked a bag full of toiletries.

  “You always have a choice.”

  “Why are you even here? You’re not real.”

  “Trust me son, I’m real.”

  Suicide kicked off his rugged combat boots as he retrieved a baggy full of green and black face paint. He placed the duffle bag onto the floor and removed his filthy socks. He broke the seal of the envelope and dumped the money onto the bed. “There must be fifty thousand dollars in here.”

  “Boy, that’s more money than I’ve ever seen.”

  “Me too.” He retrieved a printed piece of paper from the envelope and read the instructions to himself. “I feel like it’s Christmas morning.”

  “More like a bribe if you ask me.”

  “I have a job to do.”

  “I’m warning you not to do this.”

  Suicide undressed to his only pair of comic book boxer shorts, grabbed his war paint and stood in front of the dresser mirror. He painted black and green streaks on his face.

  Halo stood behind Suicide in full Commando attire and saluted. He began a military cadence to the Duckworth chant melody as they faced each other in a salute and marched in place.

  “If I die in New Orleans.”

  “If I die in New Orleans.”

  “Tell my mamma I am mean.”

  “Tell my mamma I am mean.”

  “I have a job that must be done.”

  “I have a job that must be done.”

  “Through the barrel of a gun.”

  “Through the barrel of a gun.”

  “Sound off!”

  “Sound off!”

  “One. Two.”

  “One. Two.”

  “Three. Four.”

  “Three. Four.”

  ***

  The upscale home in a peaceful neighborhood provided the perfect target for Lorenzo and his two homies, Santiago Juarez and Jorge Rodriguez. They scoped the area to determine what home to heist. They had a specific demographic: married working couple, no children, no dogs and no in-laws who popped over unannounced. Planning for a heist took time. Each man had a specific role and brought unique skills to the team dynamic.

  Lorenzo picked the back door lock. “Success.” The lock clicked to the unlocked position in the tumbler.

  Santiago tapped Lorenzo’s back. “Countdown has begun. We have four minutes. Let’s make this quick.”

  Jorge glanced at his watch. “Agreed.”

  They bolted into the house.

  The Garcia gang split to cover more ground. Lorenzo searched the living room, Jorge looked for a safe and for other valuables as Santiago rifled through the couple’s upstairs master bedroom and closet.

  One minute into the search, the homeowner stood at the top of the stairs. He aimed his rifle at Lorenzo. “Freeze! The rest of you get in here now or your friend dies.” He cocked the rifle.

  Lorenzo froze and put his hands in the air.

  Santiago eased from the kitchen with his hands above his head. “Please don’t shoot.”

  At the top of the stairs, Jorge held a crystal vase over his head as he tiptoed behind the owner and whacked him across the head. The man collapsed. He and the rifle rolled to the bottom of the stairs and landed at Lorenzo’s feet.

  Santiago quickly stuffed a silver platter into his duffel bag and bolted for Lorenzo. “I think he’s dead.”

  Lorenzo wiped the sweat from his brow. “Stay calm. He may be out and not dead.”

  Blood pooled around the man’s head as Lorenzo knelt beside him and checked his pulse. “You’re right; he’s dead.”

  Jorge shivered in his boots. “I killed him.”

  “Let’s fly.” Lorenzo sprinted toward the back door. “Get your ass down here now.”

  “We can’t leave him here.” Jorge bolted downward, tripped and landed at the bottom of the stairs near the homeowner. Fear controlled his breath. “Oh God. What if he’s still alive and we do nothing?”

  Lorenzo stopped at the door. “You’re one stupid asshole. He saw our faces. If he lives, we go to jail for the rest of our lives.” Lorenzo bolted to the man, retrieved the rifle and blew the man’s brains out to the shock of the others. “Now, let’s go. Move it.” He threw the rifle to the floor beside the victim.

  Jorge dialed 9-1-1 from the owner’s landline and dashed out of the house after Lorenzo and Santiago.

  chapter 24

  Suspicious Lies

  Awhite stretch limousine pulled into the strip mall and parked at the entrance. The chauffeur stepped from the car, moseyed to the passenger side and opened the passenger’s door. Janice stepped out.

  “Shall I escort you in Ms. Bennett?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Ma’am, I’ll keep the car running.”

  Janice moved toward the entrance, stopped at the marquee business listings and moved her finger across the names. She landed at Hammer and Snead’s office location. Suite one hundred.

  In the conference room, Peterson sat reading over case files. “He better get here before Mrs. Bennett or have a damn good excuse for Snead.”

  Mr. Hammer pulled his soggy cigar from his mouth. “You’ve got that right.”

  Debra sipped her cranberry juice. “It could be the end of Matthew if he misses this meeting like he did yesterday.”

  Peterson pelted the file onto the conference table. “The way I look at it, Mr. Snead should have fired him a long time ago.”

  “Now, now Peterson my boy. I do the hiring and firing around here. Mind your own business.” Mr. Hammer tapped his cane twice.

  Janice entered the bullpen and gazed at the emptiness. “Excuse me. Anyone in here? I have an appointment.”

  Inside the conference room, Peterson scratched his chin. “Shit, she’s here.”

  Mr. Hammer looked disgusted. “I’ll call Matthew again. Debra, go meet her.”

  Debra scurried to the bullpen. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, we were prepping for our meeting. I’m Debra Jones. Please come this way.”

  Mr. Snead shuffled from his office. “Glad to see you Janice.”

  “Nice hat. I like the red and yellow feather.”

  “How have you been?”

  “Fair.”

  “Glad to hear it. Shall we?”

  Mr. Snead and Debra escorted Janice into the conference room as Mr. Hammer and Peterson rose out of respect. Mr. Snead positioned himself at the head of the table as the others took their seats. Debra and Janice sat across from Peterson.

  Matthew darted into the room and slammed his briefcase onto the table opposite of Mr. Snead. He opened his brief case.

  “Anytime Matthew will be fine.” Mr. Snead’s voice reflected a sarcastic tone.

  Matthew retrieved a bottle of aspirin, dumped three into his hand, leaned across the table and grimaced in pain. He grabbed a bottle of water and chugged them.

  “Glad you made it here in one piece.” Mr. Hammer tapped his cane twice. “Take a seat boy.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s a rough world out there. It’s not the sixties. Is it Snead?”

  “Boy, you sure you’re okay?”

  Peterson shifted in his seat. “Arrogant ass hole.” His words mumbled in a low volume.

  Matthew ignored Peterson, but the glare he projected toward him reflected otherwise.
He shut his briefcase and winked at Janice. “Let me guess. You’re...”

  Janice stood and reached across the table to shake Matthew's hand. “...Let me introduce myself, I'm Mrs. Janice Thompson Bennett, Louisiana Attorney General.

  “That would be my guess. We expected you to be here considering you made an appointment. Can we get to the matter at hand?”

  Mr. Snead burrowed his brows. “Mr. Raymond, she’s our client. Where are your manners?”

  Janice leered ingratiatingly at Matthew. “Not everyone follows the social mores of society. So, let me begin this meeting. That is, if it is all right with Mr. Raymond.”

  Matthew smugly nodded.

  “Very well. Our Nation's focus is on the deaths of young girls in this area at the hands of a serial killer. The Nation wants justice. I want justice.”

  Matthew frowned confused. “Do you think a private investigation firm is the way to go? Doesn't our country use the FBI to trap serial killers?”

  Debra and Peterson glanced toward each other.

  Mr. Snead cleared his throat. “Excuse my staff. They haven't learned how to play the game.”

  Matthew glanced back at him in disapproval.

  Mr. Hammer pounded his cane to get the others attention. “We need to simmer down. No need to get a black kettle boiling if there’s no need.”

  “Let me continue. The Office of the Attorney General isn't asking you to take on this case. I am, as Mrs. Tom Thompson.”

  Janice handed Matthew several documents which contained the list of names, pictures of the victims of the Sorority serial killer and the list of the girls reported missing.

  He thumbed through each document. “So far this is information we already have.”

  She handed him a copy of the Congressman’s appointment book, a printout of his telephone calls and the surveillance picture of her husband beside Roxy Starlite at the Purple Oz. “These should give you a different perspective.”

  After reviewing the information, Matthew passed the documents to Debra who examined them.