The Keystroke Killer

by Melissa Caudle

  An Asian female agent, Sigu Suminuko, entered the room and handed Agent Locklear a message. “This takes top priority.”

  Agent Mansfield peered over the message. “Well, what does it say?”

  “A Honey Island Swamp tour captain called the FBI hotline and reported finding the Sorority serial killer in the marsh. For now, he’s keeping the alligators at bay and is stopping them from feasting on the body.”

  Agent Mansfield’s brow creased. “How did he know the victim is the Sorority serial killer?”

  “The unsub left us a message identifying the victim.”

  “Team Sorority we roll in ten.” Agent Mansfield informed the others. There was authority in his voice. “The rest stay here and finish the profile on the Surgical serial killer. Start with any medical field practitioner or veterinarian who has access to Ketamine. Agent Caudle stay on top of the tattoo artist. This may be the most significant lead we have.”

  Liz glanced at Agent Mansfield. “May I join you?”

  Agent Mansfield gave her a once over. “Dressed like that? Never mind, if you want to ride with us, I’ll send for a set of fatigues, boots and a bulletproof vest. That is unless you changed your mind.”

  “It’s not my first time in a swamp, get me the gear, please.”

  ***

  Dr. Angela sat at his desk across from Suicide and Dr. Langford. Halo sat on the corner of the desk and read Dr. Angela’s notes.

  “Suicide. The process is painless.” Dr. Langford prepared the syringe to draw Suicide’s blood. “It only takes a few seconds to draw your blood and take your mouth swab.”

  “You need to do this, why?”

  Dr. Angela cleared his throat. “Several reasons. You now work for me and we need it for your insurance policy.”

  “I get insurance? I won’t have to go to the lousy vet clinic, that’s exciting.”

  “After I clear you as healthy.” Dr. Langford glanced at his watch. “You have been living on the streets. Your health is very important to us.”

  “I give you my consent.” Suicide held out his exposed arm.

  “Don’t do it.” Halo paced behind Dr. Angela’s desk; worry consumed his expression.

  “I have to do it.”

  “That’s correct Suicide. You have to do it.” Dr. Angela nodded with burning urgency.

  Dr. Langford tied a rubber tourniquet around Suicide’s forearm. He thumped several veins before he inserted the needle and drew his blood. He put the blood sample into his medical bag and retrieved an extended medical Q-Tip. He swabbed inside Suicide’s cheek. “Now, that didn’t hurt.” He secured the DNA sample and placed it into his medical bag.

  Frustrated and impatient, Suicide leered at Dr. Angela. “No, but it’s been awhile since you moved me to that bed bug infested motel. Why haven’t you told me my target?”

  Dr. Angela handed Suicide an envelope. “Funny you should mention it; your mission is for tonight. Follow it through, the instructions and the target are inside.”

  “You hear that Halo? Time’s up let’s go.” Suicide bolted to his feet, saluted Dr. Angela as if he were a five star general, turned and marched out of the office.

  Halo marched through Dr. Angela’s desk and followed his comrade. He clutched the bottom of his AK47 supported over his shoulder. Halo sounded-off his version of the Duckworth chant. “Two by two here we go oh.”

  “Two by two here we go oh.” Suicide high stepped it toward the door.

  “Marchin down valleys death row.”

  “Marchin down valleys death row.”

  “When it’s time to be shut down.”

  “When it’s time to be shut down.”

  “We won’t wait to fire a round.”

  “We won’t wait to fire a round.”

  The door shut behind Suicide as he left. Halo’s ghostly body marched through it. The cadence faded from the room.

  “Sound off.”

  “Sound off.”

  “One two.”

  “One two.”

  Dr. Langford packed his medical bag. “That boy is a lunatic.”

  “Why do you think I want him tested for the genome?”

  “I don’t get it. He has nothing to offer to our research or to Project Dimension.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. It has everything to do with him. Didn’t you witness him talking to someone?”

  “That’s why he’s a schizophrenic.”

  “Let’s suppose he carries the gene allowing him to see, hear and remember someone in the fourth dimension which unifies the time space continuum. This maximizes and validates Hawking’s theories. His friend might be communicating with him. If so, if he’s a carrier, we are one step closer to our goal.”

  “I must admit, he has the physical characteristics.”

  “There’s one more thing. I want Milo tested.”

  “He may have the eyes, but he has a bald head.”

  “You idiot, he wasn’t always bald. Give him the goddamn test and get me the results. I want to see if the genome has anything to do with his so-called telepathic ability he claims he shares with Red Lettenberg. This could be one of the most significant discoveries of our generation. This goes well beyond our experiments on remote viewers.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll make it my priority.”

  “Now, I’m thinking, those three tests I had you run. Those subjects were carriers of the G6/11 mutant gene. This might mean those two test subjects have telepathic abilities too. They may not realize it or understand how to use it.”

  ***

  Janice sat across from Matthew’s desk while Debra and Peterson stood behind her.

  Janice’s mouth curled into a sneer of disgust. “So, who is the whore my husband is sleeping with?”

  Matthew rested his elbows onto his desk and leaned forward. “Ms. Bennett, there is no need for concern. We found the woman. I issued a very strong warning to her to stay away from your husband.”

  Debra and Peterson recognized Matthew’s lie, he would have told them.

  Janice leaned decisively toward Matthew. “Who is this whore? Are you sure she’s going away?”

  “There is a problem, she wants hush money.”

  “That’s blackmail. Tell me who she is. I’ll arrest her.”

  “She doesn’t consider it blackmail. It is her terms for a non-disclosure agreement.”

  “Her and the infamous Stormy Daniels. How much?”

  Matthew took a piece of paper, grabbed a pen, wrote the amount and handed it to Janice.

  “She wants a six-figure sum? If this means she’s out of my life, give it to her. Make sure she goes away. Where do I send the money?”

  “To my account. She wants her identity kept a secret. I’ll give you my routing number. When the money is in the bank, I’ll cash out and give it to her. That way, she’s never tied to your husband’s political campaign; or, to your future. If anyone discovers the money, it was the fee you paid me to find your niece’s killer. It keeps it clean that way.”

  “When you give it to her, tell her I hope she doesn’t wind up dead like the others.”

  A lump in Matthew’s throat formed. Me too. What have I done?

  ***

  The Reagan Presidential luxury suite of the Saint Garrick Hotel proved to be the norm for the Congressman’s love nest. He embraced Kelly in his arms as they both climaxed by jerking off each other. Tom gazed deep into her eyes. “You are the best of both worlds.”

  “Why Congressman? I’m flattered. And, it’s only noon.”

  “I’m only going to ask you one time, please don’t go through with it.”

  “Not go through with my reassignment surgery? No way. I was born into the wrong body. As soon as I get enough money, I’m registering at the nearest hospital that will do it the fastest.” Kelly held out her hand.

  “I love you this way, please consider that in your decision. I love looking at a beautiful woman, but honestly, I’d rather fuck a man.” He removed a wad of cash from his wallet and
placed it onto the dresser.

  “Now, now, Congressman. That’s no way to speak to a lady. I could use a cigarette. I always love a smoke after sex.”

  The Congressman’s phone rang. He grabbed it from the night stand, glanced at the caller I.D. and quickly put it back. I don’t want to talk to her.

  “It’s your wife, isn’t it? Does she suspect us?”

  “Not in the least, she knows I like whores and boys, you’re neither. And, that my dear is a sincere compliment.”

  ***

  Liz wore a pair of black fatigues, a black tank top beneath the FBI bulletproof vest and combat boots as she stepped from the sedan. “It’s only noon.”

  The others exited the four black government issued sedans.

  Agent Locklear stood next to Liz. “I expected it to take longer to get here.”

  “The sirens helped.”

  Robby and Colonel Edward Hill, the lead investigator for Saint Bernard Parish approached the agents.

  “Greetings.” Robby’s tone rifled in a monotone declaration. “Come this way. You must see the crime scene for yourselves.”

  Colonel Hill shot Robby an irritated look. “Wait! It’s imperative you see what is staged inside that van.”

  It only took a second for Agent Mansfield to announce with authority his decision no one would question. “Body first, van second.”

  Robby held his head high and escorted the team toward the body. “Be careful where you step.”

  Liz tripped over a cypress knee; Agent Mansfield caught her. “It’s not too late to turn back.”

  “I’m fine, let’s keep going.”

  Agent Locklear swatted a mosquito on her arm. “How did that captain find the body?”

  Colonel Hill stopped and faced the team. “Fortunately, he was out gator hunting and when he noticed the swarm of flies over the body.”

  Robby nodded. “He’s been shooting gators all day to keep them at bay.”

  Liz rubbed her temple. “Is that even legal?”

  “Don’t worry, he’s using a tranq gun.”

  About thirty yards ahead, Agent Mansfield spotted the body. “What the hell? The unsub posed the victim like the Sorority girls?”

  “That’s not all he did.” Robby glanced over toward the victim. “He left a message. Colonel lead the way, they must see the body for themselves.”

  The entourage continued their path to Roth’s posed body.

  Agent Mansfield picked up his pace. “A message? What did it say?”

  “I’ll let you be surprised, it has significant meaning. It was meant for us.”

  Colonel Hill led the team the rest of the way, his hip ached and throbbed after the arduous trek.

  The team gawped at Roth’s body.

  Rachal clomped in her white shrimp boots from a wooded area to the FBI team. “Glad to see the Calvary. The victim’s name is Roth Harold Bell. He waited tables at Perks in New Orleans and attended Loyola University. When I ran his name, there was no known address. I think he lived out of that van.”

  Agent Mansfield reflected on the information as he pursed his lips. “That name sounds familiar.” A frown erupted across his forehead. He knelt to read the scarlet message written on Roth’s chest. “Matthew, your welcome, Milo.” He glanced up toward Agent Locklear. “Is that message really from Milo? He wrote that?”

  “Looks that way.” Agent Locklear cocked her head.

  Liz’s mind reeled.

  Rachal stepped forward. “I feel certain it is. We must wait for an expert to analyze the handwriting and for forensics to determine if there’s any of the killer’s DNA. Those are Milo’s fingerprints on that textbook. He is connected to this crime scene and I believe he wrote that message onto the victim’s chest.”

  Robby tilted his head. “That’s not the only thing Milo did. He stuffed wadded pieces of paper and delete keys down his throat. I’m not sure how many until I can get the body to the morgue. However, the first paper I pulled was identical to the one I pulled out of the last victim of the Sorority serial killer.”

  Agent Mansfield stroked his chin. “Inform me when you have copies. And, for now, stop connecting this to Milo Evans until we have positive proof. Stay in the game.”

  Rachal clomped back toward the van. “This way. I think when you see what’s in the van, you’ll be certain it was Milo and he murdered Roth Bell. And, for the record, my head is always in the game. I know Milo. This is what he’d do.”

  Agent Mansfield caught up to Liz. “What do you think about all this from your point of view?”

  “This absolutely makes sense. If Milo Evans did this, he took offense to a copy-cat killer. It’s his way of showing power and domination. I think the theory that Milo had an accomplice can go out the window. He’s to ego driven to share in the glory and very misogynistic.”

  The investigators reached the van and Rachal stuck her head into it. “Clear out!”

  The forensic specialists emptied like a herd of cattle coming out of a trailer as Rachal handed the agents rubber gloves and paper shoe covers, which were immediately put on by the group.

  As Agent Mansfield stepped into the van, he put the gloves on and took a deep breath. The smell of human blood, urine and feces baked by the Louisiana heat was overwhelming as he gagged and put his hand over his nose and mouth. “Not much room.” He put on the mask.

  Agent Locklear controlled her gag reflex upon entering the van, putting her mask and gloves. “I’ve investigated lots of crime scenes in my life, but I’ve never seen anything like this. What do you make of it?”

  Speechless, the two agents studied the organized and meticulous display.

  Agent Mansfield stepped to the computer. “This is more than a crime scene, it’s the Sorority killer’s lair. This is where he killed his victims.”

  “Don’t take chances of contaminating DNA, this search must be forensically clean.” Agent Locklear took a deep breath dumbfounded.

  Agent Mansfield pressed the space bar focusing on the file marked “Roth’s Co-eds.” The file opened. “The names and pictures of the fourteen victims are here.”

  Agent Locklear studied the display on the bed. “I bet these pictures match your list on the screen and those panties are his souvenirs.” She stepped toward the bed and tripped over Sam’s water bowl. “He has a dog.” She examined the first victim’s souvenir item, pinched the blue lace thong panty between her fingers and lifted it. A lock of hair fell onto the picture. “Looks like Milo did our work for us. Everything is laid out; nice, neat and very organized. Milo even ordered the girls by the date in which they were murdered.”

  “We don’t know it was Milo. Please don’t make that hasty assumption.”

  “I disagree. This is exactly what Milo would do, he’s playing games with us. It’s almost as if to throw the investigation into our faces. He’s probably laughing watching our every move and bragging to himself how he caught the Sorority serial killer when we failed nine times.”

  Rachal stepped into the van. “Milo Evans is our number one suspect; his fingerprints are confirmed. It can’t get clearer than this, he was pissed that someone stole his thunder.”

  “Agent Mansfield let’s confer with the rest of the agents, I’ve seen enough. Let CSU finish collecting all the evidence.”

  Everyone vacated the van.

  Agent Mansfield tightened his jaw before he addressed the others. “How did he find him when half of the FBI in America couldn’t? Is there an underground serial killer’s club we don’t know about? He’s really pissing me off.”

  Agent Suminuko strode briskly from the rim of the crime scene toward Agent Mansfield. “Sir, we ran the VIN. You will not believe who it’s registered to.”

  “Well, don’t keep me waiting. Who owns it?”

  “Edward Harold Bell.”

  “Impossible. Edward Bell was a serial killer in the seventies and is dead.”

  “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t handed down to a family member or two. This van is worth a lot
of money in the collector world.”

  “Are you suggesting that Roth Harold Bell is the great-grandson of a notorious serial killer?”

  Liz looked concerned. “There’s nothing in science that has proven that you can inherit a gene programmed to kill. So, please don’t make that link until we have DNA proof they’re related. He could easily just be a psychopath.”

  Robby nodded. “I agree with Dr. Wright. I need to conduct the autopsy.”

  “Please put this on your priority list and get the results.”

  “They’re all my priorities.”

  Colonel Hill stepped forward. “Milo left his own samples for us to find. He urinated in a Mason jar and signed his name on it with the same red marker he used on Roth Bell. We found it by the front tire of the van, he made sure we’d find it.”

  “He’s one abrasive and arrogant son of a bitch. I’ve heard it all.”

  Rachal leered triumphantly. “Not yet, sir. Blaze Angela reported him missing this morning.”

  “You mean Dr. Garrick Angela’s daughter?”

  Liz shuddered. Her skin crawled at the thought. Matthew was right. She was in danger. She retrieved her cell phone and typed Matthew a text.

  ***

  At Hammer and Snead, Debra searched through case files while Matthew wiped his eyes deep in thought. I told Janice a lie to get the money out of her. Kelly deserves it and the life this amount of money will provide. His confidence slid after Janice left. In his mind, he’d done the right thing, although it was illegal. What’s wrong with me? No wonder people think I’ve lost my mind. I have.

  Peterson poked his head from the break room waving his empty coffee mug. “Anyone want a refill? I’m buying.”

  “I’ve had enough caffeine for the day.” Debra gazed at the cold cup of coffee she hadn’t touched.

  Matthew received Liz’s text. Gobsmacked, he texted her back.

  Mr. Hammer pounded his fists on the desk. “I don’t drink that damn stuff. Give me a shot of whiskey and a cigar and I’ll do just fine.”

  Matthew’s concentration tapered as the events of the last couple weeks popped consistently into his mind making for a difficult long day.

  Peterson stomped toward Matthew to confront him. His body was stiff; and his voice brusque. “You’re lying. Who’s the girl Thompson’s sleeping with? You’ll go to jail for extortion.”