Scratched Off

by Julie C. Gilbert

  “Don’t worry about cleanup,” said Mel. She stood, clutching her mug.

  Closing the space between them, Sam took her mug and placed it on the counter to his right. Then, he used his hold on her arm to draw her into a hug. She smelled like shampoo and chocolate. Sam enjoyed the odd mixture.

  Mel shifted, and Sam let her break the light hold he had on her. He wanted to hang on and kiss her, but he didn’t want to scare her off by moving too quickly. As he fought his instincts, Mel leaned up and planted a light kiss on his lips.

  “Thanks again for coming,” she whispered.

  Sam’s heart soared and his thoughts dwelt on Mel the entire drive home, but somehow, he made it back to his apartment in one piece.

  Chapter 18:

  Tools of the Trade

  The Killer’s Lair

  Undisclosed Location

  Day 4: Mid-morning.

  It’s lonely without the South Street Lady. I’ve never held a captive that long. She was with me well over a week. I never thought myself desperate for human contact. I’m usually comfortable with the company I keep online. Keeping captives is more work and far more dangerous than killing strangers from afar or swooping down on the unworthy like a bird of prey, only to leave their corpses behind.

  The game maker is dead. Stinger44 was as good as his reputation. Guess he’ll be stinger45 or greater the next time I contract him. There will be a next time. Murder from afar is less satisfying than carrying out the sentence oneself, but it’s also more convenient. It opens a world of possibilities too. I am only one man. I cannot be in every state or country. This could extend my mission beyond the confines of this physical location. With enough planning, I could even extend the mission years into the future. It would only take enough bank accounts and people willing to work as stinger44 did. The situation’s somewhat unique in that the man who needed killing had enough money to tempt a professional. Unfortunately, not everybody who needs to die has that kind of money to redirect.

  I may need to post these sooner than expected. Always thought blogs were for teenagers and losers, but they do allow information to be shared quickly. The world needs to have my knowledge, though in all fairness I cannot claim to be the source of everything. Much of what I know, I owe to my good friend, psycho67. I’m not sure if he studied criminal justice, watches too many movies, or has tried these things himself, but the lessons I have tested are sound.

  Killing is hard work, and it takes a lot of forethought to do it right. I broke the rule about not killing someone I know with Lurch, but I should be sufficiently removed from him to get away with it. One should never enter the prospect of killing lightly. Those who do it on a whim are the fools lining the prison cells.

  Killing is also expensive. I’ve built up enough legitimate income to sustain myself while I work, but I can see why many choose to tolerate the slights of the unworthy. I’ve been fortunate enough to have skills that can earn money without the need for an office job.

  Killing also takes a lot of stuff. My stockpiles will need to be extended should I wish to keep people alive longer. People are a lot of work. Keeping them fed, sheltered, watered, and cleansed is an endless, thankless task. I’ve built up a solid collection of canned goods over time. I never went to the same grocery store twice on that errand. Army surplus stores are great for MREs. Meals-ready-to-eat may not be the best food in the world, but they probably last the longest. I recommend them for long campaigns. There’s no point to keeping people alive for long, unless you want something from somebody else or need to be around people.

  Ransom’s always a tricky business. Don’t even try it if your goal is to ease the innocent to the afterlife or take out the trash.

  I got lucky with the South Street Lady in that she was content to not make much noise or conversation. From what I read on the Kill Street Info forum, this is not always the case. A lot of guys have the misfortune of picking up screamers and whiners. I don’t understand them, the guys who choose to keep people like that alive as long as they do.

  What are the tools of the trade? To answer that question well, one must understand the needs of a killer.

  Restraints: Duct tape is strong, but the sticky nature of it easily takes pieces of anything that touches it. This makes them evidence gold mines. Zip ties are easier to break out of, but there’s less risk of leaving part of oneself behind after handling them. They can also be used easily with gloves, not so with duct tape. I’m glad I tested this theory before trying it in the field. Handcuffs work better than zip ties if one can remember to wipe them down. The surface picks up fingerprints easily. Rope has gone out of style, but it’s easier than zip ties or handcuffs for restraining feet. Tape’s probably stronger, but rope is slightly less likely to preserve DNA for investigators.

  Means of control: My knowledge here is fairly rudimentary. Drugs such as ketamine and GHB have their uses, but they’re not much good to me in a capture. I tend to use them to control captives already obtained. To use them during a capture requires far too much public exposure. Stun guns are better for actually subduing someone, but they require a lot more privacy. Lies and stories are actually the best means of control. Innocent and unworthy alike tend to want to help a stranger in need. This method’s becoming harder to accomplish because self-absorption seems on the rise, but it still works.

  Obtaining prescription and illicit drugs must be done slowly. Never be stupid enough to have it mailed directly to your base of operations. Post office boxes were made for this sort of thing. In fact, the amount of packages delivered directly should be limited. Delivery people keep busy, but they also have eyes and ears and mouths to spill what they’ve seen and heard.

  Isolation’s the key. Somehow, the target must be lured to a place they can be controlled.

  Psycho67 says threats are useful, especially when dealing with small groups. Nobody wants to be responsible for harm befalling a friend or family member. That’s ingrained in us.

  Weapons: I’ve not gotten to test everything yet. That’s my major project for this year, but I’m taking a short break to let things settle and to gather my resources for the spring and summer pushes. Knives are messier than they’re worth. They’re very personal and pretty satisfying, but they’re not my first choice. Handguns are cold and impersonal. They get high marks for efficiency, medium for being personal, and low for satisfaction. Hands are very personal, but killing with one’s hands is too risky. You have to be far stronger than the target, and the cops are getting better at capturing fingerprints. Blunt objects are effective but less personal than knives. To be most effective, they require an ambush. Sniper rifles require a lot of skill. Hunting rifles require a moderate amount of skill, but are very impersonal. Ideally, kills should be personal, efficient, and satisfying.

  Cleaning supplies: Death is a messy and smelly business. Plastic sheets, garbage bags, paper towels, fresh wipes, and bleach ought to be staples on one’s supply list. If buying an excessive amount of these items, consider frequenting several stores and spreading out types of items purchased. Never use a rewards card for a specific store as these are used to track your buying habits.

  Clothes: Where possible, long sleeves and sturdy pants like jeans are preferable. People fight back. Normal fingernails become weapons when people are desperate. Carry spare clothes and blankets.

  Vehicles: I use a white van, but vehicle choice is a highly personal thing. Vans are good because they give one room to work. The back can be kept relatively clean and covered in plastic. If one sticks a paint can or two in the back, the plastic can even look legitimate. There’s a forum topic devoted to personal vehicles. I don’t remember every response, but most of us have large vehicles. That’s just a matter of practicality.

  Dedication: Understand this will be a physically demanding job. One must be physically fit and relatively agile. There’s a lot of lifting and fighting involved.

  Anchor: Have a reason for what you do. Psycho67 calls the motive an anchor. A healthy mind i
s important when entering such weighty work. From time to time, one needs to remind themselves what they’re fighting for. There’s good in the world, very little of it but it’s there. That’s worth fighting for. An anchor can be an object or an idea, but mine is a person. I imagine it’s harder to have an anchor that’s a person because it means she can’t appreciate the work being done for her. If my anchor were an idea, I would be the only one who has to know.

  Speaking of my anchor, she continues to correspond with the FBI agent. I’m no longer certain this is a good thing. His investigation has been spinning wheels to nowhere thus far, but they recently formed a task force. That means more agents, which increases their chances of succeeding. I won’t let that happen, even if it means hurting my anchor.

  Only cause an excess of pain when they deserve it. There are times you’ll need to attack an innocent person either to confuse the police or because they unwittingly become collateral. If it becomes about the pain, you’ve lost your focus.

  Killing is lonely but honest work. We are called to a higher purpose than the masses. The general population will look down their long noses and condemn the work as evil. They will continue to lie, cheat, and steal in legal ways while they murder each other in their hearts.

  Don’t be like them.

  Chapter 19:

  A Mountain of Evidence

  FBI Laboratory

  Marine Corps Base Quantico

  Quantico, Virginia

  Sam let his eyes sweep the massive building that had just swallowed him. It felt great to be back on the base, but he’d never had cause to wander the FBI Laboratory before. His first stint here had been as a Marine sniper in another lifetime. His second major visit had been roughly four years earlier to attend the FBI Training Academy. This time, he was a suited guest, which made him feel old. Before he could get too depressed, a young man with short, dark hair waved at him.

  Striding over briskly, the man thrust his right hand forward for Sam to shake. The white lab coat bore a nameplate that read Nikhil Kumar.

  “Welcome, Agent Kerman,” said the scientist. His slight Indian accent gave the words a sense of urgency. “I am glad to meet you. Jennifer has told me much about you. I am Dr. Nikhil Kumar, a criminalist here at the lab. I am to give you a brief tour of the facilities and an overview of the evidence for your report.”

  Sam confirmed his identity with a nod and concentrated on not crushing the man’s hand. The warmth in the man’s voice when he spoke of Jenn made Sam look at him in a different light. He knew Jenn had visited the lab several times during the course of her work for Dr. Stratham, but she’d never mentioned anybody in particular.

  Dr. Kumar led Sam on a swift trek through half a dozen long corridors. As they passed labs with specific specialties, the scientist gave Sam a brief overview of the kind of work that went on there. Some spaces looked more like a mechanical garage, while others resembled kitchens or a tinker’s workshop. Still other rooms possessed the stereotypical feel of chemistry or biology labs. Their ultimate destination, the lab Dr. Kumar worked from, was one of the smaller labs that gave off a definite chemistry vibe. The sharp odor of disinfectant tainted the cool air.

  “Where is everybody?” Sam wondered, surprised to find the lab empty.

  “Many people are at lunch right now, but I arranged for the space to be clear for your visit,” Dr. Kumar explained. “I wanted to lay everything out and didn’t want to have chain of custody problems.”

  “Good thinking,” Sam complimented. It couldn’t hurt to be on the man’s good side, seeing as his case would have a large forensic component to it. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  “My colleagues and I started with the John Doe case. We labeled each bag and took swab samples of the organic matter found inside,” explained the scientist. He gestured to a lab table holding the plastic bags that had once held pieces of the Bradford County John Doe. “We have a solid DNA profile for your victim, but that won’t help you unless you can find samples linking to a missing person.”

  “Did you find any hair or fibers that don’t belong with the body?” Sam asked, drawing heavily from his limited knowledge of forensic lingo.

  “A few,” confirmed Dr. Kumar. He picked up a tiny vial containing some hairs. “There was not enough skin to get any DNA, but microscope analysis tells us it is canine.”

  “Does that help?” Sam inquired. His hopes had risen with the news that there were other hairs and fallen when told the hairs came from a dog. They already knew dogs—or some other large animal—were involved from the bite marks and missing pieces of their victim.

  “One never knows what will help until the case is solved,” replied the scientist with a philosophical shrug. “That is why we study everything.” Dr. Kumar picked up a plastic bag containing one of the bags found in the park. “The killer is not as clever as he thinks. He wore gloves much of the time when handling these, but this one contains a partial print.”

  “Did you run it through AFIS?” Sam tried to keep his hopes from rising this time. The Automated Fingerprint Identification System stored a vast number of full and partial fingerprints both from known offenders and unsolved crimes.

  “Yes, Dr. Stratham insisted we follow every lead possible,” assured Dr. Kumar. “But the only match we got was from a gun used to kill two gang members in Trenton about a year ago.”

  The news surprised Sam.

  “Our killer offed some gang members?” Sam didn’t really expect an answer. He was simply airing thoughts. “That doesn’t fit with the rest of this.” He waved at the room as a whole.

  “I can only speak for what the evidence tells me,” said the scientist. “The nails used to fix the bags to the trees were standard 2-inch round head nails.”

  Sam winced.

  “Probably bought and sold in every hardware store in the country,” he muttered.

  “Yes, but they may still bring down your killer.”

  “How so?”

  “He held some of them between his teeth,” reported Dr. Kumar, looking very pleased.

  The emotional roller coaster brought Sam up to a peak. He silently pleaded with the scientist to tell him they had the killer’s DNA.

  “We have his DNA.”

  Sam let the air whoosh out of his lungs.

  “But you still need to give us a suspect to compare it to,” the scientist cautioned.

  “I will,” Sam vowed. For the first time in months, he felt a genuine ray of hope warm his chest. “What else can you tell me about him?”

  The next item Dr. Kumar picked up was a large, glossy photograph in a protective plastic sheet. Sam recognized the image immediately. It showed the crudely carved letters declaring that the victim had deserved his fate.

  “The angle of the carvings suggests that the person who left the message was right-handed.”

  Sam grunted acknowledgment of the news. Ninety percent of the world’s population fell into that category. He needed something better than that. DNA was great but useless until he found a suspect.

  “Did you find the same DNA on the other two bodies?” he asked.

  “No. The killer was more careful with those, but they are definitely linked,” said Dr. Kumar. He put the photograph down and selected a large plastic bag that held three tiny plastic bags containing dark specks. “This gray substance is the same.”

  Each of the smaller bags had neat labels indicating where it came from. The scientist returned the bag to the lab bench and picked up a manila folder. Holding it out for Sam he explained.

  “This contains a chemical analysis of the gray substance obtained at each site.”

  Sam opened the folder and saw a graph with squiggly lines that meant little to him. It looked like a terribly erratic heartbeat monitor readout. Sifting through the multiple graphs, he noted that the strange pattern was repeated in each sample. The pattern itself meant nothing to him, but he understood the significance of it being the same.

  “What is it?” he wondered.
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  “I don’t know yet,” admitted Dr. Kumar. “I can tell you what it contains, but it does not match any known substance we’ve tested before.”

  Another dead end.

  Suppressing a sigh, Sam handed the file folder back. Having solid evidence to tie the three cases together was good, but the unknown nature of that substance limited its usefulness. He felt like he hadn’t accomplished anything in the six months since bodies started showing up in Pennsylvania state parks.

  The killer had gone quiet again. The first two bodies dropped in relatively quick succession. A couple of quiet months followed until the woman was found on the University of Pennsylvania campus. Now another couple of quiet months had passed. The busy lab had even caught up to the copious amounts of evidence left at each scene.

  “Do you have any guesses for what it might be?” asked Sam, trying to mask his desperation.

  “I do not like to guess at things like this, but I will think on the matter,” said the scientist.

  “Call me right away if anything occurs to you.” Sam pulled out one of his cards, scribbled his cell phone number on the back, and gave it to the scientist. “Is there a number I can reach you at?”

  “I will give you a card before you leave,” promised the scientist.

  They moved down to the next lab bench and examined the evidence array for the second victim.

  Haley Doherty.

  The woman’s name echoed in Sam’s head. He made it a point to keep the victim’s identities fresh in his mind. He wanted to remember they were once people with hopes, dreams, and families who mourned their loss.

  “Did the bullets tell you anything useful?” Sam’s cynical side doubted it, but he had to ask.

  Dr. Kumar shook his head.