The Equinox

by M J Preston

  “Wilco that, Chief.”

  Logan crushed out the cigar, and just as Mick got into the driver seat, he turned and said, “This is bigger than us, Mick. We’re going to need help from outside.”

  2

  The next day Hopper confirmed their worst fears and led them to a burial site located at the west end of his cornfield. He was then ushered back to the cruiser while Logan, Mick, and Henderson unearthed another victim. This kid was older than the Parkins boy. Based on the bone structure, Henderson speculated that he was fifteen or sixteen. The body was horribly decomposed: DNA testing was the only way they’d be able to confirm his identity.

  As the second victim was brought out of the cornfield, they got a call from a task force out of the city of Winnipeg. The chief investigator, Ron Pearson, asked a bunch of questions. How many victims were there? What was the sex and age of the victims? Logan wasn’t sure yet, but a decision was made to have Hopper mark the grave sites.

  His memory was outstanding as he led the officers of Thomasville from one location to another. They marked each position with a survey stake, photographed it and followed him to the next. Throughout this Hopper was without emotion, and by the end of the following day, all of his demands were met. Unlimited cigarettes, a bible, a crucifix and he spoke to no one but Logan.

  By nightfall, Detective Pearson and his partner Kurt Cooper arrived at the Brandon Airport where they were met by Mick and Constable Frank Nero. Pearson and Cooper rented a vehicle and Mick rode along, bringing them up to speed as they drove.

  “He’s marked sixteen graves so far. We have unearthed two of the victims, but our coroner has requested help from the University’s forensic department. They are dispatching a team that should be here by morning,” Mick told them.

  “This sounds like our guy,” Cooper said.

  “Yeah, it does,” Pearson agreed.

  “How many missing boys are we talking about?” Mick asked.

  Pearson looked at his partner for a moment. “At present, we have eleven missing boys on our books, but the number could be much higher. These kids disappear off the map without anyone really knowing.”

  “Some have parents that aren’t exactly model citizens. You know the type: drug addicts, abusers – not exactly candidates for Parent of the Year. Other kids come from long distances and when they arrive in the city many turn to prostitution or become a part of the homeless community,” Cooper added.

  “So chances are some of the victims might not be on your radar.” Mick shook his head.

  “Yeah, and looks like your perp didn’t shit where he ate – up until recently, anyway.” Pearson smiled. “A lucky break for us.”

  Mick didn’t respond to this. Pearson knew immediately that his comment was not well-received. From that point, he remained quiet.

  3

  Logan was waiting for them at the front of the Police Station. He had stepped out front for a cigar, but the primary purpose was to meet the two Detectives and make them feel welcome.

  “Dave Logan.” He put out his hand.

  “Hello, Dave. I’m Ron Pearson; this is my partner, Kurt Cooper.”

  “Everyone calls me Coop,” The Detective shook Logan’s hand.

  Logan was leading them in now. “Alright, Ron, Coop, we are pretty relaxed around here. We’ve set you up in the corner of the detachment main squad room, and I’m having my officers bring in some dividers so that you guys can work with semi-privacy.”

  “You were saying on the phone that he won’t talk to anyone but you. Would you mind if I took a crack at him?” Pearson asked.

  This was a play Logan understood; Pearson didn’t want his investigation taken over by some small-town cop. He really didn’t feel one way or the other about it.

  “Ron, if you want to take a shot at him, I have no issue whatsoever, but be assured that if that doesn’t work my department will be forthcoming with everything you need.”

  “We’re not in the business of stepping on people’s dicks.” Mick smiled, but there was a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

  “Look, I apologize. I’m not here to try and push anyone around. I think we all want the same thing, so let me just say there will be no political maneuvering on our part. We want to work with you guys,” Pearson said sincerely.

  Logan looked from Pearson to Mick and wondered what had caused the friction. It didn’t matter: they had to work together. “Alright. Let’s go into my office, bring you guys up to speed – then we’ll get started.”

  4

  Spread out on the table were eleven photos of missing boys. Hopper did not look at them; nor did he look at Detective Pearson. Instead, he stared at the two-way mirror which he knew Logan was standing behind.

  “Do you recognize any of these boys?” Pearson asked.

  At first, Hopper said nothing – he just glared at the mirror. But then he broke his silence he spoke as if Pearson wasn’t even in the room. “I know you’re there, Chief Logan. We had a deal. If you want to break that deal, keep this fuckwad yapping at me, and I will start suffering memory loss.”

  “I’m right here,” Pearson said.

  “There is still a lot you can learn, Chief Logan, but my patience is wearing.”

  Pearson began gathering up the photos into a stack as he looked in the mirror and nodded. This investigation was too critical. If the fat man only wanted to talk to Logan so be it. The door buzzed, opened, and standing there was Logan. Pearson passed him the file folder of pictures and winked to show he wasn’t tripping over his lip.

  They swapped places: now Pearson watched from behind the glass while Logan laid out the photos on the table – but Hopper still wasn’t looking at the pictures. Instead, he focused on Logan, waiting for their eyes to meet.

  Satisfied that the pictures were easily viewed from Hopper’s vantage point, Logan brought up his gaze to meet the prisoner. “Recognize any of them?”

  “Listen to me, Chief Logan: we have a deal, and if you send anyone else through that door you will get no further cooperation from me.” His face was red and flustered, drawing attention to the different liver spots on his forehead.

  “Hopper, from this point on you, deal only with me, but whether you like it or not there are going to be other people involved. Judges, prosecutors, people from the medical community. Sooner or later you’re going to have to open up to this idea.”

  “I don’t trust anybody,” Hopper spat. “Take me back to my cell!”

  “Alright, Hopper. We’re done for tonight, but tomorrow the digging starts.”

  Logan motioned to the mirror and began gathering up the photos. Sometimes it was better to not push. He’d flash some of the pictures during the excavation.

  5

  Three Weeks Later

  The night air was filled with the sounds of men and equipment working. Overhead a full moon clung to the sky staring down on what now resembled a grisly archaeological dig. Generators rumbled, giving light to the darkness and unveiling some excavated graves. Vehicles were parked all over the land and men spoke loudly to each other as if the night air had suppressed their hearing.

  Exactly three weeks after Hopper identified the site of Tommy Parkins body, they were now into the final stages of digging up the last grave. It didn’t take long for word to travel, and the media had come to visit the sleepy little town of Thomasville. What had initially started out as a routine murder investigation had now turned into a complete media circus. Thanks to the internet, the story of mass murder in Thomasville had gone viral and was now being talked about across the continent, if not the world.

  Trustees from the nearby Terrisdale Correctional Facility had been brought in to assist with the dig. The trustees from the prison were all minor offenders working off petty crimes such as possession of drugs or break and entry. Not one of them was serving anything more than two years. As an incentive, every day wor
ked in the field meant five days off their original sentence. Many didn’t have the stomach for it and returned to the prison. Logan really couldn’t blame them: just because they were criminals didn’t make them heartless.

  Most of the bodies were in varying states of decay. Consequently, the workers had been fitted with environmental suits and masks to ward off the putrid stench. One body was so far gone that it had to be excavated with the ground that encased it and be cleaned up later at the makeshift lab. It was not an easy job, and certainly not one for the squeamish.

  Pearson and Cooper had found their man. For them the hunt was over: twelve of the sixteen victims had been positively identified. Forensic specialists now worked in conjunction with Jeff Henderson, whose morgue was far too small to house the remains of so many victims. Federal Investigators purchased three double-wide mobile trailers which they converted into a makeshift lab until the bodies could be transported elsewhere.

  Pearson and Cooper had integrated well with the Thomasville Department. The initial uncomfortable rub against Mick was now a vague memory. In fact, Pearson and he had spoken extensively about Mick’s plan to pursue a career in drug enforcement.

  Officers from nearby Brandon offered their assistance to Thomasville Police by filling in on local patrols and highway safety. Logan was eternally thankful; his detachment was now working around the clock on the case.

  Defense Lawyers from all over the country were calling and offering their services to Hopper free of charge. The payment for them would be the celebrity his name afforded their practice. And all throughout, Hopper had remained steadfast in denying counsel and still would talk to no one but Logan.

  Hopper was marched in front of Judge Paul Davio, and his case was remanded until such a time that the police had completed their investigation. Davio had cautioned Hopper and encouraged him to seek counsel, but Hopper ignored Judge Davio’s recommendation. As a result, the judge ordered that once the investigators had finished with him, he would be sent to Artisan Institute, where he would undergo a thirty-day mental evaluation to see if he was fit to stand trial. In addition to the legal issues surrounding the case, there was still a trial venue to think of.

  The Press dubbed him the Thomasville Stalker and sensationalized the tragedy that had befallen the small community. The people of Thomasville did not take lightly to the intervention of outsiders. The quiet little town had become a nightmare of cameras and reporters, all wanting profiles on Stephen Hopper or anyone who might have known him.

  But it was the monster that they wanted to know about, as usual, not the victims.

  To carry out the investigation, the police had to roadblock Van Dyke Road a mile away from Hopper’s home at both ends. As this road was the main thoroughfare, an alternate detour had to be set up. Most of the press was respectful, but tabloid journalists and internet hacks didn’t adhere to the same code of journalistic integrity. As a result, more than one overzealous reporter was caught sneaking across the bald ass Prairie to obtain footage of the dig. ‘Field of Screams’ was what one reporter dubbed the graveyard that had once been an inconspicuous cornfield.

  In addition to blocking off Van Dyke road, they set up roving patrols in the wood line between the Wakeman and Hopper property. So far, they had caught two reporters and a posse of teenage boys trying to sneak through on a dare. Logan had jailed the reporters and turned the teenagers over to their parents.

  Corporal West came up with the solution of putting the trespassers in the drunk tank. It was located on the other side of the building away from the cell block. Logan thought this was a brilliant idea. Thomasville’s drunk tank was about the size of a small classroom. Concrete benches lined every wall and in the center of the room was a grated hole where a drunken inmate could urinate, defecate or vomit. Most drunks who ended up there were released in the morning after they sobered up. Following their departure, an officer would spray it down with disinfectant and hose the place out.

  Most of the press was straight up, following the rules and showing consideration, but it was the cowboys who needed to be deterred. Considering this, he told the staff not to clean up the drunk tank and from this point on, anyone caught sneaking onto the site would do their time there.

  6

  Hopper stood uneasily at Logan’s side as they uncovered the last body. Most of the remains were severely decomposed and appeared to be dismembered. Until Henderson and the forensic specialists would have a chance to clean the mud that clung to the skin and bone there really was no way to identify the cause of death. Hopper certainly wasn’t giving them much.

  This last body was Hopper’s first victim and the only one planted in front of the house. Next to the grave was a dying maple tree, perhaps seventy years old. In the grave, a young trustee chipped away at the clay which ran a couple of feet into the earth before it turned to sand. As he did this, Hopper chain-smoked and fidgeted. The smoking was normal. The fidgeting wasn’t. He had been at the site of every other dig, and not once had he acted like this.

  Beyond identifying the location of the victims and matching photographs to the grave sites, Hopper did not talk about the actual murders. He stood there seemingly without remorse as they dug each of his victims and puffed away on the cigarettes purchased for him out of petty cash.

  The trustee working in the hole now was about forty years old and was amongst the toughest of the bunch. He looked like a throwback from the seventies. His hair was shoulder length, he sported a ZZ Top beard, and every fifth word out of his mouth was, ‘man.’

  This last excavation was also the hardest. Due to its position at the base of the maple tree, they had to stop periodically to hack away the roots. Logan wondered why Hopper would bury this victim here. It didn’t make sense. First of all, it was in front of the house and exposed to the main road. He could have easily been discovered in the process of digging the grave.

  Secondly, the tree was nothing but a pain in the ass. They were not the only ones having to cut roots as they dug. Most of their cutting was fresh growth – but there was evidence that Hopper had cut out two very large roots when he dug the grave.

  The final thing that puzzled Logan was the depth.

  “Are you sure we’re digging in the right place, man?” the trustee called up. He was asking this because they were seven feet down and still nothing.

  “It’s there,” Hopper said to Logan, but he didn’t look so sure.

  “Keep digging,” Logan ordered.

  “Alright, man,” the trustee grumbled and carried on digging.

  Hopper lit one cigarette off another.

  “It has to be there,” Hopper whispered only loud enough for Logan to hear, but he wasn’t talking to Logan. He was thinking out loud.

  “Oh man, I just hit some… yeah, we’re there. We’re there, man,” the trustee called excitedly.

  Hopper closed his eyes, mumbled something. An inexplicable look of relief fell over him. He turned to Logan. “That’s the last one. I’d like to go now, Chief Logan.”

  The trustee was climbing out of the hole, and one of the forensic specialists from the university came up to take over. Logan looked over the young woman. Her name was Andrea Chase. She was good looking and in her late twenties, dark hair tied back and eyes a deep brown. She was hardly what you would expect from someone who worked intimately with the dead.

  “I got this,” She donned a pair of safety glasses and a disposable mask before climbing into the grave to start prep.

  Henderson had briefed Logan about her a week ago and said she was in the top of their field. She certainly didn’t lack confidence.

  “Alright, Hopper. Let’s go.” Logan led him away from the grave site and toward the cruiser. As they walked, he wondered what it was that had spooked the fat man. He had been detached at all the other digs. But this one was different. Why? And what he’d said. It was as if he thought the body would not be there.

/>   Minutes later they drove down Van Dyke Road toward the roadblock. Hopper sat in the backseat of the cruiser, praying aloud.

  “Our Father, who art in Heaven…”

  Now that the last body had been removed from the ground Logan expected that the task force would be flying Hopper back to the city within a week or so. In a few days, a psychiatrist from Artisan Institute would be flying in.

  The psychiatrist’s name was Robert Kolchak. He had testified on behalf of the prosecution in over 150 cases in the last thirteen years. He was also a bestselling author with three books published about serial killers. Kolchak had cut his teeth at Quantico Virginia in behavioral sciences and was highly respected in his field. Logan was reading Kolchak’s latest book: MANY FACES. The book examined known cases of serial murderers like Henry Lee Lucas and Jeffrey Dahmer, but Logan was not looking for insight into these minds. Instead, he was reading up on the man who would be interviewing him about the case.

  What Logan surmised from Kolchak’s book was that the author was arrogant and self-serving. There were a lot of (I’s) and (me’s) in the book where Kolchak often patted himself on the back for his brilliant insight into the minds of these social defects.

  Testifying in these cases brought great monetary benefits, and drew media endeavors whenever expert panels on violent criminals made the national or international news. These panels paid handsomely and of course, propped up Kolchak’s book sales.

  Logan guessed the psychiatrist would be as he presented himself in his book, and that was good to know. If you are dealing with an asshole, it’s always easier if you have a heads up beforehand.

  The roadblock was illuminated by the cruiser’s headlights. Beyond it stood Mick with scores of reporters waiting to catch a glimpse of the Thomasville Stalker. As the car drew closer, Hardy and Oddball did crowd control, and Mick moved the saw horse out of the way so they could get through.

  A barrage of flashes, bright lights, and shouted questions came from all angles as they rolled through the gauntlet. Hopper peered out briefly, exposing himself to the cameras, but quickly pulled back. But not quickly enough: his photo was captured in a millisecond. It would headline the national news.