Snuff

by E. L. McKenzie

  His head was such a mess and throbbing so much, it took him several minutes to notice the email with a secure link. He opened it, went through the informational ritual of signing on to a secure site, and began to read. It was from Tony Jinx. “Call me,” Jinx note said simply.

  Nick called him immediately.

  “Jinx,” he answered.

  “Jinx, it’s Nick Lynch in Denver. I got your email,” Nick replied.

  “What did you think of the video?”

  “What video?”

  “The video—seriously? You didn’t watch it yet?”

  “Your message said to call you.”

  Jinx sighed. “You need to play the video, then call me back, and I’ll give you more details. This is pretty awful stuff, so make sure you view this where nobody else is going to see it. The one thing I will tell you is I have confirmed with the family that the male in the video is Steven Blair, at least they believe it is. Go watch it and call me back.”

  “I’ll talk to you in a few,” replied Nick and rang off.

  Another group was in the secure video conference room, so it was twenty minutes before Nick was able to watch the video. Videos of this nature were viewed privately, not in a cube or office. And Nick followed department policy, notifying the department ethics officer prior to viewing.

  The video quality was extremely good, surprising based on the content. Nick watched, entranced.

  The production opened in what appeared to be a dungeon. As the camera moved from one area to another, the setting made it clear the setting was hundreds of years earlier. As the cameras moved about, a man walked from stage left into the main area of the dungeon, and a steel door closed behind him. He was fully attired in Puritan garb. It was Steven Blair, dressed as he was when he was found at the Lonesome Dove.

  As Blair walked about the dungeon, a room about fifteen feet square, two lovely maidens entered, one from the back of the stage and one stage right. They, too, were fully dressed in Puritan costumes, including wigs, one brunette and one blonde.

  “My good ladies,” Blair began, “I welcome you to my lair.”

  They curtsied, and the blonde responded, “My Lord, your lowly servants are humbled and stand fully at your service.”

  “Your wish is our command,” replied the brunette.

  The script was amateurish and banal as with most porn, simply a precursor to the acts the viewer awaited expectantly, but the production quality was fantastic. The seventeenth century dialogue continued for a short period, with excessive “thee’s” and “thou’s.” As the dialogue progressed, each of the participants shed various articles of clothing, their own or the others’.

  Inevitably the participants began the expected sexual acts as well as some more perverse and extreme.

  The trio intertwined on a stone table in the middle of the room. As each participant rolled from being on bottom to another position, the scratches and blood suggested to Nick that the action was indeed painful and rough.

  Nick watched expectantly but was unprepared for what followed. The camera panned away from the vulgar, aggressive action to the near side of the table. As the lens zoomed, he saw a hammer with a claw end secreted under the table.

  As the camera zoomed out, Blair rolled back on top of the brunette, his right hand beginning to leave the action and search for the hammer. Just as Blair put his hand on the hammer, the blonde, hugging Blair from behind, rose up on the table and stabbed him in the shoulder, the knife appearing out of nowhere.

  Blair screamed and tumbled off the table, “Fuck, goddammit, fuck.”

  The action was extremely fast.

  “Jesus, Lynch, what are you watching?” Vince Burleson asked.

  Nick almost jumped out of his chair as he hit “stop” on the feed. He turned around, surprise and guilt on his face.

  “Christ, Burleson, you scared the crap out of me.”

  “Are you using this room to watch porn?” Burleson asked. There had been rumors around the station that different people would use the video conference room for less than appropriate behavior. However, as the stories went, it was usually couples, with the door locked, after hours.

  “This has to do with one of my cold cases,” Nick said. “Of course I’m not using this for porn. Geez, what do you take me for?”

  Burleson looked skeptical. “We need to talk about this case. If you don’t quit screwing around, this will be one more cold case. I guess that sort of works for you, huh?”

  The skinny around the station had Vince Burleson as a complete jerk. The son of a prominent Colorado Springs prosecutor, Burleson was the youngest homicide detective in Denver PD history. While the kid appeared to be smart, at times he was reckless in his approach to people and investigations. His peers considered him privileged and unworthy of his current position. His bosses loved him because he was the snoop in whatever department he worked. His father, a big supporter of Governor James McFadden, appeared to have undue influence throughout Colorado, including in the Denver PD.

  Nick measured his response, one advantage of age. “You’re right. Let me finish up here, then I’ll come get you, and we can go through status.”

  Burleson reacted. “You shut me out of this investigation, I assure you, I’ll have your ass.” He turned and slammed out of the room. Nick locked the door behind him and returned to the video horror.

  The blonde stood over Blair with the knife, the brunette quickly swiveling to an upright position. Blair came up off the floor, the hammer in his right hand. That part of his body suffering from the wound inflicted by the blonde, he quickly shifted the tool to the other hand and swung down, crushing the blonde’s left foot.

  She screamed in pain. The camera shot changed, with a new camera showing the blonde landing hard on the side of the table opposite Blair. Nick paused the video, studying the scene. He backed up and watched the action again, from the time Blair was stabbed to the blonde falling off the table.

  “Interesting,” he thought, “whoever is filming this has multiple cameras in this room. This is pretty professionally done.”

  As quickly as the blonde fell backwards, the brunette swung forward at Blair with another knife, stabbing him hard in the chest, dangerously close to the heart. The look on Blair’s face was pure shock. He fell back against the wall, clearly losing blood, energy, and life.

  The brunette hopped off the opposite side of the table and helped the blonde. As Blair regained his composure, the two women whispered to each other, apparently preparing their new strategy.

  He moved to one corner. Nick watched, enraptured. Could this be real? Blair had to know the onslaught was coming, and, acting like any other injured animal, he found a corner to mount his final defense, attempting to take on one predator at a time.

  This seemed to confuse the women, and they again huddled, apparently in no hurry to finish the task at hand. A deep voice interrupted the bedlam, “Remember the rules, participants, you are limited to twenty minutes. We currently stand at almost fifteen.”

  Nick paused the video. Whose voice was that? It had to be the director. He had questioned the veracity of this production. Now he chilled, realizing he was likely watching the last moments of Steven Blair’s life.

  The panic was clear on the face of the women. They whispered quickly and moved toward Blair. They both attacked at the same time, only moments after the director had spoken. Blair mounted as much defense as possible, striking out with the hammer. He landed solid blows on the blonde’s shoulder, bruising but not severely injuring her. But the women were smarter, closing in tightly to minimize his ability to swing and take full advantage of his weapon and strength. They stabbed repeatedly, violently. Blood splattered all over them and gushed from his mortal wounds.

  A large tray of sorts slid into the dungeon from regions beyond. The two women took the tray and placed it on the table, laying out the various sized towels aside the basin of water. They proceeded to clean each other gently. The blonde winced as her wounds were trea
ted. Upon conclusion, they moved the dirtied laundry aside and climbed again onto the table and began pleasuring each other pornographically. The different cameras moved from one woman to the other and around to Blair, slowly dying in the corner. The cameras faded out as the women faked orgasms.

  “What did you think?” Jinx asked when Nick called him back.

  “This is one of the most troubling things I have ever seen in my life,” Nick replied.

  “I thought that might help you out some. When I called to bitch about you, they told me what happened to your daughter. That probably wasn’t completely appropriate, but your folks are concerned about you and it did help me understand you better. They also told me that you’re probably Denver’s top homicide detective. I’ve been pretty rough on you, brother. How are you doing?”

  Nick remained quiet for an uncomfortable period, reflecting on Jinx’s kindness and his own reintegration into an active homicide case. “You know, Tony, right now it’s one day at a time for me. I’ve found too much comfort in the bottle and not enough in my people. Thank you for asking.”

  “Just know you have more friends than you realize.”

  “Thanks, man, I really appreciate it. And now back to business. Where did you get this video, how did you access it, and how did you send it to me in a viewable format? I’m assuming you dealt with some pretty sophisticated encryption.”

  “After your visit, we followed up on Mr. Blair’s activities the last few years. He was a member of our community, and we want his family to see justice. We scoured his known contacts and haunts for clues.”

  Jinx continued. “A flash drive with this video arrived here anonymously. You’re right, the encryption was extremely sophisticated. But remember, we are in Seattle, home to a lot of brilliant techies. I sent it to an old teammate of mine who used to work at Microsoft. He started a cybersecurity business a few years back. They had an unencrypted file back to me within the day – and I sent you a copy of that.”

  “Okay, good, thank you,” Nick replied simply.

  “Now?” Burleson almost shouted as he stood over Nick.

  Nick jumped. He had completely forgotten about briefing his ‘partner.’ He checked his watch—almost 4:00, hours since Burleson had interrupted him in the video room.

  “It’s getting late, you want to do this tomorrow?” Nick asked.

  “You’ve now put in almost, what, five hours today? Don’t want to wear you out, especially with all those important cases you have going.”

  Nick stood up and moved in close to Burleson, his voice raised. “You want a piece of me, asshole?” Heads turned expectantly in the bullpen.

  Burleson had twenty more pounds and fifteen fewer years than Nick. He didn’t back down, but he did use his conflict resolution skills. “Detective, I think it is in everyone’s best interest if we both take a step back.”

  Nick moved away, embarrassed. “Fine, let’s get through this.” He grabbed files off his desk and headed for a briefing conference room. Burleson trailed behind.

  Nick began to lay out the files for a thorough briefing on the case. Burleson stood defiantly on the other side of the desk, watching bemused as Nick played out his charade.

  “I don’t really need you to walk me through the files, we’ve already done that. I’d like to understand what’s going on with that video and the Seattle PD.”

  Nick looked up slowly, considering his response. How much did Burleson know? How much should he tell him? Nick had healed greatly, and his constructive interaction with Tony Jinx showed just that. However, he was still struggling to fully reengage as a team player within his department. He continued his poor decision-making.

  “Today?” Burleson goaded Nick.

  “The video’s nothing. All it does is show what I’ve been saying all along, that Blair was into some pretty sketchy stuff. That’s where we need to take this investigation.”

  “Thanks, partner,” came Burleson’s sarcastic reply. “Got any tasks for me?”

  “I should have included you in that. I didn’t think it was that big a deal, and turns out it wasn’t.”

  “All right, Lynch,” Burleson started, “here’s the deal. You can be an incompetent drunk if you want, but as for me, I prefer to get my job done. We’re partners. Last time I checked, when Homicide Detectives partner on an investigation, they have equal responsibility. It’s not a lead and subordinate or any of that bullshit. You’re shutting me out of this, and you’re going to end up making both of us look like idiots. Frankly, I’m about fifty percent good with that, because the quicker you’re out of here, the better off the rest of us will be. But I’m the other half, and I’m not going to look like an idiot. I’m going to talk to Bosworth about this and see where we go from here. Your bullshit is worthless!” With that, Burleson charged out of the room.

  Nick bristled, but he knew Burleson was right in many ways. While he had no regard for Vince Burleson, the guy had been surprisingly successful as a new homicide detective. He also expected Bosworth was going to hand him his ass first thing the next morning.

  Tuesday ⌁ day 9

  “Lynch, can I see you for a minute?” Bosworth bellowed the re-run from their Sunday conversation.

  Nick knew what was coming but had little ability to stop the onslaught. He tried to get ahead of it.

  “I know what you’re going to say, Chief, and you’re right,” he said as he walked in the door.

  “Close the door,” Bosworth ordered. Nick complied.

  “I doubt you know what I’m going to say,” Bosworth started, attempting to remain calm. “But in case you’re right, I’m going to say it anyway. You can sit back, though, because I’m going to say a lot.”

  He drummed his fingers on his desk. “First, Lynch, you do have friends in high places, and they’re protecting you right now. That won’t continue for much longer.” Nick started to speak, but Bosworth held up one finger and said, “Uh uh, I’m going to finish first.

  “You’ve known me a long time, Nick. I’m probably a little bit of a prick. No, strike that, I know I’m a little bit of a prick. Probably quite a bit of a prick, actually, but that’s one of the reasons I have this job.” Nick knew this was one of Bosworth’s famous speeches. He had heard about them, but he had never actually experienced one. Legend had it they were long, reasonably articulate, and brutal. He was in for a lashing. He listened as attentively as he could, knowing he deserved whatever was coming.

  “I take a lot of pride in my job. I’m a professional, and I’m very good at what I do. As you know, the record of the Homicide Department is one of the best in the country. It has improved every year I have been here, first as a detective and now as Chief, and it will continue to do so. Which brings me to my first point.

  “You’re dragging us down. I appreciate you’ve done a little bit with the cold cases assigned to you. But you and I both know it’s not nearly enough. Lest you have forgotten, you are a homicide detective, not a cold case investigator. Best I can tell, what you really are is a drunk first and foremost. For a number of different reasons, I’ve let you slide since your daughter died. That dog will no longer hunt here. You will either perform as a Homicide Detective, or you’ll be working the evidence warehouse on weekend nights. Your hall pass has expired. I run a professional shop, and right now my assessment is that you’re not a professional.”

  Bosworth did not wait for him to acknowledge or speak; he continued.

  “As for The Mayflower Case,” he said mockingly, “I already told you, you need to get that solved. I got an earful from Detective Burleson this morning. I am not impressed with what I am hearing. It sounds to me like you don’t know what you’re doing. I also called Detective Jinx. It sounds like you’ve made a new friend. Congratulations. He defended you, but it’s clear he thinks you’re underperforming, too.

  “On another note concerning Detective Burleson, I understand you are being none too cooperative working with your new partner. Let me give you a word of caution here. If
you have survived in part because you have friends in high places, trust me, his friends are in higher places. As you march through the world pissing off different people, you might want to think twice before you shit on his parade again.” Bosworth was known to mix his metaphors.

  “And one more note about your partner, notwithstanding his connections. It sounds to me like you’re not including him in this investigation. Lynch, I’m going to make this very clear to you. I have organized this department to allow smart people to work pragmatically and to succeed while dealing with a minimal level of bullshit. One thing that makes this group unique, and, if you ask me, successful, is the way we staff each homicide. When I assign you a partner, you will work with him or her with full disclosure to ensure the investigation gets the appropriate level of attention. You will not ask me to explain myself to you, nor will you go against my directives. You got that?” Bosworth was all business. Nick nodded.

  “Good. Now, the last thing I will say to you is, you know I’m fair. I may be a pain in the ass, but I’m fair. It is not fair to this department for you to not pull your load. Your hall pass is hereby revoked. You bordered on being a great detective before your daughter died, and I have no doubt you can be again. But I’m not waiting any longer. You get out there, play by the rules, bust your ass, perform, and you and I won’t have any more problems. You don’t, I’ll rain shit on you like you’ve never seen. You’re dismissed, Detective.” And with that, Bosworth was done.

  Nick deserved it, and he knew it. Bosworth was right. He pondered the last three months. Denver PD had treated him like a family member. They had tolerated his absences, his lack of focus, and his drinking. At the same time, he had found the sadness from Alisha’s death overwhelming. The funk just would not lift. It was time to move on.