“And that condition would be?”
“Any future videos of this quality you produce are mine, at a mutually agreeable price, of course.”
“That would be my desire as well,” stated The Doctor.
Arriving back at the office after his visit to Tasser, Nick sat at his desk sorting through endless piles of paperwork. As his mind wandered, he glimpsed Burleson striding across the room toward him. Evidently Burleson responded to texts in person.
He stood as Burleson approached and asked abruptly, “You wanted to see me?”
“Yeah, Vince,” Nick replied, attempting to be conciliatory, “I have something I want to show you.” He stood and headed to the video room.
Burleson followed him into the video room. Nick called up his cloud account, started the video, and fast-forwarded to the stabbing. “I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t stop thinking about this.”
Burleson took advantage of the opening. “That’s a little sick, don’t you think Lynch?”
Nick laughed, easing the tension. “Funny. But look at this.” Nick froze the picture as the two women were simultaneously stabbing Blair.
“You have been touching on this for a while, but I was too focused on the child porn angle. I’m now certain this video is real, and it’s the key to us solving this case.”
“You came in early?”
Nick laughed again. “All right, all right, I’m trying here. Plus I was nice enough to not wake you up at 3:00 in the morning to share my brainstorm. Tasser gets in about five each morning, so I was down there as soon as he walked in.” Nick filled Burleson in on his early morning with Tasser.
Burleson said, “If you’re right about this, then Tasser will match up the stab wounds on the video with Blair’s stab wounds.”
“Yep, my bad, I left that part out. I left Tasser a copy on a flash drive, and he is having a technician see if the wounds match. They should have the answer by tomorrow, maybe even late this afternoon. You’re absolutely right, that’s the part that really ties this up.”
“Here’s what I don’t get. You’re saying this is some kind of snuff video. Two things. First of all, snuff videos are urban legend. No one yet has proven they’re real, so this would be the first one. I mean this video borders on commercial grade. I don’t know anything about all of this, but I would think a snuff video would be amateurish at best. This thing has multiple cameras, great shots, at least for a sick topic, good lighting, and overall seems to have been well rehearsed, choreographed, all that stuff.”
Nick pondered his partner’s statement. “That’s a lot of what I thought about last night, too, and I agree with you. You know what that means? This isn’t the first time.”
Tasser called Nick late in the afternoon.
“Nick, can you come over?”
“Sure, Tassy, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Nick found Burleson preparing to leave for the day.
“Hey, Tasser called and wanted me to head over there. Want to go?”
Burleson said hesitatingly, “Sure, what the hell.” Based on his response and body language, Nick wondered if Burleson had been to the morgue before. His suspicions were confirmed when he had to introduce him to Tasser.
“You’re keeping pretty questionable company here, son,” Tasser teased Burleson.
Burleson, not quite following, responded, “Well….”
“Seriously, Burleson,” Tasser continued, “if you want to learn how to be a great homicide detective, you follow this guy. He knows what he’s doing.”
“What do we have here?” Nick mixed embarrassment with impatience.
The photographs from the autopsy were laid out beside single frame copies from the video. Tasser quickly became very technical.
“…if you compare the angle of entry wounds, the spacing, and the fact we got the subject in here a number of days after he died….,” and he went on and on.
“The video is actual footage of Blair getting killed?” Burleson asked the question for both of them.
“Yes. Absolutely,” Tasser replied, sounding wounded. Nick decided not to admit he had the same question.
“You know, up until now there have been no confirmed snuff videos found,” Tasser said, elated.
“We know,” Nick replied. “Listen, you have to keep this quiet. This will be big news once it gets out, and Burleson and I still have a lot of work to do. I know what this looks like, but we still have to do our investigation based on what we’re seeing here. It’s not confirmed yet.”
Tasser nodded appropriately. He had been part of every homicide investigation for over thirty years. No leaks came from his office.
Burleson talked excitedly as they walked back to the office, but Nick’s mind wandered. There were too many questions for him to process right now. He would need to go back to his investigation schedule and start over. He would re-work the witness list and look back at everything they had found based on these new findings. The context was now completely different. This investigation would need to begin anew.
“…don’t you think?” Burleson concluded.
“Yeah,” Nick said impulsively, then thought better of it. “My mind’s sort of wandering here. What did you say?”
Burleson’s ebullience could not be contained. “I was saying I think we should let the press know about this, to get some publicity. That guy over at the Denver Post would love to interview you about this. That’s probably the best way to find who’s distributing this video and to find the murderers.”
Nick stopped, looking at Burleson incredulously. “You have to be kidding me.” It was as if Burleson had farted in church.
“Well, I …,” Burleson started, stammering.
“Vince, trust me on this. No one can know. I want to think about this for a little bit. After lunch, we’ll go in and see Bosworth and talk through our approach. This is a big deal. We have to process and then we have to go about this the right way. Right now, the killer doesn’t know we have this video.”
(twenty-three months earlier)
Mike Smith’s burner phone chirped. It was the same arrangement each time. A day or two prior to the arrival of a new video, he would receive a new cell phone from The Doctor, one with prepaid minutes. Mike tried repeatedly to ascertain The Doctor’s whereabouts from these packages, but to no avail. They arrived through the mail, from FedEx, UPS, and other independent carriers. Points of origin were all across the U.S. Figuring out who The Doctor was, or even where he was, seemed an impossible task.
The phone would only be used twice, once to receive a call from The Doctor to haggle about price and once again to confirm the cryptocurrency transfer had occurred. He was certain The Doctor purchased two phones each time, one for each of them. They were starting to arrive more frequently. This meant two things. Mike Smith made more money. And The Doctor killed more people.
“Hello,” he answered. No names would be exchanged to ensure if anyone was listening, it would be difficult to ascertain who was speaking.
“You received the package?” came the reply.
“I did.” Mike also understood The Doctor employed DFWM encryption technology when delivering him the product. Decryption codes were provided upon confirmation of the cryptocurrency transfer. Each time Smith received a new phone, the area code would be different. Similarly, each time he received a new video, the app would delete any activity in mere minutes. None of this was remotely traceable.
“And what did you think?”
“Brilliant,” was his reply. “I must say, with each new rendition your creativity and craftsmanship grows.”
“Thank you,” responded The Doctor curtly. “As such, the price has also grown. I will be paid $1,250,000 for this production.”
Mike Smith provided the obligatory protest. He knew it was fruitless. However, as a long-time Knicks fan, he knew that much like the coach protesting one call might influence the outcome of future calls, his protesting the price increase here might influence f
uture price increases. He thought the Knicks coach had a better chance than he did. He would not complain too harshly. His most recent acquisition from The Doctor had brought in over $3,000,000 and his wealthy clientele told him they needed more content. This deal worked for The Doctor, Smith, and all his customers.
“Let me provide you the cryptocurrency transfer instructions,” The Doctor continued. Mike dutifully recorded the elaborate directions. As with the other dealings, these were never remotely the same.
Mike asked a few clarifying questions, then responded, “Got it. I will wait for your confirmation call.”
The Doctor hung up and smiled. This was getting easier and easier and more and more fun. At this point, he had substantially depleted his inventory. Along the way, he had sold Mike Smith over twenty videos, bringing in approximately $12 million – some of his earliest videos were crude, short, poorly made, and did not allow the million dollar plus paydays of his current work. His earliest productions took four to six months to complete, required extensive and repeated risks, and were difficult to market. But he had learned. He planned masterfully. With everything prepared, he could now complete one production a week, maybe even every five days. He would work frenetically until the proverbial knock on the door. Not only was he fulfilling his need for lust, he was getting rich while he did it. He would easily have another $5 million to $10 million banked before they came, and it might be much more. It’s a wonderful life, he thought.
Chief Detective Bosworth looked up as the video concluded.
“Thank you, gentlemen, that was a pornographic way to follow up lunch,” he said sarcastically. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll go to the restroom and throw up my Quarter Pounder and fries now.”
“Chief, we’re convinced this is video footage of Steven Blair’s death,” Nick announced.
“You’re shitting me.”
“Afraid not, chief. We confirmed with Tasser that Mr. Blair had stab wounds from two different knives, one type on the left side of his body and another on the right side.”
Bosworth interrupted. “Detective, that doesn’t tell us anything.”
Nick said, “And late yesterday afternoon, the coroner’s office confirmed the stab wounds from the video match up to the stab wounds on the late Mr. Blair’s body.”
“Holy shit,” Bosworth replied. “You’re telling me you have a real snuff video here?”
“Yes, sir,” Nick and Burleson said together.
“Holy shit,” Bosworth repeated. Then, “You guys figured this out but didn’t tell me until you put together what I call a Lynch-esque plan. Right?”
“Right,” Nick said. Denver police detectives admired his unparalleled ability to devise detailed, workable investigative and action plans. His clearance rate, prior to his daughter’s death, topped the department every year, and most attributed this success to his scrupulous planning. “I worked this one up this morning, and then Vince and I edited it and finalized it over lunch.”
“Can I have the short version?” Bosworth was already back to his impatient self.
“Chief, we believe we have to start over. We wanted to go through all of this with you before we moved forward, but we are going to go through all the notes, all the interviews. We’re going to talk to witnesses again. We will follow up with Blair’s family to better understand his final movements. We’re going to start over, Chief.”
Nick quickly talked the Chief through the plans, and Bosworth responded with crisp, salient input. Nick marked up the schedule to reflect his boss’s changes. In short order, the three of them had agreed on the new direction of the investigation.
“Boss, one more thing before we go,” Nick said soberly, Bosworth acknowledging the grave tone with a nod. “The quality of this video and the sophistication employed suggest this is not the first time he has done this. It’s early, and I’m not suggesting we do anything differently, but we want you to know if we are right, we’re probably dealing with a serial killer.”
Bosworth nodded his understanding. “I know you’ll handle this appropriately and discreetly, detectives.
Once they were done, Bosworth said, “Nick, can I speak with you for a minute?” Burleson understood the meaning and excused himself, closing the door behind him.
Bosworth said, standing. “This is the kind of work I remember from the Nicholas Lynch of old.” Bosworth slapped him on the shoulder and moved toward the door.
“Thanks, Chief.” Nick recalled what a decent boss and person Burleson could be. While it did not always seem that way, he knew his angers and resentments were much more about himself than others, and that Bosworth’s recent reprimands were appropriate. He smiled. Maybe he was back in the game.
Nick’s phone chimed with his latest text. He did not recognize the number. It contained only a link to a story from eighteen months earlier:
Former NFL Player Murdered
By Langdon Brice
Denver Post Investigative Reporter
Troubled former NFL wide receiver Victor Robinson was found deceased in a Montrose motel early yesterday afternoon. First responders were called to the Kitty Kat Motel at approximately 1:30 p.m. after a maid found a guest unresponsive. He was pronounced dead at the scene.
A standout receiver at Eastern Michigan, Robinson signed with the New York Jets after not being selected in the draft. While he showed promise during his brief two-year stint in the NFL, his career was cut short by repeated run-ins with his teammates and the coaching staff. After being released by the Jets following his sophomore season, no other teams showed any interest in the troubled receiver.
When reached for comment, wide receiver coach Lynn Stanton said, “This is truly tragic. Victor had his struggles, no doubt about it. But at his core, he was really a good guy. It’s tragic to hear his life was cut so short. He was a true talent with some flaws like so many of us have.”
Montrose police are treating this as a homicide. When reached for comment, the PD spokesman declined to provide further information, citing the ongoing investigation.
Nick studied the article. A Google search showed police quickly identified a suspect, Mr. Lawrence Greene.
Reading further, Nick discovered that ten months after his arrest, Lawrence Greene was convicted of murder. Assigned a public defender, the ne’er-do-well suspect and his alcoholic attorney put up no fight. When the prosecution rested, defense counsel, upon questioning from the judge, stood and said, “the defense rests, your honor.”
Nick called Claudia Holloway, lead detective for the Colorado Bureau of Investigation on the Victor Robinson murder case. “Holloway,” she answered.
“Claudia, it’s Nick Lynch.”
“Hello Detective. What can I do for you?”
The two had worked together more than once over the years. Their relationship was cordial. Nick found her to be stiff, matter-of-fact, and very good at what she did—much like others would describe him.
“I’m looking at the Lawrence Greene case.”
“What about it?”
“I think it may be tied to one of our ongoing investigations. And not to be too dramatic, but we may have a serial killer on the loose here in Colorado. I’m not sure Lawrence Greene actually committed this murder; I think it may be our guy. I know I’m stepping on toes, so I want to proceed cautiously. What can you tell me about the case?”
Nick knew Claudia to be thoughtful and well-intentioned, which is why he called her. From reading the case file, he understood her role on the case was limited. However, she would be knowledgeable, and, more importantly, she would be open-minded.
“Interesting,” she replied. “Let me do a little homework and give you a call back. I have time right now, so I should be back to you within the hour.”
“I appreciate it,” he said.
Thursday ⌁ day 11
Nick arrived at work early the next morning to further obsess over The Mayflower Case. It was currently the highest priority in the Denver Police Department. As he plowed
through various administrative items, an instant message popped up, “Read this, and then head to my office. ASAP.” It was from Bosworth. Attached to the message was a news notification from the Denver Post.
Unidentified Woman Found Dead in Grand Junction Motel
Grand Junction—At approximately 2:30 yesterday, the Grand Junction Police Department received a call from the Mesa View Motel notifying them of a dead body. Upon investigation, the police found the body of an unidentified white female, approximately twenty-five years of age. Detective Sandy Burns of the Grand Junction Police Department refused to speculate on the cause of death, pending the results of an autopsy. Detective Burns did acknowledge this is being treated as a homicide and asked the community for any information they might have on this case.
Bosworth handed each of them a copy of the article from the Post regarding Steven Blair’s death. They compared the two articles noting the similarities in verbiage.
“Well,” Burleson mused, “it looks like if it doesn’t work out here for me, I might be able to get a job writing for these folks.” The three of them laughed, acknowledging the poor cut and paste job from one article to the next. “I suppose until you put them side by side you would never notice, especially in different parts of the state a week apart.”
“I’ve already talked to Detective Burns this morning,” Bosworth said. “This is a woman, not a man. It looks like she was strangled. She wasn’t stabbed. But, guys, here’s the kicker for you. She was bathed, cleaned up, and dressed in some medieval garb. Burns said she looked like somebody out of the King Arthur era. And she was placed in the room on top of the bed. Unless you tell me otherwise, I think you two should head to Grand Junction.”
The two detectives looked at him, at each other, and silently nodded.
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