by Alex Siegel
"Yes, sir," Wilson said, but he didn't relax at all.
Stony looked out the car window. From what he could see, Tallahassee was a boring city. Big parking lots surrounded familiar franchise stores. Truck stops and trucking companies were a primary industry. Trees and lush, green grass were plentiful though, creating the effect of being in an endless garden. He could imagine retiring here when he was done with life and wanted to spend his remaining days in a peaceful place.
Wilson eventually drove the car into a trailer park beside a lake.
"It's always a trailer park," Stony muttered.
Rombone gave him a curious look, but he declined to elaborate.
The mobile homes were all standard, single-section units. At 14 feet wide and 80 feet long, they would fit on the back of a flatbed truck. The small trailer park contained no more than fifty units according to Stony's estimation. They were arranged diagonally to the road with ample space in between.
Wilson stopped the car beside a mobile home with pale yellow siding and white trim. Overgrown, tangled bushes stood in front. The windows had green, decorative shutters. Bare dirt and weeds served as the front lawn.
Everybody got out of the car.
"What do we know about the parents?" Stony said.
"Bruce and Mary Toppan," Wilson said. "He drove a truck until he retired twelve years ago. She is a life-long alcoholic and has never held a permanent job."
"Wonderful."
Stony went to the front door and knocked.
After a moment, a man opened the door. He had scrappy white hair and blue eyes. His jaw had a grotesque shape, as if big chunks of underlying bone were missing. His mouth didn't close properly, and brown drool was on his lumpy chin. He was wearing a blue baseball cap, a denim shirt, and baggy pants.
"Hello?" Stony said. "Bruce Toppan?"
The man just stared at Stony, who wondered whether he could talk with that screwed-up jaw.
An old woman came to the door and shoved the man aside. "Can I help you?" she said.
She was wearing a brown wig which might've worked on a much younger woman, but in her case, it made Stony think an animal had died on her head. Her tight, yellow shorts, which showed off chubby thighs and varicose veins, were a visual catastrophe. At least a purple shirt covered her entire torso, although he could tell she wore a black bra underneath.
"Mary Toppan?" Stony said.
"Yes." She stared at him suspiciously. "Are you a lawyer? You look like you might be a lawyer."
"No."
"A cop? I paid those tickets. Check your records."
"I'm not a cop," Stony said. "I'm a federal agent. Your son, Edmund, is in a lot of trouble. We have to ask you a few questions."
"I have nothing to say about that piece of shit." Mary slammed the door in his face.
He raised his eyebrows.
"That's not encouraging," Dr. Rombone said. "What do we do now?"
Mia stepped up to the door. "Darling," she said to Stony, "may I try?"
"Please." He moved back.
She knocked politely. "Mr. and Mrs. Toppan. We really have to talk to you. It's very important."
Silence answered her. She looked at Stony, and he shrugged.
Mia kicked the door open. She ran into the home, and he heard old people screaming. Loud thumps followed, and then it became very quiet.
"What just happened?" Rombone said.
Stony ignored her and went inside. He found Bruce and Mary sitting on a dirty, brown couch, holding each other. Their eyes were wide with fear. The woman's lower lip was split and bloody.
Mia was standing in front of the couch with her arms crossed. "They'll talk now."
Stony inhaled, but the stink made him regret it. The home smelled like sour milk mixed with cat poop. With a grimace, he looked around. Dirty, moldy dishes formed a teetering pile in the sink. Burned out light bulbs and dusty windows made the place as dark as a cave. Debris was shoved against the walls, leaving just narrow paths.
Wilson entered but paused when he saw the conditions inside. "That was not standard procedure," he said after composing himself. "The agency could get sued."
"Do you think I care?" Mia said.
Dr. Rombone entered next. She blanched and developed a nauseous expression.
Stony looked at the old couple and considered what question to ask first. One immediately popped to mind.
"What happened to your jaw?" he said. "Did you get shot in the face?"
"Mouth cancer," Mary said. "They had to cut it out. The doctors blamed tobacco, but what do they know?"
More than you, Stony thought. "Let's get straight to it. Your son is a killer. Help us catch him before more people die."
"Stony!" Dr. Rombone said. "That's not how we do this. Your behavior is unprofessional and unethical. Let me ask the questions."
He shrugged. "Go ahead."
She approached the old couple and knelt on the floor. "I know this is overwhelming," she said softly. "We apologize for the fuss, but we really need some answers. Any assistance you can give us would be wonderful. Even basic background information might be useful. What kind of child was Edmund? What types of activities did he enjoy?"
Mary stared at her blankly. "I don't know."
"But you're his mother."
"We didn't see much of each other. I liked to drink, and he liked to do... other stuff."
"Was he close to his father?" Rombone said.
Bruce shook his head.
"He was always driving his truck," Mary explained.
Great parents, Stony thought sadly.
"You must remember something," Rombone said. "Did he have friends?"
"That was a very long time ago." Mary paused. "I don't remember friends. Strange kid. He liked animals."
"Oh?"
"He was always bringing squirrels, rats, and birds into the house. He caught them outside and hid them in his room."
"How did you feel about that?" Rombone said.
"I hated it. I killed the vermin whenever I found them."
"That must've made Edmund very sad."
"I didn't give a shit," Mary said. "I put the animals under a glass bowl until they suffocated, and I made Edmund watch. I whupped him afterwards for good measure."
"That seems... cruel."
"You can't tell me how to be a mother to my own child."
Rombone sighed. "Does he have any siblings?"
"Not legitimate ones." Mary jabbed her husband in the gut with her elbow. "No other kids lived in my house, if that's what you mean."
"So all he had were his pets, which you killed."
"You make it sound like I'm a bad person. Those critters were filthy! They carried disease!"
Stony looked at the disgusting interior of the mobile home. You don't have a problem with filth these days, he thought.
"He lived here?" Rombone said.
"No," Mary said. "This is our retirement home. We had a real house in Settlers Springs, back when Bruce brought home a steady paycheck instead of medical bills."
"I see. What is Edmund's religious background?"
"I made him go to church every Sunday."
"As a family?" Rombone said.
"God, no. I didn't need those nosy Christians telling me to stop drinking, and Bruce was on the road. Edmund went alone. I called the minister afterwards to make sure my kid heard the whole service and sang in the boys' choir. He spent most of the day there. He got a proper Christian education. If he skipped a minute of it, I whupped him."
"Could you be more specific? How exactly did you punish Edmund?"
"The normal way," Mary said, "with a switch, and I locked him in his room. Sometimes I kept him in there for a couple of days. I know that sounds bad, but back then, things were different. We knew how to discipline kids. We didn't raise pussies like today. Edmund could take a good, hard beating and not cry about it."
"How proud you must be," Rombone said bitterly.
"This minister," Stony said. "He spent a lot of time with Edmu
nd?"
"I suppose," Mary said.
"Then we need to talk to him. What was his name?"
"Uh, Levada. He ran Horizons Church for a lot of years, but then he retired, I think. I don't know what happened to him."
Wilson pulled out his phone. "I'll call headquarters and ask them to track him down." He stepped outside.
Stony and Dr. Rombone continued to ask questions, but Mary couldn't provide any useful answers. Edmund had been gone for too many years, and she hadn't paid much attention to him when he had lived with her. She never even suggested that she had loved her son. Bruce was just a silent, stoic presence.
Stony, Mia, and Rombone finally left the mobile home. Stony was very glad to be out in the sunshine and fresh air. He almost regretted agreeing to be a field investigator. The job involved too many sad stories.
"Tragic but unfortunately typical," Rombone said. "Serial killers usually come from homes full of abuse and neglect."
Stony walked over to Wilson, who was standing by the car.
"You never came back in," Stony said.
"I didn't want to, sir. The air was making me sick."
"What about Levada?"
"Headquarters is locating him," Wilson said. "Our next appointment is a man named Rick Johnson, a former parole officer."
* * *
Wilson parked the car in front of a small home with brown metal siding.
Stony got out and admired the perfectly groomed lawn. A shiny red pickup truck stood on a wide driveway. The home had a white door and burgundy trim.
Stony went to the front door and knocked. Mia, Rombone, and Wilson stood behind him.
An elderly African-American man answered the door. He had gray hair and a bushy gray mustache. His shirt had obnoxious pink, purple, and blue stripes.
"Officer Johnson?" Stony said. "We're federal agents. You were told we were coming."
"Yes," Johnson said. "The Edmund Toppan case. I was just looking at my old files to refresh my memory. Come in. Make yourselves comfortable."
Everybody walked into a small living room. White fabric covered a big, puffy couch. A recliner had red vinyl upholstery which had cracked with age. The television was the nicest and newest thing in the room. Big windows let in plenty of sunlight. Mia, Wilson, and Dr. Rombone sat on the couch, and Johnson took the recliner.
Stony was left standing, but he didn't mind. Some papers were laid out on a coffee table. He looked closer and saw they were police reports.
"Do you remember Edmund?" he said.
"I do," Johnson said. "He must be in big trouble to have federal agents investigating him."
"Yes," Rombone said, "but we're here to talk about the past, not the present. What can you tell us about him?"
"He was a juvenile case. Busted for theft five different times, between the ages of twelve and sixteen. I don't really blame him though. His parents barely clothed and fed him. If he wanted a toy or good food, he had to steal it. Those five arrests were just the tip of the iceberg."
"Oh?"
"Edmund was extremely intelligent," Johnson said. "He evolved into an expert thief and con-man. For every time the police caught him red-handed, I'm sure there were a hundred times they didn't. It was a very sad situation. He had all the natural talent in the world, but his horrible family forced him to become a criminal."
"Why wasn't he put into foster care?" Rombone said.
"There were hearings, but the evidence of neglect and abuse was never conclusive enough. His parents were married, and his father had a steady income. No judge was willing to pull the trigger and take Edmund out of his home."
"But his mother was an alcoholic."
"She always promised to get treatment," Johnson said.
Rombone furrowed her brow. "The system failed Edmund."
"That's probably true."
"But we were just talking with Mary Toppan. She never mentioned her son got into trouble with the law."
"I'm sure she was too embarrassed to talk about it," Johnson said. "She's not an honest or forthcoming woman."
Stony took a step forward. "How good a thief was Edmund?" he said. "What kinds of things did he steal?"
Johnson turned to him. "It started with pickpocketing and shoplifting. By the time he turned eighteen, he was breaking into homes and stealing jewelry, allegedly. He mastered disabling security systems. He was particularly fond of gold."
Stony frowned. The skills of a thief translated readily into the skills needed by a serial killer on the run.
"What kind of personality did he have?" Rombone said.
"Very curious and philosophical," Johnson said. "Whenever we met, he asked a lot of questions."
"About what?"
"Life, death, religion, ethics. The big questions."
Stony nodded. He had asked those questions as a young man too, and he had settled on some very bad answers. He hadn't understood the full extent of his mistakes until he had met Rathanael.
"We need to catch him," he said. "Do you have any recommendations?"
Johnson shook his head. "Not really. Edmund knows how the police operate, and he knows how to avoid getting caught. Smartest kid I ever met. If he has a weakness, it's animals."
"Oh?"
"He always had a critter with him, a squirrel or a rat usually. He caught them in the wild and took good care of them."
"We understand," Rombone said. "His love of animals substituted for positive relationships with people."
"I can believe that." Johnson nodded. "He had trouble dealing with people, women in particular. He wanted to control them like his pets."
Stony and Mia exchanged knowing glances.
"What were his thoughts on religion?" Rombone said.
"I know he went to church every Sunday," Johnson said, "but he never had anything nice to say about it. He slipped and told me his true feelings just one time. He felt God had abandoned him. Given his home life, I can understand why he thought that. That's all I have for you. I wish I could be more helpful."
Stony thanked him and shook his hand. Then Stony, Mia, Rombone, and Wilson went outside.
Stony looked up at a blue sky and tried to shake off a feeling of depression. Hearing about Orcus's tragic childhood was a miserable experience.
Wilson made a phone call. "Headquarters located Levada," he announced. "Carlo Levada to be specific. He lives in an apartment across town."
* * *
Wilson drove the car down a private driveway into an apartment complex. Each building was two townhomes side-by-side. Wooden shingles covered the walls, but a few shingles had fallen off, exposing plywood underneath. Concrete stairs led to elevated front doors, allowing for another level beneath the first floor. Trees planted in the front yards needed to be trimmed.
Wilson parked and pointed at a building. "Apartment number nine."
Stony got out, led the group to the front door, and knocked.
An old man in a black shirt answered the door. His pudgy face sagged and had many wrinkles. Reading glasses with thick frames were balanced on the end of his nose. Tufts of gray hair formed a band around his otherwise bald skull.
"Carlo Levada?" Stony nodded.
The old man nodded. "Are you the federal agents I was told were coming?"
"That's right. Mind if we come in?"
Levada allowed the PEA contingent into his apartment. The front room had a brown leather couch with space for just two people. Inspirational art on the walls featured rainbows, glowing angels, and Jesus. A big crucifix had a gleaming silver finish. A bookshelf stood in the spot where Stony expected to see a television.
Seating was very limited, so everybody just stood in the middle of the room.
"I was told you had questions about Edmund Toppan," Levada said.
"Yes," Stony said. "He went to your church on Sunday."
"Every Sunday for several years. I knew him well. He was a troublemaker."
"Oh?"
"Always asking too many questions," Levada said angr
ily. "Questions about God, faith, Heaven, and Hell."
"Aren't we suppose to ask those questions?" Stony said.
"Not all the time! He was impertinent and disrespectful. He never just accepted what I told him as a matter of faith. He raised objections. He thought out loud. He proposed alternatives. He never shut his damned mouth for more than a minute at a time. Even when he read the Bible, he muttered to himself."
"We were told he was very intelligent."
"Too smart for his own good!" Levada said. "He got worse as he got older. The arguments were sharper, harder to refute. He quoted ancient philosophers. I don't know where he got his ideas from. Some days I just couldn't deal with him at all."
"Then what did you do?"
"I made him clean the graveyard."
Stony tilted his head. "What does that mean?"
"My church has a cemetery in back. About two hundred graves. The grass always needed weeding and mowing, and the markers needed scrubbing. I made him work until his attitude improved. Sometimes that took all day. He was almost the official groundskeeper back there."
"And if he refused to work?"
"I told his mamma," Levada said. "A stern woman. She kept him in line. But after a few years, I think he liked the job. He volunteered to do it."
Stony frowned.
"Is anybody famous buried there?" Mia said.
Levada shrugged. "I don't think so, but some of the graves are over a hundred years old."
Mia glanced at Stony meaningfully. He got the idea.
"I think we need to check out the graveyard," he said.
"Why?" Levada said.
"It was an important part of Edmund's childhood. Maybe very important."
* * *
Wilson parked the car in front of Horizons Church.
Stony got out of the car, straightened his jacket, and looked at the church. A tall, white steeple rose from the center, but the tower didn't have a bell. The one-story building had a circular layout. A cracked parking lot was much bigger than the church, and a line of trees marked the edge of the property.
Mia, Wilson, and Dr. Rombone joined Stony.
Levada arrived in his own car. He got out and walked over on old, unsteady legs.
"Ah, this place brings back a lot of memories," he said. "I was the minister for twenty-five years before I retired."
"We don't have time to go inside," Stony said. "We just want to see the cemetery."