by J. Thiele
“I think we should leave.” Ray said nervously. It’s getting dark out and I’m no hero; I don’t want to be here when the sun declares lights out.”
“I agree. Wes! I’ll come back tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll feel better then and we can have that chat.” Casey shouted into nowhere.
* * * * *
She’d just settled in when she heard the familiar sound of a disturbance coming from her landing. She decided to ignore it refusing to give in to her paranoia; she could still feel eyes drilling into the back of her head.
She finished her movie and decided to call it a night; she flicked off the T.V and turned toward the kitchen. “Are you fucking serious? Wes, what the fuck are you doing out there?” She saw Wes standing on the landing; he looked pale and frightened with dark rings under his eyes. She leaned around the wall to flick the landing light on, but when she straightened herself, he was gone. “What the fuck?” ‘Great, I’m fucking going insane. The captain’s right, I need to be sanctioned.’ She rubbed her eyes and continued her path to bed.
* * * * *
Casey was woken by a loud knocking at her door. She staggered to open it. “Captain, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“I called to see how you were, but there was no answer, are you okay?” he pushed passed her.
“I’m fine; I stayed up late watching T.V I must have slept through. Why? What’s going on?” Casey could see the concern on his face.
“There’s been another slaughter, we might have a ‘Jack the fucking Ripper’ on our hands. This one was right here in your neighbourhood, only a block away. Shoot me down for asking, but tell me again what you think you saw that day, before you passed out.”
“I don’t know for sure captain, but I do know this, Wes Moresby is still alive, he’s been hiding out in that warehouse. Something has him traumatised, to the point that he’s turned feral.” He jumped out at me yesterday; I thought he was going to land right on top of us when he jumped from the over heads.”
“Whoa, back up detective. First of all, those little shits have always been feral. The cities a far better place without them, God rest their souls,” he gave himself the typical catholic sign of the cross from his forehead to his heart and shoulder to shoulder. “Secondly, you’re not going to tell me you went to that fucking warehouse after I told you to stay away are you? And us? What fucking us? Who else have you gotten caught up in this bullshit?” he asked as his face began to turn bright red and his voice escalated in volume. He tipped two blood pressure pills into his hand and threw them into the back of his mouth. “Doesn’t matter, I need you back on the case, there’s something funny going on, and when I say funny I mean fucked up!” He made his way to the door, “So I’ll see you back in the saddle tomorrow 8:00am sharp.” He pulled the door closed behind him leaving Casey standing alone and stunned. ‘What was in his coffee this morning?’ she wondered. The pounding at the door started again, she knew it was the captain so she reopened the door. “And bring everything you’ve got so far, including the info on that Moresby idiot!” he slammed the door shut behind himself again.
A few seconds later another knock, she hadn’t left the door yet, so she opened it for a third go. “Casey, I just saw the captain leaving, can I come in?” Ray had two tall coffees in his hands.
“Sure I had no plans to sleep in anyway.” she said as she welcomed him in.
“I suppose the captain has filled you in on the attacks down the blocks?” he asked.
“Briefly,” she said. “But I suppose now that I’m back on active duty, I have to wait until tomorrow to get all the dirt.”
“He’s reinstated you?” Ray asked. “Then I suppose you won’t be needing my services anymore?” he said with a note of disappointment in his voice. “But hey, I have something that might interest you. It’s classified information, so you can’t share it, although the captain will probably fill you in tomorrow anyway.”
“What is it?” Casey asked.
“The coroner’s report, the original draft not the one that’s going to public records, that’s mostly been blacked out.”
“Blacked out? Why?” Casey looked puzzled.
“You tell me, take a look for yourself, obviously someone doesn’t want a public outcry.” Ray handed over another manila folder.
Casey opened it and began sifting through the files. “Sweet Jesus! The bodies were ripped apart, there’s no evidence of any weapons being used. All injuries were caused from tearing of the flesh.”
“That’s not all, look at page two.” Ray instructed. “One of them has bite marks from God only knows what. It says ‘human form’ but what the fuck does ‘human form mean? And look at the bite pattern. Can you see how the canines are wider and deeper than the others? Who the fuck does his dental work?”
“This just keeps getting weirder,” Casey said rubbing her temples.
“So, are we heading out to the warehouse today? You told Wes we’d be back.” Ray asked, keen to stay on the case with her.
“Fuck! Yeah I suppose I’d better, but you stay clear, I don’t want you getting dragged in any deeper. This is getting fucking serious.” she told him.
“No fucking way are you going it alone! Partners, remember? I know now that you’re back on the books and that you’re my senior officer, but if it’s all the same to you I either come with you or I poke around on my own. This shit has me in. I’d like to see it through to the end.”
“Okay, I admire that,” she told him. “But you don’t do anything without my say so, are we clear?”
“Crystal.” he responded.
When they arrived at the warehouse they discovered it had been locked up like Fort Knox. The door wouldn’t budge, the side door was sealed and as warehouses go there wasn’t any windows to break in through. The back was inaccessible due to an eight foot chain wire fence caped with razor wire.
“For fuck sake!” Casey said as she kicked a barrel that was sitting by the fence. “How do we know if Wes isn’t still inside? And who gave the orders to lock the place down?”
“As far as I’m aware,” Ray spoke up “the place is still under investigation, it’s still a fucking crime scene. So whoever locked it did so off their own bat.”
“Oh well, there’s not much we can do about it now without breaking and entering ourselves, “I’ll get the captain to look into it in the morning.” Casey decided. “Let’s call it a day; if Wes was here, I doubt that he hung around while whoever has the keys locked up.”
The pair left, but Casey had that familiar uneasy feeling like they were being watched or at the very least, being eavesdropped on.
Chapter Six
The following morning Casey arrived at the precinct a little early so she could catch up on memos and case files that she’d missed out on during her absence. She needed to be up to speed before her colleagues arrived if she was to head the investigation again.
Pearce was already at his desk. “Christ do you ever go home?” she asked. ‘No wonder the man lives on a diet of blood pressure medication,’ she thought to herself.
“Home? How can I go home, when there’s a fucking maniac out there ripping people from asshole to breakfast time?” Pearce’s face was already glowing as he popped a couple of pills into his mouth and chomped down on them.
“Yeah of course, what was I thinking?” Casey spoke under her breath. “Captain, I was poking around at the old warehouse yesterday, did you know it’s been locked up? Who would have authorised that?” she asked treading careful so as not to implicate Ray.
“LOCKED UP? Didn’t I tell you to stay away from that place?”
“Yes, but that was before I was put back on the case.” She reminded him.
“What’s got you so hooked on that place Marks? Are you still traumatised over the shooting? Rehashing the ‘could have, should haves?’ Well, let it go. That bastards’ still out there, so if you’re back I need all of you back. Got it?” he spat out between his heavy breaths.
“I am
back Sir. I’ve been going over the files, one of the major issues I’m having, is the body count.” She assured him. “There were seven suspects in the gang I was assigned to, Tyson Grey, Scotty Blake, Benny White, Jake Thomson, Joe Fryer, Louis Carpenter and Wes Moresby. Now, we know the five that were at the crime scene were Blake, White, Thomson, Fryer, and Carpenter, and Grey was murdered while in custody. Moresby is still unaccounted for, and he was definitely there the day of the murders.”
“Are you fucking certain? I’m not interested in ghost stories and fucking fairy tales.” Pearce asked.
“Positive. I’ve checked with my back up patrol officer Lieutenant Powell, and he can verify it.” she informed him.
“Good, then he has just become prime suspect number one. Haul his arse in here.” He insisted. “I want him collared for the others too.”
‘It’s not that easy Captain, the other day when I was out there I saw Moresby,” she paused. She knew this was going to sound like one of those fucking ghost stories he mentioned. “I tried to question him but he um… he flew the coop so to speak, he was just too fast for me.” ‘There,’ she thought. ‘Not a lie, and not a fairy tale either. I can live with that.’
“Humph,” he snorted. “Probably still not at a hundred percent, you’ll get the bastard next time. Take some back up, just to be on the safe side.”
“I’d like to request Lieutenant Powell if I may sir? He’s been at my back the entire case. I trust him to continue to cover it.” She was cautious about the way she played her cards at this point of time, but determined to keep Ray in the loop, he deserved that.
“POWELL! He’s uniform, and besides, I’ve heard the rumours. Your back is not all he’d like to cover, fucking little pervert.” Pearce’s father like hackles went up and his face turned a deeper shade of red.
“He’s a good officer sir; I would be dead if it weren’t for him. If I’m going to need back up, I need it to be someone that knows the case, someone I can rely on. Ray Powell’s the man I want on board with this Captain.” She argued her case.
“Bring him in and brief him! I’m not happy about it, but I’ll let you make that call, it’s your back. I hope you know what your fucking doing.”
“Me too sir,” she confessed. “Now, the other victims? You said they were in my neighbourhood? What’s the progress on that investigation?”
“Progress? For fuck sake, there is no progress, that’s why you’re back on the case. Same fucking M.O as the warehouse. That Moresby cocksucker is going to fry. A young couple walking home from fuck only knows where, neighbours heard screaming then nothing. No-one knew a fucking thing until morning when they stepped out into the streets to take kiddies to school and found body parts from one end of the fucking street to the other. City’s going to be paying for therapy for those people until the next fucking millennium.”
“I’ll brief Powell; can we get someone to call City Council and find out who has the keys to the warehouse?” She saw the uncertainty in his eyes. “If we’re going to catch that bastard Moresby, I need to get inside that fucking shed.”
Satisfied that she was on the same page as him, he offered, “I’ll look into it this morning. If that motherfuckers hiding out there, I’ll gladly torch the place myself, a few flames ought to flush the prick out.”
* * * * *
She sent a text message to Ray.
Spoke to Pearce,
You’re on the case too.
I’m about to call you in for briefing.
Act dumb, you know nothing yet.
Clear?
A few seconds later her phone buzzed in her hands.
Crystal.
Casey smiled, ‘Now that’s a Deja vu’ she thought.
She called down to the front desk, “Detective Marks here, can you send Lieutenant Powell up to investigations. Captain Pearce will fill out the paper work and send it down to your superior. We’re going to be requiring his assistance in an ongoing investigation for a little longer.”
Ray was sitting at his desk filling out reports, already expecting the call “Powell!” the sergeant behind the desk called out. Ray looked up with a surprised look on his face. ‘She’s quick’ he thought to himself as the fat sergeant gave him the thumbs up signal to point him upstairs.
* * * * *
Upstairs in the conference room, Casey stood at the head of the table with a white board at her back, a list of victims on one side, and suspects on the other. The suspect list numbered one in total. Wes Moresby.
Seated at the table were two other detectives, Senior Detective Rick Aspley and Detective Amanda Lewis. They had worked as partners for over a decade. They knew each other better that anyone. They were handpicked by the department to assist in the case. They knew of the great Detective Casey Marks and were keen to work any case she was assigned to.
Casey was about to engage in a strategy plan to capture Wes and bring him in for questioning, when Pearce barged in. “The warehouse was put into lockdown by the new owner, an Out-of-Towner by the name of Damon Cartwright. Apparently he bought the place for a song from the widow Jones about 6 months ago. Showed up on her doorstep one night with an offer, and the grieving widow jumped at it. S’pose she just wanted the dump off her hands, too many memories. He must have assumed the case was closed cos no-one had been out there since the massacre, dumb arse. It’s closed when I say it’s closed.”
“Where can we find this Mr Cartwright?” Casey enquired.
“That’s up to you to find out. Far as I can tell, no-one knows him or has seen him since the sale went through. Strange though, all negotiations were done at night. Said he couldn’t get away from his office during the day, but he has no social security number, and the revenue have no records of him ever being employed here or anywhere else for that matter. I got a bad feeling this poor pricks gonna turn up dead too.”
“He can’t be too dead if he locked the place down.” Casey rationalised.
“Well ya better find him soon or my prediction just might come true. I want this to be a priority case; I’ve got the fucking mayor breathing fire and brimstone up my arse and a mob out the front of the precinct threatening a public lynching. If we don’t find this motherfucker soon, we’ll have a fucking witch hunt on our hands as well. Keep me up to speed.” Pearce said as he slammed the glass door behind him on his exit.
The room fell quiet.
Amanda Lewis broke the silence, “Quite the theatrical type isn’t he?”
Casey glared at her, she knew she was right, but what right did she have to open her mouth about Pearce on her first day? What the fuck did she know about theatricals anyway? Casey decided then and there, she didn’t like Detective Amanda Lewis and would be glad to see the case closed and her sent on her merry fucking way as soon as possible.
“Yes, well I suppose if I had the mayor breathing down my throat and a city full of hysterical citizens at my door, demanding justice, I’d be a little on edge too.”
“I didn’t mean any harm Detective, I just meant….”
Casey cut her off. “I know what you meant Detective; let’s just leave it there shall we? And get to the matters at hand.”
Lewis and Aspley raised eyebrows at each other then proceeded to pull out their note pads.
Ray bowed his head, as the lowest in seniority; he wouldn’t dare get caught smirking at the situation, though he did love a good catfight.
Chapter Seven
Ray and Casey went back to the warehouse, while Amanda and Rick went in search of Damon Cartwright, an address, phone number, police record anything they could come up with to prove he even existed. For all Casey knew Damon Cartwright was AKA Tyson Grey and he bought the place from the Jones' widow with drug money, but since he’s dead she couldn’t exactly question him on the matter. Her theory was that Wes has the key, he must have found it or stolen it from Tyson. Who knew?
When they arrived at the premises, nothing had changed. Even the police tape was still in place, a little worse for wear,
but still there none the less. The door was still locked tight.
They were about to leave when a security guard from a neighbouring warehouse called them over to the fence.
“You cops?” He asked.
“Who wants to know?” Ray responded.
“Frank, Frank Townsend, I work the graveyard shift here, I’m pulling a double today cos my buddy’s down with the flu.” He explained. “You here about the massacre? Or the shit that goes on there at night?”
“At night?’ Casey asked.
“Yeah, you know the parties and shit. People comin’ and goin’, acting like they off their faces on acid or meth. Don’t cause no harm or nothin’, just look like they stoned or somethin’ walkin’ around like Zombies. It’s not every night mind ya. Three, maybe four nights a week.” The aging black security guard informed them.
“How long have these parties been going on?” Ray asked.
“I’d say about a week after all that other bullshit went down. Came in one night and the place was lit up, must have had gas lanterns or something cos' the power was still cut at that time.”
Casey asked. “Have you ever approached any of them?”
“Nope, don’t intend to either, unless they come on this side of the fence, ain’t none of my concern Miss.” he replied.
She handed him her card, “Would you call me on this number the next time one of these parties are in swing?”
“I’ll be callin' ya ma’am,” he said taking the card and tucking it into his top pocket.
* * * * *
Detectives Rick and Amanda went to city hall, they were looking for any information they could get on Damon Cartwright. They scoured through council, social security, and police records. They couldn’t turn up so much as an unpaid parking fine. In fact they couldn’t find any fines at all. No licence, registration, real estate, police record, school or even dentist records. In fact the last Damon Cartwright the city even had on file was in 1921. A stranger that moved to the city and worked the graveyard shift at the saw mill. Which coincidently was located by the railway tracks. It’s a warehouse now, stands abandoned since its owner Maurie Jones was murdered over five years ago.