by Lex H Jones
“From the row outside, I’m guessing you heard about Trent’s plan with the media?”
“Yeah, it makes sense come to think of it. Serial killers always get sloppy eventually, speeding up the process seems smart.”
“Guys?” Trent interrupted as he opened the door to the office. “We just got a call. Dead gay guy number three.”
“Talk of the Devil,” Carl sighed, getting up from his chair.
“Carl,” Grant said before he left. “Be careful, alright?”
“Hey, you know me.”
“Yeah I do. That’s the problem.”
Chapter Thirty-Four;
End of the Line
“S o talk me through it,” Carl requested as he sat in the passenger chair of Trent’s battered grey Sedan.
“We got a call saying some big guy in a red mask had dumped a heavy-looking sack at the old train station. Description seemed to match our guy, so one of the guys on patrol checked it out. Masked guy had gone, of course, but he found the sack and what was inside it. Dead body, of course. That’s when he called us,” Trent explained.
“So we’re going to be the first ones on scene this time?”
“CSI’s are already there, but no one’s taken any statements yet. We get to hear what the crazy bums and addicts have to say first hand.”
“Ain’t our life wonderful, huh Trent?”
“Very,” the grey-haired detective nodded as he pulled to a halt at the cracked red streetlight. “I gotta tell you, I’m not sure about this one.”
“Why? ‘Cause the guys who called it in were homeless? They used what little cash they had to call the cops, I hardly think they’re gonna be screwing us around.”
“That’s now that I meant. Like you said, can’t have been easy for ‘em to decide to call us, so if they did then I’m pretty sure they saw what they said they saw—a big guy in a red mask dropping off a sack filled with a corpse. What seems weird to me is that it totally goes against this guy’s M.O,” Trent explained as the light turned to a dull green, the bulb barely working, but giving him passage to continue down the road nonetheless.
“Victim wasn’t left at the scene, and the body was dumped,” Carl nodded. “In view of witnesses. Seems a little careless.”
“I guess that is what we wanted, although now I’m curious as to what caused him to be so careless. The newspaper article didn’t get out ‘til this morning, the body was dumped last night,” Trent mused. “You think he panicked or something?”
“I can’t say that this seems anything like the actions of a guy losing his cool. There ain’t no residential area within a couple of blocks of the station, Trent. Guy had to have walked a long way to dump the body. Or maybe he drove, put the body in the car and pulled up here. But if he was getting in the car then why not take it further, somewhere where he wouldn’t get seen?”
“You know, I remember reading once that all serial killers want to get caught. That they like the attention, which is why they deliberately get sloppier towards the end. Even if it’s subconscious.”
“This one’s more than sloppy, it’s downright stupid,” Carl remarked as the car pulled up at the train station.
The train station wasn’t easily accessible from any direction, given that it had long since closed down and been blocked off. It was this that led to it becoming a haven for derelicts and drug addicts. Their own little home, cold and dark, but sheltered. To get to the main doors—which had been boarded up long ago but forcibly pried open shortly afterwards—was only possible by crossing through the bus station. The two were located next to each when constructed for ease of transport around the city. Take a bus to the station then jump on a train to wherever. That was back in the days when people actually had somewhere to go. Long time ago, longer every day. As he and Trent crossed the cracked tarmac, snow drifts pooled up against the benches and trash cans, Carl remembered the last time he was here—the first time he’d met Skye, saved her from one sleazy predator only to lose her to another a few nights later. Taylor was dead now, and he didn’t die happy. Big Dog might be dead or he might not, but he’d have been raped repeatedly at least, which was some comfort. Neither brought Skye back, though. Nothing would bring her back now, all that was left of her was just ten minutes’ worth of happy memories for Carl. The ten minutes he’d spent with her in the hospital and actually let himself feel some hope for her. Soft idiot. Should have known better.
Trent came to the train station door first and let it swing open with a gentle push. Like the others lined up next to it, the door had been glass at one time, but it was now covered with rotten wooden boards which had been nailed haphazardly one over the other. The door opened and the two detectives entered, not really expecting any need for their guns but keeping their hands tensed and ready to draw just in case. The inside of the station was large, with a high roof and two levels. On the upper level had once been coffee bars and magazine stores, on the lower level the ticket offices and the doors which led to the only three platforms in the station. It wasn’t exactly a huge station even in its prime, but it had served a purpose, at some point in time. Now it was just a dank old husk of forgotten memories.
The station interior wasn’t as dark as the two men had expected, illuminated as it was by several flaming trash cans around which groups of men and women were huddled. There were beds made from old sheets and folded boxes, and steel shopping carts full of whatever had been scavenged in the day. Carl could feel the fragile glass of old syringes breaking beneath his boots, and this too haunted him with memories of Skye and the life she had once led. In the centre of the room, Carl and Trent could see a police officer stood guard over the corpse that was surrounded by police tape. CSI’s were already working on the body, the scene illuminated by their strong beam torches and lamps.
“You guys the detectives?” Came a gruff voice in the far corner of the room.
“You the guy who called the cops?” Trent asked as he approached the bearded man who had spoken. Unlike the other denizens of the station who were huddled over fires in groups, this man was stood alone by his warming trash can. Trent wondered if he was unpopular with the group already, or whether they just didn’t want to speak with the police.
“Your boys came to look at the body a few minutes ago, wasn’t sure if they’d actually send anyone to speak to us,” the homeless man replied. “Name’s Jed.”
“Why didn’t you think we’d be coming to speak with you?” asked Carl.
“You know how it is. They get a call from one of us, they’ll come and pick up the body then leave. They ain’t interested in what we got to say, particularly if the body is one of our own.”
“Is the body one of your own?” asked Carl, seeing no need to try and argue with the point.
“Nah, the guy in the mask brought it in with him and dumped it on the floor there.”
“What did he look like?”
“Big guy, broad shoulders, blonde hair and wearing a red mask.”
“Blonde hair? You sure?” Asked Carl, raising an eyebrow.
“Yup. Tied back in a ponytail and everything.”
“The descriptions we have of this guy put him with short, dark hair, right?” asked Trent.
“Yeah,” Carl nodded. “This is starting to make more sense.”
“It is? How is that, exactly?”
“It’s not him. Whoever did this is someone else, the mask might just be a coincidence.”
“Pretty weird coincidence, don’t you think? Not like they both wear the same shoes or something.”
“So do I get a reward, or what?” asked Jed.
“Don’t go anywhere, I might have more questions,” Carl remarked as he handed the homeless man a couple of twenty dollar bills.
“What’d you pay him for? He was only doing his civic duty,” Trent commented as he and Carl walked back outside of the station.
“You think he cares about that? He did a good thing so I gave him a little credit for it. If his friends see him buying
some good smack or some actual food in the next few days, it might encourage them to be a little more forthcoming when we next ask them stuff like this,” Carl shrugged.
“Did you see how many people were in there? Kinda sad to think that this place might be the last home some of them ever see.”
“Most of ‘em, probably. They come here when they’ve run out of options. End of the line,” Carl sighed. “So why are you here, Trent? We all know this ain’t your thing.”
“What? Investigating crime scenes? ‘Cause that kind of is my thing.”
“You had reasons for giving me this case instead of taking it yourself, and those reasons haven’t gone away. The victims are still queer, far as we know. You just want a piece of it now it’s the City’s first serial killer?”
“Hey, that’s outta line,” said Trent, his tone a little hurt. “I just wanted to help you out a little cause I’ve been worried.”
“About me? Why?”
“You look like hell, Carl,” Trent sighed. “You got bigger bags under your eyes than the guys in that train station! You’re running on fumes and since you never talk about yourself nobody knows why! Telling you to see a doctor would be useless ‘cause you don’t listen, so I just wanted to keep an eye on you.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m fine. I’ve just been having some sleep issues.”
“You’re not getting to sleep? My wife has these relaxation candles and tapes that you could borrow.”
“I’d sooner die, but tell her thanks,” Carl managed half a smile. “No, it’s not that I ain’t getting to sleep. The sleep I’m getting isn’t doing any good. I wake up as tired as when I laid down.”
“Do you sleepwalk?”
“How the hell would I know that?”
“Cousin of mine used to do it. Use up all her energy walking around watering plants and stuff, so she’d wake up tired.”
“I got a friend staying with me, I think he’d have noticed if I was doing things like that.”
“You’re up during the day right now, which means this can count as your shift. Take the night off, sleep in until tomorrow night, see if that does you any good. That’s like a full day’s rest, should help you out a little.”
“Yeah okay,” Carl agreed, knowing from experience that when Trent was playing the ‘concerned buddy’ it was easier to shut him up if you just did as he suggested. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on some arsonist thing, anyway?”
“Just some punk torching cars,” Trent shrugged.
“Then go look into that, I’ll wrap up here,” Carl insisted. “I don’t need babysitting, I’m fine.”
“You call me if you need anything, alright?”
Trent patted Carl firmly on the arm and then left the station in the direction of his car. Carl decided to leave the two CSI's and their accompanying officer to attend to the body whilst he walked around the exterior of the building. Old, rusted train tracks could still be seen beneath the overgrown grass and weeds, and Carl had to watch his step to avoid tripping over the damn things. There had to be tire tracks around here, no way had a guy walked this distance with a body slung over his shoulder. The daylight hurt Carl’s eyes, unused to working in it as he was. Still, it made it easier to look for evidence as he walked around the surrounding area. Whatever tire tracks might have been there had been covered by the fresh snowfall, but still Carl kept on walking.
Before he realised how far he’d walked, Carl found himself in an open area of flat dirt that had the last, dying remnants of a construction site. There was a rusted old port-a-john, a battered old ball and chain that had somehow broken and detached from a crane, and a stack of cracked cinder blocks. As he looked at the scene, Carl remembered hearing that a company had, about three years ago, decided to try and reinvigorate the area by rebuilding the train station. Bigger, better and brighter than ever. The money dried up fast, like they always do when newcomers are forced to pay protection rackets, and the project was abandoned. Now all that was left was the ghost of what might have been. Hope and opportunity stifled before it took its first breath.
“You look a little lost,” a voice sneered.
Carl turned to see two men dressed in black suits, one wearing a read shirt under his jacket and the other a dark green. The taller man in the red shirt was broad and had long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. The smaller man in the green shirt had thinning black hair and wore leather gloves. In his left hand the smaller man played with a switchblade, whilst the taller man was unarmed.
“I’m working here,” Carl remarked, noticing the fact that the large man fit the description given by Jed.
“So are we,” the smaller man smiled.
“So... ‘cause I think I have this figured out but stop me if I’m wrong...” Carl remarked, keeping his gaze fixed on the men as he walked, like a tiger circling its opponent. “You boys work for Petroni... one of your inside men on the force told you about the other case I was working... so you decided to set me up by staging another murder to get me out here, correct?”
“Hey, he’s smart,” the small man remarked.
“Shame that you’re not,” Carl chuckled. “Dumping the body in front of witnesses? Not even close to how our man operates.”
“Doesn’t matter, it got you here didn’t it? Now, all we wanna do is have a nice chat, ain’t that right Shirley?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the tall blonde man nodded.
“Shirley? His name’s Shirley?” Carl laughed.
“Won’t seem so funny when he’s pounding your face into the dirt.”
Shirley stepped forwards and clenched his fists, a leering smile on his face at the prospect of what fun he was about to have. Carl tensed himself and moved out of the way as the large man lunged at him, turning in time to strike Shirley in the back with a straight jab. Shirley swung out with his fist and Carl narrowly avoided being struck by it but was unable to avoid the second blow that sent him to the floor as it struck his face. It was unusual for Carl to fight someone who was bigger and stronger than he was, and he hadn’t actually planned for it. As the tall blonde came towards the prone detective, Carl kicked out at his knee and snapped it to the side. Shirley roared in pain and staggered to one side, struggling to keep his balance on his broken joint. This gave Carl the opportunity to stand up and draw his gun, at which point he fired a shot into the blonde’s other kneecap. The smaller, dark-haired man now approached with his blade, but Carl spun around and pointed his gun directly at him.
“Think about it,” Carl warned, his reddened and already swollen face betraying the fact that he was in no mood.
“All right, look... we didn’t mean to get into this, we just get carried away, you know? Particularly Shirley, he... well he enjoys his work,” the small man stammered, his arrogance gone given that his burley friend was crying in pain on the floor, the advantage well and truly taken from him. “We were just here to warn you that Petroni ain’t happy.”
“I know that already.”
“Well, just watch your back, that’s all, ‘cause next time it might be worse than just us.”
“I should hope so, else I’d start to think a lot less of Petroni,” Carl remarked. “So who was the dead guy in the sack?”
“Just a stooly who’d been blabbing lately, no-one important.”
“Two birds with one stone. Very economical of you.”
“You gonna let us go now?”
“Hmmm,” Carl pondered deliberately loudly. “Your friend ain’t walking out of here, is he? You’re gonna have to carry him.”
“I got a cell phone.”
“Course you do, big-shot like you. What am I thinking?” Carl sighed, forcibly taking the phone from the smaller man’s pocket and then smashing it against the floor. Keeping his gun trained on the small man, he then walked over to the fallen Shirley, who was now unconscious from pain and blood loss, and removed his own phone, breaking this one with equal disregard. “There we are. Now won’t this be a fun afternoon for you?”
Carl smiled mockingly and patted the smaller man on the cheek, before walking away from the scene.
“Oh wait, I almost forgot,” Carl stopped himself, turned and fired another bullet straight into the dark-haired man’s right shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain as the arm instantly became useless to him. “Now it’ll be really fun.”
“You’re not just gonna leave us here, you’re a good cop!” the man cried as Carl resumed his act of walking away.
“Thanks to guys like your boss, that means less in this town than it does anywhere else.”
“You’re just gonna let us bleed to death out here in the cold?”
“Yup.”
“You serious?” The man screamed erratically as he clutched his shoulder, the blood spraying out between his fingers which had no hope in hell of applying an effective tourniquet.
“Yup.”
“You’re a crazy motherfucking son of a bitch!”
“Yup.”
Carl walked on until he returned to the train station, at which point he took out his own cell phone and dialled 911.
“I need an ambulance down at the old train station, there’s been a bit of an incident. What? No, nothing serious. Take your time.”
Chapter Thirty-Five;
One Man’s Trash
T he third-to-last stair on the way to Carl’s apartment let out its same, regular creak as the detective’s foot pressed down on it. Best security system in the world, better than any alarm that could be deactivated by cutting off the power. As Carl ascended the final step, he put his hand on the doorknob and then froze. Something was wrong, he could feel it. That innate sense a cop gets after years on the force. The sense that tells you to watch yourself, that something isn’t quite right. Some guys ignored it, some passed it off as paranoia, particularly when they’d already been threatened in the way that Carl had. Carl himself didn’t avoid the feeling, but neither would it stop him from doing what he wanted to do. Instead, he drew his gun and gripped it tightly as he turned the knob and entered his apartment. There was no sign of a break-in, but Carl could immediately hear one of Jimmy’s CDs being played at low volume. He looked over to the corner of the room where the stereo was located, the one Jimmy had bought upon realising that Carl didn’t actually own one, and saw a tall, black-coated bald man holding an album and studying it.