Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil)

by Kylie Brant

  “I don’t know,” Isaac Mackey said, stalling in the act of finding the proper for the lock on Humphrey’s door. “Word gets around I’m letting cops into people’s apartments, who’s gonna rent from me?”

  “If you ignore a warrant and end up in jail for obstruction, who’s going to rent from you?” Cam’s voice was steely. “Open it.”

  Mackey bore a ratty tee shirt, stringy goatee and questionable hygiene. He sucked in his bottom lip in what appeared to be a laborious attempt to think. “Maybe I should call a lawyer.”

  “You understand what a warrant is, right? We’re looking for a missing person.” It was difficult to temper his frustration. Time had seemed to speed up to sprint pace after Franks had redialed Mead’s number a second time, while they’d all stood outside this door earlier. There had been no mistaking the timing of the ringing emanating from inside Humphrey’s apartment. “We have reason to believe he was here earlier. His cell phone is still inside. Open the door, or I’ll do it myself.”

  “You better do what he says,” Jenna murmured. “No use you getting jammed up in someone else’s mess, right?”

  Mackey stole a glance at Cam’s expression. Whatever he saw there had him hastening to select the right keys from his ring. One for the lock and another for a deadbolt. Once he’d unsecured both, he pushed the door open for them, but remained rooted in place in the hallway. “I’m not goin’ in. Nuh-uh. Bad enough explaining to this guy what happened. That dude is mean.”

  Cam brushed by him. “Call the number again.” He spoke the words over his shoulder, but Franks was already holding the cell and pressing redial. The apartment boasted a kitchen wedged into one corner, opening to a postage stamp sized living space. Moments later a ringing sounded in the apartment. There were only two other doors, presumably to a bathroom and bedroom.

  It was coming from the bathroom. Cam drew his weapon. The other two agents did the same. His gaze met Jenna’s and without a word she moved to the bedroom while they approached the closed door of the bathroom. A few moments later she returned and gave a quick shake of her head. Standing to the side of the bathroom door, he reached out to turn the knob, swinging it open as he and Franks leveled their weapons to cover the space.

  But the area was miniscule. Barely big enough for its one occupant.

  Who was currently duct-taped to the cast iron sewer pipe running up the cracked wall behind the toilet.

  Cam quickly holstered his weapon to approach the man while Franks left the room. Lifting his head, Cam checked the pulse in his throat. It was weak, but steady.

  Jenna picked up the wallet lying at the man’s feet. It was empty of money, but both the parole officer’s driver’s license and employee ID were in it. “It’s Mead.”

  “Humphrey.” The word was garbled between split lips, but it had Cam’s attention jerking to the bound man. He hadn’t realized Mead was conscious. His body was limp. Both eyes were ringed with rainbow colors, and one was completely swollen shut. “Gone.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  But the effort seemed to have drained the other man. Cam could hear Jenna in the other room on her cell summoning an ambulance before placing a call to Gomez. Franks returned and Cam took one of the knives he’d found by rummaging in the kitchen drawers. The two agents went to work freeing Mead from the tape.

  “See this?” Cam called Tommy’s attention to a wound at the back Mead’s head that had bled profusely. “He must have been out long enough for Humphrey to drag him in here and tie him up.”

  “Put up a hell of a fight first, from the look of his fists,” Franks observed as he went about slicing through the tape. When the two of them had the man free, it was Cam who caught him and laid him down as gently as possible on the floor. “Call Treelord and get a BOLO out on Humphrey. Give him Quinn’s address in Pine Hill. And they’ll need to check Marchand’s address, too.” Even while he’d tended to believe Stacy Marchand, it had been evident the woman was somewhat fearful of her brother. If Humphrey had insisted, he doubted Marchand would have been able to resist a demand to hide at her house.

  He went to the bedroom and pulled the sheet off the bed to cover the wounded man with. Then he placed a call himself.

  “Mr. Zipsy, this is Agent Prescott again. We’re going to need a look at your vacant property tonight. Yes, sir, right now.” His glance fell to Mead then, who was moving restlessly. “I realize the hour, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist. We’ll meet you at the address in thirty minutes.”

  It was closer to forty minutes before Cam knocked on the window of the car parked in front of the warehouse. The window powered down. “This is a bunch of bullshit.” Cam had never met Zipsy so he couldn’t ID the individual behind the wheel, but he recognized the irascible voice. “Drag me out of bed on a fool’s errand. There ain’t nothing to do tonight that can’t be done tomorrow morning. I’m gonna make damn sure your boss hears about this, too.”

  “How many other entrances to the place?” Cam cut through the man’s grousing.

  “Got a single door and two double overhead doors, front and back. But I disabled the mechanism to open the front overhead doors. Figure I don’t need to be inviting trouble. And the single door entrance in back is boarded up. Has been ever since some asswipe decided to break in last year.”

  When the man started out of the car, Cam’s voice halted him. “I’ll take the key, Mr. Zipsy. You stay here and wait.”

  “Hell if I will!” With the aid of the interior light in the man’s beat up car, Cam could easily interpret the jut of his chin. “My property, remember. I’ll be the one to go in.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow that. And the longer you sit here and argue about it, the more sleep you’ll be missing.”

  The older man argued for a little longer but in the end, apparently deciding Cam was immoveable turned off the car and took out his keys. He removed two from the ring with movements jerky with temper. “Top one opens the door lock and the next the dead bolt. You and I are going to have a little chat after you go in there and find the damn place empty.” He thrust the key out the window toward Cam, who took it and started walking away. “You can be thinking about your apology now!”

  “Always nice to work with cooperative citizens,” Franks gibed as he and Jenna walked rapidly with Cam toward the dark building. The area was totally enshrouded in shadows. Not even an occasional security light relieved the darkness. It was as if the owners of the buildings had given up protecting their investment long ago.

  Cam switched on the Maglite he’d extracted from the trunk of his vehicle. Waited for the other two agents to do the same. “According to Zipsy, only the overhead doors are in working order in the back, but be ready in case someone inside heads out that way.”He handed his light to Jenna, fitted the top key into the doorknob, and then used the second to unlock the deadbolt. He took a moment to slip both keys into his pocket before taking the Maglite from Jenna, drawing his weapon and easing the door open.

  It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the black interior. They swept the place quickly with their flashlights, the beams cutting through the darkness. Then they slowed for a closer look at the area.

  The last use of the place had obviously been for receiving. Partitioned holding pens lined two stone walls. At one time Cam imagined the place had been a bustle of activity with semis being packed and unpacked and skid loaders scooting around with heavier goods.

  Now the empty quiet was eerie.

  The agents spread out, searching the area in a grid pattern. Once Cam thought he heard the scrape of a shoe overhead. He stopped, straining to listen. In the next moment he decided the noise had come from one of the other agents. He continued to the far wall of holding pens, determined to get a look inside each of them. Although the place was empty now, that didn’t mean that Humphrey hadn’t used it earlier.

  But halfway to the stall nearest him he heard another noise, and this time it was unmistakable.

  The sound o
f footsteps upstairs.

  Cam whirled, playing his light over Jenna to catch her attention, and then motioning with it toward the upstairs. She and Franks were closer to the door they’d all entered through. By the time Cam had caught up with them, they were shining their flashlights at a battered steel door set in one corner of the interior wall. Its doorknob was missing. Franks reached out and pressed it open with the heel of his palm while Jenna kept her Maglite focused on the stairs inside.

  Footprints were visible in the thick dust on each tread. At least two sets.

  The agents took the stairs single file, Cam in the lead. He made every effort at silence, but couldn’t avoid the occasional squeak of old boards. Every time the telltale noise sounded, either beneath his weight or of the other agents, he held his breath. Waited to hear footsteps overhead approaching the door.

  Or perhaps whoever was up there would find a hiding place to prepare an ambush.

  At the top of the narrow stairway was another scarred steel door. It was also missing the doorknob. He took a moment to wonder whether the person upstairs had been the one to remove them.

  Weapon ready, he shifted to the opposite side of the steps before slowly pushing the door open. The area was one open space without interior walls. A single portable strobe lit the area. Black paper had been taped over all the windows. Cam realized immediately why the upper story had been chosen. The ceilings were significantly lower here, and crossed with large metal ventilation tubes. Highlighted in the center of the lit space was a nude spread-eagled figure. Ropes secured to wrists and ankles were tossed over the ventilation tubes and retied to hooks that had likely been bolted to the walls for this express purpose.

  Blood pooled at the captive’s feet. There was a flash of movement from a second person crouched there and a muffled sound of agony was heard.

  “You have two choices.” The voice came from the man who rose to stand before the bound victim. “Do what I say, or die right now like the worthless piece of shit you are. What’s your life worth to you?”

  Cam had heard enough. He charged through the door, the other two agents right behind him. “Drop your weapon,” he barked and sidled along the wall to get an unobstructed shot at the offender. “Now!”

  “Clear!”

  “Clear!”

  Jenna and Tommy’s voices came almost simultaneously. An instant later Gilbert Humphrey lunged toward the victim and Cam fired once, kicking up splinters of wood at his feet. Screaming an expletive, the man jumped back.

  “The next bullet goes center mass.” Cam’s voice was conversational as he drew closer. “Ever had a sucking chest wound? Few recover. But if you’re feeling lucky, go ahead. Try to use that knife again.”

  Slowly, as if the digits were having difficulty taking orders from his brain, Humphrey’s fingers opened. The knife clattered to the floor.

  “Step back. Further.” He waited until the man was out of range of the weapon. “On your belly, hands behind your head. I’m sure you know the position.” He waited for the man to obey before moving to handcuff him. Only then did he rise and look toward the victim.

  A man. Slight and small of stature, but definitely a male. Somehow that awareness had already made its way through Cam’s brain, and the disappointment crashing through him was nearly overpowering.

  He lowered his weapon. The other agents began working at the ropes keeping the captive upright. His torso and groin was covered with red stained slices, superficial cuts that would have been agonizing, but none were life threatening. He and the other agents had arrived before Humphrey had gotten what he wanted from the man.

  At this point, Cam couldn’t even bring himself to care what that might be. With a sense of déjà vu, he took out his cell phone. Called for an ambulance and a police response. He didn’t look at the time on his cell’s screen. Didn’t have to. His mental alarm was shrilling loudly.

  Nearly twenty-four hours since Sophie had been abducted. Two victims rescued during that time frame. Neither of them the person they were looking for. At this point they were no closer to finding her than they’d been at seven this morning.

  He felt Jenna’s hand on his arm then but didn’t dare look at her. He was too afraid of what she’d see in his eyes.

  Sophie. Her name was a desolate howl through his system, leaving an arctic path in its wake. Where the hell are you?

  “Do you want to tell me about your father’s death?” Sophia kept her tone carefully non-judgmental.

  “Sure.” Her captor leaned forward on the mattress, a gleam in his eye that chilled. But the emotion there wasn’t directed at her. Not this time. It was turned inward, as if relishing a treasured memory. “I took his hunting knife. Bastard kept it sharpened, to field dress whatever he shot. Never could figure whether he loved hunting or giving beatings best. I hid the knife and the next time he tried using his belt on me I cut his fucking throat.”

  “That must have been satisfying.”

  He laughed then, that high-pitched cackle that was so at odds with his muscle bound appearance. “That must have been satisfying,” he mimicked. “It would have been a pleasure. I fantasized a dozen different ways to off the asshole. But he died when the oil derrick he was working on exploded. Good riddance. Then there was just me and my mom.”

  “Tell me about her,” Sophia invited. An abusive background didn’t cause children to grow up to commit the sort of atrocities this man had. And not all serial killers were the products of dysfunctional homes. But for many of the offenders she’d interviewed, the roots of their violence could be traced to their childhood.

  “Want to know about dear old ma?” His expression was derisive. “Look in the mirror. She was a worthless cunt just like every other female walking the earth. My father was a bastard, but at least he worked. Stayed away for weeks at a time on the oil rigs, and that was just fine with us. Problem was, I looked just like him. So when he left, everything she woulda liked to do to the old man got done to me.”

  “She abused you, as well.”

  He lifted a shoulder, as if unwilling to admit that any woman, at any time of his life, had had power over him. “Best thing about when the old man did come home was watching him whale on her. And once she was on the floor she was in the right position.” Sophia’s flesh prickled at the glee in his tone. “He’d mount her right there, on the kitchen floor. Maybe he’d forget I was there. Maybe he didn’t care. That’s another of my favorite childhood memories. I’d get hard watching and have to run outside to find a knothole or something to whack off in.”

  And thus violence and sex were forever paired for this man, Sophia thought. Humans were intricate complex creatures. Others would have survived such horrors at home, becoming manipulative and aggressive without criminal tendencies. Some would have spent the rest of their years building a life that was the exact opposite of what they’d endured. Something inside this man’s mind had propelled him to continue the abuse of his youth. To exceed it.

  It was as if the memories had opened a floodgate. Sophia listened as much to how he phrased his words as to the content itself, counting the times he referred to himself. Narcissistic personalities used far more I, me, and my in their verbiage. She drew him out about his school years, unsurprised when he bragged about bullying behavior. Victimized at home, he’d gone on to victimize others at an early age.

  When he started to get bored she’d interject an admiring comment to goad him to continue. If he were dependent on sexual enhancement drugs for performance, time was her friend.

  She strove for an expression that was understanding, but allowed her fear to show. Her response would stoke his ego and keep him talking. But her attention wandered. Something he’d said earlier niggled at the back of her brain and she searched in vain for the reference. It had been when he’d spoken of his parents and the violence enacted on the mother by the father. This offender’s response to it…

  … and have to run outside to find a knothole or something…

  …a knoth
ole…

  Comprehension clicked into place. Her gaze shifted to the wood wall behind him. The wood was old, and dotted with occasional knotholes, which, if she remembered correctly were the weakest area of the wood.

  A sliver of hope flickered. Sophia adjusted her gaze to the offender again, her fingers playing idly over the pen she held. Perhaps he’d leave the pen behind, but she couldn’t count on that. Its clip, however…

  “Or maybe you aren’t interested after all. I could probably do a better job showing you than telling anyway.”

  She responded to the threat in his words before their meaning. Deliberately, she widened her eyes. “Why would you say I’m not interested?”

  Tension had seeped into his muscled body. He looked like a large violent jungle animal readying for an attack. “Don’t try to play me. You stopped listening a while back. I’m not stupid.”

  “No, I’d place you in the gifted range on the IQ scale.” Another lie, delivered in an absent, yet professional tone. “Difficult to tell, of course, without actually testing you, but based on your achievements, and the ease with which you’re duping law enforcement, definitely gifted.” In actuality he’d likely score in the average range. The man was organized, a planner, but the dumping of the bodies had been lazy and amateurish. He also had mood swings with bouts of impulsivity that likely would make him react rashly when cornered.

  “You were last discussing women’s worth, and equating that with the amount each woman you targeted withdrew from her bank account. You said, and I quote, ‘Why waste your time on poor bitches when all cats look gray in the dark?’”

  He stared for a long moment before laughing, his big body easing a little. “That’s exactly what I said. Huh. Doesn’t make you smart, though, repeating my words back to me. Parrots can be trained to say the words we teach ’em. Maybe you have a bird brain, ever think of that?”