The Orchid Murders

by The Orchid Murders [eXtasy MM] (lit)

  Easy Andy, you’re exaggerating again.

  But that voice quickly turned into panic when he moved further into the house and almost stepped into a large puddle of blood.

  “Dad!” he screamed. All thoughts of being careful or of being rational left his mind as he began tearing through the house. When he finally found his father, Anderson’s world collapsed in on him, threatening to destroy him completely.

  “Dad,” the word was a strangled cry the second time he said it. He didn’t recognize his voice.

  With shaking hands and tears streaming down his face, he picked up his phone again.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “I need the police, I just found my father, Judge Williams murdered…”

  That was the last thing Anderson remembered doing before he had stumbled out of the apartment, fell to his knees panting for air. It was as though no matter how much air he took in, his body craved more. He lost all track of time and when the sirens stopped and when someone began asking him what happened, he simply turned dazed eyes to look at who was speaking to him. It was a uniformed cop.

  Of all the days to be late, why did have to be this one? He was normally on time but the day had gotten away from him. He had spent too much time doing other things that he had forgotten about his dinner plans. He normally would allow his students to go a little early so he could make it on time. Guilt washed over him so strongly that his knees wobbled uncontrollably. He felt like a fool and a coward.

  Anderson swallowed and leant against a low wall with his arms folded over his chest, “I don’t know,” he spoke softly. His voice shook, “we were supposed to have dinner tonight. I knew something was wrong when he didn’t pick up the phone and when I came to see his door open—my dad never leaves his door open. He’s a judge for crying out loud! He knows better!”

  When Anderson inhaled, he felt his body tremble. Tears threatened to pour down his face again and he turned his head from the cop, “He knew better…” Anderson whispered weakly.

  * * * *

  As they drew within a block of the Ritz, they cut the siren off and entered into the driveway where several marked police cars already sat in different places. As they got out, a patrol Sergeant came up to them with a worried look on his face.

  “Got some bad news on this one.”

  “You mean other than the guy is dead?” Morgan asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yea. The victim is Judge Jazmon Williams of the New York City criminal court.”

  “Oh, great! Just what this case needed: a celebrity victim. What’s next, Al Qaeda is the suspect?”

  “Who found the body?” asked Sizemore.

  “His son, Anderson Williams, found him in the apartment when he came to pick him up for dinner. He says he found the door open. That’s him over there sitting on the bench.”

  Sam was a cop through and through but when he saw the victim’s son, he had to admit that something inside him jumped. Anderson Williams was no boy—something about him told Sam that Anderson was a man in every sense of the word. He had a large body, not necessarily a body builder’s body but something of a football player‘s build. He stood at about six foot two, low cut hair and dark, chocolate colored skin. His eyes roamed down Anderson’s body though he knew it was wrong. He shouldn’t be staring at a man that was probably not gay and who had just lost someone he loved.

  “Detective Morgan?” a voice pulled through Sam’s haze and the detective shook his head to clear of what he was thinking.

  “What?”

  “The son?” the Sergeant said.

  Sam cleared his throat. “Right, tell him not to go anywhere while we go up to the crime scene.”

  After a quick elevator ride, the detectives entered the condo and walked towards the living room and they were greeted by a familiar sight. Once again, in the middle of the room, was a head with two severed legs crossing each other in front of it. The victim’s arms were in the corners once more and the torso was lying up against the sofa. Blood was everywhere as the victim had once again been cut up in the middle of the room.

  The crime lab was taking photos and measurements as Morgan and Sizemore checked out the rest of the condo. The bathroom was once again neat and orderly with nothing out of place. When they walked into the bedroom, Morgan smelled the familiar scent from his last murder scene, and lying in the middle of the bed was another orchid.

  “Well, that does it; it’s our serial killer again. Only this time he reached high on the apple tree and plucked himself a judge,” Morgan said.

  “Didn’t you say our last victim worked as a court reporter?” asked Sizemore.

  “Yeah, think there’s a connection?”

  “I don’t know. I wonder what Barnhart’s victim did for a living?”

  “Give him a call and find out. This may come together for us early, which would be damn nice in one of these cases,” said Morgan.

  As Morgan reentered the living room area, he told the crime lab to make sure they bagged and tagged the flower on the bed. “Let’s talk to the son,” Morgan said to Sizemore.

  As they exited the building they found Judge Wilson’s son still sitting on the bench in a state of shock. Morgan sat down beside the good looking guy and tried to get as much information as he could.

  “Mr. Williams, did your father mention to you any threats that he might have received recently? Did he have any hang up phone calls, that sort of thing?”

  “No. But I’m not sure my father would have told me about something like that happening. He never liked to worry the rest of the family over his job. We all knew it was dangerous in dealing with the type of people he did every day, but we were determined not to let it rule our lives.”

  “Do you know anyone that has a thing for orchids by chance?”

  “Orchids? No, of that I’m sure. What do orchids have to do with this murder?”

  “We found an orchid lying in the middle of your father’s bed. Did he ever have flowers lying around from time to time?”

  “Only during the holidays and never just one. It would have been a full bouquet.”

  “Excuse me Sam, can I see you for a minute?” asked Sizemore as he came up to Morgan and Anderson.

  They walked a few feet away from their witness and Roger began to tell Sam of his phone call to the other Homicide squad.

  “Look, Barnhart says their victim was a clerk of the court—the same court where Judge Williams sat. I also made a couple of calls on our recent victim and it seems he worked in the criminal courts in Manhattan as well. So, it looks like all our victims are connected.”

  “Okay, good, this is good. We need to start running lists to see who pops up with all three victims and go from there. Let me wrap up talking with the son here, and we’ll get back to the station.”

  “Okay, while you finish that interview, I’ll go check on how the canvassing is going.”

  Morgan watched his partner walk away and turned to go back to Anderson Williams. He once again noticed how good looking the son of the victim was and his mind began to wonder to other things. Damn, he needed to get laid!

  “Okay Mr. Williams, just a few more questions and I’ll let you go for now. Do you ever recall seeing your father at home entertaining other court employees?”

  “The only people from work that Dad hung around with at home were the judges he worked with in the criminal court and a couple judges from the civil courts one floor up.”

  “You’re sure that you father never mentioned being worried about one of his cases where he felt his life might be in jeopardy?”

  “No, never. I know he wasn’t happy with security at the courthouse, but then again, none of the judges were happy about that issue. I know he was looking forward to retiring from the bench in another year or so, if that’s any help. Since my mother died four years ago, the job has been all that keeps him occupied.”

  “Okay, that’s all I have for now. What number can I get you at for anything else that we need?
”

  Andy dug a business card out of his wallet and handed it to Morgan. Morgan looked at it and asked, “Is there a wife or someone at this number when you’re not there?”

  “Oh, I’m not married, and no, I live alone. But if I’m out, it will forward to my cell phone.”

  “Okay, good. Please take my card and call me if you think of anything or if you need anything, okay?”

  “Sure. Right now I just want to go home and lay down.”

  Chapter Two

  At home, Anderson sat on his bed in the darkened bedroom. The detective’s card was held loosely between his fingers as he stared straight ahead. What was he going to do now? He wanted to cry, to scream anything but his body had simply gone numb. His lips slipped open and his breath began leaving him in a hoarse sound. His chest pumped up and down as images of his father’s dismembered body flashed through his eyes. Gritting his teeth, Anderson closed his eyes bit back the growl that threatened to leave his body. He was not accustomed to such loss. He wasn’t used to the sight of a dead body let alone one that had been so disrespected as his father’s had been. He couldn’t deal.

  Reaching over, he grabbed the phone and held down the one key. There was a slight music and the phone began ringing.

  “Hello?”

  “Bee…” he replied.

  “Andy? Ni hô ma?” Byung questioned in Cantonese.

  Anderson’s mind was too clogged to reply in the foreign language, “Dad’s dead,” he spoke in English. “He’s gone, Bee.”

  “Whoa! Hold up,” Byung’s voice was riddled with confusion. “What do you mean he’s dead?”

  “I don’t know…I need you.”

  “Alright. I’ll be there. Just gimme a few minutes to put some pants on.”

  Anderson hung up the phone before Byung could and sat back against the bed staring at a picture of himself, Jazmon and Byung. A sick feeling of selfishness soared through him for he knew that chances are that Byung had a shoot of some kind in the morning and needed sleep. But Anderson needed someone—he craved and ached for arms to hold him.

  He wanted a drink; something hard but he knew that should he start he wouldn’t stop. He knew that he would want the ability to think gone.

  “Dude you are nuts,” Byung laughed as he tossed the football across the short space to Anderson. “There’s no way that your dad would ever agree to that. He wants you to become a cop or something like that.”

  “Well it’s not really about what he wants,” Anderson frowned. “I mean it’s not like I’m going to tell him that I want to quit school to become a male stripper name Stretch Marks.”

  To his utter shock, Byung broke out laughing as the football sailed towards him. The ball missed Byung by mere inches and spiraled through the air to land against a large tree in the backyard. “It’s not that funny,” Anderson smirked.

  “Stretch Marks!” Byng explained. “Come on! That’s comedic gold!”

  “What Stretch Marks?” Jazmon’s voice called from behind the friends. While Anderson turned to speak with his father, Byung kept on laughing.

  “Hi Mr. Williams,” Byung stopped long enough to call while walking by the older man into the house. “Stretch Marks,” he muttered just before disappearing into the house. His mirth continued to echo from the house. Anderson glared at the house. He shook his head with a chuckle then turned again to his father. “Dad there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Sounds serious,” Jazmon eyed his son. A hint of nervousness danced through the older Williams’ eyes. “What did you do?”

  Anderson grinned, “nothing—yet. But seriously. I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  “Just spit it out.”

  “Dad, I don’t want to be a cop,” Anderson blurted out. “I don’t want to carry a gun, I don’t want to chase bad-guys or vice versa—none of that.”

  “Alright,” Jazmon’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Together, father and son walked away from the house and towards the swimming pool a little further down. “What do you want to do?”

  “Teach,” Anderson explained.

  Jazmon laughed, “There is nothing wrong with that,” the judge nodded his head. “I didn’t want you to be a cop per se. I just wanted you to do something that will make you happy and make a difference. There’s no better way than becoming a teacher. Hopefully with you in the classroom, I won’t have to get any more young ones in my courtroom.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Anderson smiled. “I was afraid I’d let you down.”

  Jazmon smirked—his big, brown eyes grew misty with love and mirth, “the only way you could let me down, Andy, is if you became a stripper named Stretch Marks.”

  Anderson’s eyes widened in shock after his father’s final words. He opened his mouth to speak but was left speechless. How could a person reply to something like that? His feet stopped moving but his father continued walking away laughing.

  That laughter was one of the things that Anderson would always remember about his father. Even at sixty five, Jazmon had a laugh that was so warm and contagious that when he was having a good time, everyone wanted to be with him. It was a sound that made your heart happy when you heard it. It was steady, strong and something that had lulled Anderson to sleep so many nights as a child. Before Patricia, his mother, died when he was a boy, Anderson would stay up long after his parents thought he was asleep. On Wednesday nights, he would listen to Patricia and Jazmon in their room, clinging wine glasses together and laughing softly as they whispered with each other. After his mother’s death, Anderson thought his world was over. He had his father then, but now his father was dead.

  Banging on the front door pulled Anderson from his memory and he stood up. Wavering slightly on his feet, he hauled his body down the stairs and pulled the door open. Byung stepped forward and Anderson walked into his friend’s body, pressed his face to Byung’s neck and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

  “I’m so sorry,” Byung whispered. “I heard it all on the news on my way over. They didn’t explain what happened.”

  Byung rubbed Anderson’s back and in some strange way it took just a bit of the ache away. Still he clung to the only rock he had left. When he stepped back, Byung cradled his face to peer into his eyes, “Have you eaten?”

  Anderson walked away leaving Byung at the door to enter the kitchen. He flopped against one of the stools. He rubbed his tired eyes and yawned.

  “That’s your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it,” Byung spoke up. Anderson watched as his friend walked by him and pulled the fridge open. “Since I know I can’t get you to eat anything much, how about some fruits? Yes, that’s what you’ll eat. I want you to eat some fruits.”

  “Bee, I’m not hungry,” Anderson frowned.

  “I don’t care if you’re hungry or not,” Byung put his foot down. “You’re going to eat some fruits. Then you’re going to get some sleep while I make some phone calls about the funeral for you.”

  Moaning, Anderson nodded stiffly. He knew that he would not win once Byung got that stubborn look into his eyes. “Fine,” Anderson surrendered. He sat there like a perfect moron while his best friend silently prepared a fruit platter and placed it before him. He hesitated but when he looked up to see Byung smirking at him, Anderson picked up a grape and popped it between his lips.

  “What did the cops say to you? Do you need a lawyer?”

  “I doubt it,” Anderson shook his head. He knew it was probably only a matter of time before they start treating him like a suspect. He had seen enough people go through that in his life time. Anderson chewed and swallowed then spoke, “They asked me the regular generic questions. I wanted to scream my bloody head off. I wanted to just—I feel so useless. I should have felt something was wrong, you know? I should have…”

  “Shoulda, woulda, coulda,” Byung interrupted while taking a stool beside him. “You can sit here for the next fifty years beating yourself over the head with a dead horse or you can go out there,
light a fire under the cops’ asses and make sure they don’t cluster-fuck this. You can’t be a sobbing mess right now. I know you may feel like you want to curl up and die but you can’t. I won’t let you. Now eat, I’ll find some orange juice.”

  Picking up a strawberry, Anderson couldn’t help staring at it. Normally he would be the first person ready to devour them but as he stared at the red fruit, he had no desire to eat anything red. Byung’s words came to him once more and he inhaled before shoving the piece of fruit into his mouth. Byung was right. The best revenge was to live but he felt so guilty being alive, breathing while his father sat in pieces in a medical examiner’s fridge with a tag on his toe. No one deserved to die like that.

  “Bee, what do you know about orchids?” Anderson blurted out around a mouthful of apple.

  “Uhh—what? Orchids? As in the flower?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well…”Byung trailed off. He placed a glass of orange juice before Anderson and took his seat again. “There’s well over twenty thousand species of it. They belong to the Orchidaceae family. They grow better in the bright light. They’re not temperature sensitive—erm… that’s about it. Why?”

  “Are they poisonous?”

  “I don’t know—Andy, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

  Anderson shook his head, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing. Just something the detective asked me. Can you stay?”

  “Always,” Byung nodded.

  * * * *

  Anderson had called in sick and explained what had happened. The university gave him some time off but after a day at home freaking out and losing his mind, Anderson returned to work the second morning. When he walked into the class, the students went silent. He knew that they heard what had happened. He bit down on his lower lip inhaled to calm his senses before looking up, “Hi,” he managed. His voice cracked. Clearing his throat, he moved to sit on the edge of his desk and faced the large lecture hall. “I’m sure that most of you know what happened. And I know that I probably should be home right now but if I stay home I’m going to rip out all the hair that I have and as you can see, it’s not much.”