The Orchid Murders

by The Orchid Murders [eXtasy MM] (lit)

  Sam watched as Anderson hurried into his house without so much as a look back. As he got out of the cruiser, he shrugged off for the moment trying to figure out this complicated moody man and zeroed in on the reason they had just returned to the scene of their very recent lovemaking.

  As he entered the house, he glanced over and saw that Anderson was just standing there like an idiot drinking a soda. He didn’t seem to be the least bit worried that his house had been bugged. Sam headed directly to the bedroom without saying another word and when he got there, he pulled a chair over to the corner of Anderson’s bedroom.

  Sam reached up and moved a ceiling tile and found exactly what he was looking for: a pinhole camera attached to a transmitter so that whatever the camera was seeing could be transmitted to a remote site. The whole setup was attached to a large dry cell battery that would have about a ten-day life span and then would have to be replaced. This told Sam that someone had a key to Anderson’s house.

  He removed several more tiles after disconnecting the battery and gently pulled the surveillance equipment out of the ceiling.

  “Anderson, bring me a large plastic bag if you have one,” Sam shouted. He hoped that maybe the lab could lift prints off of the equipment. While waiting for Anderson to comply with his request, Sam stuck his head up above the false ceiling and looked around. He saw that there was a second camera that looked like it was placed so that anything in the bathroom could be observed and recorded.

  Anderson entered his bedroom to a gaping hole in the ceiling and shook his head. He knew that the house could never truly be his anymore. Someone had entered, touched his things, added equipment and taken away the comfort of his home. He handed over the bag. “You and your team get what you need from the house now,” he told Sam sullenly. “Because in about a week, it’s going on the market. I can’t stay here.”

  “Well someone wanted to know just about everything you did ‘cause this isn’t the only camera. I’m gonna have to check the entire house out and see if their interest was limited to the bedroom and bathroom areas. As far as you selling, I think that’s a shame since I know you really love this place. But I understand. By the way, when I finish pulling this crap out of your house, we need to talk on a personal level. You wanna do dinner out somewhere tonight?”

  The moment Anderson opened his mouth it was to tell Sam to go suck a brick. The man sexed up the professor then snuck out like a snake the next morning and acted as though nothing had happened. But what did Anderson expect? He was too much of a romantic—that was his problem. He expected everyone would have a happily ever after because he knew it was possible. But all that came out of his mouth was, “Yeah, I guess.” He walked out the door and when he was in the privacy of his den he smashed his fist into a nearby mirror. It shattered and fell to pieces to the ground and even as he looked at his bleeding fist, he felt numb. He felt anger pulsating from his heart, coursing through his veins. Anderson was mad at himself for letting himself go through what was about to happen. He was about to embark on a roller coaster with detective Sam Morgan and he was letting it happen. Walking to his seat, he fell into it and looked down almost dispassionately at his fingers that were sliced and scraped. They weren’t bleeding enough to kill him but enough. With a sigh, he picked up a pen and a stack of unmarked quizzes and began pouring over them.

  The problem was he couldn’t see straight. Every time he tried to read he would see his father, Sam—he saw everything that was going wrong in his life or had gone wrong. Then and there it seemed everything had turned to hell for him and Anderson couldn’t stomach that. He got from his seat, grabbed a coat from the back of a nearby chair and exited the den. He snatched his car keys from where they had fallen earlier and exited the house. He needed some air, needed to breathe and remember what it felt like to have a heart beating within him.

  Anderson needed to feel human again.

  Chapter Six

  Sam found just the two cameras, both of which were in the master suite of the house so that Anderson could be observed in his most personal environment. Sam thought that the catching of him and Anderson on tape fucking was only chance and not something that had been set up for that specific purpose. Either way, the perpetrator would know that the equipment was found as it had stopped transmitting long before the dry cell needed to be replaced.

  Sam walked down into the house with the plastic bag full of equipment and when he didn’t find Anderson again, he left the house and headed downtown to the precinct. Once there, he tagged the evidence and turned it into the crime lab for processing of prints.

  He left the lab and returned to his office where he found his partner hard at work.

  “Well, where have you been while I’ve been working this case?” asked Roger.

  “Where have I been? Pulling surveillance equipment out of the ceiling of Anderson’s house where it was located in the ceiling of his bedroom and bathroom. I just dropped the stuff off at the lab hoping they can find prints,” Sam responded.

  “Okay, but you look more worried than usual about this, what’s up?” his partner asked.

  “Well, let’s just say that the equipment might have recorded something that I would have rather not have had recorded.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?” Roger asked.

  Sam walked over to his partner’s desk and bent down close enough to Roger that he smelled the Polo cologne he was wearing and whispered, “Whoever it is caught me fucking the hell out of Anderson, that’s why.”

  “Oh fuck! You have got to be kidding. You fucked the son of one of our serial murderers victims and on tape? Have you lost your ever loving horny mind?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Hold the fucking sermon; I don’t need it right now. We’ve got to nail this bastard and fast before he kills again and this tape ends up on the six o’clock news. What have you found, anything?”

  “Well, there were no hits on the crimes information computer for this kind of M.O. and no leads whatsoever. I’m still waiting for a computer match of all three victims and I’m waiting on a call from the Court system to tell us if they know of any common factors between them all. Other than that, I haven’t been able to figure out this pirate looking shit with the body parts,” Roger explained with a scowl on his face.

  “So in other words, we have made zero progress and not only that, but I’m deep in the shitter as well. Great.”

  Anderson found his way to Byung’s and as he stood hunched over the island in the kitchen, his brain was working. Byung had cleaned the scrapes on Anderson’s finger, found one that was pretty deep and wrapped it with a skull and bones band-aid. Then Byung was still talking to him, telling him how he should call Sam and have a decent conversation with the man, “Not a conversation with swearing and dirty innuendos,” Byung continued. “But one adults would have.”

  “I seem to remember it was him in my innuendo that got us into this mess,” Anderson shot back cheekily. Byung swatted Anderson’s ass, “Oh thank you Sir, may I have another?”

  Byung growled, “Andy pay attention would you?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m trying not to think about it. I have so much inside my head right now. Dad is gone and they haven’t released his body yet, someone keeps breaking into my damn house—they left cameras there and Sam was over to get rid of them.”

  “How’d you know about those?”

  “Someone filmed us in the middle of…”

  “Oh my lord.”

  “Yeah,” Anderson frowned. “Now he is more worried about the video or pictures or whatever this sicko has leaking than anything else. I don’t know why I thought he could have been…” Anderson stopped himself and walked over to where Byung had a bottle of wine. He poured some in a coffee cup and took a sip. It wasn’t what he truly wanted to drink but it would have to do.

  “Well just because your students and co-workers were fine with you coming out to them in order that they know, doesn’t mean it’s that easy on Sam,” Byung rationalized. �
�He’s a cop. You have to understand that sleeping with the victim’s son or even one of their suspects could be hardcore for him if someone finds out. He could lose his badge.”

  Anderson went silent. “But I could take care of him. I could make one call and he’d have another job. Dad made sure I had connections…wait a minute…connections! That’s it! That’s where I’ve seen those skull and bones before!” Anderson pressed a hurried kiss to Byung’s forehead across the island and darted for the door.

  “Andy, where are you going?” Byung called but Anderson was already on the phone to Sam. He frowned when he was speeding down the street and all he got was Sam’s voicemail. “Sam, it’s Anderson, we need to talk. Call me back.”

  As Sam sat at his desk, he thought back to Anderson’s okay for having dinner. Where should we go? Sam wondered. As erratic as Anderson was behaving, Sam didn’t want to chance any public scenes that would be embarrassing. Just what the hell was going on with him? This was more than just the murder of his father and the break-in. There was some personal issue that had come up since making love. Was it because Anderson bottomed and wasn’t use to doing that and now had some sort of stupid “man” complex?

  Sam didn’t think it would be wise to try and get Anderson into bed again until all these things were worked out. If they were going to have a personal relationship, than they had to be able to communicate. Sam had been down that road more than once and had no desire to be with another boyfriend who couldn’t open up and talk. Sam sensed that Anderson had great potential for being more than just a casual screw.

  Sam looked down at his cell phone which was lying on his desk when it beeped. It was the signal that a voice mail was waiting. How the hell did I miss a call? After accessing his messages he heard a short message from Anderson asking him to call. Hmm, “we need to talk,” usually was never a good thing. I guess dinner was off, Sam thought as he dialed Anderson’s number.

  “Here’s your key, Mr. Williams,” the woman smiled. Anderson noticed even in his hurried state that she was wearing far too much makeup. She had tried hitting on him when he walked into the bank. If only she knew he didn’t swing that way. He chuckled despite himself and accepted the key to the safety deposit box.

  “Thank you,” he told her.

  “This way please.”

  Anderson turned to follow her when his hip began vibrating. He was about to ignore it when he remembered that he had asked Sam to call him, “Williams,” he answered the phone.

  “Here you are sir,” the woman interrupted. “You have the room for as long as you need it.”

  “Thank you,” Anderson said to her and turned his attention back to the cell phone. “Hello?”

  “Anderson, it’ Sam. What’s wrong?”

  “Meet me at the Bank of New York City, the one two blocks from your station house…tell them you’re here to see me and they’ll let you in. If that doesn’t work show them your badge. I’m at the bank now.”

  “Okay, I’m en route,” Sam replied.

  What the hell could possibly be going on now? Whatever was at the bank had to be something out of left field just because of the way Anderson told him to meet him there.

  “Roger, I’m heading over to meet Anderson Williams at the Bank of New York City, just up the street. He wants to show me something. I’ll be on the radio.”

  Sam quickly left the station and jumped into the cruiser and sped off to the bank where he arrived a few moments later. He parked in front of a fire hydrant since at this time of day there were never any parking spaces. As he approached the front door of the bank, he kept an eye out for any signs of a robbery in progress or something equally as foul.

  Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Sam entered the bank and walked up to one of the assistant managers’ desks and asked to be pointed in Anderson’s direction.

  As he entered into the room reserved for customers and their safe deposit boxes, Sam nodded at Anderson and asked, “Okay, what’s so important that you dragged me down here?”

  “It would kill you to smile once in a while, wouldn’t it?” Anderson asked him but didn’t wait for an answer. He opened his private box and pulled out something wrapped in a velvet cloth and placed it gently on the table. He unwrapped the object as if he were holding a baby or a lover—tenderly, carefully. There were a pair of soft gloves in the box and he put one on and handed the other hand to Sam, “Put this on.” The book had been part of his family—it was an intricate part of their background history and Anderson was going to be damned if he got it smudged.

  “Please be careful that you don’t smudge or tear any of the pages, this is important to my family,” Anderson advised.

  With his gloved hand, he opened the big, leather book and gently turned the pages to one that had the same skull and crossed bones setting as the scene from the murder of his father, “That,” he pointed, “is what was so important.” The other pages held pictures of men from a Yale Society Club.

  Sam sat down in a chair at the table and looked closely at the old photograph. The skull and crossed bones were set up exactly as they had been at all three murder scenes that he had either been to or seen pictures from. Sam turned the page and found several photographs of men all dressed in similar fashion with the annotation of “The Russell Trust Association,” at the top of both pages.

  “Do you have any idea what this Russell Trust Association is all about?” Sam asked Anderson.

  Anderson shrugged his shoulders, “no idea. But if it’s legitimate and it’s a trust fund maybe the bank can tell you,” he explained. Then he leaned forward. “I know him.” Anderson pointed to one of the ugliest men he’d ever seen. “He used to visit my father when I was about twelve or thirteen. Can’t say that’s a mug you’d forget especially as a child. Other than that, I have no clue who the rest are. Oh wait, this man looks familiar,” Anderson stared at the photo silently. “But I’m not sure where I’ve seen him. What do you think all this means?”

  “Well Anderson, I know this book means a lot to you, but I’ve got to have copies of all of this. It may all mean nothing, or we might have just discovered a common connection other than employment. You get copies made of these pages, and any others that pertain to this Trust, and I’ll talk to the bank people and see if they can tell me anything about it.”

  “You are crazy,” Anderson frowned. “Do you honestly think that these pages can handle going through a photocopier?” He made a face and took a deep breath. He didn’t expect Sam to understand. He kept expecting too much from Sam. He realized that then and it hurt. Everything to him was about a case and his bloody career. Anderson reeled his emotions in. He didn’t bother thinking that after everything was done and over, this was all he had left of his father’s legacy. There was money, lots of money, but none of it mattered. That book was the only thing that meant anything anymore. “The only way you’re going to get copies of this book is if you get a digital camera and take whatever pictures of whatever you need. I cannot let you or anyone else put this book through all that hassle. My father went through hell to get it into a safety deposit box for a reason.”

  “Anderson, it is now evidence in a murder case—multiple murder cases. If you want, I can just get a search warrant and take the book into evidence. Now, rather than do that, I will ask you again: take the book to a scanner, and scan the pictures into printed pages. That will have zero effect on the book. Or would you rather have another murder on your conscience?”

  Anderson shook his head; he knew that was coming. “Then get one,” he told him in a cool, calm, angry voice that he never knew he had in him. “I did not have to show you this, remember? But I did. Now, if anything happens to this book it will be you and me, and trust me, it won’t be pretty.” He closed the book and wrapped it back into the soft folds of the velvet and placed it in a box, “I offered you a way to keep the book safe and to get what you want but you insist on being difficult. I don’t expect you to understand, Sam. Get your warrant then you can legally have
the book. He locked the box and turned for the door but stopped, “And while we’re at it, I’m not going to fool myself thinking you care about me and I sure as hell know you don’t care about my father but don’t you dare try and put this other bullshit on me. The only thing I have left that is worth anything of my father is that book and I’ll be damned if I’m going to hand it over so you and your damned forensic team can destroy it. If anything happens to that book, if so much as a scratch…” he stopped himself and stepped through the door.

  “Mr. Williams, are you and your guest finished with the room?” the woman asked him.

  “Yes,” Anderson told her without as much as a smile. “If he wants the book he gives you a warrant, got it?”

  “Oh my,” the lady gasped. Anderson was sure he didn’t have to explain the legal ramifications if they disobeyed him. “Yes, Mr. Williams.”

  Anderson slid his sunglasses back over his eyes and ducked out the door. As he angrily climbed back into the front seat of his car he wished he had taken Byung’s motorcycle. He had so much frustration in him at that moment. He closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the seat. “This is not going well—not at all.”

  * * * *

  “Do you see this book, Andy?” his father asked turning the pages of the old book carefully. “This belonged to your mother.”

  “Mom?” Anderson asked. His mother had died a year before from cancer. They had caught it too late. There was nothing to be done but to make sure she was comfortable. His father never spoke much of her anymore so when he did, Anderson gathered himself and listened. He knew very little about her but he remembered she smelled of lilacs and roses. She had this big smile that made every bad dream he had up go away, up until the night she died. She had a voice that sounded like an angel’s and she would use it to sing him to sleep at nights. He was young, but Anderson knew beauty. And it was in his mother.