The Orchid Murders

by The Orchid Murders [eXtasy MM] (lit)

  “Good, I got you. Look, we have to leave for New Haven immediately and we need you with us as we already talked about. Shall I pick you up? Where are you?” Sam asked.

  “I’m at the university,” Anderson arched a brow. “Something bad happened?”

  “No, but word has leaked out to the New Haven cops that we are looking for one of their own. I’ve been ordered to get up there at once and stand by for warrants that are about to be issued so that we can jump on it right away. Where do you want us to pick you up at the University?”

  Anderson glanced around him and peered out a nearby window, “I’ll be at the front of the library,” he explained while walking back to talk to the lab tech, “get me there.”

  “Okay, be there in fifteen minutes,” Sam said and hung up.

  “Right Roger, get the file and let’s get over to the University, pick up Anderson, and code three it out of the city. We should be in New Haven around forty-five minutes after we get Anderson,” Sam said as he dialed his boss to tell them they were leaving the NYPD jurisdiction and heading northward.

  Anderson hated this whole situation. It was running his life and he wanted it over with. If they didn’t get this prick in New Haven Anderson was liable to snap and kick someone’s ass. After talking to the lab kid and calling Byung to pick up the motorcycle in the faculty parking lot, Anderson stopped for something to eat and a few extra sandwiches for whoever would be on the ride with him and Sam. He also grabbed some coffee and a few bottles of juice before making his way to where he was to be picked up.

  After just two minutes, Sam and Roger rolled up and Anderson got into the back of the cruiser. “Okay, ready?” Sam asked.

  “Let’s get going,” replied Anderson while placing his food and drinks along the back seat.

  “What happened to you?” Roger asked and Anderson looked up to see if the cop was speaking to him.

  “Someone hacked into my computer,” Anderson frowned. “I think it’s whoever is responsible for all this.”

  “Why do you say that?” Sam twisted his body to look at Anderson. Both his eyes and Anderson’s locked for a moment before Anderson broke the connection by looking away.

  “Well according to the technician,” Anderson slid down into his seat for a better position for his long legs. “Something or other in the hack shows an orchid.”

  Sam swore.

  Sam pulled out of the University and hit the lights and siren to cut through New York City traffic until they were out of the city. The lights and siren were cut and they proceeded on their way to the home of Yale University and the center of the Orchid murders.

  That ride only confirmed to Anderson that he couldn’t be a cop. There was no way he could handle the lights, the noise, and the chaos. He couldn’t deal. The siren blaring made his head throbbed from a dull annoyance to a pounding headache. He dug through his backpack for Advil but when he shook the bottle, he remembered that he was supposed to have stopped at the pharmacy that day. Sam Morgan had a nasty habit of cutting in and interrupting Anderson’s plans. He rested his head against the seat, closed his eyes and smiled—Sam Morgan. He would dwell on that thought until he couldn’t any more. Then he would turn to something else—like the killer power of migraine medication.

  “You all right back there Anderson? You look like you’re on a ship and feeling seasick.” Sam asked.

  “Seasick,” Anderson smiled without opening his eyes. Light only made the pounding worse. “I don’t think the pounding in my head would classify as seasick, more like an ape playing a bongo drum on my brain.”

  “What, you sick? Don’t feel well?” asked Roger.

  “Migraine,” Anderson told him. “Nothing I can’t handle with a little, er, sleep.”

  The hitch in Anderson’s voice wasn’t lost on Sam. He couldn’t help the smirk that passed his lips. Sam looked into the rearview mirror and said, “When we get to New Haven, we’ll stop at a drug store and get you something; will that help? We should be there in about thirty-five minutes.”

  “It’s fine.” Anderson opened his eyes and met Sam’s eyes through the mirror. He added with a smile, “Let’s get this over with, then we can worry about my migraine.” He let his head fall gently against the seat again and his eyes slipped close. The throbbing was irritating to say the least.

  “Okay, but when you change your mind, just let me know,” Sam replied. Roger’s cell phone rang and he answered it. After talking for a minute he hung up and looked at Sam.

  “The warrants are issued and waiting for us at the New Haven Police Station. This is good because we don’t have to wait for them, but bad because now the locals know exactly where we plan to go and what we want to see.”

  Sam slammed the steering wheel. “You know, if something could go wrong with this fucking case, it has done exactly that. Fine, check the map and see if you can find the police department on there so I know where the hell I’m going. We got like another twenty minutes and we should be there.”

  “When you see exit eleven, take it and go right at the light. It’s down two blocks on the left,” replied Roger after looking the map over.

  “Okay, here’s the plan. After we get the warrants and our local watch dog, we head to Yale. We serve the first search warrant on the University to gain access to the Tomb and search it thoroughly. There has to be something there that might lead us in the right direction. When we’re finished there, we head over to the administration building and search the records on this Evans guy. I want to know if he was so much as reprimanded for going on a panty raid. After that, we go on the raid of the suspect’s house with the locals. If we come up dry in all those watering holes, we head home,” Sam said.

  When they found the station, they pulled into the front lot and parked in a slot that said, “For Police Only.”

  “Wake up sleeping beauty. Now, you can either stay in the car here, or come inside with us. Totally up to you,” Sam said to Anderson.

  When had he fallen asleep? Anderson glanced around him and took a deep breath. The throbbing was down to a dull ache then and he moaned and pushed from the car as his answer. He stretched his six foot two frame upwards with his arms above his head and heard the moment his spine snapped back in place. He hated cars—the back seat of cars to be specific—and police cruisers had to be the worst.

  “I’ll wait out here and just stretch my legs, okay Sam?” Anderson asked.

  “Sure Andy. We shouldn’t be too long.” Sam replied.

  When Sam and Roger entered the police station they approached an enclosed area surrounded by bullet-resistant glass with a window and a hole to speak through. Off to the side was a locked door that led into the police area of the station house.

  “Hello, Detectives Sam Morgan and Roger Sizemore, NYPD, here to see Lieutenant Bidwell,” Roger announced through the glass.

  After a moment, a tall, bald officer in a suit came out through the door and stuck out his hand. “Hi, Lieutenant Jake Bidwell.”

  After shaking hands and making pleasantries, the Lieutenant brought the men back into the police area and into his office. “I’ve got the warrants you applied for right here. Where do you want to go first?”

  “Actually, I’d like to hit what is known as the Tomb or where the Skull and Bones society meets on campus at Yale. From there we go to the records office and look at files,” Sam replied.

  “Okay, since you have an additional person with you, I’ll take my car and you guys follow me. Let’s get over to Yale. Their police are waiting for us but they don’t know for what,” Bidwell said.

  “Sounds good, let’s get on it,” Roger said.

  When they exited the police station, they found Anderson already back in the car. The Lieutenant got into his car, and they both pulled out into traffic headed over to Yale University. When they arrived on campus, they were directed to the campus police station where they met the duty Sergeant.

  After introducing everyone, the Lieutenant served the first warrant on the poli
ce department which demanded that they be given access to the Tomb. The Sergeants eyebrow went up when he saw the location to be searched. “Are you guys sure about this? That club is very touchy about who goes into their little facility and they have powerful friends. They’re not going to like this one bit,” warned the Sergeant.

  “We’ll run the risk of pissing off a bunch of college frat boys, okay?” Sam replied to the Sergeant’s warning.

  “Okay, it’s your funeral.”

  The now three car convoy proceeded onto campus and turned on High Street in the middle of Yale. They pulled up in front of a Greco-Egyptian looking building with an entrance in the middle of a two-wing complex. It was an imposing building with a set of steps leading up to padlocked iron doors that guarded the entrance to the building. On either side of the front of the building stood young trees, box hedges and flowers.

  “Hell, I don’t see any windows in this place,” observed Roger.

  “There’s a couple around the side,” replied the Lieutenant. “We’ve contacted a member of the society to respond here with a key so that we don’t have to cut the lock off and leave the building unsecured temporarily. Just for your information, the club has operated out of this building since 1856, and this is the first time outsiders have crashed their way in,” the Lieutenant finished.

  “Well, I can’t say that I’m wild about that. I was hoping to get in here without them knowing about it,” stated Sam.

  “They have the right to know that we have a warrant to search the place. The President of the club should be here any second. I can serve him with the warrant,” answered Bidwell.

  “Okay, but he doesn’t have to be inside while we search, right?” asked Sam.

  “I guess not,” replied the Lieutenant.

  As the four of them stood on the front steps of the Tomb which was also known as the Temple, a young looking man stopped in front of the building and jumped out of a car. When he approached the group, he said, “I’m Maxwell Langdon. What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Langdon, I’m Lieutenant Bidwell, New Haven Police, these men are from the NYPD and they have a search warrant for these premises. I’d like you to open the doors and remain outside with campus police,” Bidwell said as he handed the warrant to Langdon.

  “Search warrant? What the hell are you searching here for? Do you know who we are?”

  Sam replied, “Are you known as a Bonesman and is this your club house?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Well, then we have confirmed this is where we want to search. Now either unlock the doors or we’ll cut off the padlock,” Sam said with a fierce look in his eyes.

  “This is bullshit,” he replied as he withdrew a key from his pocket and unlocked the door allowing the police to enter. He then sat down on the steps and pulled out a cell phone and began to make calls.

  The three police officers and Anderson entered into the Tomb with a bit of awe and trepidation. The Tomb was made up of a series of rooms, both large and small. In the main room, the men found a couple of sofas, overstuffed chairs, coffee tables, and a host of skulls hanging from the walls. Both human and animal skulls of all sizes were seen as lights were lit in the rooms as they walked. This room had the feel of any frat house living room, well-lived in, and slightly worn.

  In other rooms they found some strange things like a coffin, which Anderson backed away from. Sam went up to it and with only slight hesitation, lifted the lid to find nothing inside. The walls in this room were decorated with more oddities such as boat flags, a street sign, and a drawing of Satan. There were stands of candles everywhere with signs of use. As they walked all the way to the rear of the building, they found a locked room with the numbers 322 over the doorway. Above the number were the Latin words, “Umquam Astrictus.”

  “The number 322 is the sacred number of the Bonesmen from what I’ve been able to find out. Since that number is above this door and it is locked, I’d say if there is anything to be found, it will be in there,” Sam said.

  “I’ll get the key from the kid,” said the Lieutenant as he left the group.

  “Roger, remember the inscription inside the ring of Judge Williams?” Sam asked.

  “Yea, the same thing that’s over the doorway here,” Roger replied.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” observed Anderson.

  “Does anything look familiar to you or stick out somehow?” asked Roger.

  “Well, I recognized the main room out front as the room where the pictures of my father and his group were taken, but nothing else,” Anderson replied.

  Roger pulled out a photograph from the file that was the main picture in question. It was Anderson’s father and friends. He and Anderson went into the other room to line it up exactly to make sure there was no question that this was a Tomb photo.

  As Sam waited for the second key, he continued to get goosebumps and was more than ready to get out of the place that they had traveled from New York City to get into. The air was stale and Sam felt his allergies beginning to act up. Dust and staleness always seemed to activate his nose. Just after his first sneeze, the Lieutenant and the others returned to room 322.

  “You thought he was a little shit before? When I asked for this key he refused and called an attorney. I got on the phone with the attorney and read him the search warrant and then he advised his client to let us into this room as well. Called the Inner Temple, according to the kid. So, let’s get in there so we can get out of this place,” said the Lieutenant.

  The lock turned with a loud clunk and opened once Sam pushed on the doors. The room was only about fourteen square feet and when they turned on the lights in the room, they were greeted by the sight of a glass case with a skeleton laid out in it. Underneath the case was a row of drawers in a wooden cabinet. As the cops looked at the skeleton, Anderson gasped out loud and everyone turned to look where Anderson was looking. There on a table, sat a vase and in that vase was a fresh orchid.

  “Son of a bitch! There’s that damn flower again! Every time we turn around, there’s a fucking orchid! Why?” exclaimed Sam.

  “A Green Lady Slipper Orchid, to be precise,” said Anderson. “I did some research on the damn thing and they are expensive. Each stem costs in excess of $20, so it’s not a cheap flower,” he continued.

  “Well what it does for me is to conclusively tie this place to our murders,” Sam said.

  “Why is that?” asked the Lieutenant.

  Roger looked at the Lieutenant and answered, “At each murder scene, one of these flowers was found placed in the center of the victim’s bed. Between the photograph and now this, there is little doubt that we are on the right track. Let’s check out these drawers; there has to be something in here of value to have the extra security.”

  As Anderson stared at the flower, the cops began to open drawers and pulling out papers and books that were found hidden underneath the skeleton. When all the drawers were empty of their contents, they placed everything on a table in the room and began to go through the items.

  “Well, here are the instructions for receiving new members, and by whom. This document contains a bunch of funny names followed by their real names,” said Sam.

  “I’ve got the oath of secrecy here, which states that all who are members are bound for life to the Skull and Bones club, and they must maintain the secrecy of the rituals, membership roles, and other noteworthy information,” said Roger.

  “That’s what the Latin saying ‘Umquam Astrictus,’ means: Ever Bound,” said Roger.

  “Dear Lord, listen to this: each member must at some point in their membership give a complete account of their sexual history. They must do so while kneeling in the coffin naked, and masturbating while retelling their stories of conquest until they ejaculate! This is known as giving the CB, which stands for connubial bliss. A record of the act of ejaculation shall be recorded!” said Sam.

  “Well this explains why black guys were members of the club. It says here that each re
cruitment period, particular men were sought out for membership. Among them were a football captain, a chairmen of the Yale Daily News, an obvious radical, a member of the choral society, a swimming captain, a notorious drunk with a 94 GPA, a filmmaker, a political columnist, a leader of a religious group, chairmen of the lit society, a foreigner, a lady’s man with two motorcycles, someone who served in the armed forces, a virgin, a negro if available, and a member that no one in the group had ever heard of before. How fucking weird!” Roger exclaimed.

  “Anderson, what year was your father admitted to this club?” Sam asked.

  “I think it was 1965, if my memory is correct,” Anderson replied.

  “Well, since there are four black faces in the group photo, we can assume that black guys were plentiful and fit more than one category listed for potential membership,” said Roger.

  “In this book, there is a record of all members of this club going back to the late eighteen hundreds, up until the present,” said the Lieutenant.

  “Look up 1965 and see if you find the name Williams listed,” asked Sam. “Jazmon Williams,” Sam clarified.

  “Ahh, Williams, Williams, here it is. Yep, Jazmon Williams tapped for membership in April of ‘65,” replied the Lieutenant.

  “Roger, what were the names of the other two victims again?” Sam asked.

  “First was Bertram Holder, and the other one was Wadsworth Brighton.”

  “Yep, both names are here as well,” said the Lieutenant.

  “Okay, now are those names in a row by any chance?” Sam asked.

  “Yea, they are.”

  “Gimme that picture again,” Sam asked Roger.

  “Lemme see, ok, what is the name of the guy right before Bertram Holder?” Sam asked after looking at the photograph.

  “That would be Danny Erickson,” responded the Lieutenant.

  “My guess then is that’s the name of the first black guy in this row and the only survivor of the four blacks pictured,” observed Sam. “Let’s see if we can get a line on this guy. Roger, phone it in will ya?”