“Therapy, sir.” Agent Thornton says, resuming his role as a model agent.
Agent Smith misses Al’s presence on this case. He needs his expert incite.
“I don’t give a fuck if they were in a circle with their fingers up each other’s assholes singing Amazing Grace. This kid’s jerking us off and not giving us any satisfaction.” Lawrence raises his voice the way the chief yells constantly at the heroes in an action movie where their misguided, non-regulation deeds yield results. “You have no evidence this old man ever went anywhere near a drug house until yesterday. The nurses at the hospital said he grew increasingly depressed over his granddaughter’s condition and the fact she was never going to come out of her coma. More than likely he committed suicide by cop, leaving you with nothing but two less agents to work this cluster.”
Thornton attempts to salvage his role in the investigation, “Jesse places the old man at the meetings. He would have no other reason to even be there unless he was attacking the drug houses.”
Smith takes a shot at Thornton, “The kid never saw the old man’s face.”
“I don’t care about what you know to be true. I care only about what you prove to be true. Charge the kid with obstruction of a federal investigation and put him in an actual holding cell with real criminals. He didn’t give much on this Jack fellow or on Edgars and I think he’s holding back even more. Someone, for fuck’s sake, tell him what happened to his sister.” Lawrence orders.
“Why? He doesn’t exhibit any kind of Stockholm syndrome,” Smith says. “Al needs to examine the kid. What if he is a groupie, or desires to become a killer and seeks a mentor?”
“No. Jesse desires information. He believes if we arrest the group he’ll never get it. He’s misguided. Put him in holding and let him have a taste of jail,” Lawrence orders. “When you bring him out share the facts of his sister’s death and see if he sings about the group then?”
Smith won’t argue with his new boss. With any luck he’ll be gone in a few weeks. They seem to be on an assembly line of supervisors lately. But none of them have entertained the kid might be a killer in training.
“He just wanted to know what happened to his sister,” Thornton says, sounding more like he approves of the kid’s action
“Then he should have read the file on his sister. For wanting to be a profiler he has not been too willing to examine all the evidence. It is clear what occurred. If he was decent at profiling he’d figure it out,” Lawrence says
“I read through it. Parts are sealed due to the involvement of a minor. Did you read a page I couldn’t, sir?” Thornton asks.
“It takes a court order to open the sealed sections, and despite this kid’s involvement, the judge won’t permit it. I, however, didn’t make it to director by not knowing my shit. Read the file again. It is clear who killed his sister.”
“How long do you want this kid in holding? As we speak we’ve got five killers going to ground. If they catch wind of Jack and Edgars being brought down they will disappear,” Smith says.
“Is that what you would do, Agent Thornton?”
“Sir!?”
“To catch these people you must think like them. If you saw Jack’s picture on the news what would you do?” Lawrence inquires.
“This is why we need Agent Al back,” Smith chimes in.
“No. I’m not putting him back on, not as long as bodies are stacking up on the Car Tap Killer case,” Lawrence says. “The kid said they held the meetings in shadows. He never saw a face clearly. Some of the MOs of these killers, take the one calling himself Ed, for example, are so—common—there is no discernable pattern to distinguish any of a hundred unsolved murders. Focus on this former nurse. The two agents now on leave for the shooting will ride a desk and sift through questionable cases to help narrow down possible suspect?”
“There could be a million. This Jane never even said a state,” Thornton says.
“They need something to do. Maybe they will get lucky,” Lawrence says. “I’m finished wasting hours on paid vacations.”
“I could have the kid contact Jane through the chat room. We can’t trace it, but maybe he could ask for her help, tell her he saw Edgars being arrested on the news.” Thornton remains in his agent role.
“You’d tip your hand. If she didn’t reach out to the kid she’d warn the others and they would all slip away.”
AGENT THORNTON SITS across from Jesse in the interrogation room. “We’re spending a lot of time in this room on nonsense and I have killers on the loose.” He holds a file folder down on the table with his fingers in a perprepared move to shove it across at the opportune moment. “How was the police department’s holding cell? They filter through a lot more colorful characters than we do.”
“I get it. If I don’t talk I get to move in with a lot of guys who would insist on dating me. I get it. It’s a reality for me, because I can’t accept my sister’s death.”
“You’re talking, but you’re still leaving information out. Why?” Thornton asks.
“I don’t even know any more. I was convinced I’d find my sister’s killer among the group.”
“Let’s explore your theory a moment.” Thornton drops his hand flat to the folder, but keeps it ready to shove across the table. “For someone studying to be an FBI profiler you have made some major mistakes.”
“I can’t read her file. I’ve tried a dozen times, but I just can’t.”
“You have to remove it from behind your desk first.” Thornton allows the search of the kid’s dorm to sink in. “How do you know what you are even looking for in a meeting where people speak of the killings they performed? You have no frame of reference to match up evidence. Some of the higherups in this office think you sought out a mentor to expand your killing,” Thornton throws in to test for reaction.
Jesse chews his lip at the plaguing question. “I thought…I knew pieces of what happened. I have put together part of it from what my family has said in passing.”
“Bits. I think you have misinterpreted. I have six confessed serial killers at large that you know more about than you have shared. I need that information to get these people off the street and in a cell.”
“But they may not confess to my sister’s murder.” Jesse knows be should read the file, let his sister rest.
“You need to read this file.” Thornton taps the folder.
“I won’t.”
“I need you to contact Jane. Tell her you saw Edgars’ arrest on the news and you’re scared and you want to meet with her.”
“I’ll do it. They ended the last meeting not trusting me,” Jesse says.
“Any other piece of information on any of them useful to track them down?”
“Maybe, but let’s try and contact Jane. Capture her and she’ll lead you to all of them.”
Thornton makes a hand signal toward the camera.
“What if you do capture all of them and none of them confess to my sister’s murder? How will she get justice?”
“You want justice, but what about all the families of all the people this group has killed? Bringing them in will give dozens, if not a hundred, families peace. Is your peace more important than theirs? What about all the future families that will never know peace because you didn’t help us stop these people? All of them, if you don’t tell all you know, will return to killing. All of them will because you refuse to read this file.” He slaps the folder.
Thornton leaves it in the room while he joins Agent Smith and another younger, female agent in the adjoining room.
“I miss the day of rubber hoses,” Smith says.
Thornton’s not sure Smith has a sense of humor.
Jesse pushes the folder across the table.
“He has no idea of the truth?” Thornton asks.
“No. We didn’t know, at first, and he would not have a memory of the events being four.” Smith waves his hand at the female agent. “This is Agent Nanami. She will be on a second computer monitoring what Jesse
does and says to Jane.”
“I’ve got the computer he is to use set up. Whenever you’re ready,” Nanami says.
“Why are we still fucking with this kid?” Smith asks.
“Because he still has vital information about the serial killers in the group,” Thornton says.
“Cuff his hands to the table, he won’t be able to stick his fingers in his ears. Just go in there and read him the file,” Smith says.
“I’ve considered it, but I think he’ll shut down and won’t believe us. He’s convinced he will find the killer among the therapy group,” Thornton says.
“That kid’s shut mouth led mouth lead to my partner’s death,” Smith says. “Prosecute him for obstruction. A few more days in jail and speaking to lawyers will shake loose the rest of what he knows.”
“Nothing he gave us lead to Robert. And even if it did the kid had nothing to do with the takedown. The man who killed Agent Sutherland is dead and you have closure. Let’s give closure to all the rest of the families whose lives these killers have ruined.”
“Let’s get him in front of the computer, contact this Jane, see if it yields any results.”
• • • • •
“Shouldn’t you be in there monitoring the computer?” Smith asks. He leans against the wall, staring through the two-way mirror at Thornton and Jesse.
Agent Nanami holds out her phone with the image of a chatroom screen on it. “I am, but I don’t think she’ll respond to him instantly. She may only check her messages at certain times. I doubt she requests message alerts.”
“Why can’t you just track her computer?” Smith asks.
“These chat rooms are set up for anonymity. It’s complicated to explain, but they don’t allow anyone to trace who is on them. It’s why ISIS likes them. Anytime we figure out a way to track someone the chatrooms change. The users change up rooms all the time. The Internet is the perfect place to be someone else.”
“Give it twenty-four hours. If she hasn’t responded I doubt she will,” Smith says.
“Then what?” Nanami asks.
“We give him one more chance to spill anything to keep him from being charged. Since its’ frowned upon, me beating it out of him.”
“If I might suggest, the kid smells,” Nanami says.
“He has been in holding,” Smith says.
“Move him to a safe house and I’ll monitor the computer. Get him a shower and some real food,” Nanami suggests. “A little comfort might loosen him up.”
“I hate when we coddle criminals.”
“We’re not coddling a criminal,” she says. “We’ve got a kid who wants justice, he’s just going about it the wrong way. And you and I both know no prosecutor would have a real case against him, unless we could prove he left out something detrimental on purpose.
“I’ll arrange a hotel suite and we’ll follow your suggestion, Agent Nanami.”
Her phone chirps. “Jane made a fast response.” Nanami flips the phone screen in the direction of Smith. The message reads: Final rule: What is discussed in group stays in the group.
Jesse types before Thornton prevents him: Jane, I need your help. You must assist me.
Her answer—log off.
“She won’t be back,” Jesse says loud enough for Smith to hear through the mirror.
“Any way to trace her?” Smith asks.
“No, but I’ll exhaust everything I know to attempt to find her,” Nanami says.
Thornton jerks away the computer. “Wrong move, kid.”
“She’ll warn the others. I don’t know how to reconnect with any of them. She was my buddy if I felt the need to ‘murder,’” Jesse says.
“I don’t think this Jane trusted anyone.”
“She was taking a great risk creating a therapy group of killers.”
Agent Smith bursts into the integration room. “We’ve no more use for this kid.”
“Wait,” Jesse protests, “let’s go over my time in the meetings. There has to be something I’ve missed.”
I
“I DON’T LIKE inheriting this mess any more than you want to turn it over to me. But I just got word from the higher-ups. They don’t want the public to be made aware of a group of confessed serial killers banning together and how we keep losing agents failing to capture them. It’s a PR nightmare as is. I’m shutting this cluster down,” Director Lawrence says.
“Then Shawna’s death means nothing,” Agent Smith responds, his tone smooth, no hint of his normal anger. He has no idea what brought an end to the investigation. He’s never known any inquiry to be shut down before.
Lawrence sucks in an offended breath, “Don’t ever think an agent’s death doesn’t mean anything to me. I know I never met her, but we did get her killer. My hands are tied. They want the investigation ended.”
“I don’t like it,” Agent Thornton says.
“It doesn’t matter what you like.” Lawrence waves a file folder at Smith. “You’re off the case. Better, there is no case. This group doesn’t exist except in the mind of that messed up kid.”
“You close this case now, and you close on a win,” Smith realizes.
Before any more protests ejaculate from Smith, Lawrence adds, “But those two agents reduced to desk duty after the Jack shooting uncovered some suicides in a local haunted house in Kentucky. Now, if you two left before I had a chance to recall you. Maybe the cell service sucks in that part of the South. Those people just got indoor plumbing so use your time and capture this guy. Maybe with a living suspect I’ll resuscitate the investigation.”
Smith’s response—exit the office without a word. He has a new respect for his boss, thankful he didn’t deck the man. Thornton jogs to catch up with him before the elevator doors close behind Smith.
“Didn’t think you could move so fast,” he huffs a breath.
“Lawrence offered one more shot to make sure Shawna isn’t forgotten as just a name in the Hall of Honor. We don’t have much time before we get official word our case is closed.” Smith presses the ground floor button.
“This the teacher…Kenneth, you think?”
The elevator door shuts.
“Yes. If this is the correct location he won’t be hard to find, unless he has gone off the grid. We snag him alive and we bring down the rest of this group.”
“Thought you weren’t into being three chess moves ahead on a case?” Thornton says.
“No choice. We keep this case open and then we slow back down to one clue at a time.”
II
THORNTON FLIPS OPEN his ID wallet, “Special Agent Thornton, this is Special Agent Smith.”
“The FB-fucking-I all the way out here in our little hick town.” The man whose paunch proceeds him sports a greenish polo shirt as a uniform top, his gun belt buckle hidden under his hanging gut. He sneers more at Smith. “There have been twelve deaths in this house, nine by hanging. Even when hangings were popular, never once has the FBI seen fit to send an agent down about them.”
Smith ignores Sheriff Delmont’s condemnation and the implication the man has a white hood in the top drawer of his file cabinet. “Twelve? Our reports have only eleven deaths.”
“Our Internet runs a bit slow around here, but yesterday we recovered a body.”
Smith worries Could this mean he didn’t go to ground but remained active? “Another teenager?”
“No. This one was more of a shock.”
Thornton shifts a brown eye at Smith. “Anything different about this hanging, Sheriff Delmont?”
“It was a teacher. Worked in the district for seventeen years, local man, grew up here. It’s never been an adult before, always teenagers.” Sheriff Delmont adds, “Funny, his sister was present when another girl died some twenty years ago.”
“Why doesn’t someone tear this place down?” Thornton asks.
“It’s been tried, but the question of who owns and is responsible for it is a legal torrent,” Smith says.
“That’s correct. People
fight over this place every time there is a death, nothing gets resolved and no one wants to pay to figure it out.” Sheriff Delmont eyes the black man, curious why a clear urban man has interest in his community.
Thornton debates if he will defuse the pissing match brewing. Part of him wants Sheriff Delmont to be put in his place. Racists rate right above child molesters in his book.
“I’m surprised no one ever snuck out here with a match and corrected the problem.” Smith’s eyes scream ‘you boys, when in your hoods, love to light fires.’
“I’m sure you federal agents think we’re backwards around here, but most people fear the Plantation House. And since there has been no rhyme or reason as to who gets hanged, people just don’t want to risk stepping onto the property. I’ve got two sick officers, as soon as the call came in we had a fresh body at the Plantation House.”
“If no one goes out there how do you know to search for a body?” Thornton asks.
“Usually, when its kids, they’ve dared each other and when one doesn’t come back we check. In this case a note was found stating a history teacher was coming up here for some picture taking. He wanted to write some paper for his master’s thesis. Maybe he’d figured out who owned it,” Sheriff Delmont says.
“And you searched when he didn’t return.”
“Sheriff Delmont, I’d lay off thinking your ghost has claimed its final victim. We’d like to look around this teacher’s house before we leave town,” Smith says.
“What for?” Sheriff Delmont asks still befuddled at the last statement and his attempt to decipher its meaning.
“We had a couple of questions for him on a case we’re working on and just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he didn’t know the answers,” Thornton says.
“I’ll send a deputy with you, if you don’t mind. I don’t need nothing sprouting legs until I notify the next of kin.” Sheriff Delmont gives Smith the don’t steal now, boy eye. “I’ll get you a deputy.”
SKA: Serial Killers Anonymous Page 33