“Yes. But we can’t expect much help there. I guess you haven’t heard the news. It just broke. Big plot was just uncovered to kill the President and half a dozen senators and representatives and members of the Supreme Court. Every federal agency you can think of is busy working on that. This perverted mess we’ve got is pretty much going to be in the hands of locals.”
“You notified the FCC?” Leo asked.
“Right. Inspectors have already begun working to pull the tapes with subliminal suggestions on them.”
“It’s nationwide then,” Lani said, as much to herself as to the others.
“We think so. Already a dozen departments have responded to our private calls, and discovered cells, or would-be cells, in their cities.”
The DJ, who looked as freaky as the music he played sounded, was defiant and sullen. “Motherfuckin’ pigs from California,” he snarled at them. “And a cunt, too. How’d you get here? Ride your surfboards?”
It took every fiber in Leo’s being to keep him from backhanding the punk out of the chair. Tony Moreno had introduced Leo to Virginia.
“Death is the ultimate high, man,” the freak said. “I dig death. Can’t wait for it.”
“Hopefully you won’t have a long wait,” Leo said, knowing full well that even if convicted of his heinous crimes, and even if Indiana had the death penalty, the freak might be on death row for years before he was gassed or juiced or given a lethal injection, the latter being one of the most ridiculous things Leo had ever heard of. People like this freak showed no compassion to their victims, so why in hell should society show mercy or compassion to them?
Most cops Leo knew shared that opinion.
The freak had admitted the existence of a killing club in the city; he’d admitted his part in altering the tapes at the station; and he had freely and openly admitted his part in several killings. But he would give no names.
“I hope you do torture me,” he said with a grin. “I groove on pain, man. We all do. If it feels good, do it.” He looked at Leo. “You ever been fucked up the ass, man?”
Leo grimaced at just the thought.
“It’s neat, man. There ain’t nothin’ like a dick up your ass. I told the pigs here to put me in with the meanest, big-dicked nigger they got locked up. I—”
Leo tuned him out and left the interrogation room to go wash his face with cold water. When he stepped out of the men’s room, Lani was leaning up against a wall in the corridor, her face shiny with sweat. Her breathing was ragged. Leo put a hand on her shoulder. “Steady now, Lani. Stand tough.”
She nodded her head and said, “Leo, there might be hundreds of these perverted sacks of freaky shit out there.”
“I know it.”
“Did you see all the S & M paraphernalia they got from that ... thing’s house?”
“Yeah, I did, Lani.”
“Leo, I wanted to kill that bastard. I wanted to pull iron and shoot that son of a bitch.”
“I know, Lani. So did I.”
“So did all of us on this case,” the lieutenant said, walking up and hearing the last. “Wanna hear something rich? This punk says if we put him in isolation, he’s going to sue the department. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that we just picked up two of his equally freaky friends. Now we have two more places to dig. You want to come along?”
“That’s why we’re here,” Leo said.
* * *
The stench was so foul, all in attendance had to wear protective masks. No one could work in the cellar of the long-abandoned farm home for very long. It was just too much to ask of a normal human being. Several street-hardened cops had fainted at the uncovered sight. All present had puked their stomachs empty. The smell of rotted tortured death permeated the clothing of the living. Holes were knocked in the walls, and generators set up to pump in fresh, clean, outside air. It helped, but not much.
The freak had been brought out from jail. He was excited at the sight. “Yeah, yeah!” he hollered, pointing as much as his belly-cuff chains would allow. “See that little cunt kid there? I done that. I cummed all over myself just before she died. I never cummed like that before in my life! It was wonderful!”
One cop had to be physically restrained by other cops. He was mad as hell, climbing out of the hole with a shovel in his hand, fully intending to hammer the freak’s brains out. He had been the man who uncovered the badly mutilated body of the ten-year-old girl, so eloquently eulogized by the freak.
Lani and Leo drove to another dig site. This one, like the one they’d just left, was far out in the Indiana countryside. This one had been pointed out by another just-arrested geek friend of the first freak, who was riding in the lead car.
“I got a bad feeling in my gut,” the Indiana cop said. “I got a hunch that before this is all over, this is going to be the worst rash of killings this nation has ever seen.”
“So do we,” Lani spoke for both of them.
“Thirteen bodies so far,” a very tired-looking cop said, taking a break from the digging. “This is an old one. The bodies are badly decomposed. It’s grim in there, Al. I mean, real grim.”
“Lemmie see, lemmie see!” the second freak hollered. “Man, I love the smell of death. Can’t you dig it? Oohhh—I think I just cummed in my shorts.”
The weary and dirt-stained cop’s hands tightened on the handle of his shovel.
Al gave the punk a shove away from the hard-eyed cop. “Move, asshole. You want to see this place, let’s go see it.”
Lani paused for a moment to look at the cop with the shovel. She jerked a thumb toward the manacled geek. “How do they get that way?”
The cop shrugged tired shoulders. “God, I don’t know. Luckily my kids hate heavy metal and rap and shit music. Believe it or not, they both like jazz and big band. Hell, I don’t even like jazz. Sounds like half a dozen musicians each trying to out-blow the other!”
Lani chuckled and patted the cop on a sweaty shoulder. She walked toward the dig site.
“Brace yourself,” the cop called.
“I got nothing left to puke up,” Lani said.
“Me, neither,” the cop replied.
Leo blocked her way into the old barn. His face was pale. “Forget it, Lani. There is no point in you going in there. We’ll soon have our share of digs back home, I’m thinking.”
She ducked under his arm and stepped inside. She was back in under a minute, a tad green around the mouth. “Gimmie a cigarette, Leo.”
“We both quit, Lani. Remember?”
“So I started again. I gotta find a cigarette.”
“You don’t need a cigarette, Lani”
“Goddamnit, Leo!” she flared. “I’m a grown woman. If I want a goddamn cigarette, it’s my goddamn business. Goddamnit!” she added.
A nearby cop held out a pack. He and Leo exchanged glances, both of them sensing that Lani was near the breaking point for that day. And both of them knowing they were very near that same breaking point. The breaking point knows no gender. When enough is enough, the mind closes down.
Lani took the cigarette and the light. The cop held out the pack to Leo. Leo sighed and took one. “Why the hell not?” He lit up and looked at the uniform. “You been smoking long?”
“I quit five years ago. I just started up again this morning. Out here.”
Leo nodded. “I sure don’t blame you one little bit. I think I’ll get drunk tonight.”
“I know I’m gonna get drunk tonight,” the uniform said. “But before I do, I’m gonna make love to my wife and hug all three of my kids. In that order.” He gave Leo the nearly full pack. “Take them. I went into town and bought a carton.” He toed out his smoke, picked up a shovel, and with a sigh, reentered the old barn turned death house.
“Do we want to go to the third site?” Lani asked, puffing furiously.
“I don’t.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to go home, Leo. There is no more we can do here. Al says he’ll fax us the freak�
�s statements ASAP.”
“There’s a flight out at 6:55 in the morning. We can be on that one.”
“Anything this evening?”
Leo took a timetable pamphlet from his jacket pocket and checked the flight times. “No. We missed the last one.”
Lani puffed. Coughed.
Leo glanced at her. At least the smoke was helping to kill the terrible stench of rotting bodies. “I have a hunch we’ll just be jumping from one bad situation to another equally bad situation.”
“We’re gonna have to set up a task force, nationwide. And we’re gonna have to do it quick.”
“Agreed.”
“The FCC is gonna have to work with us on this. They’re gonna have to assign as many inspectors as possible. We’ve got to convince them of that.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem.”
Al had left the murky confines of the old barn and joined them on the outside.
“We’re on a statewide net right now,” the Indianapolis cop told them. “By this time tomorrow, we’ll be nationwide. The FCC is handing us everybody they can spare. I figure in seventy-two hours, we’ll be rolling nationwide to get the subliminal suggestions off the air.”
“And maybe have some sort of a handle on the cults, the clubs, whatever the hell they’re called,” Leo said.
“We code-named this the Killing Clubs.”
“The press will love that.”
“Fuck the press,” Al said bluntly.
Lani smiled. “Another thing we share in common.”
A uniform walked up. “Dispatch says homicide pulled in two more suspects. They’re talkin’ about a fourth site.”
“Jesus Christ!” Al said, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “And this is just one small city. What’s it going to be like nationwide?”
“Chaos,” Lani said softly.
Chapter 20
Lani could not have chosen a better word to describe the mood of the country after the news spread. FCC investigators began finding taped subliminal suggestions in every major market and many smaller ones. Police began finding death pits all over the nation, border to border, coast to coast. The vice president’s wife—who had been complaining about certain song lyrics for years—was quickly appointed chairperson of a commission to study song contents, programming, musical groups, whether a minimum age limit should be set to attend heavy metal and rap concerts, and so forth. Musicians and singers began screaming about the constitutional right of free speech.
“We’re getting off the track here,” Leo said, sitting at his desk. He tossed the morning paper into the wastebasket. “It’s subliminal suggestions we’re looking for, not song lyrics.”
“There are those who think the lyrics of certain songs drive some listeners to commit crimes,” Ted said.
“It certainly does me,” Sheriff Brownwood said, pausing at the open door. “Makes me want to kill the son of a bitch singing it.” He walked on.
Since the death of deputy sheriff Tony Moreno, the Ripper had ceased killing in Hancock County . . . that is, as far as the cops knew. Dick Hale was still on the loose, but laying low. Carla Upton had not been found. The number of bodies found nationwide had far exceeded Lani and Leo’s original estimate. Over two thousand tortured and mutilated bodies had been dug up, and the body count was climbing every day. Citizens were arming themselves in record numbers, some gun stores selling out their entire stock in one day. Over fifty radio stations and four TV stations had been shut down by FCC inspectors. Going dark, in broadcasting language. Arrest warrants had been issued for more than three hundred people nationwide; but the suspects appeared to be as slippery as quicksilver. Only a handful had been arrested and charged. They freely talked, boasting about their part in torturing and killing, leading the police to new and larger death pits.
Leo was studying Lani, who sat deep in thought at her desk. “What’s on your mind, Blondie?” he asked.
“We were the ones who uncovered this snake pit,” she said. “So we’ll be the ones right on the top of the killing list of these geeks and freaks and weirdos. You and me, Leo. And probably Ted and Brenda, too.”
“Yeah. You’re right. So?”
Sheriff Brownwood had stepped into the office and was listening.
“Over three hundred arrest warrants have been issued nationwide, but only a few suspects have been picked up. Those on the loose have apparently gone hard underground. We’ve all agreed that a contingency plan had been worked out in advance, knowing a day of discovery would come.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So we’re all convinced that the Longwood boys are in charge, so to speak, of this killing club, right?”
“Right,” Brenda said. “Where are you going with this, Lani?”
“It’s not where I’m going,” she said. “It’s where those still on the loose are going.”
Brownie had poured a cup of coffee. He dropped the cup on the floor and whirled around, facing Lani. “You think they’re coming here?”
“That seems the logical conclusion to me, yes.”
“Why?” Ted asked.
“For their grand finale. One final day, or night, or week, or month of killing frenzy. Look, cops nationwide have connected every suspect; albeit loosely, but they are all connected. These goddamn freaks even had a newsletter. You’ve all seen it. Or copies of it. Jim and Jack Longwood have spent years setting all this up. Everywhere they traveled, they set up a cell. Those cells grew from the cities and spread out into the countryside. We’ve now proven that that broadcasting school the government just last week put out of business was the brainchild of the Longwoods. They financed it and taught selected people the craft of subliminal suggestion. Those people went out all over the country, and put that to work. Those freaks in Indiana confirmed it. Jim and Jack Longwood are here. Right here in Hancock County, laughing at us. All those on the suspect list are disciples of Jim and Jack Longwood. They worship those two weirdos. Where else would they go?”
“Yeah,” Brenda said softly. “It began on the East Coast, and it will end on the West Coast. It fits. I buy it.”
“Lani,” Brownie said. “Two six or seven-year-old boys couldn’t have set this up—it’s too elaborate!”
“No. They didn’t. Not then. This plan came later on. Probably right before they killed their parents. Everything they’ve done has been a plan to throw off the cops. The classic movies, the classic music. That was laid down as a false trail, and we bought it. KSIN is the only classic radio station in the nation that has been directly tied in. All the rest were hard rock and heavy metal and rap. All youth-oriented. A few hidden messages were found in other stations, but damn few. We’ve been had, people. We got screwed, and didn’t even get kissed in the process.”
“And you think these two hundred and seventy-five or so freaks are coming here to go into a blood-lust frenzy?” Ted asked.
“I think that’s what Jack and Jim Longwood want us to think.”
“Why?” Brownie asked.
“I haven’t figured that one out yet,” Lani admitted.
“Mary had a little lamb?” Leo asked.
Lani shook her head. “Another false trail. Means nothing.”
“The half brother and sister?”
“I don’t think they exist. I think that story is bogus. It was planted around town, school, and in Karl and Anna’s minds by the boys. They spread it around. They told Father Daniel. You know how people like to talk to those who work for the very rich. Human nature.”
“Those two who attacked us back at that old school?” Leo asked.
“We start doing some digging—when we have the time—and I think we’ll find those two were in some mental institution with Jack and Jim. Recruits, that’s all.”
“This is a lot of fishing and guessing, Lani,” Brownie said. “But I tend to lean in your direction. This whole case has been goofy from the start. Leo?”
“Yeah. I’m with you. This case, right from the beginning, has had all o
f us acting like a one-armed paperhanger. At least Lani’s theory makes some sense. Nothing else about this screwy mess does.”
All four of the investigators were losing patience. Brenda Yee threw a stack of file folders on the table. “Goddamnit!” she yelled, causing Brownie to almost spill his newly poured coffee down the front of his shirt. He gave the state investigator a very pained look. “What does Carla Upton have to do with this case?” Brenda asked, looking around. “Did she stage her own death? If so, why? She was, is, whatever, a rich woman, and from all we can find, a very happy one. If she was kidnapped, why the elaborate setup? Who was the dead woman? Was her death unrelated to this case? If not, how does it tie in with the freaks?”
“It all ties in,” Lani said softly. “We just haven’t found the right sequence of ribbons and bows, that’s all. The Ripper is playing with us, taunting us, mocking us.” She cleared her throat. “Okay. Let’s lay it out on the table. One: we stopped the Ripper’s game of subliminal suggestion. Two: every DJ, copywriter, engineer, secretary, salesperson over at the broadcasting complex checks out nine ways to sundown. They’re clear. Three: we know how the Ripper used to lure his victims to their death. We stopped that. Four: is the Ripper now picking the victims at random? Or has the Ripper come up with a new scheme in choosing victims? Five: where the hell is Dick Hale? The man is not any sort of out doorsman. Dick’s idea of roughing it was a weekend at the Sheraton.”
“Forget Dick Hale,” Brownie said. “Let Homicide handle that one.”
Lani shook her head. “He’s part of it, Brownie. In a strange and tragic way.”
“Well, pardon me. I thought we cleared Dick of any involvement with the Ripper?”
“Yeah,” Leo said. “Me, too.”
“We did. But not his daughter.”
“What are you talking about?” Ted asked.
“I’ve got Cal going over that tape that Dick played for us that day at his house. You know, the one where the woman called about information that would clear Dick?”
“Yeah. So? You think that was Sue Hale on that tape?”
“Cal’s doing voice comparison analysis right now. He had old tapes over at the station of Sue, fooling around in the commercial room. He should be through at any moment.”
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