Mercurial Dreams

by Hadena James

  There was another whiff of it, it seemed to come from the kitchen. I followed my nose into it. The kitchen was very neat and polished. No yellow tiles with flowers brought a sense of relief, instead it was the best modern kitchen money could buy. The tiles were all black marble and moved from the floor to halfway up the wall. Above the marble tiles was textured paint in different blue hues. The countertops were marble. All the metals were gleaming chrome. The sink even had one of those sensors on it that automatically turned the water on.

  I got down on the floor, putting my face only inches from it. The grout was white, but was starting to age. Here the bleach smell was stronger and I searched for grout that had been cleaned recently.

  “I have bleach,” I told Xavier.

  “Ok,” he said.

  “Look at this spot,” I pointed to the floor where the grout was whiter. “It smells like bleach and pennies.”

  “You think it’s a blood stain?” Gabriel asked. I didn’t know when he had come in.

  “I think it’s significant,” I side-stepped the question. “Most of us do not bleach part of the grout on our floors.”

  “You don’t bleach any of the grout on your floors. It could be that she was cleaning the grout and got distracted,” Gabriel said.

  “Are you supposed to bleach grout?” I asked.

  “Beats me,” Gabriel came over. “You want to pull up the tiles?”

  “Yes, but not personally, I’ll sit on the counter while someone else pulls up the tiles,” I said, getting off the floor. Suddenly, I realized that I must have looked like a bloodhound. My nostrils had been flaring and I had been inches from the floor.

  “I’ll get some tools,” Xavier said.

  “You know, if we pull these up and there isn’t blood, it is going to suck,” Gabriel said.

  “I know. I’m sure she’s here though. I’m positive he killed his wife,” I took the business card off the counter. There was a sculpture of a man reclining on a boulder, he appeared to be in pain. The name on the card said Kyle Summers, Artist. I knew even less about art than I did about construction work. I flipped it over. On the top, in neat letters was a time. I searched the front of the fridge and other places people stick notes looking for a handwriting to compare. Except there were no notes, no schedules, no grocery lists, the kitchen was sterile and devoid of humanity.

  It reminded me of my own kitchen. It seemed unlikely that an entire family of sociopaths were living in the house, making the kitchen that much more disturbing. I wondered if the others had noticed it.

  I put the card in a little baggy to be looked at by a crime scene technician. Specifically, I wanted the handwriting analyzed. In an empty kitchen, the business card grabbed the attention of any passer-by and pulled them to it.

  As we waited for real police officers and crime scene technicians to come in and do their job, I meandered around. The sitting room was obviously the center of the activity. Here, there were books strewn about and photos of the children. I didn’t find a single picture of their mother and there were only a few of Mr. Riggings. Another peculiar detail jumped out at me, the only photos of their daughter included their sons, but the sons had individual portraits. I called for Lucas.

  When he came in, I pointed at the photos. He methodically looked over each picture, committing them to memory. When he was finished, he stood up, raised an eyebrow and looked at me.

  “You were right, he definitely favors his sons and the daughter seems to have just happened. He also doesn’t seem to like his wife much. There are no pictures of her,” Lucas said.

  “I know, does it help?” I asked.

  “Well, we already figured as much, so probably not. However, I will have someone take pictures of the strange homage to his sons,” Lucas walked off again, his face was pensive.

  I continued my meanderings. The next room was a den or home office, obviously used by Mr. Riggings. Pictures of his sons decorated the desk and the walls. Neither his wife or daughter was in this room. There was another woman’s picture though, shoved in a desk drawer. She had blond hair and blue eyes. For a couple of seconds, I thought it might have been a younger Mallory Riggings, then I noticed the date stamp. I bagged it and passed it to a tech when I found one.

  A few moments later, a loud noise made me reach for my gun. My heart hammered in my chest as I realized that it was just someone hitting the floor with a sledgehammer. I wondered if it was Lucas and wandered back to the kitchen.

  An unknown man held a large rubber headed sledgehammer in his hands. He hit the tiles again, breaking them and freeing them of the grout. A tech in a suite bent down and removed a tile. Under it, was a reddish brown stain. Someone else picked up a scraper and began removing the tiles.

  It took about an hour for us to uncover the entire blood stain. Whoever had left it, hadn’t lived. Xavier looked at me. I nodded once. My theory was correct, we just had to find Mallory Riggings now.

  Past the kitchen, I found a utility room. It contained a washing machine, a dryer, two freezers and an ironing board. Who ironed their clothes anymore? There were dryer settings for that now. One of the freezers caught my attention next.

  It was a chest type freezer, where the lid lifted upwards and all the storage was downwards into the metal basin. Yet, it was turned backwards. The lid didn’t open towards the wall, it opened towards me. I pulled on the handle, propped open the lid and looked inside. It was stocked with ice cream and meat. I checked a label and found myself holding a T-Bone steak. I put it back but not before calling for another tech to come take pictures of the bizarrely placed freezer.

  I had been sure there would be a body in it since it had been backwards. A part of me was disappointed because there wasn’t. The other freezer was a stand-up freezer. I tugged on the handle, but it didn’t open. The tech came over and we tugged together. Still the door didn’t budge, the freezer just rocked under our efforts. The tech left and came back with a crowbar. Using the crowbar for leverage, we broke the door open. More ice cream greeted us, this family had a serious ice cream hoarding problem.

  “Ace!” I heard Gabriel yell for me. I searched for him and found him in the dining room. There was a door set in wall, mostly obscured by a large china hutch.

  “I didn’t find her in the freezers, but these guys really like ice cream,” I said. Xavier touched the door as I talked.

  “It’s cold,” Xavier said. “Like really cold.”

  “Another ice cream freezer?” I asked.

  “Really?” Gabriel gave me a look.

  “You didn’t see all the ice cream in the other freezers or how difficult it was to get into them,” I told him.

  “Open it,” Gabriel told Xavier. Xavier opened the door. Gallons of ice cream greeted me again.

  “Told you, they have a thing for ice cream,” I said.

  “Uh, no, they don’t,” Xavier had opened one of the containers. Inside was money, wrapped in the bank wrappers.

  “Go through them all,” Gabriel ordered.

  “Most serial killers do not have tons of money,” Lucas said.

  “Normal people do not keep money in ice cream containers in the freezer,” Gabriel responded. I had to agree with Gabriel. There was something very odd about the money.

  I grabbed a container, opened it and found myself staring at a foot. I put the lid back on, then opened it again. I had expected money, not body parts, to be in the container.

  Xavier took it out and began to look at it.

  “It’s female,” Xavier finally said. “Or a very petite man.”

  “Our serial killer?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” Xavier said. “Although why freeze some bodies and mummify others?”

  “Damn, serial killer number three, then,” I said.

  “Not necessarily,” Xavier said.

  “I know, one body does not a serial killer make,” I sighed and opened another container. This one held money. I put it in a separate pile and grabbed another container. It contained another
foot. I stared at for several minutes.

  “What?” Xavier asked.

  “I found another foot,” I said.

  “I think it belongs to the first foot,” Xavier said.

  “So he kills and dismembers his wife and shoves her in the ice cream containers,” I said. “Where’d he get all the containers and what’s with the money?”

  “Drugs would be my guess,” Gabriel said. “Or bribes.”

  “If you were a crooked politician, would you draw attention to yourself by murdering your wife and having freezers full of money?” I asked.

  “I guess so,” Lucas looked at the foot.

  “I have a head,” Xavier said. “It is definitely Mrs. Riggings.”

  “Good, I was getting cold in here,” I put the container down and walked out of the freezer.

  Gabriel handed the case off to someone else who appeared to not want it. The guy wore a suit with a black tie and perfectly shiny shoes. I pegged him as FBI. I smirked at the thought and left the inside of the house to get warm.

  Twenty-Two

  “For the record, there is a lot of weird shit going on in Nevada,” I said. We were back at the Marshals building, getting ready to pack up for the day. I had gone through yet another box of missing person files. We hadn’t bothered to single out any files except those that might belong to our victims.

  “There’s a lot of weird shit in the world on the whole, it isn’t just Nevada,” Lucas told me. “Let’s be honest, we’ve seen crazier things than money and body parts in ice cream containers in multiple freezers.”

  I had to consider that for several minutes. Yes, I had seen lots of weird things during my tenure as a Marshal. It hadn’t even been a full year yet and I had seen everything from body parts suspended in gel candle wax to hands being made into candy dishes. In comparison, money in a freezer really didn’t seem all that odd. Body parts seemed even less weird.

  We’d caught at least one serial killer and found a dirty politician who had murdered his wife, but we weren’t any closer to finding the desert serial killer. The news was all about the politician who had murdered his wife and might have ties to organized crime. Our killer didn’t rate high enough to boost network news ratings. He wasn’t doing anything particularly disturbing and he wasn’t targeting people with money or power.

  This meant no nicknames or limelight for our killer. I was grateful for this. Attention usually meant the killer would ramp up attacks to maintain the spotlight. And nicknames just instilled fear and terror in the community which didn’t help us at all.

  Of course, since the killer wasn’t taunting us, he was going to be harder to catch. I gathered my files and handed them to Xavier. He was going to work with a reconstruction artist to see about giving faces to our mummies and matching them to any open files. I was glad it was him and not me.

  “Tomorrow, I think we will re-canvass the homeless shelters in the area,” Gabriel said.

  “Could I canvass the prostitutes?” I asked.

  “You have objections to homeless people?” Gabriel asked, eyebrow raised.

  “Not really, but prostitutes could be just as useful. I noticed while we were chasing down the guys that shot at our car that they stick their cards on the fences. It would be easy to grab four or five dozen and interview them,” I said.

  “And you think you’ll just call all of them and get them to talk to you?” Gabriel asked.

  “I’m not sure what will happen. I just think that it would be beneficial. While we may have only found one prostitute, I’m sure there are others among the victims,” I responded.

  “Run with it, if you think it will help. But remember, working girls are not going to like giving up their time to talk to a federal officer. Their pimps will like it even less,” Gabriel said.

  “Would you like to assign me a body guard?” I asked.

  Gabriel threw his head back and laughed. He had a good laugh, full and rich and not in the least bit crazy sounding. However, this didn’t change my opinion that he was just as screwy as the rest of us.

  “Take Lucas, if nothing else, he looks intimidating,” Gabriel wiped a tear from his eye. “You and Xavier obviously are not a good mix in this town.”

  “I would agree with that,” I said.

  “That’s fine, I need to check on Michael’s hands anyway,” Xavier stood.

  The Marshals’ building was about a mile from Las Vegas Boulevard. Lucas and I opted to walk it. We both needed the exercise and the night was blissfully cool. The brilliance of the lights were visible even as we exited the building. They beckoned, creating a beacon for us to follow.

  We walked in silence through neighborhoods that might have once been popular, but had fallen into disrepair. These were not streets tourists visited. These were the leftovers. Streets that most people wouldn’t walk after dark. Lucas took off his jacket and hung it over his arm. This ensured that both his gun and his badge were fully visible to anyone daring to get close enough to us.

  However, no one dared. We passed houses and watched as people scurried away from the windows. The few thugs and hoods out, crossed the street as we approached. Part of it was Lucas’s size, he was an impressively large man that carried himself with a swift step and a look of pure determination. Part of it was me, I wasn’t physically impressive, but I gave off a vibe of pure violence. Alone, some of the thugs and hoods might have said something to me, but they wouldn’t have approached me. With Lucas at my side, it was just better for them to move away. Even if they couldn’t find the words to verbalize what they felt from us, they all felt it and they all backed off, giving us space to walk, unmolested.

  The gaudy beacon grew closer and the neighborhoods changed to industrial areas and off the path tourist hotels. These hotels didn’t have all the flare of the ones on The Strip, but they were still built to cater to the poorer tourist. They retained some of the neon, but their exteriors looked old and weathered by the Vegas sun.

  There were more people here. People moving to and from the hotels to Las Vegas Boulevard. People who looked tired and beaten down or people that looked fresh and ready to start their night to remember. The first set of people would look like the second set after a couple of hours of sleep and the second set would look like the first as dawn approached.

  Everyone thinks prostitution is legal in Nevada. This is incorrect. It is legal in only one county and it does not include Las Vegas. However, that did not mean that prostitutes were hard to find in the city.

  As we rounded a corner and were instantly assaulted by the lights and throngs of people, we spotted our first target. A man was handing out photos of women. The photos contained a single first name and a phone number. The man didn’t speak, as he thrust a photo of a good looking brunette into Lucas’s hands. Lucas took it and we walked a few more feet. Here was another man with more photos. Lucas took as many different women as he could from him. I was busy pulling photos of women of the fence. I even grabbed a few male prostitute photos. Like the men passing out the pictures, these photos contained no information except a phone number.

  Within the first two blocks, we had gathered roughly a hundred phone numbers for prostitutes. Some carried the same phone numbers, proving that answering services were still alive and well in Las Vegas. We stopped on the opposite side of the street from Excalibur. Their nightly entertainment was well underway and tourists were crowded around to watch the jousting match going on.

  There were moments when I realized exactly why I had been hired by the Marshals. As I stood and watched, I knew exactly how easy it would be to prey upon this group of people. I could easily stab a few of the tourists and walk away, unnoticed. Or steal wallets from the men who were busy attending to their wives and children while trying to watch the joust. Or release a bio-weapon on this busy street and watch as hundreds, if not thousands, got sick and died.

  And it wasn’t limited to Excalibur. Each of the large hotels had outdoor entertainment. The Bellagio had the fountains, Treasure Island
had the pirate ship, but even when the spectacle wasn’t interactive, there was still something. The Paris had the replica Eiffel Tower where people crowded around to take pictures and gaze upon the beautiful decorations.

  I shook my head. Lucas was staring at me. I gave him a frown. He said nothing and we began walking again. The crowds were getting thicker. There were people standing outside of buildings hawking marriage services or tickets for events or shows. My pulse began to increase as we continued down the sidewalk. Traffic was bumper to bumper and moving at a snail’s pace, maybe slower.

  My need to get away was growing with each step. It was anxiety, but not the sort most people experienced. I imagined every person there was out to get me. Just as I had thought it would be easy to snatch wallets or souls from the crowds watching the joust, it would be just as easy to do it on these busy, crowded sidewalks. Sidewalks so crammed with people, it was nearly impossible not to touch passerbys. I scooted closer to Lucas, moving my body to be partially hidden behind him.

  Lucas took the hint and at the next cross street, we turned off The Vegas Strip and back into less crowded areas. I took a deep breath and counted as we walked away from my own personal beacon for Hell. If I never visited Vegas or The Strip again, it would be too soon.

  “You ok?” Lucas asked, as we moved down another block.

  “Fine,” I said, my breathing now under control and my mind no longer picturing attack scenarios. Lucas nodded once and we walked back to the Marshals’ building in silence.

  Once there, we found our SUV in the parking lot and got in. The silence continued. Lucas had a plan, I could feel it forming. However, he would tell me in “Lucas Time” and not a second before.

  He navigated the back streets; staying away from Las Vegas Boulevard as well as the housing areas. Here, the motels were small and reminded me of the tired, run-down motels that we had walked past earlier. Unlike the others though, these were in slightly better areas with more lighting and updated paint.

  They were all still motels though. They had exterior doors, unlike our current hotel. I doubted they rented by the hour and I had only a small inkling of what Lucas was planning to do. He shut off the engine, got out and locked the doors behind him. I stared at the door lock, surprised that he had locked me in.