The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels

by Valmore Daniels

  I saw the detective flush as he said thank you to her. He was the first one out the door, and took a deep breath of fresh air to clear his head.

  Chapter Fifteen

  While we drove away from the industrial area, I flipped through the proposal my father and Phil Bellows had put together for Enoch Enterprises.

  “Anything in there?” Vanderburgh asked.

  “The first part of it is a standard application for financing. A lot of it is a breakdown of required expenses. Nothing unusual in that list. My father’s resume is there, quite detailed.” I glanced over it once more, impressed by the body of work he’d done over the years. In comparison, my own accomplishments seemed paltry. “There’s a sheet on me as well, proposing me as a possible assistant. It’s dated four weeks ago.”

  “Is that important?” the younger detective asked.

  “Just to me,” I said. “My father only brought me in a few days ago, but it’s nice to know he’d been thinking about me for some time.”

  Hollingsworth cleared his throat. “Get to the good part. Is there anything in there that tells us what OrganKnit actually is, or how to neutralize it?”

  Letting out a short, humorless laugh, I said, “My father liked to play things close to the vest. He was burned by a colleague early in his career. I’m sure he wouldn’t reveal the actual formula until Enoch coughed up the money.”

  Turning his head and giving me a look of annoyance, Hollingsworth asked, “Then why did you suggest we go to Enoch? I thought you said they’d have a copy of his research journals.”

  “I said they might have an idea where they are.” I shrugged. “Tim was transcribing them. I’d hoped he finished and given Enoch a copy, but there’s no mention of it in the proposal.”

  “So this entire trip was a waste of time?”

  Shaking my head, I smiled. “Not at all.” I pulled one sheet of paper out of the folder and held it up. “This might be the answer.”

  Vanderburgh peered at it, but made a face when he was unable to interpret what was significant on the page. “It’s just a bunch of signatures.”

  “While my father wanted to be certain of funding before giving up his formula, Enoch wanted to be certain there was a formula before approving the financing. Like in real estate, they needed some kind of escrow. They both approved Phil Bellows as the agent of the deal, and to verify the formula’s existence.”

  “So…?”

  I pointed to the spot titled ‘Efficacy Guarantor’.

  “That signature means Phil Bellows is the only other person who has seen the full formula and the tangible results of its application.”

  “We searched his house and went through his computers and files,” Vanderburgh said. Then he glanced at Hollingsworth and snapped his fingers. “But we haven’t searched his office at the university.”

  I said, “I’ll bet he kept a copy of the formula on his computer there. If I can compare the data there to the partial data my father gave me, I can isolate the missing ingredient.”

  “Back to the campus?” Vanderburgh guessed.

  Just then, Hollingsworth’s cell rang. He answered it and listened for some time. Finally, he said, “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “A spot of luck,” he said. “We just got a hit from that cafeteria security footage of Lawrence and Professor Chase. There was a girl who was taking a ‘selfie’—whatever that is—beside her new car in the parking lot off campus and caught Lawrence in the background getting out of his own vehicle.”

  “We’ve got a description of his car?” Vanderburgh asked, his voice rising in excitement.

  “Better,” Hollingsworth said with a determined grin, “we’ve got a partial plate. It’s registered to Lawrence Bukowski.”

  Vanderburgh perked up. “Bukowski the Breaker?”

  “Yup.” Hollingsworth nodded. “We’ve never had enough on him to get a warrant—he never leaves the bodies behind—but word on the street is he likes to kill his victims by breaking their necks.”

  I sat forward. “He’s a murderer?”

  “For hire,” Hollingsworth said. “He works mostly for drug lords. Seems a dealer he was going after set fire to his apartment while he was sleeping a few weeks ago. Rumor has it he’s either dead, or has fled town. Looks like he got out of the fire with his life, but with a few burn scars to show for the trouble.”

  “That’s why he signed up for the trial,” I said. “Any hospital he went to for skin grafts would need to pull his records; someone might figure out who he was and turn him in to the authorities.”

  Hollingsworth nodded, and then turned to his partner. “We have a last-known address, and a list of known associates. I’m going to drop you and Mr. Chase off at the campus. Dig through Phil Bellows’ computer and see if you can get the formula. I’m going to get some officers and start knocking on doors.”

  I frowned, not wanting to be left out of the action. I said, “Shouldn’t we all stay together?”

  “Don’t worry,” Hollingsworth said, “you’re in good hands with Vanderburgh. Besides, you can really help us by figuring out what Mr. Bukowski is hopped up on, and how to neutralize its effects.” A moment later, he added, “The last thing we want is this formula to get out onto the street. We’d have dozens of psychos running around killing innocent people.”

  * * *

  Before dropping us off, Hollingsworth called ahead to the university to get access to Phil Bellows’ office in the admin building. He also arranged for one of the police computer techs to be there. It was a good thing. Unlike my father’s computer and laptop, there was a login password on the machine.

  It only took the tech—Officer Brown, by his name badge—a few minutes to wipe the password by rebooting the computer with a compact disk and running the bypass program. The ease of the procedure eroded my faith in computer security.

  While he ran a search using the keywords I provided—OrganKnit, my father’s name, Lawrence, and Enoch—the tech said, “Think of a login password like a lock on a door. It basically just keeps honest people honest.”

  “So anyone with basic knowledge of computers can break in that easy?” I thought about all my own files I’d compiled over the years. All this time, I believed they were secure behind a simple password.

  “Sure,” Brown said. “If you want real protection for your documents, you should use encryption. I can give you the name of a few programs that are pretty good, if you like.”

  A moment later, he made a small sound in his throat. “Looks like Professor Bellows used encryption on some of his data files.”

  “Some?”

  The tech nodded. “Most people keep their documents in one place. He’s got two folders. One of them looks like standard files, and they’re wide open. The other folder is just off the root of the drive, and it’s locked.”

  “Can you tell what’s in it?”

  “I can guess by the filename.” Officer Brown pointed at the screen. The file was called ‘organknittrialresults.crypto’.

  “So how do we get in to the folder?” Vanderburgh asked.

  “Maybe he wrote the encryption password down somewhere.” He began looking through the desk. Both Vanderburgh and I helped, searching the office. There didn’t seem to be anything obvious in the filing cabinet or the bookshelf. Vanderburgh contacted the crime scene technicians who were still combing through the Bellows’ house. The only passwords we came up with were for his online banking account. It didn’t work for the encryption on his computer files.

  Finally, the tech said, “I have a few programs that will try the most common passwords. It usually takes an hour or so to run.”

  “What if that doesn’t work?”

  “Then we go for a brute-force attack.”

  I blinked. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s an exhaustive cryptanalytic testing of every possible key combination.” He pointed to the files on the computer. “That could take a while.”
<
br />   Vanderburgh asked, “How long is ‘a while’?”

  Shrugging, Brown said, “Minutes, hours, days … months. No way to tell.”

  With a huff of annoyance, the young detective looked at his watch. “Well, let’s try the common password thing first. Give me a call on my cell when it’s done.” He looked at me. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning. I’m starved. How’s the cafeteria food on campus?”

  I pulled a face. “You’re probably better off starving.”

  * * *

  While I settled for an old standard, a hamburger and fries, Vanderburgh tried the Salisbury steak. After two bites and a grimace, he eyed my burger with jealousy.

  I wasn’t all that hungry, and cut the burger in half, giving him the larger portion. Motioning for him to help himself to my fries, I asked, “You must be dead on your feet. At least I got a few hours of sleep last night.”

  He winked as he raised a cup of black coffee the consistency of tar. “Good for pep. I’m used to the long hours.” After taking a sip of the bitter brew and wincing, he added, “Unfortunately, the wife couldn’t.”

  “You’re married?”

  “Divorced,” he said. “We were high school sweethearts. She wasn’t exactly thrilled when I told her I was going to join the force. I worked the usual hours as a patrolman, but after my first promotion two years ago, things really started going downhill.

  “When I got assigned to the violent crimes unit, that’s when my shifts bounced all over the place. Things got bad at home, with me working long hours.

  “The last straw was when I got grazed by a bullet while chasing down a perp—oh, it was nothing serious, just needed a few stitches. My wife went nuts, though. She’d always wanted to start a family, and told me that a kid needs a father, not a memorial plaque on a gravestone.”

  “Sorry to hear it,” I said, feeling sympathetic, but not wanting to delve too deeply into the subject. I was still smarting from Andrea’s revelation.

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” he said.

  “You never thought about quitting?”

  He shook his head. “The feeling you get when you nail a perp is incredible. I love being a cop.”

  His comment made me think about my own situation. I loved being a doctor, but the job also required me to work odd hours. Luckily, Andrea had been understanding about it. We just made sure to make the most of when I was home. Lately, even when I was physically present, my thoughts had been on my legal and professional problems. I’d all but ignored her during my lawsuit. Put into perspective, I’d basically chosen my profession over my marriage, and lost my profession anyway.

  “Also,” Vanderburgh added, “I’ve been seeing one of the accountants at the department. She thinks getting shot was kind of heroic, especially since I was able to collar the perp.” He gave me a wolfish grin. “I don’t mind playing it up for her, I can tell you.”

  I let out an obligatory laugh, but inside, I didn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to move on and find someone else. I wanted Andrea. The first order of business, once we got past the Lawrence situation, I was going to dedicate my every waking moment to winning my wife back.

  A question had been forming in my mind for a while and, taking a disinterested bite of a fry, I asked, “How long have you been partners with Hollingsworth?”

  As if sensing where my question was leading, he nodded. “Long enough.” He lowered his voice so no one else could overhear. “I’ve never seen a localized earthquake like today before, or seen someone as powerful as Lawrence, but I’ve seen some crazy things over the past few months.” He gave me a knowing look. “The kinds of things you don’t include in an official report, if you get what I’m saying.”

  “I noticed the two of you seemed to take it all in stride.”

  He nodded, his line of vision sliding past me, as if he were remembering previous incidents.

  “The first time I saw an occurrence, it was my third week with Hollingsworth. He told me he got a lead on a pimp who was growing his stable by murdering his rivals. Then he’d give the girls a choice: work for him, or take a long swim to the bottom of Lake Michigan. There was a spot about twelve miles off shore.

  “Before we caught up with him, he had quite a collection of victims gathered down there, feeding the fishes. The problem was, no one knew how the bodies got dumped there. The CPD Marine Unit scoped the area for days, and there were no signs of boats going to or coming from the area, yet the divers reported that the body count kept rising.”

  “Who’d Hollingsworth get the lead from?” I asked. “No, let me guess, Father Webber?”

  Vanderburgh smiled and pointed his forefinger at me. “That’s right. He told us he had an informant give him the location of the bodies.”

  “How’d he do it?” I asked. “The pimp, I mean. If he didn’t have a boat.”

  “Believe it or not, he walked.”

  I stared at him. “As in, walked on water?”

  “No,” he said, “under water.”

  Frowning, I did the calculation in my mind. “How is a twenty-four mile round trip under water possible? He’d need half a dozen scuba tanks.”

  “No scuba. No mini-sub. No machines.”

  I gave Vanderburgh a pointed look. “You’re telling me he could breathe underwater, aren’t you?”

  He pointed his finger at me again and winked. “Right again.”

  “I never heard anything in the papers.”

  “Officially, he was never caught, but…”

  “Father Webber helped you exorcise him?”

  Vanderburgh nodded. “You’re good at this game. Though the priest said it was more of a spirit binding than an exorcism. I’m not sure what it was exactly. In any event, the perp’s locked away safe and sound.”

  “The facility.”

  He leveled a look at me. “He told you about it?”

  “Yeah. How many of these ‘unusual’ people are there?”

  Shrugging, the young detective said, “I don’t know. I haven’t been to the facility, myself.”

  “How many other ‘occurrences’ have there been?”

  “Two others, since I’ve been working with Hollingsworth. I don’t know how many before I came on.”

  “And you trust this Father Webber character?”

  Vanderburgh spread his hands. “He hasn’t given me any reason not to.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, “he waved a gun in my face first thing this morning. That wasn’t the most cordial introduction I’ve ever had.”

  “I’m sure he felt it was necessary.” A moment later, he added, “Not that I’m apologizing for him, or anything.”

  Pushing my plate away from me, ignoring the last few cold fries, I asked, “Maybe we should contact the priest and see if he has any ‘informants’ who know where Lawrence might be hiding.”

  “I’m sure if he knew anything, he’d tell Hollingsworth.”

  I pressed my lips together. “Still, I wouldn’t mind having a conversation with Father Webber. Maybe he can clear some things up.”

  Before Vanderburgh could reply, his cell phone beeped. He picked it up and listened for a bit. “Excellent.”

  After he hung up, he said, “Looks like we won’t need the brute-force attack on the computer after all. Officer Brown got into the file.”

  I was on my feet in an instant and headed out of the cafeteria just short of a full jog. Vanderburgh was right behind me.

  We crossed the campus on foot and got to the front door of the admin building just as the streetlights flicked on. Night fell quickly this time of year.

  Though the admin doors were unlocked, there wasn’t anyone in the main foyer. The staff had all gone home.

  Together, we made for the elevator, but a few steps before we reached it, the lights in the building went out, and we were plunged into darkness.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brown outs were rare, but not unheard of at the university, which had its own
power grid and backup generator. In this case, however, neither of us thought that was the cause of the lights going out. Vanderburgh pulled his gun out of its holster, and I pressed the elevator call button. Nothing lit up. There wasn’t any electricity running them.

  The emergency lights flashed on, startling me.

  “Stairs?” Vanderburgh said, and pointed to where they were.

  I started to head for them first, but the young detective held me back. “Stay behind me.”

  Taking the steps two at a time, he reached the third level and was only slightly out of breath. I was gasping by the time I climbed the last step, and my sore knee was screaming in agony.

  Vanderburgh eased the door to the hall open and peered out, though I didn’t know how he could see much, even with the emergency lights.

  He slid into the hall in a flash, his gun up and held in front of him. After scanning for signs of danger, he nodded to me.

  Gingerly, I exited the stairwell and looked down the hall. I couldn’t see anything … at first.

  I pointed as I saw a shadow growing from the other end of the corridor. “Look.”

  “Officer Brown?” Vanderburgh said in a booming voice. “Is that you?”

  The shadowy figure did not pause. The faint footfalls that echoed down to us grew louder.

  “Police!” Vanderburgh called out. “Whoever you are, get down on the ground, face down, with your hands behind your head.”

  As soon as the person spoke, I recognized his voice; there was no way I would forget it.

  “No,” Lawrence said. “You get on the ground.”

  He raised one leg and stomped his foot. The entire building shook violently enough that I almost lost my balance.

  As if the ceramic tiles on the floor of the hall were nothing more than water, a series of ripples raced toward us from where Lawrence stood.

  When the first wave reached us, the force of it knocked both of us off our feet.

  I landed badly, twisting my already sore knee, and cried out.

  Vanderburgh recovered quickly and was back up on his feet in a firing stance. He didn’t hesitate anymore, and didn’t give warning. In the space of a few seconds, he emptied the entire clip into Lawrence, who roared in pain and twisted in agony as each bullet slammed into him.