by Robin Mahle
19
THE CALL HAD come when Agent Scarborough arrived in Oceanside and now it was time for Marshall and Agent Jameson to catch up to Shaun Hudson.
“The kid should be getting out of his first class of the morning. Should we head over to the campus and pick him up?” Marshall said.
“Sounds good. You want me to track down Ms. Reid?” Jameson asked.
“No. I think you and I should handle this. I’m not sure she needs to be there. The guy might get a little aggressive and she doesn’t need to be around that.”
Jameson shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. You ready to go?”
Marshall grabbed his keys, leading the way towards the front of the station.
The doors of his car were unlocked remotely and Marshall tossed his coat into the backseat, sliding behind the wheel. Jameson entered the front passenger side.
“Nice car.”
“Thanks. Just a little beefed up from the standard department-issued Ford, but I like it.”
“So, you were the one who worked with Scarborough to find the man who kidnapped Katie?” Jameson asked without hesitation.
“Yep. That’s me. Scarborough’s a hell of an agent. You’re lucky to be working with him.”
Jameson gripped the handle above the passenger door window. “He is. I don’t think the guy actually sleeps, though. He’s probably one of the most dedicated agents that I’ve had the pleasure of working with.”
“I hear you may get a break on the case in Phoenix?” Marshall pulled into the south parking lot of the campus.
“It might be another day or two, I don’t know, but yeah, we got a sample that didn’t match the victim and they’re running it through CODIS and we’re praying for a hit.”
“Let’s hope you get it before the next victim.” Marshall looked at Hudson’s class schedule. “According to this, he should be in building C104. I say we wait for him to come out.”
Jameson nodded, opening the passenger door. “I could get used to this weather.” He placed the sunglasses on his face. “If I was at home right now, I’d be scraping ice off my windshield and raking up a pile of leaves from my driveway.”
“Where’s home?” Marshall asked, closing the driver’s side door.
“Alexandria.” Jameson straightened his tie, smoothing it over his shirt. “There’s building C over there.”
The two made their way to the building and stood outside. It would be another twenty minutes before Hudson was due to finish. Marshall retrieved his cell phone and began scrolling through his emails. So far, nothing from Katie. She’d been left out of the loop with regards to Hudson and Lewis Branson. It wouldn’t sit well with her and it was only a matter of time before he would hear about it. But there were times when her involvement might lead to situations he’d rather not put her in. This was one of those times.
Gibbons had let her go off on her own to talk with Hudson the other day. Marshall wasn’t happy about that and felt that Gibbons had put her at risk. Katie wasn’t a trained officer. If something had gone wrong, if Hudson had turned violent, she would have had zero protection. Was he the only one who understood that fact?
Jameson glanced at the time. “Kid should be coming out now.”
They stood watch outside the double doors, waiting for Hudson. There was another exit on the opposite side, but they took their best guess assuming that Hudson would head out this way towards his next class, kitty-corner to the building they were at now.
Hudson emerged through the doors and didn’t spot them at first. Marshall quickly approached.
“Shaun Hudson?” He already had his badge out.
Hudson was clearly startled by the unexpected presence of a cop. His face turned a sickly pale and he looked as though he might faint at any moment.
“I’m Detective Marshall Avery with San Diego Police and this is FBI Special Agent Dwight Jameson.”
Jameson pulled his badge. “We would like to question you about your relationship with Edward Shalot, the man in custody for the murder of Lindsay Brown.” Jameson stepped towards the kid.
“Okay, okay. You don’t need to put cuffs on me. I’ll go with you and answer anything you need.” Shaun noticed a growing number of students hanging nearby.
“You’re not under arrest, Mr. Hudson. Not yet. This way, please.” Marshall placed a hand on his shoulder and pointed him in the direction of the parking lot.
***
“Look, I’m telling you, I don’t know anything about Shalot other than what you already know.” Hudson leaned against Marshall’s car.
“You work in Student Records, is that right?” Marshall asked.
“Yes.”
“We know you gave Shalot the files of another student, but what we really need to know is who instructed you to falsify his transcripts so that he could attend this school?”
In that moment, a call came in on Marshall’s cell. He retrieved the phone and noticed it was Katie. “I gotta take this.” He stepped away from the car while Jameson continued with Hudson.
“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was heading to see Hudson with Agent Jameson.”
But before he could continue, she stopped him.
“You’re with Shaun Hudson now? Oh my God. Detective Gibbons just forwarded me an email from the officer working on the phone records from the news station. Said he was in the middle of talking to Branson and asked me to look into his findings.”
“Go on.”
“It’s Shaun Hudson, Marshall. Just like we thought. He’s the one who’s been passing along the information, trying to point us to Shalot.”
“Son of a bitch.” Marshall looked over his shoulder. “He’s the goddamn source? Shit.” He rubbed his head, thinking of how he was going to handle this.
“Marshall?”
“Yeah. I’m here. He works to get Shalot into the school and now he’s handing over everything he can to convict him? I gotta go sort through this. Agent Jameson’s talking to him now. I need to get back over there. I’ll call you later.” Marshall ended the call and walked back towards them. “I hear you like to gamble, Shaun.”
Hudson looked at him. “Sometimes, yeah. Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. Not everyone.” Marshall looked to Jameson, trying to convey that he was onto something. “You owe anyone money right now?”
“No. Look, I don’t know what you heard about me, but I told Agent Jameson that I didn’t make up any transcripts to get Edward Shalot into this school. I mean, shit, I don’t have that kind of authority to get into those systems.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter much right now, but I did just get some very interesting information. Why don’t you tell me about your relationship with that reporter from Channel 9 – what’s his name? Marc Aguilar?”
At this, Shaun Hudson lost all color and couldn’t swallow the lump that had risen in his throat.
“Come on, Shaun. I know you were working to put the blame on Shalot for the death of Lindsay Brown, feeding Aguilar all sorts of dirty secrets about him, but what I don’t know is why, or who directed you to do it,” Marshall continued.
“We know you and Shalot are involved in some group led by a guy named Lewis Branson,” Jameson said.
Hudson’s eyes momentarily widened at the mention of Branson. “It’s just some stupid game. That’s all it is. No one takes the shit seriously. We get our rocks off once in a while and laugh and joke around. The whole thing is based on some great cosmic joke.”
“Tell that to the victims of the, what do you call it, Law of Five?” Marshall moved in close. “Enough of the lies, kid. You and I both know you gave Shalot a false background. Made it look like he graduated from Connecticut. Then decided it was okay to hand over the personal records of a student to him. A student who also happens to work for the San Diego Police. A student who happens to be my fucking girlfriend.” Marshall grabbed the neck of Hudson’s t-shirt. “Now tell me who instructed you to set him up? Was it Branson? Did you owe him money and he said you�
��d be even so long as you hand over some useful information to that reporter?”
“Hey! Avery, back the fuck up. What the hell is wrong with you, man?”
“Someone directed this guy to create a false identity for Shalot.” Marshall tugged on his jacket, realizing he had lost his temper. “I want to know who. Is Lewis Branson after Katie Reid?”
“You better talk, man. I can only do so much,” Jameson warned.
Hudson straightened his shirt, his hands still trembling. “I started visiting this online chat room. I was just curious; experimenting, you know? I’m a history major and, at the time, we were studying the founder of the Illuminati.
“Anyway, I was just playing around on the internet and came across this off-shoot of the Illuminati’s ‘New World Order,’ called Discordianism. I thought it was kind of cool; the whole chaos and theory of how everything occurs in fives and shit. So I found this chat room where the members hung out. I got to know some of them.
“About a year or so ago, I went to one of their meetings. It was more like a rally. That’s where I first met Shalot and Lewis Branson. He was kind of like the leader, only there really is no leader. It’s complicated.”
Marshall was ready to punch the kid, but continued to wait for him to reveal something that might actually be of use.
“I was just hired on at the school Admin office and was getting ready to start my second year. I was blown away by the things Branson was talking about. The order of chaos and the Greek goddess Eris. The whole Law of Fives, where everything is related to five. It’ll blow your mind.”
This time, it was Agent Jameson who appeared to be losing his patience. “Look, you better start telling us something that has to do with why you made up those records and started handing stuff off to that reporter. Did Branson pay you to do it? Give you a little seed money for poker?”
“Branson knew I liked to gamble. He also knew that I was having some recent financial troubles as a result. I like to play poker with the guys once in a while and sometimes the cards go against me.” Hudson looked to the men, who appeared to be at the end of their rope. “I knew of Edward Shalot from the rally and Branson asked that I help him get into this school a while back. I didn’t ask why. I just took the money. He offered me five grand to enter fake transcripts into the school’s system. I mean, I didn’t know the guy had a thing for that chick who had been all over the news last year.”
Jameson cast a look to Marshall, as if ensuring he wasn’t about to lunge at the kid.
“I just took the money and did what I was told. Then, just before Lindsay Brown died, Branson asked me to help him out on some other stuff and said he would make it worth my while. Like making sure you all found out that Shalot wasn’t a stand-up guy. That he liked to hurt women.” Hudson shook his head. “Look, am I going to jail for this?”
“Did you two hang out with other people who followed Branson?” Marshall asked.
“Sometimes. Yeah. But it’s not like it was my whole life or something. Shalot was more into it than I was. He would try to drag me to swingers clubs, strip clubs, whatever, to try and find women who were interested in the lifestyle. But me? Look, I’m not gonna lie. The parties they threw were pretty freakin’ awesome. But, it was just a side thing for me. That’s all. Shalot took personal offense to anyone who wasn’t into it.”
“Offense enough that he might kill for it?” Marshall asked.
Hudson cast his eyes upwards towards the men hovering over him. “I guess.”
***
Agent Scarborough pulled up to Lewis Branson’s home that he was renting from a retired couple who now lived in Florida, according to Myers’ information.
“This is it.” Nick cut the engine. “Let’s have a look around.”
They stepped out of the car, approaching the front of the house in a casual, non-threatening manner, although no one appeared to be out and about that might take any notice. It was midday on a Wednesday and this was clearly a working-class area. Most would likely be at work right about now.
Nick cupped his hands over the front window and leaned in. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
“No car in the driveway either,” Myers said. “I’m assuming he lives alone.”
Detective Gibbons was the first to try the front door. “Locked.” Without waiting for further direction, he took to moving around the side of the house towards the gate. He stood on his tip toes to peer over it and spotted a padlock on the other side. No way in there either.
As he stepped back, Gibbons landed on a large stone, causing his ankle to twist. “Son of a bitch!” He knelt down to rub the pain away. That was when he noticed the narrow window covered in what looked like black fabric. The outside of the window was covered in filth and partially obscured by the dirt and grass from the side yard. “Hey!” he shouted.
Nick and Agent Myers appeared from the front of the home; both jogged to meet him.
“You all right?” Myers asked.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just twisted my ankle.” He pointed to the window. “This place has a basement.”
Nick squatted down to get a better look. “It’s blacked out.” He reached out and pushed on it, but the window didn’t budge. He looked back to Gibbons and knew what he had to do next.
Nick got on both knees, ignoring the dirt and grass that would stain his otherwise perfectly pressed black pants. Using both hands, he pulled on the window frame. It was an old style aluminum frame that had a crank on the inside to open it and it had clearly been neglected over the years. The frame shifted inside the concrete that surrounded it. Nick turned to Gibbons and smiled. “The owner should really get this fixed.” He pulled on it a little more, careful not to shatter the glass, and the frame slowly edged out of its opening.
Myers lowered a hand and helped Gibbons back to his feet. “Don’t think that I’m even remotely small enough to slip through that space.”
“Come on. You can squeeze through that, no problem,” Gibbons said jokingly.
“No one’s going in. I just want to get a look inside.” Nick bent down further, leaning his head in as far as it would go, which wasn’t far. The window opening wasn’t more than eight inches tall, at best. The house had been built before current laws dictated that basements have a window well with a ladder for emergency escape. This window probably did nothing more than allow the basement to flood after a good rain on occasion.
“Holy shit.” Nick pulled his head out. “We need to call for backup now!”
“What? What is it?” Myers asked.
“Screw backup. Knock the damn door down!” Gibbons said. “What the hell’s in there?” He hobbled back to the front entrance, Scarborough and Myers following behind.
“What are you doing?” Myers asked. “I’m gonna call Oceanside PD now.”
“Just hold up.” Gibbons turned to Nick. “What exactly did you see in there? A dead body?”
“No. The place is covered in red paint. Go have a look for yourself.” Nick turned to Myers. “That symbol is all over the walls.”
“What symbol?” Gibbons asked.
“The V that’s been carved on all the victims’ bodies. Same one that was carved into Lindsay Brown.”
“Jesus!” Gibbons picked up a planter that had been placed on the porch and tossed it through the front window.
“What the hell are you doing?” Meyers said. “We need to let the local authorities know we’re here.”
Gibbons looked around. “Oh, I’m sure one of the neighbors will call after hearing that.” He pulled his sleeve over his hand and cleared the glass in order to step over the frame. Once inside, he opened the front door. “Let’s go have a look inside that basement.”
“You’re bat-shit crazy, you know that?” Myers walked through the door.
“Maybe. But this is a hell of a lot faster than waiting for PD to get here. You both said yourselves that we were running out of time before another murder happens. Maybe we just prevented that.”
; The basement door in the kitchen was bolted shut. “Someone doesn’t want anyone down there,” Scarborough said. “Or they don’t want anyone down there to get out.”
In that moment, a faint, but noticeable scream drifted from beyond the door.
“Did you hear that?” Scarborough used the butt of his gun to break the lock and unlatch the bolt. He led the way down the dark staircase.
Myers found the switch, but Nick had already reached the bottom. The room illuminated in an instant.
“What the fuck?” Gibbons hopped down the steps on one leg as the room revealed itself to him.
The walls were covered with symbols. Pentagons with images and more symbols inside them. They had seen these before. And the V was everywhere, spray painted in blood-red.
“The photograph of Branson at the rally; the background looked almost the same,” Myers said.
“Hello? Is there anyone in here?” Nick yelled. It looked as though there was just the one room, but where had the voice come from?
There it was again.
“Over here.” Myers ran to the wall on the right side. “There has to be an opening here somewhere.”
Scarborough and Gibbons joined her.
The voice continued. It belonged to a woman, one who was clearly terrified.
“Nick, over here,” Myers said. “This door—she’s inside.”
The small door where Myers stood could only house something along the lines of a sump pump system or maybe a small storage area.
“It’s locked.” Myers turned the handle. “This is the FBI. Are you okay?” she shouted through the door.
“Get me out of here!” the woman yelled.
Nick again worked to break the lock. This one proved easier than the door at the top of the stairs. He proceeded to open the door with caution, unsure of what he would find behind it.
Inside was a woman, her hands bound to a pipe that disappeared into the concrete floor.
“You’re okay. I’m with the FBI. You’re going to be fine.” Nick moved in towards her and examined the cuffs. “Gibbons, call for backup. Tell them to bring bolt cutters.”