Scarecrow Field

by John Stone

  **

  Half-an-hour of driving around the neighborhood produced no leads for the detectives. It made Damianos cringe to think about the worst possible scenarios. It was likely that Peter was a target, just like Lamont and Eric had been. Peter going missing was most definitely not a coincidence.

  Just as they were about to turn back to the Barrow house, Dominos’ attention fell to some men gathered at the nearby park's entrance.

  Slowing down, they stop by the police officer among the men. Damianos made sure to flash his badge so the officer would come running.

  “Detectives,” the officer said respectfully. “You better look inside the public washroom. Something very bad might be going on.”

  The officer led them toward the washroom, trying to fill them in with necessary information as they walked.

  “The cleaning crew,” the officer pointed to the two men behind him. “They were about to start their chores when they saw...”

  Damianos didn't even listen to the rest of the explanation and rushed toward the restroom. For all he knew, they had just found Peter's body. They had just found another mutilated corpse, flesh peeled off of its bones for no adamant reason. They had just let another young man down.

  No.

  Bloody rags littered the floor—thankfully, Peter Barrow was nowhere to be seen.

  **

  Damianos would have preferred if Alan Davros could come down and work his forensic magic but he was still tied up at the “scarecrow” sites. He was wrapping up his evidence collection with his team but was willing to wait for Damianos to drop off the evidence bag at the lab. So instead, Damianos pulled on a pair of latex gloves and put the rags into an evidence bag.

  Once Damianos got some of Peter's DNA from a toothbrush or clothing, he would have Alan compare the DNA from the blood on the rags with something of Peter's.

  “We're not sure of anything yet so there's absolutely still hope.” John Avers said to Peter Barrow's parents.

  “We're worried, detective,” Mrs. Barrow said. “Peter is a bit gullible sometimes. He would have followed anyone if they were promising to show him rare birds somewhere.”

  That's concerning. Damianos thought but remained silent, leaving to duty to help keep the parents calm to his partner.

  **

  It was early the following morning when Damianos was awakened by a phone call from Alan Davros. His voice sounded as chipper as it usually did. Damianos wasn't exactly sure how Alan always remained so upbeat but it was always appreciated.

  “So I've got some new info for you, pal.” Alan's voice sang.

  “Lay it one me.” Damianos said with a yawn.

  “Well—to be blunt—the DNA on the rags definitely belongs to Peter Barrow.”

  Any tiredness Damianos had been feeling was exorcised from his body and he was up like a shot. With lightning speed, Damianos took a shower, got dressed, and called Sheriff Anderson. The sheriff was already at his desk. After hearing Dominos’ report about Peter Barrow's disappearance, he did nothing but nod.

  “I'll go around the farms this morning,” Sheriff Anderson said. “We'll call you back if we see anything like a scarecrow that shouldn't be there.”

  Damianos couldn't wait for the sheriff's report. He was far too anxious and used that energy to go to the north of town where the first two boys were found.

  While he and John drove the fifteen miles it took to reach the first farm, Damianos couldn't help his mind from falling back on previous thoughts. The cruelty and brutality of the killings was still difficult to wrap his head around.

  There must have been some kind of jealousy between the perp and the victims. So many possibilities to consider.

  The one he was leading toward was that they may have gone to school with whoever was responsible for the killings.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Damianos knew it was a bad sign when Sheriff Anderson asked them to meet him at a nearby farm. Sure enough, from where he now stood on the porch of the farm house, he could see the third human scarecrow strung up in the field—Peter Barrow had been found.

  “The owners of this property are gone on a trip to visit their daughter in Arizona before harvest times comes around. Sounded like they were having a good time when I told them the bad news.” Sheriff Anderson said solemnly.

  “Nothing like a murder to put a damper on a vacation.” Damianos said, his attention still drawn to the scarecrow.

  “They're on their way home as we speak.”

  Damianos decided to take a walk out into the field, making some necessary phone calls as he approached the scarecrow.

  The first on his list was Dr. James Darby and as expected, Dr. Darby wasn't too happy to have to make another trip out to the farmland.

  “Another body, then?” Darby's voice sounded tired. “This makes three, detective. I was really hoping I wouldn't have to get up close and personal with human bird food after the second.”

  “I know, doc,” Damianos looked up at the horrifying scarecrow. “They say living in a nice quiet area is a lot safer than in the big city...clearly that's not exactly one hundred percent true.”

  “This killer has to be stopped,” Darby said, anger piercing through his sighs. “These are just young men—boys, really—had their whole lives ahead of them. I'll be there as soon as possible and will work round the clock on this one if I have to.”

  “Thanks, doc.”

  Damianos hung up the call and then dialed Alan Davros' number. He wasn't surprised that Alan had been expecting the call and was already in the area, just to be prepared in case the third murder did become a reality. He wanted to be on the scene as quickly as possible and Damianos really appreciated that. He may have been a little happy-go-lucky, but Alan was undeniably good at his job.

  While Damianos had been making his calls, John and Sheriff Anderson had come out into the field to also take another look at the victim. They stood beside Damianos silently staring up at the mutilated body of Peter Barrow.

  The “scarecrow” was set up just as the first two had been—attached to the comb gibbet with a pitchfork impaled into his chest. It was a sight none of them would probably ever forget for the rest of their lives. Peter Barrow's flesh hadn't been quite as picked apart yet as his predecessors but it was haunting thinking that the scarecrow was once a living person. Nobody deserved to have their bodies desecrated and left out for animals to feast upon.

  Damianos looked beneath the body to the wooden gibbet that protruded from the ground.

  “The gibbets...they're not already a part of the fields, are they?” Damianos asked. “It's not as if the killer is replacing an actual scarecrow with the bodies, right?”

  “The fields have had no actual scarecrows put up so the killer must be putting the gibbets up.” John said.

  Damianos stretched his arms over his head in thought. Where would someone find the wood and be skilled enough to construct a gibbet? It was simple construction but the builder would need the tools and equipment to assemble it and a truck to transport it to the field, since it was doubtful they carried it out there on their back.

  In fact, to hoist the body to the gibbet or even to raise it after they'd attached the body to it—it couldn't be done alone.

  “Our killer isn't alone.”

  The words felt right when leaving Dominos’ mouth. It was a chilling theory but it was the only thing that made sense. It wasn't possible for one person to deal with so much heavy lifting at once to put the crime scenes together.

  “Whoever they are, it has to be personal for them. Personal enough to make these big displays for everyone to see...” Damianos said.

  “So, we're looking for at least two perps, probably strong men, bent on killing intelligent boys then.” John Avers concluded.

  “Most likely.” Damianos said with a nod.

  However, there had to be more to it than that. The two killers were very clearly not amateurs. To be able to not only kill, but then set up the bodies without being noticed
was actually rather impressive. They may have even done something like this before.

  The choice of using a gibbet was interesting, for one thing. It separated them from a great majority of the population, even, since not everyone knew about a “comb gibbet”. Even those who did, didn't know how deep such a gibbet would need to be planted for it not to fall forward once a body was attached to it.

  Another thought suddenly came to Damianos and he looked down at the foot of the gibbet where it had pierced into the solid earth below. Once the crime lab boys arrived and took the gibbet out of the ground, he would want to know if an auger had drilled the hole to plant the gibbet.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The end of the day came with Alan's report: “an auger was used to drill all three gibbet holes.”

  It was good to hear a new potential lead and Damianos began planning how to find a couple of men who would have access to that sort of equipment. It wasn't something that would usually be found any common man's tool shed.

  The precision and efficiency with which the murders had been carried out worried Damianos. The killings were far from sloppy so he called Captain Wallace with a somewhat unusual request.

  “I'd like your permission to call the Feds, captain.”

  “Never thought I'd hear you say those words, Russell. Didn't know the great 'tamer' ever needed help on any case, especially not from those S.O.B.'s.” Captain Wallace said through the phone.

  “I usually wouldn't,” Damianos said. “I have a bad feeling, though. This case may be a whole lot bigger than us. I just have to make sure this isn't something that has happened anywhere else. The killings seem smart, as if the killers have had practice.”

  “That's a scary thought. What exactly will you be asking the feds?”

  “If there have been any cases were similar comb gibbets have been used throughout the country. For some reason, these killers are targeting boys with high IQ's. It's been the same method with all three. We're going from pattern killers to serial killers and who knows if it's only been around here.”

  “Understood,” Captain Wallace said calmly. “You have my permission to contact the Feds. Their assistance could definitely help get this case solved...but promise me this, Russell...I don't want them taking over. This case is ours. Make that very clear to them. They won't be getting any accolades when all is said and done. This is our case and our detectives leading it.”

  “We're not giving up the case, understood.” Damianos said though crossed his fingers just a little as he did.

  It wasn't that he wanted to hand the case over to the Feds, absolutely not...but unlike the captain, Damianos was willing to bargain a little bit. He was willing to give the Feds some bread crumbs as long as they gave him any helpful information in return.

  The killings reeked of experience and he was determined to find out just where that came from.

  **

  As expected, the Feds tried desperately to wiggle their way into taking the lead in the case but Damianos wouldn't have it. They tried vetting him for whatever he had and he was willing to give them some information, but left it relatively vague.

  “This case is important to us,” Special Agent Silverstone said from the other end of the phone. “I don't see why we should give you anything if you aren't willing to work with us.”

  “I know what 'work with us' means, agent,” Damianos said defiantly at his phone. “I'm willing to actually work with you but as far as the most recent killings go, I'm in charge of the investigation until you get the authority to dictate otherwise. Now we can keep playing this tug of war over who's in charge or you can tell me what I need to know and maybe save more lives!”

  John Avers and Sheriff Anderson stood nearby and couldn't help but smile at Dominos’ defiance.

  There was silence for a moment on the other end of the phone that was followed by an audible groan of annoyance.

  “Detective, let's make a deal.”

  That was a lot closer to what Damianos wanted to hear.

  “We'll provide you any of the information you need,” Special Agent Silverstone said. “As long as you do not butt in when it comes to serving warrants on the suspects for the other crimes that may have been committed outside of San Diego. Everything that's been going on there—like you made so very clear—is your case. What happened outside of your turf, isn't. Sounds fair, right?”

  Damianos contemplated the proposal. He knew it was about as close to a fair compromise he was going to get from the Feds. They'd never give him all the credit for bringing down the killers, after all—but that didn't really matter to him.

  All that mattered was bringing down the two sadists...any semantics could wait.

  “Sounds fair, agent,” Damianos finally said. “First thing's first, we need to identify these guys.”

  “Hm,” Silverstone said. “We'll send over a profiler who might be able to help with that...”

  “Good,” Damianos threw a thumbs up to John and Sheriff Anderson. “We could use any help we can get. Thank you for your assistance, agent.”

  **

  Speaking to Peter Barrow's parents was a much different experience the second time around. The first time, they had been concerned for their missing son but there was certainly still hope in their eyes—now there was nothing but tears. Damianos tried his best to keep them composed long enough to be able to ask them some more questions.

  “Did you see anything out of the ordinary recently, before all of this happened?” Damianos asked.

  Mrs. Barrow was too inconsolable to speak so her husband did in her stead.

  “Peter talked to a couple of fellows about the aviary he was wanted to build out in the back of the property. There were two of them.” Mr. Barrow said.

  Mrs. Barrow's attention perked up from where she sobbed on the couch and she looked at Damianos with utter devastation.

  “I saw them too,” she said through sobs. “Maybe once or twice...but I could describe them...I know I could.”

  “We'll bring in a sketch artist, then,” Damianos nodded assuredly. “While you wait, just try to remember everything you can about what they looked like. Any little detail could be very helpful. Thank you and I'm so very sorry for your loss.”

  **

  When Damianos and John Avers returned to the precinct, they were met by another pair of grieving parents—Eric, the second victim's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bosch. They looked just as heartbroken and the Barrows had.

  “I'm sorry for not being able to pay you a visit earlier,” Damianos said. “It's been a rather difficult few days, as you know, and I'm more than happy to be able to talk to you now.”

  The conversation was filled with hysteric sadness and confusion, as expected, and then some interesting insight came forward a little while into it.

  “Eric was a born financier,” Mr. Bosch said. “He always watched the stock market, stock exchanges. He had big aspirations, detectives.”

  Damianos could see the pain and loss in the father's eyes, as his legacy had been taken from him in such a horrifying manner.

  “While I know this is hard, I can't actually imagine the pain you two must be feeling right now. This shouldn't have happened...it really shouldn't have. I can't bring back your son but I can try and stop this from happening to anyone else. I know it won't fix things but I hope it brings you even a little comfort know that we have some good leads from the FBI and are hoping to make an arrest very soon. Thank you for your time and, again, I'm very sorry for your loss.”

  Damianos hated only being able to give his condolences to victims' families. It felt like a much better gesture to bring their son's killers to justice—and that's exactly what he planned to do.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The FBI profiler who had been sent to assist them, Hunter Douglas, was a friendlier man than Damianos had expected from a Fed but he was happy to have him aboard. Their sketch artist, Cynthia Burne had also arrived and gotten a description from Mrs. Barrow of the two men she had seen. Working
together, Hunter and Cynthia managed to come up with what were hopefully accurate depictions, appearance and personality-wise, of the killers.

  According to Hunter's observations, they were probably some of the best intellectuals in the country but if Cynthia's sketches were anything to go by, they were far from their prime of youth. It was Hunter's theory that they may be wanting to punish any exceedingly intelligent youths, to try and stop them from someday supplanting them with modern knowledge and technology. They would do anything to keep their place as intellectual minds by getting rid of any competition. In short, they didn't want to be made obsolete by young minds.

  It was Special Agent Silverstone, though, who provided even more essential information.

  “From the sketches your lovely Ms. Burne made, we have possibly found matches to their description—two industrialists living in Oregon—Daniel Anders and Frank Capelins.”

  “That's interesting...but is there anything that really points to them specifically?” Damianos asked.

  “We did some further digging to make sure the match wasn't skin-deep. There's been a strange bit of a coincidence around these gentlemen. It's almost as if death follows them wherever they go.”

  “That's beautiful poetry, agent.” Damianos said, folding his arms.

  “Well it writes itself,” Silverstone said. “After all, every time they've moved in the last ten years, there have been boys tortured and put to death in the area. I highly doubt that it's a coincidence, wouldn't you agree, detectives?”

  Damianos and John nodded in agreement. It was undeniably suspicious timing.

  “So scarecrows were found in those areas?” Damianos asked.

  “No, not scarecrows,” Silverstone said, straightening his tie. “The modus operandi doesn't seem to be so apparent or set in stone...though there are some patterns in the deaths. For example, sons of fishermen were harpooned or dropped in a shark infested tank; sons and daughters of chemists or with parents in the medical field were poisoned with a nerve agent. And now...sons of farmers being impaled by pitchforks and strung up like scarecrows. They seem to enjoy connecting the deaths to the legacy of the parents--”