The Mayhem Children (A Project Specter Mystery Book 1)

by Paul Seiple

  Judith took a seat on the corner of her desk. “About the gun. It’s not registered to Mary English.”

  “Again, I don’t care. I don’t care how she got the gun. She had it, and she was going to shoot Terrence.”

  “She shot at me,” Terrence said. “Do I need to go point out the bullet holes from the crime scene?”

  “There was no gun residue on Mary English’s hands. I don’t have to tell you that’s damn near impossible if someone fired a gun,” Judith said.

  “What are trying to say, Judith?” Kim asked.

  “The gun was not registered to her. There is no residue on her hands suggesting she fired the weapon…”

  Kim cut Judith off. “This is bullshit. You know this was justified.”

  “Actually, I don’t, Strode.”

  “Do you really believe we planted a fucking gun and murdered an old woman?” Kim asked.

  “It’s not what I believe. It’s what her sister believes. It’s what the public believes,” Judith said. “I cannot give one good reason why you were at the English residence.”

  “We were doing a welfare check,” Terrence said.

  “Who called it in?” Judith asked.

  “We went to check on English because of the incidents that happened with the other families tied to the Silent Six case,” Terrence said.

  “I can’t believe we are really having to justify this with you,” Kim said.

  “Believe it. Look, I have an angry sister seeking retribution. I’m just doing my job. This isn’t personal.” Judith stood up, walked behind her desk, and eyed the bookcase filled with law books. “How much do you know about Elvin Hayes, Strode?”

  “What?”

  “Your father caught Hayes. What do you know about the case?” Judith asked.

  “Hayes is dead,” Terrence said. “That’s what we know.”

  Judith faced Kim. “I asked Strode, Simms.”

  “I know he was a sick bastard who murdered at least six children, and he got off easy,” Kim said.

  “Are you obsessed with Hayes like your father was?” Judith asked.

  “Fuck you. Leave my dad out of this. Tommy Lloyd murdered his family. Luke Barton drowned, and Mary English tried to kill Terrence. All of this is connected to Hayes somehow.”

  “You’re right, it is.” Judith said. “The gun found at Mary English’s house is a Bauer Automatic. It was reported stolen in 1974. It was found in a storage shed in 1976. The shed belonged to Elvin Hayes.”

  “How is that possible?” Terrence asked.

  “You tell me,” Judith said. “The gun has been in evidence inventory for the last forty years…until two days ago, when you claim Mary English tried to kill you with it.”

  “Are you suggesting we stole the gun from evidence and planted it at English’s house?” Kim asked. “Do you know how fucking ridiculous that sounds?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, Strode. I’m a fact-based person. And here are the facts as I see them. You had no good reason for going to Mary English’s house. The gun found at the residence was stolen from evidence. And Mary English has no traceable gun residue on her hands. It doesn’t take an expert to find the flaws in your recounting of the incident.”

  “Why would we do that?” Terrence asked.

  “Listen, I don’t believe you stole the gun. I believe Strode shot Mary English in self-defense. I’ve known you two for many years. You’re upstanding cops. But you have to understand, me vouching for you against this evidence is hard to believe.”

  “These days, everything is hard to believe,” Terrence said.

  “You’re quiet all of a sudden, Strode,” Judith said.

  “I know you don’t believe in the paranormal. But something really strange is happening to anyone connected to the Silent Six case. I’ve seen it myself,” Kim said.

  “What have you seen?” Judith asked.

  “I’m not really sure. I can’t explain it yet,” Kim said.

  “Right. Well, when you can, let me know, because I have no idea how I am going to keep this from going viral. Cops shoot seventy-three-old woman in her house, and they weren’t even called there,” Judith said. “I have another meeting. Stay invisible and don’t leave town.”

  Nineteen

  “Wanna play chess?” Sam Strode asked Don.

  “You’re too good for me. My ego cannot take another defeat,” Don said, pouring a cup of tea.

  “How about one of you ladies? Would you like to play?” Sam asked the two witches assigned to protect him.

  “It’s amazing. His cognitive skills are through the roof for a man of his age,” Debbie said. She paused and turned to Mason. “No offense.”

  “If one good thing comes from this, it’s apparent Sam Strode does not suffer from Alzheimer’s,” Mason said.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this?” Don asked Debbie.

  “Nothing this strong. I read about multiple attempts at conjuring The Mayhem, mostly out of curiosity, but it only took in that one instance, and we know how that turned out,” Debbie said. “The only way to stop it is to find the source. We need to do it fast. The longer it is in this world, the stronger it will get.”

  “What happens to the demons after they accomplish their goal? You know, like in the Lloyd case. He’s dead. What happened to that demon?” Sam asked, never looking up from the chess board.

  “You remember everything, don’t you, Mr. Strode?” Debbie asked.

  “Yep. And call me Sam. Don’t make me have to tell you again. I won’t forget.”

  “Well, Sam, the demons grow stronger. It’s possible the demon sent to haunt Tommy Lloyd has combined with the demon at the Tate house. That would explain why everyone, including those with no connection to Elvin Hayes, saw it,” Debbie said.

  “OK, so one that acts like the Carpenter boy is attached to me. I’m assuming one was attached to Lloyd and the Barton boy. Another to Bradley English. One to the Tate house. That makes five. Where’s the sixth one?” Sam asked.

  “It hasn’t shown itself. It could be attached to the conjurer,” Debbie said.

  “Why would one haunt the conjurer?” Sam asked.

  “Evil cannot be corralled, Sam. Once invited, demons have one purpose and that’s to serve Satan,” Debbie said. “The person who summoned the demons is in danger as well.”

  Mason took a seat across from Sam. “How did you catch Hayes? I cannot find a definitive answer.”

  “An anonymous tip. A woman called the precinct, asked for me, and told me Hayes was the one killing the children. She told me where to find him. I went and found Hayes and several items that belonged to the children. A red hat. A stuffed bear.”

  “A brown bear? About a foot long?” Mason asked.

  “I think so. Why?” Sam asked.

  “Something happened at the motel with the Tate family. A homeless man being used by one of the demons had a stuffed bear,” Mason said.

  “No shit? Well, it can’t be the same one. That bear is locked up in evidence,” Sam said.

  “Did it look like this?” Don asked, holding the bear from the motel.

  “Just like it,” Sam said. “Better lock that thing up just to be safe. Things are getting weirder,” Sam said.

  “You never learned of the caller’s identity?” Mason asked.

  “Never. The call came from a phone on the corner of Plymouth. There was a pretty hefty reward. She never tried to claim it,” Sam said.

  “Did Hayes mention any women in the interviews you did with him?” Debbie asked, pulling a chair next to Sam.

  “Plenty. Never by name, though. He hated women. Called them whores from Babylon. Hayes wouldn’t give a straight answer for anything. It was all a game to him. He didn’t look it, but he was the most intelligent criminal I ever came across. He was always two steps ahead of me, like he knew what I was going to say before I knew. He could read expressions. If it wasn’t for the anonymous call, I don’t think we would have caught him. He was too good.”
>
  “Hayes practiced black magic, right?” Debbie asked.

  “Practiced may be too strong of a word. More like dabbled in it. He knew enough to scare the hell out of anyone who would talk to him, but I’m not sure he ever successfully conjured anything,” Sam said.

  “This woman knew Hayes well. Possibly a girlfriend?” Mason asked.

  “It’s possible, but there was no sign that Hayes had any relationships whatsoever. The only slip he ever made, and I’m not sure it was an actual mistake, was when he let me know about a storage building he’d taking over on some land in Mount Holley. It was in the summer of ‘76, and Hayes had taken a backseat to the Son of Sam killings in the media. Slipping up about the building was another way to get his name on the news. Hayes loved attention.”

  “What did you find in the building?” Debbie asked.

  “Nothing of importance to the case other than a stolen gun. It could have been the murder weapon, but I doubt it. Hayes tortured those kids. He never came out and told me how. He didn’t have to; his crooked smile when the children were mentioned spoke volumes. A gun wouldn’t have been personal enough for him.”

  “That’s all that was there?” Debbie asked.

  “There was a bunch of stolen electronics—radios, speakers—I figure it’s how he made money. There was an old chest of drawers full of women’s panties and bras. Never knew if he collected them or wore them. I figure he stole those too,” Sam said.

  “Where are the undergarments now?” Mason asked.

  “Should still be in evidence. Everything from the case should be there,” Sam said.

  “Is there a way we can get panties to test for DNA?” Debbie said.

  “Kim may be able to get a pair,” Sam.

  “A pair of what?” Kim asked, walking into the museum with Terrence behind her.

  “Some panties from the Hayes case. They should still be in evidence,” Sam said.

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.” Kim poured a cup of tea. “Mary English used a stolen gun from evidence to try to kill us the other day.”

  “A Bauer Automatic?” Sam asked.

  “Yep,” Kim said. “We can’t get into evidence anyway.”

  “Hey, Don, did you lock that stuffed bear up?” Sam asked.

  Don waved as he placed the bear in an acrylic case.

  “If we’re caught near the precinct, Judith Richards will have us thrown in jail,” Terrence said.

  “I still have a few connections. I may be able to get them,” Sam said.

  “It’s not going to happen, Dad. Richards is going to have anything related to the Silent Six case locked down. Why do you need the panties?” Kim asked.

  “Debbie thinks we may be able to pull DNA from them and find the anonymous caller who tipped me off to Hayes,” Sam said.

  “She could be our link to who conjured The Mayhem,” Debbie said.

  Don stepped between Debbie and Sam and dropped a copy of The Devil Beside You on top of the chess board. “This could be a link too.”

  Sam eyed the book, catching the name Derek Gallagher. “Not that son-of-a-bitch. He’s a weasel.”

  “He may be, Sam. But Gallagher is one of the few links, outside of this room, to Elvin Hayes. It wouldn’t hurt to reach out,” Don said.

  “I’m not talking to that bastard. He made up quotes from me. Made up quotes about the children that Hayes didn’t say. You can’t trust Gallagher,” Sam said.

  Kim winced. “I may have already reached out to him.”

  Sam gave Kim the look. She knew the look well. It was of anger simmering beneath a layer of disappointment ready to erupt and spew curse words.

  “I read some of the book. I sent Gallagher an email,” Kim said.

  Gauging by the redness overtaking Sam’s cheeks, eruption was imminent.

  “He hasn’t responded,” Kim said.

  “I hope he keeps it that way,” Sam said.

  Twenty

  The dull ache pulsed through Derek Gallagher’s knuckles like the beat of a soft tribal drum. Not enough to wish death, but enough to remind him he wasn’t alone. Derek focused on the blank page in the notebook. He tried to steady his hand, but the pen danced, leaving dots on the page that resembled a Rorschach test more than a journal entry.

  Derek started keeping a journal of gratitude thirty years earlier after his book, The Devil Beside You, was published. The book was a runaway success, hitting the New York Times Bestseller list in its second week. A year later, the story was optioned for a television movie. Derek had a lot to be grateful for, and the journal reminded him of that every day.

  He was twenty-four years old when Sam Strode contacted him about being the only media witness to Elvin Hayes’ execution. It wasn’t luck that led Sam to Derek, who was known for thought-provoking but fair journalism. Fair was something rare in newspaper reporting. Viewership was the most important thing a piece could offer. If the truth got blurred along the way, that was fine. It was just a casualty of the media wars. Derek was different. He held truth above popularity. His character drew Sam to Derek. His character was the first thing Derek sacrificed after witnessing Hayes’ final moments.

  In a subtle way, the execution of America’s most evil villain possessed Derek. The change wasn’t caused by demons. It was greed. Derek saw an opportunity to cash in on something no one else was a witness to. He knew hardly anything about Elvin Hayes, so there needed to be a little embellishment to sell the story. There was plenty of truth in the book, but sometimes truth on its own isn’t that interesting.

  Greed’s possession succumbed to guilt after Derek’s character regained its composure from fame’s sucker punch. The only way Derek knew to atone for his sins was through gratitude. Each morning, Derek would watch the birds frolic on his twenty acres of land in Northern Virginia from his kitchen window. He wrote down three things he was thankful for, and at night, four more. It had to total seven. Derek wasn’t superstitious, but the number seven was powerful. He didn’t want to take any chances. Derek cheated to get what he had. One day, karma would come calling.

  A chill stabbed his spine, causing Derek to lash out at the air. It was a hot day, pushing ninety. Derek had the heat on with the thermostat set at eighty. The cold was relentless. He clutched a blanket, grabbing the corners with his aching fingers, wrapped it around his neck, and prayed his other hand would steady enough to write his daily gratitudes.

  “I know you’re here. Please, just leave me alone. I’m sorry for lying about you,” Derek said.

  Silence. The only response was another chill that ate through the blanket like starving moths tearing at the fabric.

  “If you’re going to kill me, just do it. I cannot take any more of this,” Derek said.

  There was a prick against the back of his right hand, followed by a tingle that spread to his fingers, which grew icy cold. Derek’s hand moved under some invisible control. The pen pressed against the paper.

  What fun is it in killing you? The pleasure is in watching you suffer.

  Derek gasped as something punched against his neck. He dropped the blanket and reached for his throat with his left hand. His right hand felt as though it was encased in concrete against the journal. More words appeared on the page.

  And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die.

  Derek knew the line was taken from Genesis 3: The Fall. The serpent lies and tells Eve it’s all right to eat the fruit. This was his punishment for letting greed corrupt him. The pressure against his windpipe eased, allowing him to speak.

  “I deserve the pain. I sinned,” Derek said.

  The pen freed itself from Derek’s grip and plunged into the back of his hand. He wailed. The sound of a child laughing followed.

  “Stop being a baby. It’s a lot better than being nailed to a cross.”

  Derek shifted his focus from the pain to see a little girl sitting in an antique rocking chair on the back porch. Clumps of dried mud hid most of her features and her brown hair tangled in knots. He
r lips were void of color. Her open mouth was a black hole.

  Derek ripped the pen from his hand, speckling the notebook with blood. The little girl laughed, filling the room with the smell of sulfur, robbing Derek of breath. A small greenish-yellow snake slithered from the girl’s mouth and over her lips.

  “You will beg for death. It will come slow.” The voice was much deeper than that of a little girl.

  Derek felt a prick against his forearm. He slapped at the sensation. After a few seconds, two tiny marks appeared, followed by two drops of blood. Derek’s arm began to burn. Heat raced throughout his body like molten lava pushing through his arteries, heading straight for his heart. His joints felt like they were tearing free from bone. Derek coughed. More blood splattered on the notebook and table.

  “The venom of the innocent will cleanse your soul of your treachery to the Father.” The demon used the voice of a little girl again.

  “Please, Lord, forgive me,” Derek said.

  “Not that father, silly goose.” The girl laughed. “The true Father.”

  Derek couldn’t respond. The pain was too intense. He placed his hands on his face and pressure from behind his eyes tried to force them out.

  “Move your hands,” the demon said.

  Derek ignored its command.

  “Fine.”

  An icy grip cut the heat of Derek’s flesh and grabbed his wrists. The shock of the sudden cold numbed the pain. It seemed to numb Derek’s heartbeat as well. He struggled to catch a breath. The grip tightened on his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. His eyes bulged. The little girl stood face-to-face with Derek. She opened her mouth, assaulting Derek with the stench of death. The snake slithered from the black hole between her lips and sidewinded Derek’s cheek to his ear. The girl whispered,

  “Our father who aren’t in Heaven, hallowed be thy game. For we are the six sons and daughters who the bring The Mayhem in his name.”

  Peace fell over Derek. The pain lifted from his body. The room was calm. He thought he had died until the blood spatter on the page formed the words “The Mayhem.”

  Derek shoved the notebook to the floor.