Chapter Six
‘His heart was pounding, and
he lowered his weapon when
suddenly he felt an arm reach
out and grab him by the throat,
disarming him with the other hand.’
It was a quiet night at Coston Middle School. Jonnie Stokes had just put his flashlight on his desk after doing his rounds of the school grounds and buildings; it was just past midnight. He had taken the graveyard security shift to make ends meet while he was finishing up his senior year of college. He pulled up his belt, and his pepper spray canister fell to the floor. He reached down to pick up the canister as it rolled across the floor, and a shadow rose up from behind him. He went to make a defensive move, but it was too late.
When they had gotten situated in the lab, Steve had everyone sit down. He looked at the young faces staring back at him. This was a whole new generation of field and special agents. He was feeling old looking at the faces of twenty somethings. “Okay, before we get into the history of The Iron Eagle, by a show of hands, how many of you have JD degrees.” Six of Steve’s team members raised their hands. “How many of you have a masters degree or higher in accounting?” The other four hands went up. Jim snickered, “No wonder you can’t catch a killer.” Steve snarled at him, but Jim was unmoved and asked, “What do you call 100 lawyers at the bottom of the sea?” The question was met with silence. “A good start,” he laughed. Steve just shook his head. “No lawyer jokes tonight, Jim.” He got quiet and sat down in a corner of the room; the story of The Eagle never got old.
“Janet just asked a great question about how The Iron Eagle killer got his nickname. Does anyone in this room know the answer?” Before Jim could finish clearing his throat, Steve shot him a look. “Anyone other than Jim…who better keep his mouth shut.” Bob Walters raised his hand. He had more seniority than anyone else in the room. “Bob.” He stood up. “Well, the way I understand it, it started off as a joke out at the Camp Pendleton Marine Corps base in San Diego in early 1999.” Steve nodded, “So what’s the story as you know it, Bob?” “There was a Marine who was found murdered in his barracks. It was an extremely violent killing with no apparent motive.” “What made the killing so violent?” Steve sat back in his chair. “The killer had stripped the victim, and he was found face down with an iron fireplace poker sticking out of his rectum.” “What’s the significance of the poker?” “That’s how the nickname originated. There was an eagle’s head on the handle protruding out of the victim. It was a hooked poker, and one of the investigators from the JAG’s office made a joke about the poker and The Eagle’s head.” Steve remained relaxed in his chair, “So is that it? Is that the whole story of how The Eagle got his nickname?” Bob shook his head. “No…a few weeks after the killing, the JAG’s office received a manila envelope with a written confession in the dead soldier’s handwriting. The note confessed to the rape and murder of several young boys from the San Diego and Los Angeles areas. A search of missing persons at the time turned up the names, and the confession gave detailed directions to all of their remains. The bodies were found in shallow graves in the deserts outside of San Diego and on the base. The autopsy report on the soldier reported that he had died as a result of blunt force trauma.” “Well, then what was the deal with the poker?” Jim got a smile on his face as Bob continued. “The medical examiner determined that the poker had been inserted into the victim’s rectum while he was still alive, and that the poker had been heated to nearly 900 degrees based on the cauterizing effects on the bowel.” “So, in essence, it cooked his colon.” “Yea…” “Anything else about the case at the time?” Bob shook his head and sat down.
Jim stood up and Steve didn’t try to stop him. “I was one of the lead investigators for the Sheriff’s Department on the case since the crimes happened off base and most of the victims were from LA County. We would learn only after the confession of the dead soldier that he, in fact, was a serial killer that had been preying on young men and boys between the ages of fourteen and twenty-four. The first missing person’s case had been filed in 1988. The killer was extremely savvy and was able to go undetected until his own murder in 1999. While I was investigating the case, several letters were received from the killer denouncing the investigation and stating that he did it for the protection of the public. The military didn’t want the issue to get out into the mainstream media for fear it would tarnish the Corps, so the JAG’s office buried the reports until 2002 when they were retrieved by the local media through a Freedom of Information Act request.” Janet asked, “Why would anyone ask about the case so many years later?” “There had been five similar killings between ‘92 and ‘99. A reporter with the Times received an anonymous tip that there had been killings of a similar nature covered up by the military. The documents were declassified and released to the media. When the reporter working on the case started to do more investigating, she ended up finding me. When she called me for an interview, I saw no problem with speaking to her. She interviewed me, and, a week later, a front page article appeared in the Times with the heading. ‘The Iron Eagle, Serial Killer or Vigilante?’ While I was misquoted several times in the article, the comparisons drawn by the reporter to the behavior of The Eagle was rife with accuracies, so I didn’t request a retraction. Since then, The Eagle has killed several more times, but it doesn’t receive the press that it did then.” Janet stood up and said, “So the bottom line is this guy is some kind of vigilante?” Steve chimed in, “The Eagle has…to our knowledge… only killed other serial killers. He has never killed anyone else.”
Jim interrupted, “That’s not true Steve. We have been able to connect him to the recent murder of U.S. Marshal Jill Makin and to the murder of Barry Mullin who turned out to be her grandfather.” There was a moment of silence, and Janet spoke again, “So this guy kills indiscriminately? If he had killed others, then they seem like random acts of violence. Perhaps it’s only a coincidence that the people he has killed, with the exception of the last two, turned out to be serial killers.” Steve chimed in, “No…while it is true that the two most recent murders attributed to The Eagle are non-serial killers, his motive is vigilante style justice, and his killings, to him, are justified.” Janet flung her head back, flinging her long black ponytail with it, her brown eyes glaring at the whole room but fixed mostly on Steve. “How can this guy know that his victims are serial killers? We don’t know that we are dealing with serial killers a majority of the time until links or patterns start to appear.” Steve stood up and shrugged his shoulders, “Janet, that’s a hell of a good question, and I wish I had an answer for you. All we know for certain is that he has gotten to several serial killers that local and federal law enforcement have been looking for, or he located them before we have been able to connect the dots. Sometimes law enforcement didn’t know they existed at all.” She got an indigent look on her face, “I have to say that the nonchalant attitude given to this killer is disturbing to me.” “It’s not nonchalant…we have been actively seeking him for over a decade. I inherited him from my predecessor, and I hope that I catch him before I hand off the assignment to the next behavioral science investigator.” She sat down.
Jim stood up and said, “Well, it’s been fun kids. It’s always nice to take a walk down memory lane; I have been hunting this killer from day one. I can tell you that I have had and I have heard many, many ideas of who the killer is, or who he might be, and so far none of the ideas have panned out. As the person in this room with the most experience with this guy, I can tell you that he is going to be one hell of a hard guy to catch.” He started toward Steve and muttered loud enough for the room to hear, “Like we ever want to catch the guy; he’s doing us a favor.” That brought a great deal of anger from those in the room including Steve. He settled them down and walked Jim out. “Did you really have to go there?” Jim pulled the cigarette from behind his ear as the two men entered the parking lot. He pulled his Zippo from his pocket, and the flame
lit his round face as he bent his head forward to light the smoke. The cherry on the tip of his cigarette was all that Steve could see as he stood there in the dark. “Someone had to say it, Steve; the guy’s doing us a favor.” “What about Barry and Jill? They weren’t serial killers, and he killed them.” Jim took a drag and exhaled a white cloud into the night air. “Well, I figure they either did something we don’t know about yet, or they got too close, and he had to eliminate them.” “Jesus Christ, Jim…do you know what you’re saying? You’re saying that this son of a bitch will kill anyone who tries to stop him.” Jim opened his car door with his smoke clenched between his teeth. “True dat.” He was just getting into the car when both his and Steve’s cell phones went off simultaneously. They both answered and said the same thing when they hung up, “Coston Middle School!”
Steve and his team arrived on scene at the same time as Jim’s. The school was abuzz with police, state, federal, and county law enforcement. Police and news choppers flew overhead. Police choppers shined nightsun lights down on the school and its surrounding neighborhood. Steve and Jim walked into the main entrance and asked for the first officers on scene. One pointed to three men off in the corner; there was a paramedic attending to one of them. As Steve and Jim approached, they could see that they were two WCPD officers and what looked like a school security guard. The medic was attending to the guard’s head. The reason for Steve’s presence was obvious; he was wearing his blue windbreaker with bright yellow FBI letters on it. Jim was in street clothes; however, he had his badge on his belt clip and his gun in a holster over his shoulder. Steve asked who found the body. The guard raised his hand, his head still down with a compress on the back of it. He asked what happened. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know. I had just come back from doing my rounds when I saw a shadow behind me, and the next thing I know I come to, and I’m in Mr. Roskowski’s office, and Mr. Roskowski…or what’s left of him… is sitting in his chair.” Jim asked the direction to the office. The guard pointed behind him, and both men told him to stay put. They would need to interview him.
The two men entered, and, there, sitting behind his desk, was Stewart Roskowski. He was nude, eyes wide open in a look of sheer panic. His mouth was open and blood had been dripping down onto his chest. Both of his arms had been skinned, and as Jim and Steve moved around to the back of the desk they could see that he was impaled on some type of long instrument, but they couldn’t tell what. Burned deep into the middle of his chest was an eagle. “Well, we don’t have to look too far to see who did this, huh?” Steve just stared at Jim. “Well…it’s true!” Jim asked if the coroner had been called and was told someone was en route. Steve instructed his team to start investigating. “This is federal jurisdiction now. We take the lead; all reports to me and cc other parties as needed.” “Well, a cause of death is going to be a tough one,” Jim said in a serious tone. “What? No smart ass comments? You were so certain on Barry’s cause of death. This one has you confused?” Steve was looking at Roskowski’s face. He studied it for a few seconds and then said, “He died from suffocation.” “How the hell did you come up with that one?” He pointed to his mouth and the blood that had dripped onto his chest. Upon closer examination, the two men could see that there was an object inserted into his throat. Steve chimed in this time, “It would seem that The Eagle forced him to ‘deep throat’ his own junk.” Jim saw it, too, “Oh man…so all the rest of this shit is premortem. Mother fucker!”
They walked back out to the security guard who was now sitting up with no paramedic in sight. Jim asked if he wanted to go to the hospital. The guard shook his head no. “Tell us what you saw, heard, anything.” He went to stand but was still a little light-headed, so he sat back down. “There’s not much to tell. I finished my rounds and bent over because my pepper spray had fallen to the ground, and when I came to I was in Mr. Roskowski’s office.” “You said that just before you went out you saw a shadow behind you.” “Yea. I never saw anyone, and then I saw a shadow come up from behind me. A big-ass shadow, but I never got the chance to turn around.” “Be glad you didn’t,” said Jim. The kid was startled. “You think if I had seen him I would end up like Mr. Roskowski?” Steve interjected, “No…but there’s a good chance that you wouldn’t be here to talk to us about this at all. Did you hear anything? Breathing, footsteps, a voice.” He just shook his head. “Not a thing, sirs. I just came to, and I was lying on the floor next to the body.”
He sat for a few seconds, and then he said, “I’m still a little groggy, but now that you mention it, it might have been a dream, but I thought I heard the sound of choking or gagging when I was starting to come to.” They both went back to the office where the body was and each touched the corpse. “He’s still warm,” Steve said. “The son of a bitch killed him here.” Jim looked out the window that was behind Roskowski’s desk. It looked out over First Street which intersected with Coston. There was an empty lot with heavy ground cover between the school and the street at the corner of First and Coston. He looked at his watch; it was one fifteen a.m. He motioned to Steve to follow him. The two men left the room and walked out into the hall.
“He’s still here!” Steve looked at Jim’s face; it was grave. “The Eagle?” Jim nodded. “Where?” “The corner of First and Coston.” “Did you see something?” Jim shook his head, “I just have a hunch. “Okay… I’ll exit toward First and you exit toward Coston. We will work our way up and meet at the corner.” Steve pulled out his weapon. Jim motioned, “No…don’t pull the gun. If you go out armed, the choppers are going to pick you up. Take off your windbreaker; just walk out calmly and cross the street. I’ll do the same.” The two separated, and Steve hit First before Jim even got out of the building.
He started walking the street, staying in the shadows. He had a perfect view of the school as he walked and of the office where Roskowski’s body remained. He tried to look down the Coston side, but he couldn’t see Jim. He figured he was doing the same shadow play that he was doing. As he approached the corner of First and Coston, he noticed an overgrown clump of dark bushes and trees that were on the empty corner lot. He reached into his jacket and pulled his weapon. He moved deeper into the brush, out of the light of the school and street lamps, until there was almost no light. He heard a rustle behind him, and he jumped, jerking his weapon toward the bushes behind him. A rat scurried from one of the bushes and headed toward the street. His heart was pounding, and he lowered his weapon when suddenly he felt an arm reach out and grab him by the throat, disarming him with the other hand. He was in a choke hold; there was nothing he could do. The arm was massive and pressed his face into the grass and weeds of the lot.
“I intended for you to come looking for me.” The voice was disguised but not the way it sounded on the video. “Detective O’Brian can’t be far behind.” Steve felt the arms pulling him back away from the lights of the school, away from safety. He felt the ground change over from dirt and weeds to asphalt. His weapon was taken and the choke hold released. He was laying face down on the ground. He heard rustling in the bushes ahead of him, but it was too far off, and he dared not make a sound. “Special Agent Hoffman, I want to apologize for killing Mr. Mullin. I know you two were close, but he was a bad person who had done and had knowledge of others who had done even worse things.” Steve moved to turn from his stomach, and he was greeted by a towering figure dressed all in black. There were no discernible features, and he was not acting threatening in any manner. He was just standing there looking at him. Steve raised his hand to his throat and coughed. The dark figure raised a finger to his face as a gesture of silence. Steve asked, “Why did you kill my friend?” There was no movement. “It’s complicated.” Steve felt a little more bold and said, “He knew you, didn’t he?” His voice was hoarse from the choke hold, and he was keeping his voice low as not to end up getting killed. “Yes, but that’s not why I killed him. You will learn in time why he’s dead. I will tell you that he and Mr. Roskow
ski knew each other very well, and he knew all about Mr. Roskowski’s hobbies.”
Steve sat up, and with a whisper he said, “I don’t understand. You killed Barry, and you killed his granddaughter. Why did you do that? What had she done wrong?” The Eagle didn’t move but said, “Ms. Makin was getting too close to me. I assure you, however, that I didn’t intend her any harm initially. In the end, while her death protected my identity, what happened to Ms. Makin was a fortuitous yet tragic accident and not by my design. I didn’t know about the relationship between her and Barry until near the moment of her death.” “Is that supposed to somehow make me feel better? Is it supposed to justify your actions?” The dark figure dropped his head a little and responded apologetically, “No sir.” “Who the fuck are you? Why are you doing this?” Taking a step back from Steve, he said, “You know who I am, and you know why I’m doing what I’m doing. I just wanted to talk to you one on one and apologize to you for taking Mr. Mullin out of your life.”
Rise of The Iron Eagle (The Iron Eagle Series Book 1) Page 6