The Defenseless (Brandon Fisher FBI Series Book 3)

by Carolyn Arnold

  Hogan didn’t give any indication he was affected by her response. He took a street on the right, made a quick left, parked, and cut the engine. “We’re here.”

  “I’m glad you told us,” Paige mumbled and got out of the car.

  We had beat the other detective and the rest of our team, but as we made our way toward the dumpster, the department-issued sedan pulled in, crunching snow beneath the wheels.

  When we were all standing around the dumpster at the back of Lynn’s Bakery, McClellan pointed to the right of the bin.

  “The body was found right there. He was covered in snow, with only the tip of his boots showing. The waste removal company found him when they came to empty the bin. At first they thought someone was too lazy to pick up the trash and dispose of it properly. They stepped out to lift it and got more than they expected.”

  “Something that they even got out of the vehicle. Most would carry on and not care. They’re hired to empty the container, not clean up the surrounding area,” Paige said.

  “Exactly what I thought.”

  “Did you question the garbage man?”

  “Yeah. Even pulled a background. Nothing came of it.”

  “Name’s Craig Bowen,” Zachery interjected.

  McClellan seemed impressed by Zachery. “Read that in the file? Good memory. Cause of death?”

  “Rat poison.”

  The man had no idea with whom he was dealing.

  “Impressive. Now this guy didn’t go silently, or easily, that’s for sure.”

  “And you think this is connected to animal cruelty cases?” I asked the question to get things moving forward.

  “Yes, I do. The vic’s name was Darren Simpson. Twenty-six years ago he was charged with feeding his dog rat poison, but the charges didn’t stick. The guy walked. It was big news around here.”

  “Animal cruelty cases are big news?”

  “Well, there’s a spot for them in the paper. Bigger news years ago than it is these days.”

  “So this guy was accused of poisoning animals twenty-six years ago and you think someone’s coming back for revenge now?” Paige asked.

  “Exactly what I’m thinking.”

  Hogan rolled his eyes.

  I gestured to him and addressed McClellan. “Your friend here doesn’t seem convinced.”

  McClellan smirked. “Nothing much fazes Hogan, but he does concede to the line of thought that something is going on here.”

  “The file mentions there are a few missing men, and this is why you’re convinced there’s a serial killer,” Zachery said.

  “Yes. Two date back a bit ago. Dean Garner went missing in two thousand nine. Charges against him were microwaving a Chihuahua. They were dropped because there wasn’t enough evidence. Karl Ball was charged with pit-bull fighting, but got off on a technicality. He went missing in two thousand ten.”

  “So, our victim poisoned his dog and then dies of poisoning,” I made the summation. “It certainly sounds like more than a coincidence.”

  “Our unsub is targeting animal abusers who beat the charges. He carries out his own sort of vigilante justice, bringing the same punishment upon them as they inflicted,” Zachery said.

  Paige tossed some hair behind her shoulder. “Is it wrong to side with a killer in this case? What kind of monster abuses animals? They rely on us for protection, for food, for shelter, for love, and how are they repaid? Abuse. The thought makes me angry enough to kill.”

  “He?” McClellan picked up on Zachery’s reference to gender. He rested his hands on his hips and drummed his fingers there.

  “It’s a logical deduction to presume the killer we seek is male. The targeted victims are men for one,” Zachery explained.

  “But poison? Isn’t that a common method for females?”

  “It is, however, no women that fit the profile of being animal abusers are missing, are they?”

  “No.”

  “That lends it toward being a man hunting other men.”

  Hogan stepped toward Paige. “All I know is this guy needs to be stopped. These are people he’s killing, not animals.”

  Paige’s jaw jutted up. “You sure?”

  “I agree they were charged with barbaric acts, but they deserve to be heard and have a fair trial.”

  “Guess you do like people.” Paige secured eye contact with Hogan. He turned away first.

  Jack slipped a hand into his coat pocket. “While the background is good to have, the real reason we’re here is because you feel the threat is still viable, and you convinced us of that. What really got our attention was the recently missing man.”

  McClellan nodded. “His name is Gene Lyons. Wife reported him five days ago, but after Simpson, we realized the similarities. He was charged with animal neglect, resulting in a beagle barely hanging onto life. They nursed him back at significant expense, only to find out, in the end, the dog’s mind had snapped. They had to put him down. The charge against Lyons was made twenty-five years ago.”

  Anger ripped through me. The man we hunted—was he a monster or a hero? What sane human being wouldn’t consider, even with a passing thought, the execution of revenge on those who abused animals? This case would be a tough one.

  “The file said that all four men were married,” Zachery said. “Four, including Simpson, our murdered victim.”

  A slow nod from McClellan. “Not all happily, but in somewhat committed relationships.”

  “Did you speak with them?” Jack asked.

  McClellan answered. “Oh yeah. Let’s just say the women in these men’s lives are interesting. We’ll leave it at that. They had alibis, if you want to call them that. Of course, you say you’re looking for a man…but the strongest defense was Simpson’s wife, who was spending the night in jail for a drunk and disorderly. Let’s just say some people dance to the beat of a different drummer. These would be them.”

  “The file said Garner’s wife, Jill, was home watching TV when she decided enough time had passed and her husband should be home. Ball’s wife, Renee, was out drinking with her girlfriends at the time of his disappearance.” Zachery burrowed his hands into his coat pockets. “With Lyons, the wife was trying to hunt him down for some spending money and couldn’t find him. She didn’t really know exactly when he went missing.”

  “Correct on all counts. Lyons and his wife were separated but making it work like that. They led separate lives, except when it came to finances. He carried her.”

  “His line of work?”

  “A computer geek.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Just when you’d think he’d be harmless, he’s at home abusing the dog.” Paige bounced, in what appeared to be an effort to fend off the cold.

  “Why don’t we go inside Lynn’s? She’s got hot coffee and baked goods you would die for. Besides, there’s no sense us standing outside and freezing.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Paige smiled.

  Jack nodded and the team followed the local detectives.

  *****

  Lynn’s Bakery was a family-run business. It hadn’t been touched by corporate America with their flashy monikers that signified a franchise. Stepping inside, the warmth made my cheeks tingle and encased me in a metaphorical hug, while the smell of cinnamon buns and apple pie baking in the oven tantalized.

  In a front display case there was an assortment of baked goods, which included cookies, muffins, scones, donuts, pastries, and cakes. Everything came in a seemingly endless variety. On the counter were more tiered confections, with slices missing, displayed in glass domes. A wooden easel held a chalkboard sign that read Please seat yourself.

  We followed its direction and pushed two tables together.

  McClellan gestured to a waitress. She was maybe twenty and had long brown hair that was swept back into a loose ponytail, with the exception of two curly strands that dangled in front of each ear. Her eyes were pale green and she didn’t wear any makeup. Stitched onto her uniform was the name Annie. She held a p
en in her left hand and a small notepad in her right.

  “You guys all here ’cause of—” She gestured with the end of the pen behind her shoulder, denoting the back alley.

  “Now, what have I told you, Annie?” Detective McClellan sustained eye contact with her.

  “Dad, I’m just curious. It’s not a big deal. You guys are all FBI?” She smiled at me.

  Paige didn’t miss the attention I received and raised her brow.

  “We’re here to warm up, not to meet and greet,” McClellan directed her.

  Annie’s shoulders sagged and her hips jutted to the right. “Fine.”

  “All right, so we’ll each have a coffee and a Christmas special cookie.”

  Annie’s pen never met paper and she walked away. I was left wondering a couple things, one being, what was a “Christmas special cookie?”

  I voiced my other observation. “You never told us your daughter worked here.”

  McClellan waved a dismissive hand. “What does it really matter? She didn’t kill that man.”

  “That you know of.”

  “You’re serious? I thought you said that it was a—”

  I smiled at the detective, basking in putting him on the boiler plate, if only for a second.

  He grimaced in return and rested his hand on a napkin. He fanned up its edge and repeated the cycle a few times. “As we were starting to discuss out—”

  Annie put a coffee in front of Jack. “You must be the boss. It’s easy to tell.”

  Did I deduct an underlying smile from Jack?

  “I am.” He reached for a sugar packet from a small glass bowl in the middle of the table.

  She set the tray down with the rest of our coffees and extended a hand to Jack. “I’m Annie.”

  He shook her hand. “Jack Harper.”

  “Annie, we don’t have time for this.”

  Annie ground one of her shoes into the floor. “My Dad likes to control everything I do. He drives me nuts.”

  “Well, until you pay your own rent.”

  “Yadda, yadda.” She looked at me. “You ever get the as-long-as-you-live-under-my-roof speech from your parents?”

  How young did she think I was? I had at least seven or eight years on her.

  “You’re kidding? He still gets that.” Zachery, who was sitting beside me, patted my back.

  Annie laughed. The expression suited her—well. She was probably a heartbreaker. I had a feeling McClellan was well aware of it too. His attention narrowed in on me.

  “Annie, please, we have work to do.”

  She rolled her eyes and distributed the coffees, then held the round tray against her chest when she was finished. “If it’s true that murdered man killed a dog, then he deserved what he got.” Annie gauged us for a response, but when none of us offered one, she left.

  “You discuss open cases with your daughter?” Jack asked.

  “I didn’t discuss anything with her. The news was all over it.”

  “The news?”

  “You know what they’re like. They sniff out murder like ants do a picnic.”

  “Hmm.”

  “We were talking about the missing men’s significant others,” Paige interjected, “before we came inside. Tell us more about them.”

  McClellan pulled his eyes from Jack. “None of the women have a violent history. Even with Simpson’s drunk and disorderly, she wasn’t hostile, she was half-naked in a public place. Charges of indecent exposure should have been pursued.”

  “Why weren’t they? You said she spent the night in jail.”

  Color saturated the detective’s face. “That’s all she got. The chief thought formal charges were excessive.”

  “She is a nice-looking piece of ass.” Jack pulled out his pack of cigarettes and placed it on the table. His hand covered it, but he didn’t light up. There were no smoking signs posted all over.

  “Yeah.”

  “What about here? Anything about this site that seems significant?” I asked.

  McClellan shook his head. “None that we’re aware of at this point.”

  “We need to know who wrote the articles on all of these men. We need to speak to the garbage man who found Simpson, his significant other, along with those of the other missing men,” Jack addressed his team. “I’d say things possibly started with Karl Ball, who went missing in two thousand and nine, but we’ve got a fresh body, and a new missing persons case. We dig into those first.”

  “Agree, Boss.” Paige blew on her coffee and took a sip.

  “I believe we’re after a male killer, who targets those who specifically abuse dogs.” I offered a summation.

  Zachery popped a piece of cookie into his mouth and jabbed the uneaten part toward me. “Good point. He probably also experienced something at a younger age that made him predisposed to—”

  Hogan coughed and held a hand over his mouth. Its source, clearly, was derision.

  We all looked at him.

  “You can tell all of this from what we have so far?”

  “Hogan, please.” McClellan leaned into his chair and flung his arm over the back.

  “It just seems like, what’s the point of local law enforcement as long as we have the FBI.” He tossed a five on the table and stood.

  McClellan shot to his feet and leaned in to Hogan. He spoke low, but it was easy to hear. “Why are you acting like this? You said you’d be of help.”

  Hogan scanned McClellan’s face, but addressed us. “I want this killer stopped just as much as all of you, but a serial at work? Unsub? Your fancy terminology for what we would call a perp. You have to do everything different. And, if that’s not enough, you have to pry your nose into our cases.” Back to McClellan. “I’ve gotta go do some police work.” He left, and his wet boots squeaked across the floor of the bakery.

  McClellan’s inhale expanded his chest. He took his seat again. “I’m sorry about him.”

  “From the file, one journalist reported on all these cases,” Zachery said.

  “Yeah.” McClellan’s hand went for his coffee. Disappointment radiated from him, but he tried to counter with a smile. It didn’t fully form. “The guy’s name is Kent Fields, now a giant in the publishing industry. He’s got three Pulitzers to his credit and many other awards. I highly doubt it’s him behind these murders.”

  “He might have information, from behind the scenes, that will prove useful to the investigation.”

  “You sure about that? Remember these cases go back twenty-six years. That’s a long time.”

  “We’ll see if it feels that long ago to him.”

  Enlightenment dawned on the detective’s face. “Ah, so you’ll set a trap for the rat. If he bites, he could be our man.”

  Zachery nodded. “Precisely.”

  “It might not be a bad idea to talk to the main animal activist group in town either. I’ll get you their information.”

  “There’s a lot of people we need to speak with and we’re not getting it done sitting around here.” Jack stood and the rest of us followed his lead.

  “You guys take my car. I’ll call for a ride.” McClellan’s gaze went to the window. Outside large snowflakes fell in quick succession.

  “Don’t worry, Detective, we get snow in Virginia.” Jack slipped out a cigarette and tucked the package back into his pocket.

  McClellan’s eyes went to it. “Of course you do. I didn’t—”

  “We’ll head to the station first, see if our rides are there, and get someone to come back for you.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  I can’t say that I was excited about Jack driving in this weather. Behind the wheel, the man typically scared me on sunny and clear days, but I hurried, hoping to call shotgun first.

  Chapter 3

  His hands shook every time, but someone had to clean up the city. The government certainly wasn’t going to do anything about it. Those who were elected put on a show for glamor and fame with no real purpose. They slept in their million
-dollar homes and shut out the ugliness of the world around them. For appearance’s sake, they went to their charity benefits while being too lazy to deal with the issues. The promises made to those who’d voted them into office in the first place were forgotten. It was a disgusting irony that defined politics. The very men who swore to deal with issues, to rectify injustices, sat on the sidelines, more incompetent than most.

  This is why he was left to take the power into his own hands and make a difference to society. He brought justice for the Defenseless by condemning their Offender.

  It was this reasoning that added justification for his actions. Everyone had a purpose. His was to speak for the victims who have no voice. He was their Advocate.

  Placing Simpson’s body on display was a message to the world to let them know crimes against the Defenseless would not be tolerated, and that those who inflicted abuse upon them would be held accountable.

  This Offender, his latest captive, would take patience, but that was one thing he had developed over the years. A tempering of knowing when best to strike, and whom.

  The Advocate watched his captive through a camera he had placed in the man’s cell. The Offender was extended the same courtesies he had provided his canine companion—a dank corner with an empty food dish and a shitty water bowl. To complete the retribution he put a tight choker around his neck and attached it to a short chain.

  For hours, the man had protested his captivity, but now his cries for help had lost conviction. What was once a high-pitched fervor had dulled to a mumbled whisper. Despair and hopelessness were taking over.

  The thought made the Advocate smile. He was making a difference. He offered no mercy for these men. The Offenders deserved what was coming their way, and if he was the one destined to exact the punishment, he would see it through. Exacting revenge and punishment on these mongrels had become his driving purpose in life. It was what he was meant to do.

  The Offender was alternating between balling his fists and pulling out on the choker, but his efforts were futile. The collar was latched tight and secured with a tiny padlock.

  “Aw, is it getting a little harder to breathe?” the Advocate said to himself. Laughter had his eyes pinching shut and tears seeping from the corners.