The Killing Collective

by Gary Starta

  “Exactly.”

  Carter dug his cell phone out of his suit pocket to read a text from Jill. “You will come to find that Agent Seacrest doesn’t like sharing information over the phone. She requests our presence at the lab.”

  ***

  Seacrest held a photo in her hand like a trophy. “Thanks to six hours of shoeprint casting, I’ve got a partial print from the New Brunswick, New Jersey crime scene.”

  Carter hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. It came out in a whoosh of relief. At the same time, Deeprose sucked in her breath sharply and held it, waiting to hear if there was more.

  “The partial matches the Stridewell shoeprint found at the Cloisters.”

  Deeprose let out her breath looking just as deflated as she felt. “So there is only one killer for the two museum murders? But even if we can find the museum killer, will a print be enough to place him at the scene?”

  Seacrest placed the photo in Carter’s hands. “If he still has the shoes, yes. Besides, my job is to collect and analyze the evidence, not to solve or prosecute the case.”

  Deeprose sighed and raised her hands in surrender. “Ah apologize, Agent Seacrest. Pardon my bad manners. My coffee fix was less than spectacular this mornin’. At least we have more to go on now, an’ it’s most appreciated. Perhaps one of them will make a mistake that will show their hand.”

  ***

  Michael Santiago knew by the next morning the murder had been real and that he’d committed it. He saw the breaking story on ABC News and in the newspaper. He figured out he must have been drugged at that it could only have happened at the Collective.

  The thing was, he didn’t care. He felt great. He wanted more of that drug, and he wanted to feel that power again.

  I’ll get another invitation for next week’s meeting in a day or two, but I’ll bet no one gets dosed twice. It’s too big a chance to take. They probably pick first-timers only. It was probably in the drinks. Then they invite the newbies backstage one by one to meet the big team, and…bingo! The newbies are killers.

  I wonder what their game is. Maybe they’d be willing to give me more of that drug to keep me quiet. Nah, that’s asking for a bullet between the eyes…Know what? I’m just gonna mix myself a very large vodka tonic, relax my brain, and think about it a little…

  An hour and five cocktails later, Michael had his answer. There had been a girl at the meeting he followed home to Jersey. She was invited backstage which meant she’d also been assigned a murder. Right…Alison…Whiteway!

  The next day I drove back to Jersey and followed her to the next town over when the girlfriend picked her up. They must have been driving to the victim’s place. And I was still outside when she met the other girl around the corner and drove away. I’m going to scare the hell out of that girl. I’ll threaten to blow the whistle on her. She has no idea who I am; she has no idea I did a murder myself. She’ll do anything I tell her to do. And what she’s gonna do is distract the Silver Man’s team at the next meeting just long enough for me to find their stash of drugs, grab them and run.

  In a drunken stupor, he nodded off and slept like a baby, without remorse, fear, or shame.

  Chapter Nine

  Deeprose pulled up her email and noticed one from her father. Deeprose bit her lips.

  Every time Ah try somethin’ new, he thinks Ah’m doin’ the wrong thing. Always judgin’. Always criticizin’. Ah can imagine what’s in that email - either Ah should come on home and find a husband or take that local P.D. job and take care of him.

  Retired Colonel Deeprose was her only family now. Her mother passed on when she was a teenager, and she had no brothers or sisters. His long absences were hard on her. When her mother got sick, she took care of her and then buried her. Her relationship with her father became strained after that. His life was a lonely one. She knew he wanted her to come back home, but she just couldn’t do it. Deeprose wanted to live before she died.

  In her apartment way up in the sky, she stared out at the busy streets below. On the other side of the glass pane was adventure. She placed her hand on the glass and felt a reverberation. Life was teeming outside the glass. Inside, she was torn up by her father’s reaction to leaving home. She recalled breaking the news of her F.B.I. application to her father over dinner at his favorite restaurant, the Rattlesnake Saloon. He was deeply disappointed. “If you’d stayed in the military you would have had a stellar career. Now, you’ll have to start all over again. Right from the bottom.”

  Maybe he was unaware of the power he had over her, but she didn’t think so. He’d use any weapon at his disposal to win a war.

  Shoot! Ah have one life to live, an’ Ah’m gonna live it!

  Dear Daddy.

  I’m happy here, and I’m taking a bite out of the Big Apple. I’ve been told by my superior that my interviewing technique is on point. I can’t discuss my cases any further, but rest assured your little girl will always get her man.

  Love,

  Shania

  Her duty done, her thoughts wandered back to the museum investigation. She had an odd feeling about the acting curator. His hasty retreat when they met seemed odd to her, but then again, he was new; maybe he was just busy and didn’t want to get involved. She also thought about the man whose hazy face they’d captured on the museum video camera. She rose from her chair with renewed confidence and, after a moment of reflection, decided to put Jill Seacrest’s lab skills to the test.

  ***

  Alison felt confused and a little hungover, but her mind would not let her rest. The excitement and hope she’d felt at the Collective was gone. The new day was just another reminder that her life was over. As the morning wore on, she spiraled down into a deep depression. By mid-afternoon, all she wanted to do was turn off her brain. That meant only one thing to Alison – moonshine in a mason jar. The thought of getting it broke through her usual lethargy, so she got herself together and set out for the bus. Her liquor store was in a mall in Old Bridge. It was the only one that carried her brand, Everclear.

  Alison caught the N.J. Transit’s number 68 bus as it passed by her building. One other person got in after her. He followed her as she pushed her way through a crowd of teens and dropped into the only seat left. He stood up with everyone else, hanging onto a horizontal rail high over the passengers’ heads. Had she noticed him staring at her, she would have recognized him from the meeting, but Alison, who was used to being invisible, never bothered to notice what went on around her.

  She pressed her cheek against the window to soak up the last warm rays of the afternoon. The passenger standing over her whistled as he breathed. Normally, she would have found it annoying, but today it was comfortably familiar. She couldn’t recall where she heard it, but she knew she had.

  The driver announced their arrival at the Mid-State Mall. The store was empty except for the cashier. Alison forced a small smile.

  “Credit or debit?” he asked.

  “Credit. Definitely credit.” She slid her card into the machine to pay.

  Outside again, she made her way back to the bus stop. Someone tapped her on the shoulder from behind. She pivoted, gripping the bag containing the heavy glass mason jar. “Who are you? Don’t come near me!”

  Taking a step closer rather than backing away, a young man who couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, spoke to her in an insultingly familiar tone. “I want to talk to you, Alison. I saw you at the Collective. And the night after that.”

  “I didn’t see you there or anywhere else. How do you know my name? What do you want?”

  He grabbed the bag out of her hand and hurled it toward the pavement.

  She heard the glass break. “Are you crazy?! Don’t come near me!”

  My liquor!

  He took another step closer. “Lower your voice, Alison, or you’ll attract attention, and a murderess can’t afford to call attention to herself.”

  She heard that same whistling noise as he spoke.

  I know
I heard him whistle like that on the bus, but where did I hear that sound before today? Oh, God! At the Collective. He’s not lying; he was really there.

  Alison looked around frantically and opened her mouth to yell, but his hand shot out and gripped her entire lower face with it. With his other arm, he pulled her in close as if they were a couple. People flowed around them towards the bus stop, showing no interest in them at all. “See that? No one cares. Go ahead and scream your head off if you want the cops so bad. While you’re at it, I can fill them in on your trip out to Florio’s place.”

  His hand was still over her mouth, but she looked scared now.

  “That’s better. Now, let’s get this straight; I saw you at the meeting. I followed you to home and to the scene of the crime the next night. I saw you go in and come back out. That’s right, honey. It was all over the news. One word from me places you at the scene. I bet the cops are panting for a lead.”

  Things were unraveling at lightning speed. Alison kicked him in the shin. Hard.

  “Owwwwwwww!!”

  Alison made a dash for the bus stop where she knew she’d be safe among the crowd, but that didn’t stop him. Michael pursued her right into the middle of the crowd milling around, grabbed her wrist and squeezed. When she finally stopped struggling, he dragged her around the side of a building and forced her to her knees.

  “You’re hurting me! Let me go!”

  “Not happening.”

  Michael pulled her up by the hair. It hurt terribly, but she didn’t cry or look him in the eye. Only someone who’d suffered a lifetime of abuse could have taken punishment like that without flinching. He liked inflicting pain; she could tell.

  He let her go, but there was clearly no getting away. She tried another approach. “All right, I give up. What do you want?”

  A menacing smile spread across his face as it dawned on her that he must have done a murder too if he was at the rally. “I want you to help me get my hands on their stash.”

  He wants me to help steal that drug!

  Michael shoved her up against the wall.

  She seethed. “You must have done a murder, too. You’ll get caught! And why pick on me? Why me?”

  Michael had her by the shoulders. His legs were spread apart so she couldn’t kick him again. She jerked her head to the left and right, but there was no avoiding him. His mouth came crashing down on hers in an assault that split her lip. He gave her a final shove and stood back. “That was just as bad as I knew it would be.”

  They both stood there, angry and out of breath. Alison’s lip was swelling and bloody. Warm blood and salty tears dripped off her face onto the sidewalk.

  In surreal silence and a calm like the eye of a storm, she put her hand in his, and they headed for the number 68, together. His raw brutality was strangely erotic to Alison, who’d been taught that those who cared for you beat you.

  ***

  Carter hoped to join Jill for a late dinner, but she was stuck at the lab and didn’t expect to get home until late at night. He’d been looking forward to a quiet dinner with her all day and was disappointed.

  Fischetti’s attitude and strange behavior put him on his guard. He didn’t want to burden Deeprose with his misgivings, but he knew she wasn’t fooled into thinking everything was fine. At home, he avoided talking shop. He knew Jill and his new rookie started off on the wrong foot, and the friction between Seacrest and her supervisor at the lab was already reaching the boiling point.

  Carter needed to relax and empty his mind because there was something about this that just didn’t feel right. He could smell it in the air. Something was circling above him like a vulture over a dead carcass. Carter admitted he felt vulnerable and resentful because Fischetti was holding out on him.

  Maybe we should just pack up and get out of here.

  He gave his cell phone a verbal command. “Address. Phone. Buddhist temple. Closest to Federal Plaza, N.Y.”

  ***

  The Temple of Heavenly Grace on Canal Street greeted Carter with a splash of red and gold. Its awnings were lined with scripture the agent could not decipher, but he knew it was probably a message of peace and welcome.

  The statue of a gigantic lion was just inside, near the altar. It seemed out of place to him.

  Perhaps it represents my inner roar.

  Carter smiled at the thought. He brushed past the statue to take a white candle from a nearby table. It was meant to serve as a tool for defeating inner turmoil. Gazing steadily at the flame, he peeled away a layer of confusion and conflict that was clouding his vision and made an attempt to identify and understand the issues before letting them go.

  Carter came away knowing there was only one issue he had any power over - his and Jill’s relationship with Agent Deeprose. He decided to ask Seacrest to make more of an effort to get to know her. He felt she needed a friend as much as a mentor. He’d have to try harder too.

  Carter told himself the same thing he always did when faced with something he didn’t understand.

  I’ll file it away under ‘New Case, New Life’ for now and take a look at it later. Maybe it’ll make more sense then.

  Carter thought himself the master of emotion and turmoil, but the truth was that he was spectacularly unable to cope with either. At some point, his mental filing cabinet was going to get too crowded. At that point, he was going to have to come to terms with a lifetime of putting off until tomorrow what he should have examined yesterday.

  Settled in a taxi and on his way home, his attention was drawn to a small T.V. screen above the windshield. A crowd of people were fighting over a hot, new toy at F.A.O. Shwartz. The news clip zoomed in on a policewoman separating two men who’d become violent over the last video game on a shelf. Her partner cuffed them both from behind. The driver glanced at Carter in his rearview mirror. Jabbing a finger at the screen he said dryly, “I see the peace and serenity of the Christmas season has hit New York particularly early this season. What a surprise.”

  Chapter Ten

  Although it was still dark, and very early, Deeprose was already waiting in line for coffee and shivering. She had Seacrest on her mind and thought a friendly gesture like bringing her a coffee, might make her a bit nicer to work with.

  Ah’ll bet she drinks mocha cappuccino or a double chocolate java latte. Definitely high maintenance.

  She giggled to herself because she had absolutely no idea what either of those things were. She drank coffee. Period. A half hour later, she walked out, disgusted.

  Ah’ll never understand why these folks stand in line in the cold and dark for a half hour or more to be served a lousy cup of coffee at an outrageous price by a sociopath.

  It didn’t take a detective to know that Carter kept his feelings in check, but Seacrest was more like herself; she never pulled her punches. Deeprose decided that Seacrest was right; she could interpret the evidence but it was up to Carter and Deeprose to catch the killers. Now was not the time to play it safe, or for that matter, too nicely. Seacrest could be a hard potato to boil, but Deeprose didn’t pass the F.B.I. exam without proving she knew how to manipulate her suspects as well as her colleagues when it was to her advantage to do so.

  She ambled down the hallway to the D.N.A. lab with a very hot cup of coffee in each hand.

  Shoot! They had to choose this mornin’ to discover their coffee is always cold.

  The doors to the lab swung open just as she was about to walk in. Caught off guard, she scrambled out of the way and mumbled, “Mornin’.”

  Seacrest’s smile was disarming. “Are one of those for me, I hope?”

  Deeprose handed her the fancy coffee hoping she guessed right. “Ah thought we could discuss an idea Ah have about our museum murders, that is, if y’all have the time.” Deeprose felt a bit intimidated by Seacrest.

  “Thanks! Ummmm, coffee, coffee, coffee! I need to get my supervisor’s authorization to continue an examination of the blood from the Jersey victim, but I’ll be glad to hear your idea if yo
u care to walk with me.”

  “Sure!” To keep up with the tall, willowy blonde, Deeprose had to take two steps for every one of Seacrest’s.

  Good thing there’s enough chocolate in that coffee to slow down a freight train.

  Seacrest glanced quizzically at the cup. “’M’ for murder?”

  “’M’ for mocha. Ah hope it’s O.K. Ah made a guess.”

  Seacrest sniffed at the beverage through the lid. “As long as it’s not decaf, it could taste like baked beans and I wouldn’t care.”

  “Got a vendetta against decaf, Ah see.”

  “And it goes way back. The first time Carter suggested I switch to a de-caffeinated anything was also the last. Let’s just say chamomile tea is not the best way to start my day.”

  “Ah feel you.” Deeprose sympathized. “My daddy says decaf oughtta be outlawed.”

  “Now there’s a man I’d like to meet – the no nonsense type.”

  Deeprose sighed. “You couldn’t coax him out of Alabama for all the coffee beans in Colombia, especially not up here.”

  “Sounds like you miss him.” Seacrest threw her a quick glance as they walked.

  “He’s all the family Ah have, Agent Seacrest. That’s why Ah want to get off to a better start with y’all than Ah have. Ah want to apologize for houndin’ you about the cases yesterday. Ah’m just a little frustrated, Ah guess. So far, we’re chasin’ our tails and getting’ nowhere. But my point is, Ah plan to make my home here, an’ Ah could use a few good friends.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Agent Deeprose, we’re all working too hard and not playing enough. Why don’t we start discovering the city together? Do you like the blues?”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  “Then it’s a date. We’ll firm it up later. Now, I’ve really got to hurry. What did you want to ask me?”

  “Ah was hopin’ you might try to lift some prints from the inside of the gloves the killer wore at the museum. The material is not latex, so Ah’m hopin’ your expertise in forensics might get us somethin’ more than we have now.”