by Hadena James
“You and Malachi are going to St. Charles,” she informed me.
“My team is going to Tennessee to catch a killer. I’m sitting here, trying to figure out whether to torture granddad before I kill him or not.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” my mother tutted at me. “You aren’t going to torture or kill him. You are going to pack and go with Malachi.”
“We are not allowed to go to St. Charles,” I informed her.
“That was ten minutes ago,” she responded. “Ten minutes ago, there were two FBI agents chasing Patterson. Now, there’s one and they think the two of you should advise.”
“Did you eat magic mushrooms on your pizza?” I snarked.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.”
“Fine,” I huffed. “Did someone read tea leaves to you?”
“No, Malachi’s outside, waiting for you.”
“I’m confused. I just got off the phone with him.”
“He was in the lobby with me when you were talking to him. He hung up with you and called the agents, one of whom failed to answer, the other one broke into his hotel room and found him dead.”
My phone rang. The number was listed as private. I considered not answering it.
“Marshal Cain,” I said into the receiver.
“You are not to investigate or touch anything,” a voice said to me. “You and Special Agent Blake will advise the FBI agents on the ground. Even with the two of you assisting in a non-investigative capacity, I believe there will be lots of bloodshed.” The voice sighed.
“Um, yes sir?” I asked.
“Oh, sorry, this is Director Hugh Newcomb from the Department of Justice. It has been decided that you and SA Blake are needed in the apprehension of Patterson Clachan because the two of you know him. However, you are not to investigate, take the lead on anything or do anything hands on. Do you understand your assignment, Marshal Cain?”
“Yes, sir.” I was already standing up. “I believe SA Blake is waiting for me.”
“We’ll be in touch,” he hung up. I looked at my mother.
“Ok, I’m going to go. We are reading from this book, when you finish, you can move to number six. All of them are on my Kindle. When you need a break from reading, there are audiobooks on this iPod,” I pointed to Xavier’s small mp3 player.
Three
The motel was disgusting. I got the distinct impression it wasn’t exactly nice even before Patterson Clachan had gotten into it. The curtains were stained, there was a bleach spot on the floor, and the bathroom toilet didn’t seem to flush properly.
The smell of the room was noxious; mold and raw sewage mixing together in the air. I wore a respirator and could still smell it. I didn’t gag, although I wanted to.
Malachi stood next to me. He was dressed in a suit that emphasized his long legs and was cut perfectly to meld to his shoulders. A green tie that accented the color of his eyes finished off the outfit. I was in jeans and a band t-shirt. Booties covered both our shoes. One of us was not dressed for the scene. Considering the smell, it wasn’t me.
The FBI Agent’s name had been Paul Williams. He was a six year veteran of the FBI and had been a cop in Miami for nearly six years before that. Even dead, he looked young for thirty-four. I didn’t know what color his eyes or his hair were, both were missing. He’d been slit from his navel to his throat. His larynx had been removed. His organs were laid out on the dresser. I had been told his hair and eyes were in the mini-fridge, but I wasn’t willing to open it to look just yet.
“This is all wrong,” Malachi said to someone else. We were guests. Neither of us got to be in charge. It was an interesting situation. “Patterson Clachan doesn’t kill like this unless he has a reason. If he’s killing someone he considers innocent, he fires two shots into their skull; one in the forehead, one through the left eye. And it is always the left eye, never the right.” He emphasized the second part. Nyleena had been shot under her right eye. This didn’t excuse him from shooting her in the face, regardless of the fact that it seemed to back up his story.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I’ve seen it. There are a couple of cases of The Butcher’s that Michael and I found where he had slaughtered one person in the house, but only shot the others.”
“You and Michael? Interesting.” I frowned. That was a fight for another day, but Malachi could bet his very expensive cowboy boots that we were going to have it. He and Michael had found The Butcher’s signature and never told me. I couldn’t be mad at Michael, but I could sure be pissed at Malachi.
“I’ll explain, later,” Malachi told me. “So, why did Patterson Clachan slaughter Agent Williams?”
“That’s what he does,” the other agent responded.
“It isn’t though,” Malachi countered. “This was personal to him.”
“I thought all serial killers’ kills were personal,” the agent frowned.
“No, no they’re not,” I interrupted. “As a matter of fact, few are and most are not sexually motivated either. The Butcher is a great example of a killer not motivated by sex. He’s motivated by revenge and a sense of justice.”
“This is not justice,” the agent said.
“It was to him,” I answered, stepping into the room a little further. I still wasn’t going to look in the fridge, but I could look at the body a little better. I had a thing about feet and eyes. Eyes creeped me out, feet grossed me out.
“Any disciplinary actions on Williams file? Any black marks? Anything out of the ordinary?” Malachi asked.
“Not really. He was a good agent,” the other responded.
“Were you his partner?” I asked.
“For four years,” the agent answered.
“Do you remember meeting an older gentleman that looked to be in his fifties or sixties, but seemed older? Walked with a cane, despite not needing it? Had dark hair that was greying only at the temples?” I asked.
“Doesn’t ring any bells. I’ve seen the sketch, I’ve never seen him.” The sketch was a composite drawing from the witnesses at the restaurant where Nyleena and Nina had been shot. I had serious misgivings about it, but since I had never seen him, I couldn’t contradict any of the features. His ears seemed abnormally large to me, as did his nose. No one in my family had ears or a nose like his. Nor did it seem possible that the eighty-six year old man could pass for fifty-five or so.
Malachi was doing something on his phone. He had a huge phone, I didn’t know the brand, but it wasn’t like my iPhone. It looked more like a tablet. His fingers swiped across different areas until he pulled something up and just stopped. His eyes went blank. He opened his mouth and made a strange noise that I was familiar with. He’d just sucked on his teeth. It was a sign of an “ah-ha” moment for Malachi. Reserved for very special knowledge and revelations.
“How seriously does Patterson take family?” Malachi asked me.
“I do not know, I have never met the man. He shot his granddaughter in the face, theoretically on accident, but killed his sister at her urging. He hasn’t killed the other sister, but he butchered his wife because of an argument with her. He’s kind of all over the place with his familial connections.”
“Ok,” Malachi looked at me. “Does he consider me family?”
“I do not know, Malachi. Maybe, maybe not. That could be why he killed Unger. It might have nothing to do with why he killed Unger.”
“He killed Unger because Unger was August Clachan’s real father. The fact that Unger was a bastard and my grandfather just helped his justification.”
Another secret. I didn’t bother to hide my irritation. I had been kept in the dark about August being Malachi’s uncle.
“Did you have bad dealings with Agent Williams?” I snipped at him.
“Not I,” Malachi turned the giant phone around. Before being assigned to this FBI agent, he’d been assigned to another. I recognized the name. It was the agent that had attempted to kill Gabriel. According to the file on Malach
i’s phone, Gabriel had stated he believed Paul Williams had known about the killings.
“Holy shit,” I let out a long breath. “Ok, so if Patterson is considering my friends extended family, the list just got crazy long and out of control.”
“I know,” Malachi said. “Do you have any idea how many enemies we all have?”
“No, I cannot count that high. No one can.” I looked at Malachi. “This takes six degrees of separation to another level. How would Patterson Clachan know that Gabriel thought this guy was complicit in a handful of murders?”
“Gabriel never told you?” He pressed.
“No, I did not know until just now,” I answered looking at Malachi. “Someone had to tell him though.”
“If it wasn’t you,” Malachi shrugged.
“You cannot believe it was Gabriel,” I told him.
“No, I don’t believe it was Gabriel.” Malachi answered. “I have an idea, but it’s a really bad one and I’m pretty sure you’re going to Taser me for it.”
“We’re standing in a blood drenched room with a dead FBI agent that pissed off Gabriel and was killed by The Butcher. Any idea is welcome,” I told Malachi.
“Michael,” Malachi answered. “He’s the only person that would have access to both FBI and Marshal files.”
“Michael’s dead and has been for a few months now.”
“That’s true, but Michael could have given him the information before he died.”
“Why would Michael do that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes, feeling myself getting angry.
“How many cases have you gotten clues from The Butcher on?” Malachi asked. “Five? Ten?”
“About ten,” I shrugged, trying to quell the anger.
“That’s a pretty high average,” Malachi looked at me. “Michael had secrets, Aislinn. We all do. Maybe he saw a way to use The Butcher. And now that Lila and Nina are gone, The Butcher has lost control and he’s using the information Michael passed along to suit his own needs before he’s caught.”
“I’m not buying it,” I told him. “Michael was a geek and a good guy. He would not have been passing along files to The Butcher.”
“He knew Patterson was your grandfather, we both did.” Malachi answered. “We both knew even before you joined the Marshals.”
I pulled out my Taser and shot Malachi with it. He dropped like a stone. I think I caught him by surprise. Points to me.
The prongs of a Taser hit my leather jacket with a thump sound. The barbs stuck into the coat and when I jerked them out, they tore the heavy material. I tossed the wires at Rollins’ feet, glaring at him in annoyance at his futile attempt to Taser me. I released my finger from the trigger of my own Taser. I popped out the Taser cartridge and let it fall onto the carpet.
Most people believed a Taser was a multi-use weapon, like a gun. This was incorrect. Tasers required cartridges. The cartridge was connected to the end of the Taser and an electrical current set off a small charge that ejected the prongs up to twenty feet. The prongs were really barbed hooks that set into the skin and delivered the electrical current.
As soon as I popped the cartridge, Malachi stopped twitching. He lay on the ground for a moment longer before standing up. He glared at me. I glared back. It was one thing to tell me Michael might have been feeding our files to The Butcher. It was another to keep from me that both of them had known the entire time I’d been a Marshal that The Butcher was my grandfather. I snapped another cartridge into place, Malachi reached for his own Taser but didn’t draw it. The agents in the room stepped away from us.
“You have known this entire time and did not think to mention it? Really?” I spoke calmly, although I wanted to get in his face and shout at him.
“In our defense, we considered telling you,” Malachi offered by way of apology. “However, we were unsure what you would do with the information.”
My finger twitched on the trigger of the Taser. I didn’t pull it, I was waiting to see what other excuses he would make.
“You’re supposed to be my friend, my ally, in all this madness and you kept vital information from me. You are a jackass.”
“It’s because I’m your friend that I kept it from you,” Malachi moved his hand away from his Taser. “I was trying to protect you. We found the pattern after the last letter he sent before you became a Marshal. It described the death of a man in Florida. At first, we weren’t sure why he had fixated on you, but then I realized that we had gone to school with the guy. You had even gone on a date with him. His name was Tom Fills.”
“So, Tom is dead?” I asked. That was no great loss to the world. Our date had ended when he slapped me. I had punched him in the jaw and left him unconscious on the curb outside a restaurant.
“All your ex-boyfriends are dead,” Malachi told me. “After Tom Fills, we began searching for others in your past that had died. Patterson Clachan had been picking them off. We combined that with my final letter from The Butcher and the pieces fell into place. We knew then that The Butcher was your grandfather and that he had an MO. It has variables, but he always takes the eyes of his victims and shoves them in a fridge. Unless, they happen to be bystanders, then he shoots them in the head.”
“You should have told me.” I warned Malachi, feeling the urge to Taser him again. “I know why he takes the eyes. I could have been useful.”
“I’m telling you now and I still don’t know why he takes the eyes.”
“Because it releases their souls.” I told him. “My father had this strange belief that if you closed the eyes after a person died, their souls couldn’t escape. It was one of his quirks. Knowing that my father held that belief, makes me think he learned it from his father. So, he removes the eyes so that they can’t be closed and the soul can be released from the body. My grandmother’s eyes were found in the fridge too.”
“Why the fridge?”
“To keep them from dehydrating before the soul can escape.” I told Malachi. “It’s a strange belief, but one my entire family has. They believe it takes a while for the soul to come to terms with being dead and if the eyes are not intact and open, the soul gets trapped on earth. I have no idea where it comes from. I just know that they all have it. Funerals in my family are creepy because they will not let the mortician sew the eyes shut. This means that half the time, the eyes are open and staring blankly, like a dead cod’s, at the ceiling.”
“Good to know.”
“And you would have known sooner if you had told me, jackass,” I pulled the trigger. The prongs missed Malachi this time, but only because he was expecting it. He batted them away.
“Stop that,” he scolded me.
“Stop keeping secrets,” I scolded him back.
Four
The medical examiner placed the time of death for Paul Williams at around eleven p.m. the night before. We still hadn’t found our sniper’s body, but I was guessing he had died later. This jived with the scenario of events laid out by Agent Jacob Rollins, the agent who had been his partner. He said Paul had been tired and gone to bed around nine. Agent Rollins had gone out for a late dinner and then met some of the officers with the St. Charles Police Department. He’d gotten back to his room about one in the morning.
For most killers, I’d say two hours wasn’t enough time to make the mess that The Butcher had made. However, Patterson Clachan had been killing for over sixty years. He was a seasoned professional. I imagined the damage could be done in less than an hour by someone skilled and experienced. That gave him plenty of time to slip out of Paul Williams’ room and head over to the house of the sniper.
What I couldn’t figure out was where he was getting his never ending supply of clothing. We found a polo, slacks, underwear, socks, and shoes at the Williams’ crime scene that didn’t fit Williams. They’d also found blood in the bathtub at the motel, lots of it, trapped in the drain and coating the bathtub floor. It had been rinsed off, but not washed away. Water alone couldn’t remove all traces of blood and Patterson didn’t se
em too worried about leaving the evidence.
They’d also found a few strands of dark hair. Looking at it closely, it wasn’t black, but brown, a very dark brown, like Nyleena’s. Paul had been a light brunette, they certainly weren’t his hairs. Of course, considering the state of the motel room, it could have belonged to a previous occupant.
My mind thought about the bleach stain on the carpet. It had been old. I wondered if there had been another murder in the room at an earlier date. I considered calling the motel to find out, but I wasn’t supposed to be investigating, just offering advice. Instead, I told Jacob Rollins to check on it. It was most likely unrelated, but I was a curious person and wanted to know.
The VCU and SCTU seemed to have bigger budgets than the rest of federal law enforcement. Malachi and I weren’t camped out in some flea-riddled motel with bedbugs and blood stains. We were at a nice hotel with a minibar and view of historic downtown. Our rooms were next door to each other. I had eaten lunch in my room, using room service to supply it. Malachi had invited me out, but I wasn’t very fond of him at the moment. My brain kept latching onto his array of secrets and wondering what else he was keeping from me.
I didn’t like secrets. I had some of my own, to be sure, but one person knew them all. She was currently in a coma on the other side of the state, but she did know everything. Except that I liked to kill. However, I was sure she had already figured that out on her own. It hung unsaid between us sometimes.
Secrets were like cancer. They ate away at you, tearing you apart from the inside out. They left questions, lots of questions that remained unanswered after death. Like Nina, she had said she would tell us everything, but she had died too soon. Any secrets she had divulged were currently locked away with my own. I hoped Nyleena was dreaming about Ranger and Morelli and not whatever dark secrets Nina had told her.
Now, Malachi was keeping them from me. I didn’t expect him to spill his guts every time he saw me, but I did expect that he would tell me anything pertinent that had to do with me or my family. The fact that he hadn’t, troubled me.