by Todd Travis
“He’s angry.”
“Who isn’t angry? We’re all angry, Kane.”
Kane caught the disdain in his voice and it cut her. She struggled to think but images of the dead child cluttered her mind. Gilday joined them.
“Throat cut, perp was standing behind her when he did it. Flesh cut off from the back, buttocks and legs, similar to the Iceman. Arm and foot missing.”
“But she wasn't killed here,” Thorne stated.
“No,” Gilday admitted. “No spray. She was killed somewhere else and left here.”
“Time of death?”
“Rough estimate till they get her on the table, but they’re saying hour or two, tops. Not long at all. We got lucky, one of the town cops out looking for her spotted the body. Quickest recovery time yet and there’s a lot of trace left at this one that they were able to get to before the weather did.”
“Panties?”
“Panties tied around her head, covering her eyes,” Kane answered for Gilday.
“Hello, Mr. FunnyPants,” Thorne walked around and looked at the dark empty Nebraska fields and farmland surrounding him. “Why here, why did the body end up here?”
“You all right?’ Gilday asked Kane.
“No. I’m pretty fucking far from all right,” she answered.
“He doesn’t drive, he didn’t walk. Why here? Can’t tell what kind of tracks he left because the falling snow,” Thorne continued. “Does it ever stop snowing in this shithole?”
Scroggins joined them. “Jesus Christ, every time I have to look at one of these it burns my ass. You puke again, Jeff?”
“No, shut up.”
“He always pukes whenever we have to look at bodies,” Scroggins said. “Are you holding it in?”
“No, shut up, dickhead.”
“What? It’s not like I blame you,” Scroggins replied.
“Wake up, kids,” Thorne interrupted. “What’s that over there?”
They all looked in the direction Thorne pointed to, off in the darkness. By the shadows cast from the spotlights, an extremely large building could be seen just on the edge of town, about a half a mile away.
“Grain silo,” Scroggins said.
“A what?” Thorne asked.
“A grain silo,” Kane said.
Thorne started walking toward the grain silo. Everyone reluctantly followed him.
“Okay. What the hell is a grain silo?” Thorne asked, wading through the snow. Everyone hurried to catch up to him.
“A grain silo is where they store grain. Grain is harvested all fall, stored here most of the winter until it’s sold. Sometimes it’s called a grain elevator, that’s what we called it,” Gilday said, “grain elevator.”
They all trudged along silently for a bit, the flashing lights and sirens fading in the distance. Thorne reached the foot of the grain silo and stopped, staring up at it. It was a large, round, cement building, rising up almost three hundred feet in the air. A dark forbidding granite presence that stood large in the night. Kane felt small before it.
“Big bastard, isn’t it? I’ve been seeing these buildings all over the place and wondered what they were.”
“You’re in Nebraska, Thorne,” Kane said, snippy. “That’s what they do here. That’s why they have all those things called farms that we saw when we flew over. What are you doing?”
“I’m seeing the sights, this is my first time in Nebraska,” Thorne pointed to a ladder going up the side of it. “You climb that ladder, all the way to the top, you could see for miles, right?”
“Well, I wouldn’t do it when it was this cold and icy,” Scroggins replied. “But yeah, you could.”
“And who gives a shit?” Kane said. “What are we going to do now?”
“What’s your problem?” Thorne asked.
“My problem?”
“Your time of the month, is that the problem? You riding the cotton pony this week or what?” he asked.
“Fuck you, Thorne, I tend to get a little cranky whenever a little girl gets killed!”
Gilday and Scroggins looked at each other, uncomfortable. Thorne was untouched by her outburst.
“You want to know what’s really interesting?” Thorne asked after a moment.
“What?” Gilday asked.
“That,” Thorne pointed his finger. “What’s that there?”
They all turned and looked in the direction he was pointing. About twenty feet away, mostly hidden from view, was a steel trapdoor not far from the foot of the silo.
“That goes under the silo, to the gallery,” Scroggins said.
“Gallery?” Thorne asked.
“Gallery, it’s uh,” Scroggins fumbled, “it’s like a network of support tunnels underneath the silo.”
“I never knew they were called that,” Gilday said. We just called them the tunnels.”
“I spent a summer working on silos in high school,” Scroggins said. “I know a lot more about them than I’d like to.”
Thorne threw the steel trapdoor open all the way and descended the ladder to the depths below.
“Well, you know what they say,” Thorne winked at Scroggins before he disappeared into the dark.
“What’s that?”
“Knowledge is power, young Jedi,” Thorne said.
15
At the foot of the ladder, down inside the gallery, everyone turned their flashlights on and splashed the light around. The cement walls were pitted and covered with obscene graffiti. Old empty beer cans and cigarette butts littered the floor. The tunnels seemed to go on and on into the ground. Thorne almost slipped on the snow under the ladder, catching himself just in time.
“Fuck! This fucking snow.”
“You better get some good snow boots,” Gilday said, “otherwise you’re going to be sliding all over the place.”
“I am not planning on being here long enough to need snow boots.”
“How far does it go?” Kane asked as she walked down the tunnel, disappearing into the shadows.
“If it’s like the others, a long ways, most are like a maze, with different stairs and levels, bunch of exits,” Scroggins said.
“That trapdoor up there, it’s never padlocked?” Thorne asked.
“Can’t, fire code or something,” Scroggins answered. “Kids come down here all the time to, you know, drink or make out, least we did in our town.”
“Bunch of us used to go down and play Dungeons and Dragons in the tunnels underneath our elevator when we were kids,” Gilday said.
“Yeah, D & D, that and Empire Strikes Back, remember that, Jeff?” Scroggins added. “That was fun.”
“So what, you two were geeks, is that what you’re saying?” Thorne asked. “I had you pegged as jocks.”
“A little bit of both, I guess,” Gilday said.
“You think Mr. FunnyPants came in here?” Scroggins asked.
“I think this is his kind of place,” Thorne answered. “Every town has a building, a silo, like this?”
“Big ones like this, yeah, some have more than one. There are smaller silos on some farms, but they don’t usually have the gallery underneath,” Scroggins said.
“Do you want to take a look farther down?” Kane asked.
“Go ahead, Kane, knock yourself out.”
Kane slit her eyes at him and investigated farther down the tunnel.
“Who’s this guy that you know, the one that fits the FunnyPants profile?” Thorne asked.
“Kid by the name of Ryan Robertson, twenty-two, lives with his grandma right outside of Brainard. Fits your profile to a T. Unemployed, doesn’t drive, mental, everything. And the face?” Gilday said.
“Kid has really bad acne, I mean his face is a pizza with the works, anchovies, the whole deal,” Scroggins added. “But his alibi was rock-solid, I’m telling you.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Thorne sniffed, “he fits the profile, he’s the one.”
“But …” Gilday said.
“Thorne!” Kane called from th
e darkness farther down the tunnel. “Thorne, get over here!”
Scroggins and Gilday ran to where Kane was crouched at an intersection of the tunnel. A small bloody snowsuit lay torn on the hard floor and silenced the Troopers. Kane played her flashlight on the wall of the tunnel. The wall was covered in blood.
“That’s spray,” she said simply. “We’ve found our kill spot.”
Thorne, joining them, glanced at it and caught Gilday’s eye.
“Call CSU, get them down here and started on processing this evidence,” Thorne said, “and then call Johnson, tell him to get his head out of his ass and fire up the van, we gotta full-tilt boogie out of here right now. We don’t have much time. I’m betting he stayed to watch us work the dumpsite and took off when we headed this way. He’s probably heading home now and I want to beat him there.”
“What?” Kane stood. “Where are we going?”
“We’re going to see Mr. FunnyPants.”
16
Johnson unhappily guided the police van down the county roads once again with everyone loaded in the back. Kane made Johnson a little bit nervous, because of how Kane looked, and Thorne made Johnson a whole lot nervous, because of how Thorne looked at him. As a result, Johnson drove a little cautiously, which in turn caused Thorne a great deal of impatience. Thorne slapped the back of the driver’s seat.
“Let’s go, Johnson, I thought all you country boys could drive like hell!”
“I was born and raised in Lincoln,” Johnson protested.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I mean, it’s not … it’s a city, I’m not from the country.”
“You live in Nebraska, Johnson, wake up and smell the cowshit. Let’s go, move it!” Thorne slapped the back of the seat again.
“Do you have a file on this guy?” Kane asked Gilday.
“Yeah, but not with us, it’s back at HQ. We liked this guy Robertson a lot, but he’s from Seattle and he’s only been in this state for three months.”
“Which is the window for the FunnyPants killings,” Kane pointed out.
“Right, but we didn’t know then that there were two killers, the Iceman had been going for months by then and Forsythe was pushing for the whole thing,” Gilday said. “But the big stopping block is Robertson’s alibi.
“He’s an in-patient at Brainard Memorial Hospital, being treated for depression. Mental wing of the hospital, it’s locked up so no one can get in or out without signing. He checks in every night at seven, out every morning at seven. All of the Brainard area abductions were after seven at night, just like this last one, and the staff confirmed he’s been there every night since he moved here.”
Scroggins hung up his cell phone.
“Okay, Grandma Robertson dropped him off at quarter to seven like she always does. Hospital said he signed in and was there for lights out. They just looked in on him and confirmed that he’s there now.
“Bullshit, we have to see for ourselves,” Thorne snorted.
“What?” Scroggins said. “But they said …”
“I don’t care what THEY said, he fits the profile, he’s the one. Brainard Hospital, Johnson, we don’t have much time so stop lagging,” Thorne thumped the back of the seat again.
“What the hell, Gerry,” Gilday said. “Won’t hurt to look.”
“Fuck it, yeah,” Scroggins said. “If Thorne’s wrong at least then we can give him shit about it.”
“Listen boys, it works like this,” Thorne said. “I am ALWAYS right. Learn it, know it and live it.”
“He’s modest, too,” added Kane.
Johnson nervously cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t we call Captain Forsythe?”
“What for?” Thorne said.
“I mean, he should probably know what’s going on, right?”
“What’s going on, Johnson? Nothing’s going on, right?” Thorne replied.
“Not a thing,” Gilday added.
“Nothing, we’re not even gonna talk to the guy, Bill,” Scroggins said.
“We just want to see that he’s there,” said Thorne.
“I don’t know, he’s gonna be mad, you know how he is.”
“Come on, Bill,” Scroggins leaned forward. “Why put the captain’s cock in a lock over nothing? We’re just going to check on the guy.”
“I don’t know, he could …” Johnson pulled the van into the parking lot of the hospital.
“Bill, shut up,” Gilday said. “Just do as you’re told.”
“Time to get hands-on. Park in the back,” Thorne said. “Everybody follow me and let me do the talking.”
17
Moments later, all five of them, Thorne, Kane, Gilday, Scroggins and Johnson, followed a visibly flustered doctor down the hall of the hospital.
“Like I told the officer on the phone,” the doctor said, “this is a very secure building, there’s no way in or out of this wing without any of the staff seeing you. We have regular bed-checks and …”
“I want to see for myself. I’m a federal officer so stop fucking with me, understand?” Thorne cut him off. “If I have to get a warrant, I’m going to put a boot to your ass and kick you into the middle of next week.”
They stopped at the entrance to the Psych Ward, where a nurse sat in a window and eyed them curiously. The entrance door to the ward was large, heavy and locked electronically, Kane noted. The only way in was to be buzzed through by the nurse on duty.
“Doctor,” Kane said, “just let us verify it with our own eyes and then we’ll go, I promise. There’s a lot at stake here, another young girl has been killed. We just want to see.”
The doctor took a deep breath. “All right. But you must be quiet, these are all damaged people that need peace and quiet. Buzz them in, Beatrice.”
The nurse pressed the buzzer to open the door and everyone entered the ward. The door shut and locked behind them. Kane lagged behind and noted that it was not physically possible for anyone to reach through the window of the Nurse’s Station and hit the buzzer; it was too far out of reach. Kevin Durant wouldn’t even be able to do it. She quickly caught up to the group.
“Mr. Robertson is in room twelve, it’s around the corner down at the end.”
“Do you have fire exits on this wing?” Thorne asked.
“Shh. Of course we do, but they’re locked, they only open in the event the fire alarm goes off, or if someone buzzes from central. If the fire doors do open, an alarm goes off.”
“Scroggins, Gilday, check them out. Kane, stay with me and keep Johnson out of trouble.”
Scroggins tossed a radio to Kane and he and Gilday disappeared down the stair door.
Thorne, Kane and Johnson followed the doctor around a couple of turns in the hallway and finally stopped at room twelve. The doctor gestured to the window in the hospital room door. There was a figure sleeping in the bed.
“See?” the doctor whispered. “I told you he was here.”
“His door locked?” Thorne asked.
“Of course not, why?”
Thorne opened the door to the hospital room. The doctor grabbed his arm.
“What are you doing? You can’t disturb him!”
“Doc,” Thorne said, “he’s not breathing.”
The doctor glanced at the sleeping figure, entered the room and carefully approached the bed.
“Ryan?” he whispered. “Ryan, wake up.”
The doctor pulled back the sheets. Underneath the sheets were pillows and balled up clothes.
“So much for the bed-check,” Kane said.
“Doc, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Thorne said. “That trick is so old it should be on Viagra, that’s how old that trick is.”
The doctor, not amused, pushed past them at the doorway.
“Beatrice, call security!” The doctor rushed down the hallway.
“Now we have to find him,” Kane said.
“No, we don’t,” Thorne corrected her.
“We don’t? Why, you know
where he is?”
“I don’t know where he is, but I know where he’s going to be soon. He’s going to coming right back here to this room.”
“Thorne, Kane,” the radio on Kane’s belt suddenly spoke. “You better come down here,” It was Gilday.
Thorne took off at a good clip down the hall, Kane close behind. Johnson just stood there in awe of the empty bed in the hospital room.
“Johnson, let’s go, young man, time’s wasting!” Thorne barked from down the hall. Johnson jumped and scurried after them.
Some moments later, Thorne and Kane joined Gilday and Scroggins outside the back of the hospital, where they were standing next to a very open fire door. Johnson, huffing and puffing, soon followed.
“Ah, look at this, the locked fire door is somehow unlocked,” said Thorne.
“Not just unlocked, but you can open and close it, no alarm, nothing,” Scroggins demonstrated.
Kane examined the door. “How’d he do it?” she asked and found a gum wrapper lodged near the hinge. “What’s this?”
“Foil from a gum wrapper, kept the magnetic charge constant,” Gilday said. “But how’d he know how to do that?”
“Probably saw it in a movie,” Thorne said.
“Beverly Hills Cop II. Good flick,” said Scroggins.
“Damn good flick,” Johnson agreed.
“So where he is now? What time is it?” Kane asked.
“Quarter to six,” Gilday answered.
“Shit, we’ve been out at this all fucking night,” Johnson grumbled.
“Sun will be up in about forty minutes,” Scroggins said. “He has to show up soon. He’s probably got a routine down, slip in right before shift change, something like that. He’s gotta come back, unless he knows we’re on to him.”
“You know what I’d really like to know” Thorne asked.
“What?” said Kane.
“What I’d like to know is, how’s he getting around? Doesn't drive, how did he get from here to Garrison?”
“There’s somebody walking out of the woods,” Johnson said, his voice a little shaky.
They all froze.