The Warriors Series Boxset I

by Ty Patterson

  He bounced on the bench seat as a laugh escaped him.

  Wonder if they’ll wet in fear.

  One of his victims had wet himself which enraged the killer even more.

  Apartment block has cameras all over.

  The killer stopped bouncing and frowned. He’d bought two new bats, still unwrapped; his blood raced just looking at them.

  Cameras?

  He thought furiously and suddenly it came to him.

  Coffee. Patterns.

  The where was a strip of sidewalk near their regular café in Brooklyn that saw little foot traffic. The sidewalk fronted a narrow alley that held dumpsters and waste bins, the stench created an oasis that people avoided.

  That’s where I’ll take them. I’ll park the van near the curb and hide in the alley. As soon as they pass .

  He stopped fidgeting on the bench seat as the mechanics of the takedown struck him.

  One knife against two women. How’ll that work? Maybe I should go with the bat, strike both.

  Won’t work. It’ll take time and they’ll be two against one of you. There could be people about.

  Knife, then. Slip out of the alley, grab one, hold the knife against her, the other will be tamed.

  How’ll you restrain them?

  He frowned. Restraint had never been an issue previously.

  Gotta go shopping.

  ‘Let me start with Ivan Rausch’s dad, a real piece of work.’

  ‘Just get to Ivan, Jase.’ Meghan glared at him.

  He glared at her. ‘We do it my way.’

  Meghan bristled but settled back when Zeb looked at her.

  ‘Lowell Rausch, Ivan’s father, grew up in Tulsa, Oklahoma and lived there till he was eighteen, after which he traveled all across the country. He was a drifter. His dad was a welder who worked in a small business in Sapulpa, a small town about twenty minutes away from Tulsa. He was an only child and was frequently abused by his father who had a drinking problem.’

  ‘Sexual abuse?’ Beth interrupted him.

  ‘Possibly, but nothing that was proven. Rausch senior was a mean drunk and often beat his wife and son. He was well known to the cops and served several minor sentences for domestic abuse. Lowell Rausch escaped the family home when he was eighteen with very little life skills. He picked up his dad’s profession, welding, but didn’t stay long enough in any place to hold down a job. He also worked as a carpenter, mechanic, handyman, whatever job he could get. He usually worked in businesses that paid in cash, and hence a lot of his employment was off the record. He lived off the grid as much as possible. He had a Social Security number, but there’s no record of his ever going to any hospital, ever using that number.’

  He fiddled with his computer, connected it to a projector and brought up a grainy black and white picture of three people, a tall, stern looking man, a short woman beside him and a small boy in front of them.

  ‘The Rausch family. The only known picture we have of them. Rausch senior died of a bad liver when he was fifty, his wife died at home three years later. Lowell Rausch is the kid.’

  He brought up another picture of a man with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks who stared straight back at the camera with an expressionless face. His eyes were startling green against his pale face.

  ‘Lowell Rausch. He drifted east once he ran away, Arkansas, Tennessee, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, and New Jersey. He spent a few months or maybe a year in Arkansas, got into bar fights, was arrested, manhandled some prostitutes, was arrested again. He served a six-month sentence in Arkansas, and during his term, nearly killed a fellow inmate. He then surfaced in Tennessee where he worked in a garage for a year. By the end of the year, he’d run away with the owner’s daughter, Jane Hempel. Hempel Senior didn’t approve of Rausch dating his daughter and there’s a police record of a complaint being made by him. But young love being what it is, the lovers eloped. He was twenty-five then, Hempel was twenty-four. She probably thought she could straighten him out.’

  Cleary’s laugh died when the Petersens stared at him. A red flush spread across his face. ‘Rausch came up in Alabama a year later, in North Birmingham, again held for violent assault. The man he fought with lost an eye. He had one son, Ivan Rausch, five years old by then, his wife Jane Rausch had died the previous year. They lived in a remote property outside the city with no contact with the outside world. The kid never saw the inside of a school during their time there. Once his wife died, Rausch took his son and lived all over the city, renting rooms or apartments wherever he could. He held various jobs, welder, bouncer, manual labor, whatever paid him cash. The only records of him are whenever he got arrested for bar fights. He often gave addresses of the nearest homeless shelter as his residence. The state took custody of his son whenever he was arrested and he managed to get him back when he was released.’

  Cleary shrugged. ‘No idea how he swung that. He had a history by then and the only work he got was where not many questions were asked. He was tall, rangy, and most of all, he was vicious, all those helped in some of the jobs he held.’

  He flipped through several photographs, Lowell Rausch in prison, Lowell Rausch with a smiling, brown haired, green eyed woman, Rausch with a very young boy, both staring at the camera.

  He continued. ‘Rausch was arrested for child abuse in Dalton, Georgia. Ivan Rausch was ten by then. Rausch worked at a mill for a few years before he was arrested. A neighbor spotted the bruises on the boy’s face and arms, subsequent investigation revealed he was frequently beaten by his father. With a belt, a cane, once with a poker, anything that was handy. Sexual abuse was suspected but not proven.’

  He waited expectantly for any comments and when none came, he plowed on.

  ‘Lowell Rausch was sent to prison for three years, his son was taken by the state and placed in foster care. By the time Rausch was released, he’d obviously lost everything, no job, no place to stay. He managed to find steady employment as a bouncer at a club that wasn’t particular. He then convinced the state that he’d reformed and took back his son. He left Georgia after a year and made Camden, New Jersey, his home.’

  ‘The move to a different state didn’t make change anything. Lowell Rausch soon slipped back to his old ways of irregular jobs, bar fights, and child abuse. Ivan was sixteen then and this time, it was proven that his father sexually assaulted him. Lowell Rausch got a ten-year sentence. He was sent away to East Jersey State Prison and Ivan went back to foster care.’

  Another picture appeared on the white screen. A handsome boy with tousled black hair and dark eyes looked straight ahead with a slight smile. There was a visible crescent like birthmark on his forehead.

  ‘Ivan Rausch. One of the few photographs in which he’s smiling. Ivan was of average intelligence, did okay in school the rare few days when he went. Quiet kid who kept to himself is what the few people who saw him, said.’

  ‘He went through extensive sessions of therapy, counseling, and treatment when his father was on trial.’ Cleary looked down at his notes and mentioned a hospital and the names of a couple of therapists. ‘He was then placed in foster care, but he didn’t stay there for long, in fact less than a year. He fled from the family when he’d just turned seventeen and came to New York. There he fell in with a street gang in Harlem and came to the NYPD’s notice.’

  ‘He just walked into this gang?’ Meghan looked at him disbelievingly.

  ‘The NYPD put together a pretty extensive file on him and traced his steps, in fact his entire history, because of Lowell Rausch.’

  He brought up pages on the screen and flipped through them rapidly. ‘For the first few months, he hung around food kitchens and helped there. From food kitchens, he moved onto shoplifting. Petty stuff, food usually. He was caught four times and let off with a caution each time.’

  The screen flipped to show two young men pointing guns in a store. ‘This was from the security camera in a convenience store. He was three months short of eighteen, and a member of this gang. We couldn
’t apprehend him or the other gang members despite all our efforts. He next came up on our radar when a rival gang member was found dead, knifed, in Harlem. A couple of others were injured. A gang fight. The survivors identified Ivan Rausch and traces of his blood were found.’

  Another photograph. A man on a sidewalk, blood coated on his chest, his eyes open in a familiar, glassy stare.

  ‘Four months later, Ivan Rausch was dead. Shot by a rival gang, the same gang whose member he’d knifed. Eighteen years and five months old. And very dead.’

  Zeb broke the silence that followed. ‘What about Lowell Rausch? Where’s he?’

  ‘Rausch was in prison for exactly five years when he got into a fight with the wrong guys. He was found with his throat cut in the shower stalls. He died before help could reach him.’

  He looked at the twins, at the screen. ‘This is messy.’ He reluctantly clicked at Beth’s impatient gesture and brought the dead man’s photograph up.

  The NYPD went about its business outside their room; desks slammed, phones rang, cops laughed, the door opened briefly and doughnuts were offered and withdrawn hastily at Zeb’s stony look.

  Cleary looked at each one of them for a comment and when none came, he licked his lips. ‘Like I said, the killer’s a ghost.’

  Meghan looked uncertainly at Zeb. ‘The killer might be using Ivan Rausch’s alias now. I guess it would be very easy for his identity to be stolen?’

  Zeb nodded. ‘Piece of cake for those who know how. The fake identity could be set up all those years back when records and paperwork were less stringently guarded. The killer could have looked up Ivan Rausch on the Death Master File and then created his identity.’

  The Death Master File was maintained by the Social Security Administration and contained records of all those who were reported dead to Social Security. It had over eighty-nine million records, was updated weekly and its contents were gold dust to fraudsters.

  Zeb stretched and stood up. His eyes were warm when they rested on Cleary. ‘You did good, Jason. I’ll be surprised if you don’t get reinstated.’

  The criminologist stared at the three of them. ‘Alias? Stolen identity? Hello, this is a dead end.’

  ‘Nope.’

  His face turned red, his voice rose. ‘Did you get what I was saying all along? Ivan Rausch is dead. His was the DNA we found in Sandoval’s apartment. As far as I can figure, a dead person cannot be upright and mobile.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. DNA does not lie.’ Zeb leant back and watched him. ‘The ladies got it, though.’

  Cleary looked at the Petersens, baffled, then at Zeb. He reddened further when a smile grew on Meghan’s face and a similar one appeared on Beth.

  ‘What? You know something I don’t?’

  Zeb said softly. ‘You too know it, Jase. It’s in front of you.’

  Cleary glared at him, then at the sisters and the spots on his face turned dark.

  ‘Oh. I should’ve got it the first time.’ His anger turned to embarrassment.

  ‘Twins. Identical twins have the same DNA.’ He frowned. ‘But Lowell Rausch had only one son.’

  Zeb stood up and stretched. ‘Let’s rip it apart and see what we find. Jase, you work with whoever you need to work, come up with how Ivan Rausch would look like today. If our theory is right, that likeness will match the build and the eyes we’ve got for the killer.’

  He turned to the sisters. ‘We’ll check out the prison superintendent in New Jersey; find out who was close to Lowell Rausch. He might have let slip something. Let’s also check out where else Ivan Rausch turns up. Property records, DMV, hospitals, tax returns, wherever an identity and an interaction is required.’

  ‘Beth, Meghan – you talk to the foster family in New Jersey, speak to them, see if Ivan Rausch let slip anything. Track back the Rausch’s movements to as far as you can, right from the time Ivan was born and to Lowell Rausch’s first employment.’

  ‘Gotcha, Wise one.’ Meghan rose and bounced on her feet. ‘We’ll also cross check Ivan Rausch against the list we have, though I’m pretty sure that name doesn’t exist. It isn’t a very common name.’

  ‘Don’t forget to check for Ivan Rausch’s likeness on your list.’

  ‘Gotcha, boss.’ She saluted him.

  ‘You got any video from the cab company?’

  ‘Nah. We got lucky that one time since it parks on different streets every week.’

  Cleary looked at Zeb as they headed to the exit. ‘What if you’re wrong?’

  ‘Let’s hope I’m not. Else we’ve nothing to go on,’ came the grim reply.

  Beth punched Cleary on the shoulder as they left. ‘Thanks, Jase. Now if you cut down on the snark, you might even turn human.’ She yelled out at Zeb and Meghan behind her. ‘Move your asses. We’ve a ghost to catch.’

  Beth popped her head back in and smiled wickedly at Cleary. ‘Oh and that thing about dead men not walking, hotshot? The Wise One has come back from the dead at least once.’

  Ghost.

  The killer twirled in front of the mirror in his apartment and admired himself. He was outfitted in a black body suit, a backpack tightly strapped to his bag, fully covered with just his eyes glittering through a black mask.

  I’m a ghost. I don’t exist. Neither do my victims.

  You’re going to wear that for the grab? In daylight?

  The killer stopped preening. The grab would happen late evening, but there would still be enough ambient light. The thing inside him had a point.

  He rummaged through his wardrobe, flung clothes out and sorted through them. The person who looked back at him half an hour later wore a dark T-shirt, sagging jeans, and sneakers. A baseball cap turned back to front completed his look.

  Still a ghost. Millions of guys look just like me.

  Shades?

  Nah. But a stubble.

  The van’s good?

  He nodded at himself.

  Handcuffs, masking tape, blindfolds, all laid out in the van. Fake plates on it.

  How’ll it go down?

  Scalpel against the first woman. She cuffs and tapes the other and shoves her inside, I cuff and tape her.

  How much time?

  Thirty seconds.

  He’d practiced his moves till he exited the van in less than five seconds, before the door slid to its extremity.

  Isn’t it better if you first shove one inside and the second cuffs her? All that action outside might attract attention.

  He thought about it. Nodded. The thing had a point.

  When?

  Soon. Watching them every day now, waiting for a window when Carter isn’t with them.

  He looked at his computer, at the various possible victim profiles on it and ignored it.

  This’ll be big. Once I’m over them, the city’s mine.

  He grinned whitely at the mirror.

  Liberation. Extermination.

  They spent the evening at the hospital with Zeb, who still hadn’t spoken to Broker, seated in his usual spot.

  Meghan brought Broker up to speed who grinned when she looked at him quizzically. 'He knows you’re awake. Why doesn’t he come in?’

  ‘That man is the most complex guy you’ll ever come across. He has these ideas of chivalry, of indebtedness, which are ancient, but they make him who he is. It shames him to see me like this. He’ll talk to me only when I’m on my feet.’

  Beth whispered back furiously. ‘We told him he’s not responsible. Jeez, how can we get it through his thick head?’

  Broker’s grin grew broader. ‘You can’t. I’ve spent a lifetime with that critter. He won’t change.’

  Meghan looked wonderingly at the door through which she could see Zeb’s shadow on the floor. ‘Would he be the same if it was Beth or I?’

  Broker chuckled. ‘Nope.’

  ‘He’d be worse. He’d go all cold and ice and would probably reduce his word output from hundred a day to ten.’

  Zeb heard them laugh and something inside settled and
acquired weight.

  Broker will be out soon.

  Only the sharpest eyes would’ve spotted the fractional easing in his shoulders.

  ‘No hits on Ivan Rausch on any database.’ Meghan announced as they set off the next day to East Jersey State Prison. The facility was in Avenal, in Woodbridge Township in New Jersey, bordering Rahway and it was originally named as Rahway State Prison. It’s got renamed when Rahway’s residents petitioned for a name change, few neighborhoods liked having a prison in their backyard.

  It was a bright sunny morning, frost crunched beneath their wheels and gleamed off parked cars as Zeb eased out of their basement parking lot and swung onto Columbus Avenue. At eight in the morning, traffic had already lined up and formed a sinuous aluminum snake that wended its way slowly through lights and crossings.

  Down Columbus Avenue, Ninth Avenue, and onto Hudson Street, the snake grew thicker and slower as Holland Tunnel approached. Beth looked outside at people tapping their wheels, some sipping their coffees, others on their phones.

  ‘We did this for a few years in Boston. Not this kinda commute, but all this is familiar.’

  Zeb knew what she meant. ‘Any regrets?’

  ‘Ha! None at all.’ She wiggled her fingers at a girl who waved at her. ‘That was a good life, this is better. We get to trade one liners with you, we get to use the Lear.’

  Meghan considered. ‘Yep. Nope. That’s all he says. I guess those could be called one-liners.’

  ‘Oh, don’t get sucked in by that wooden face, sis. Zeb’s got a wicked sense of humor. He’s laughing his head off inside, even now.’

  Zeb brought the topic back to Rausch. ‘Nothing in his name?’

  ‘Nope. Werner was at it all night. Pizaka too did his searches and came back empty. Nothing active on Lowell Rausch either.’

  Light and sound bounced off the tiles in Holland Tunnel and died away as Zeb steered them onto the I-95S. ‘They lived in Camden didn’t they, for a few years? Let’s check out their neighborhood, talk to some folks, when we’re done at the prison.’

  The prison’s distinctive dome could be seen for miles around, it grew larger as they approached and resolved into silver over an X-like structure seen from the top. Zeb swung through the gates and winced when Beth screamed in his ears.