“What the fuck is this place?”
“This is where I bring the girls, some of them.”
“They don’t mind if you bring them to a dark little shithole like this?”
“Everything is location, to you it may seem like a dump but it serves a function.”
“I’m feeling a little light-headed.”
“It’s just about time then. Don’t worry; I know what I’m doing.” Jackson puts Caleb into the harness, he’s heavy, he’s six foot three, two hundred and ten pounds, Jackson works the harness until Caleb is suspended over the pit, he makes a Scotch and soda, about an hour later, Caleb wakes up.
“What the hell happened?”
“Someone must have it in for you. Maybe it’s that coke-head actor whose money you lost, maybe your wife found out about your mistress, maybe you made eye contact with the wrong person on the subway.”
“Why are you doing this? What is this thing?”
“You were just wasting your life anyway. I’m going to make you part of something bigger. I know the solution for what ails me, I’m going to have to take your blood.”
“Listen, whatever you want, I’ll make it happen. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I can fix it.”
“I never said you were doing anything wrong, you were just behaving like the animal you are. That’s all we really are, reduced to our basest instincts, the true self can become visible. I have a grand agenda and it requires sacrifice, if you knew how much work I put into it, you’d wonder how I have time to do anything else.”
“You can’t do this. People will look for me.”
“I fear them no more than man fears a gnat. There is no one to stop me, if there was I would’ve been stopped a long time ago. Don’t bother screaming just yet, that will come later and when it does, just so you’re aware, this place is soundproof. Just look into the pit, accept the abyss. I find no flaw in your lifestyle; you’re only interested in gratifying yourself. I respect that, if you hadn’t asked those questions and made me suspicious, we could be discussing philosophy over a drink. Instead you get to see the beast that I’ve become.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t mean to pry into your personal business. I take it back; I’ll never ask you again. We don’t have to play this game.”
“Make no mistake, this is not a game. If this was a game, then I’ve already won, and why would I want to quit? I’ll have your best clients by the end of the week, your wife will get a part of you, a part she hasn’t seen before,” Jackson says as he finishes his Scotch and soda. He lowers the harness so Caleb’s chest and arms are pulled closer, Jackson takes out his knife, he rips Caleb’s shirt at the collar.
“Don’t do this, please don’t,” Caleb pleads. Jackson cuts his throat and watches him gurgle and whimper, the blood runs down into the pit, it also soaks his shirt. Jackson begins making vertical cuts on Caleb’s forearms. He then severs the femoral arteries, he looks at Caleb’s bulging eyes, Jackson looks down into the well.
“It’s really not fair, it’s a stacked game. With every victim, my power grows. A bigger city means more prey,” Jackson says, he removes his gloves and makes another Scotch and soda, he walks over to his video camera, he shuts it off. Jackson finishes his drink before he puts another pair of gloves on, he lowers the harness once the blood has stopped dripping, he wheels in a gurney and lowers Caleb onto it, he removes his ring finger at the second knuckle, he sets the finger on the gurney, he starts in with the scalpel and removes Caleb’s liver, he sets it on a black sheet of parchment. “Your wife will be so surprised, perhaps I’ll only send her half, she doesn’t deserve a note. Caleb, you had such potential, but I can’t risk you ruining my work with your curiosity. The strange thing is, Caleb, despite what I told you earlier, I’m feeling so much better now.”
CHAPTER EIGHT: IN SEARCH OF THE MAN IN BROWN
Marshall and Chester drive to the site where the head of a young boy was discovered just outside of Clinton. “What are we looking for?” Chester asks.
“We need to find his cabin and then we should find a cave,”
Marshall explains.
“How will we know where the cabin is?”
“We work backwards. Here is a map of the caves around the site, once we find the cave; we will find the cabin within a one-mile radius.”
“How do we know which cave to look for?”
“We will start with the caves closest to the site where the head was found, a ten-year-old boy named Connor Berth. The cave will bear this sigil,” Marshall says as he hands a picture of it to Chester.
Marshall pulls the car off onto the side of the icy road, he and Chester trek through the snow-covered woods, their frosty breaths dissipate into the air, the trees are black with frozen branches. After walking for thirty minutes, Marshall consults his map. “This is where the head was discovered. The closest caves are one mile east and there is another one a half-mile north. My best approximation is the smaller cave a half-mile north as the likeliest spot.”
“I say we go with your assessment. If we see any bats, I am out of there though.”
“You’re afraid of bats?”
“I’m afraid of rodents of any sort and bats are rodents.” They trek a half-mile north until they find the entrance to the cave, blocked by a large boulder.
“Here, help me move this,” Marshall says.
Chester helps Marshall shove the boulder out of the way easily. “Flashlights on, and watch your step,” Marshall cautions. They begin their descent into the cave, Marshall inspects the ground, he picks up a rock and examines it, then he finds a spot of soil and pinches it in his hands. “The soil and rocks are of the same composition as those I found in the other cave.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we are probably in the right place. Keep your eyes on the walls, look for any recesses.” They reach the dark cave with their flashlights. “Look, there in the soil.”
“Tracks.”
“Precisely, if you pay close attention, there are three differing sets, all barefoot. One larger set, a smaller set, and a medium-sized set.” Marshall takes his camera out and photographs the prints multiple times. “The tracks are only important though if we find the sigil.” They come upon a small pool of water in the cave, Marshall pulls out a vial and takes a sample; he shakes it as he holds his flashlight up to it. “It’s reasonably clean.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means they could have survived in here.” As they continue to explore the cave, Marshall finds a sudden path down on the south side of the cave. “This is what we were looking for.”
“I’m not small enough to go down there.”
“Wait up here then, I’ll inspect it,” Marshall says as he enters the rocky slope, he enters the circular chamber of the cave and sure enough, on the same wall he finds the sigil. “Why are they leaving these behind?” Marshall asks himself. “For a man so interested in covering his tracks, one would think he would have these washed off.”
“What is it?” Chester asks.
“They were here,” Marshall says. “This is what we were looking for,” he says, his voice reverberates in the small recess of the cave. He takes a photograph of the chamber and of the sigil on the wall. He takes another rock sample and a soil sample again, he inspects the ground closely, then he climbs back up out of the chamber. ‘Did you notice the bats up there?” Marshall asks as he points up in the cave with his flashlight.
“Son of a bitch,” Chester says as he turns his flashlight up and shivers.
“Relax, they’re hibernating,’ Marshall assures him. “Let’s go.” Once they exit the cave, Marshall tells Chester, “Let’s roll the boulder back.” They do so and Marshall takes his map out, marking the cave on it. “The cabin will be close by, we’ll make a sweep of one-quarter mile, we’ll each move counter-clockwise, if you find it, call me, if I find it, I’ll call you, agreed?”
“Let’s find it soon; I’m freezing my ba
lls off.”
“Big guy like you will be fine,” Marshall says, they each begin their search through knee-deep snow, Chester plods through the snow like a human shovel while Marshall tucks his pants into his boots and takes longer, careful strides. After about forty minutes wandering through the snow-covered woods, Marshall sees the cabin and approaches it, huge sharp icicles hang from the roof, the roof itself is covered with about a foot of snow. Marshall calls Chester and tells him, “I found it.”
“How am I supposed to find you?” Chester asks into the comm.
“It has a chimney. Assuming there is no evidence in the fireplace, I’ll light it, just look for the smoke.”
“What were you going to do if it didn’t have a chimney?”
“I’d have to find you.”
“How were you going to do that?”
“Take the case off of your phone and you tell me.”
“It doesn’t look like much.”
“If we ever get separated, I’d be able to find you with that tracker.”
“That’s a little unsettling.”
“I always prepare for the worst. Just follow the smoke, I’ll be inside,” Marshall says into the comm.
“All right,” Chester responds. Marshall picks the lock on the cabin door and enters with his gun drawn; he clears each room and then inspects the fireplace figuring any evidence that may be there would have been snatched up by the authorities. He does find the edges of two singed pieces of paper, he continues to poke through the fireplace but finds nothing else, he bags the evidence, then he finds a pile of snow out back, cleans the top off and brings three large logs into the cabin, he lights the fire, then he inspects the empty wooden bookshelves, he checks the kitchen but it is bare, he finds a few stray hairs in the bathroom and bags them, the floors are flat, the edges of the cabin are perfect, in what was probably the bedroom he notices one piece of hardwood close to the wall that gives a little when he steps on it. He takes a crowbar out and begins digging in around the panel; Chester arrives as Marshall pulls the wooden floorboard up.
“What did you find there?” Chester asks.
“Not sure yet, something either meant to be hidden or meant to be found.”
“I’ve never understood the criminal that wants to be caught.”
“I don’t believe the man in brown wants to be caught, but his ego dictates that he must mock his pursuer or pursuers and, in this case, that would mean us.”
“I can’t relate to that either.”
“His power comes from intimidation and control; he thinks he can exert that over us too.”
“How does he know we’re looking for him?”
“I’m not sure that he does, he knew I was close years ago. But he does seem to possess some manner of foresight.”
“I’m not really intimidated.”
“I’m not either but I’m sure that doesn’t matter to him. He’s a different breed of criminal, not catchable by conventional means. But if he wants to leave behind artifacts, we will use them against him,” Marshall says as he pulls out a wooden box wrapped in brown paper. Marshall puts his gloves on again; he inspects the intricate designs on the box, the moon in all of its stages, a goat in a field, a pile of bones, a serpent of incredible size, and a fire.
“What the hell does it all mean?”
“It’s his handiwork, we will have time to decipher it,” Marshall explains as he undoes the clasp, he walks with the box towards the fire, Chester follows him closely, his steps are heavy and the wood creaks. Marshall opens the box and finds a sealed envelope with the crest of a serpent stamped on it in wax, then there is another package wrapped in brown paper. Marshall sets the package aside; he takes his knife out and cuts the side of the envelope. “In cases like this, you always read the letter first,” Marshall tells Chester. He pulls the letter out carefully and unfolds it, then he begins to read it aloud.
“In winter when the skylark
Is absent and no longer singing,
You’ll enter the woods at dark
Injured with head a-ringing.
Desperate, you seek a mark.
In truth, there is a being
Who waits for the fire you’ll spark.”
Beneath the poem, Marshall finds in cut-out letters from magazines and newspapers, “The Man in Brown.”
“I take it you’ve seen messages from him like this before?”
“Not exactly, that poem is handwritten. Yet his name is cobbled together from magazine and newspaper letters. I’ve yet to find anything he left behind that wasn’t pieced together from newspaper or magazine letters.”
“What do you think it means, beyond the obvious fact that he knows you’re looking for him?
“He seems to be addressing me and he is aware of my injuries, the absence of a skylark is not unusual for winter, he seems to think I’m desperate and perhaps he is the being waiting for me to light a fire.”
“Which you literally did before I arrived.”
“The fire may not be literal, it may be figurative,” Marshall says as he unwraps the package and looks at the three wooden figures. “Sometimes a man must walk through the fire,” Marshall adds.
“That’s me and you,” Chester declares. “But, who’s the third guy?”
“I have no idea, he looks like a cowboy.”
“You don’t know anyone who that resembles?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, if we come across a cowboy, that’s gonna freak my shit out.”
“I believe that may have been his intention. It’s intimidation and control.”
“I just need a few minutes alone with him, if he would just stop moving.”
“I don’t think he’ll let it come to that. It can never be that simple.”
“What do we do now?”
“We warm up by the fire, we make our trek back to the car, then we analyze the evidence. We’ll run prints on the box though he’s far too smart to leave them, the two pieces of paper I found in the fireplace I will place into a solution to reveal their contents if there are any, the handwriting sample is extremely valuable, I’ll test the rocks and soil in the cave, see if my findings match up with what I found in the other cave, then there are the footprints.”
“What can you learn from the footprints?”
“So many things, Chester. There are at least three of them that dwell in caves, if they were barefoot that means they were here before winter, being barefoot in a cave in winter, you’d lose your toes and theirs were intact. So we can place them here before winter, based on their footprints, they are two males and a female or a male, a large child, and a female, and if the residue from the soil and rock samples matches my earlier finds, any more clues left behind by our three cave dwellers will narrow the search down even further.”
“But if they were here before winter and these figures are supposed to be us, we didn’t meet until winter. How could he know we would be searching for him months before we met?”
“It’s an excellent question and, quite honestly, I’m not sure.”
“How would he know about you getting shot before it happened?”
“These are questions we will find answers to in time. Logic would dictate that since I don’t know who actually shot me, it could have been a plan motivated by the machinations of the man in brown, it’s just as likely as it being a plan motivated by Catherine Shield. But I know my enemy and guns are not his style, he is not above using spies in his employ, nor is he above letting others do the killing for him, but if he was the one that meant to kill me in the streets, he would have had my head instead, would’ve left it in the woods, the body would never be found.”
Marshall and Chester arrive in Joplin, they look at the ruins of a town devastated by a tornado that reduced it to rubble, houses crushed like they were made out of tinder sticks, it looked like a giant tore through the town or like a bomb had gone off. “I saw the pictures on the news but seeing it in person, I can’t find the words,” Chester says.
“These people, none of their lives will ever be the same.”
“It makes you feel small.”
“We’ll stay and help for the day.”
“You’re willing to drop the case for a day?”
“We’ll continue our hunt tomorrow. In this job, if someone needs your help, you help them.” They spend the day digging trenches, Chester is wearing a white t-shirt beneath his coat and jeans that he had brought, they both had changed in the car, Marshall is wearing an old gray t-shirt beneath his coat and an older worn pair of slacks. When Chester started digging, he didn’t stop until it was time for lunch, sweat poured down his face like someone put a soaking rag on his head, for every shovel Marshall made, Chester had made three. Even a few of the men working with them stopped at various points to see a man seemingly running on a motor, churning up dirt in swift powerful heaves. The crew all stopped for lunch at noon, Marshall and Chester sat together, across from one another, they grabbed the sandwiches, chips, and water that were provided. “I’ve never seen a man work that hard physically at that high of a level for that long without stopping. I’ve observed people from every walk of life, construction workers, contractors, gravediggers, never seen anything like that.”
“You didn’t stop either. The work you do, it’s all mental. It’s your blessing but it’s also your curse.”
“How so?”
“You spend all of your time uncovering secrets, looking for patterns, searching for people that don’t want to be found. Your mind’s always churning and you never take time to stop and enjoy it yourself, gears keep on grinding, your wheels keep on spinning, that’s why you can’t sleep and when you do, you have nightmares because you’ve spent too much time studying men who kill for pleasure.”
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“You can just say it’s the truth, it’s written all over you, man. You see I act and I don’t spend time analyzing any of it. The men I killed, I don’t think about them too much, if I ever have to answer for what I did, well, I did it for survival. If I get judged for it, then that’s fine but I did what was necessary, in this world you become the shark or you die, I chose the shark. You were a cop; I know you killed Carmen, how many others were there?”
Detective Tumbler and the Man in Brown (Detective Tumbler Trilogy Book 2) Page 10