by Robin Mahle
Had her earlier call to him served as a reminder that he’d once offered her a position alongside him? Was this an attempt on his part to lure her in? Give her a chance to sink her teeth into something substantial? Not that the work she did was not. On the contrary. But nothing she had done in the past year could come close to the scale of this investigation. Inside, she felt a thrill, a rush of adrenaline that bolstered her confidence.
Her first inclination was to review the profile Agent Myers had assembled. The level of detail was astonishing. She seemingly had left no stone unturned. Nick was right; the woman was extraordinarily talented. This was like nothing Katie had ever come across before.
As she delved further into the text, she came across Myers’ interpretation of the carving in the victims’ torsos. The “V.”
“An iconic symbol,” it began. “A symbol that reaches as far back as the 1600s, with a variety of meanings. Not simply as the victory sign or symbol for peace that we know today, but, in part, as a symbol of the ‘Law of Fives.’
“The Law of Fives states that: All things happen in fives, or are divisible by or are multiples of five, or are somehow directly or indirectly appropriate to five. The Law of Fives is never wrong.
—Malaclypse the Younger, Principia Discordia, Page 00016
“This idea is the basis for Discordianism, a religion based on the worship of Eris, the Greek Goddess of Chaos. The Principia Discoria is essentially their holy book or ‘bible.’”
Katie was captivated by Myers’ theory.
“The references to five and multiples of five are what’s key in this investigation. Although this religion worships chaos, it is also consistent with respect to heaven and hell, God and Satan. All things relating to five. Jesus and Satan have five letters, the holy number 23, 2+3, digits on human hands. The examples are infinite,” Myers went on to conclude.
“However, the interpretation of the Law of Fives and Discordianism, in general, is integral to the religion in and of itself. Interpretation is left up to the individual.
“In my research into the origins of the symbolism of ‘V,’ and as produced by Illuminati founder, Adam Weishaupt (incidentally, there were five original members of the Illuminati), who taught that human history came in five stages; (1) Chaos, (2) Discord, (3) Confusion, (4) Bureaucracy and (5) Aftermath. I believe we are dealing with an interpretation of this religion as Order from Chaos.
“The person or persons we are looking for are believers and will interpret the meaning to suit their needs. I believe what they seek is to create chaos, the first of the five stages of the cycle of human history.”
Katie heard the front door open and the sound proved startling as she nearly leapt from her seat. “Marshall?”
“It’s me.” His voice carried down the hall and into the office.
Relieved, she took to her feet, padding her way into the living room to greet him. “You’re home late.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve texted you.” Marshall leaned in to kiss her. “I’m surprised you’re still up.”
She turned back toward the hall for a moment. “Oh, I got caught up looking at a few files that Nick sent over to me the other day. Can I get you a glass of wine?” She headed into the kitchen.
“I don’t think so. It’s late and I’m exhausted.” Marshall removed his jacket and placed it over the dining chair. “How did class go? You talk to anyone who knows Shalot?”
Katie returned, raising a bottle of water to her lips. “I talked to this guy named Will Mathers. He knows Edward, but not well. It seems he may not have had any close friends.” She moved to the couch, tucking one leg beneath her before taking a seat. “But, he did mention Shaun Hudson.” There was a spark of recognition in Marshall’s eyes. “Yeah, I thought you might find that interesting. Will had seen the two of them together a few times at a bar near campus. Said they seemed pretty chummy.”
Marshall soon joined her on the sofa. “So you think Shaun Hudson was more involved with Shalot than simply accepting a payoff for your file?”
“I think it’s worth talking to him to find out what he knows about Shalot.” She looked again to the light emanating from the office. “I gotta tell you, after what I just read in the files Agent Myers put together, I think they’ve got their hands full with this one.”
Marshall nodded; a thin smile appeared as he seemed to be in agreement. “What did she say?”
“Well, I only heard them talk about this dandelion they’ve found on the victims. Myers went on to explain the significance of that detail and it, in and of itself, suggested that more, maybe a lot more people were involved in these killings than they want to let on. In the profile I was reading, she goes on to say that the killer or killers are possibly connected to some religion or cult I’ve never heard of. Discordianism, or something like that. Myers concluded that the symbolism of the ‘V’ carving in the victims, for these people, anyway, means the Law of Five. It’s pretty fascinating stuff.” She took another sip of water. “Scary, actually.”
“Well, there’s a hell of a lot more to Edward Shalot than we first thought. Gibbons and I talked to a few of the women that had been posting online about Shalot. The posts Aguilar found.”
Katie nodded, knowing that Marshall still had a chip on his shoulder as far as Marc and that whole situation was concerned, but kept silent.
“It seems Shalot roughed them up a little when they rejected his offers to go to his ‘parties.’ Or, at the very least, scared the hell out of them.”
“Parties?”
“Yeah. The kind that involve several people in a room, apparently without clothing.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle just a little at Marshall’s interpretation, although guilt immediately surfaced. After all, a woman was dead. “Sorry.” Her reddened face began to cool again.
“Ah well, to each his own, I guess. I just want to punch Shalot in the face for being an asshole to those women. Son of a bitch deserves it for what he did.”
14
NICK HUNCHED OVER the top of the bar, shaking his empty glass at the bartender. He was sweating his ass off. It was coming up on mid-November and it was still too damn hot here. He couldn’t believe they didn’t have the air conditioning on in this place. Just doors propped open. Everyone said the breeze felt nice. Nice? Guess I should have packed shorts and a t-shirt. That seemed to be the attire of the other patrons.
Instead, Nick wore a suit with a wool jacket, immediately shedding the coat as he entered the establishment. It was much more modern than he had expected. Not at all like the southwest décor he had envisioned. Phoenix was completely foreign to Nick. He’d never been there, never wanted to go there, but somehow, now found himself immersed in the death of yet another woman dumped on a God-forsaken deserted stretch of highway.
He’d spent the better part of the day at the local field office, coordinating with other agents as well as the Sheriff’s department. The woman had been dumped outside the city limits and so it fell under County jurisdiction.
Everyone was very helpful, as expected. He held great respect for all law officials and never felt that he was somehow superior because of his federal status. The deal was to catch the bad guys and that required cooperation from all law enforcement.
“Hey, this seat taken?” Agent Myers approached and sat down to the left of him.
“Nope. Have a seat. Thought you were already back at the hotel, tucked up in bed?” Nick pressed the button on his phone to see the time. “Shit. It’s only 9:00?”
Agent Myers smiled, waving to the bartender. “Yep. Feels a lot later, though, I’ll give you that.”
The bartender approached the two of them. “What can I get you?”
“Bourbon—neat,” Myers replied.
“Whoa.” Nick felt himself waver a little too much, figuring he ought to slow down on the drink. But one more wouldn’t hurt. It had been almost nine weeks since his last drink. A personal best. He guessed he’d have to get back on the wagon tomorro
w. Then again... “I’m impressed.” He said to Myers. “I’ll have a Jack and Coke.”
The bartender acknowledged the order and moved onto the next patron, the numbers of which seemed to be dwindling.
“It’s not like back east, is it?” Nick cast a glance around the bar. “I mean, look at these people? It’s friggin November and they’re all in shorts.” He looked back to Myers. “There’s something seriously wrong with that.”
Myers tossed her head back, laughing. It seemed she had picked up on the fact that Nick might have had one drink too many already. His speech was slurring. “Remember, we need to be at the County Examiner’s office at eight tomorrow. You might want to reel it in a bit.”
“Pshaw! I’m fine!” He creased his brow, realizing he had just said “pshaw.” This was probably going to be his last drink of the night.
The problem was, Nick had been traveling so much over the past several days that he hardly remembered what time it was, how long he’d been awake, or sometimes which victim he was seeing. They were all beginning to fuse into one. Varied eye colors, different hair, all of it matted. Body shapes from thin to overweight. It was a sea of bodies, amalgamating into one great Frankenstein-esque being. He squeezed his eyes tight to clear his mind. But since that wasn’t working, fortunately, the bartender had just set a drink down in front of him.
“Here’s to your theory of Chaos. I sure as hell can’t make any sense out of it.” Nick held up his glass, waiting for Myers to toast with him.
“To Chaos.” She clinked her glass against his and tossed back the bourbon with ease.
“You’ve done that before.” Nick smiled.
“Maybe. Just once or twice.” Agent Myers placed her hand on his forearm, casting her eyes on him and brandishing a sensual smile.
Nick might have had a little too much booze, but he knew when a woman wanted him. He never had any trouble in that area, although once they found out he had never been married, nor had any kids at his age, they figured something must have been wrong with him. They would sleep with him anyway, which was fine by him. And he figured that Agent Myers wanted to sleep with him now, a possibility that had crossed his mind prior to this moment.
“Georgia.” Nick looked to her, anticipation surging through his body. “That’s a really beautiful name.” It wasn’t a cheap line. He wasn’t a cheap man. Nick let his eyes fall, taking in the beauty of her red silky hair, which rested perfectly over her shoulders in soft, billowy curls. During the course of business, she wore her hair in a tight bun, making her features appear hard. Now, her cheeks disappeared behind the waves of hair, highlighting her green eyes. Or maybe they were blue.
“I was named after the peach. You know, Georgia peach? My dad said I reminded him of a peach when I was born. Soft, pale, and fuzzy.” She laughed again.
He liked her laugh. In fact, tonight might have been the first time he’d actually heard it. She’d been assigned to work with him on this case when the first victim was discovered in Virginia. Nick recalled his boss summoning him into his office after local authorities discovered the body of a woman, thirty-three, single, with one kid. It was as if the killer was making a trial run. Seeing if he could do it. The acts had become more brazen, the locations planned carefully, and seemed to be occurring with a frequency that scared the hell out of him.
When his ASAC assigned the team, Myers was at the top of the list. Nick knew who she was, of course. There weren’t that many “profilers,” as they’d become known, although that wasn’t actually an official FBI title. He agreed to the team and here they all were now, almost four weeks later and not much closer to knowing the identity of the killer, or killers, as Myers believed. He was becoming more convinced by the minute of her theory and was very impressed with her skills.
Nick finished his drink and set down the glass. This was probably a bad idea. Well, there was no “probably” about it. It was a bad idea, but Nick didn’t care. His thoughts were so consumed by this case that he desperately needed to focus on something else. And right now, that something else was a pretty redhead who seemed to have similar feelings.
“Come on.” He began to rise from the barstool and retrieved his wallet, dropping two twenties on the glass top.
She tossed back the last of her bourbon and followed him.
A call had come in to the station earlier this morning and Captain Hearn wanted to see Marshall first thing.
“I’ll let you know what’s going on after I talk to Hearn,” Marshall started. “Captain said they got a call from a frantic wife. Her husband hadn’t made it home last night and no one had seen him since he left for work. I’m gonna find out what’s going on. You heading into the office soon?”
“I won’t be far behind you,” Katie replied, still lying beneath the warm covers of their bed. “Be careful.”
Marshall bent down for a kiss. “Always. Love you.”
Katie watched Marshall leave their room and listened as he left the apartment. She rolled over to see the time. 6:30 a.m. She should have been up already, but the hour had been very late before the two went to sleep last night. And, like most nights when an idea delved its way into her mind, she found it difficult to find rest.
As daylight continued to surface, she tossed her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. The idea spread like a fire and it would not be stopped now. It seemed likely that Marshall was about to be assigned a new case. Lots of people went missing and that didn’t stop because one was busy on another case. Gibbons would still be working on the Shalot investigation, though. He too believed something wasn’t right. But first, Katie would take her own path, as she so often did, and work to find Shalot’s inner circle. That meant talking to Shaun Hudson.
Upon arrival at the station, Katie took to her habitual routine, which included checking in with Officer Sanderson, the lead CSI on the Brown case. Then she proceeded to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, and finally sorted through the various emails that had made their way to her inbox over the past eight hours. There were surprisingly few today, but that was fine by her. She had other things to work on.
The expected call from Marshall hadn’t yet arrived, but Katie assumed he must have still been in with Captain Hearn. This gave her some pause. The captain was generally brief and to the point. Some might mistake his personality as curt, but Katie knew better. He’d been there for her, stood up for her when she had come forward with the revelation that she recalled the identity of Hendrickson.
The media, including Marc Aguilar, took to tearing her down quickly after that. Hearn shielded her from the brunt of it. He also saw the potential in her and gave her this job. She would be forever indebted to the man.
Still, she worked to put the concern to the back of her mind and instead focus on finding Shaun Hudson. He was a student and so the best place for her to start was social media. Twitter, Facebook – either one would likely reveal his whereabouts, as people were consumed with informing others of their daily activities and locations. Although Katie was only slightly older than those who took to offering such information, it was something she could not understand. Maybe it was the type of work she did. Maybe it was the fact that one could be so easily tracked down through the internet. Whatever the reason, she knew the risks and what happened when bad people wanted to find you.
A fake Facebook account had already been set up. She was not new to the usefulness the platform offered in her line of work. Logging in, she entered Shaun’s name in the search bar. And, again, like most twenty-somethings, his profile was public and there for all to see.
Twenty-one years old, third year undergrad, majoring in History. I’m sure his parents must be thrilled. By his most recent post, she figured his classes ended by early afternoon, where he then went off to work in Administration for the remainder of the day. “Trying to keep myself awake during Euro History lecture. Def gonna hit Starbuck’s before work!”
Katie shook her head, having already ascertained his itinerary for the day. She checked t
he time on her computer. Ten a.m. She had time yet to continue perusing the internet for more information: who his friends were, where he liked to hang out, whether or not he was dating anyone. So much could be discovered. Almost made a detective’s job obsolete.
Her cell phone buzzed with a text message from Marshall. “Just got new case. Need to talk to the wife of missing man. Call you later.”
People went missing every day and today seemed to be no exception. Until there was a body or a crime scene, she would not be asked to become involved. Her place was in the collection of evidence, not finding people, and since she was busy with the Brown case, Marshall, who would sometimes ask that she accompany him as a form of training, she would not be able to do so today.
Her first inclination was to phone Nick and let him know that she had a chance to look at the files he sent. She was a little surprised not to have heard from him yet and wondered how deep he was in it with the Phoenix victim.
The phone lay still on her desk. She stared at it, pondering the decision. Finally deciding that a quick call would be okay, she opened the screen to her contacts and pressed on Nick’s number.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Nick, it’s me; Katie. You got a minute?”
“Just a quick minute. Agent Myers and I are on our way to the ME’s office. What’s up? Everything all right?”
Katie could tell that she was on speaker and recalled what Nick had said about keeping her receipt of the files under wraps. Yes, the situation had changed, but she wouldn’t risk it. So, rather than divulge the fact and possibly get him into trouble, she decided to fill him in on their progress instead.
“We’ve been able to get a little more information on Edward Shalot. You remember the pictures and blog posts Marc Aguilar handed over?”
“Yeah.”