The Bay Area Butcher: (Quint Adler Book 2)

by Brian O'Sullivan

  So I would.

  The day after the funeral, I finally got the courage up.

  “Kintner residence.”

  Courage or not, I almost lost it right there.

  “Glenda, this is Quint.”

  A slight pause followed, and I wondered if she was pissed at me for waiting so long to contact her. Or for contacting her at all. Maybe my disinvitation from Ray’s funeral hadn’t only been the OPD’s idea, although I hated to think that.

  “Why didn't you come to the funeral, Quint? Over the last year, he was as close to you as anyone.”

  “Trust me, I wanted to. But the OPD made it clear they didn’t want me there.”

  “Because you’d be a distraction?”

  “Partly. But mainly because they don’t see me as one of them. I’m the outsider and they are tired of me always crashing their party.”

  I immediately regretted the term I’d used.

  “Ray would have said fuck the guys who didn’t want you there.”

  “Yes, he would have. Maybe I should have just shown up unannounced,” I said, leaving out the party-crashing metaphor this time.

  And I heard Glenda Kintner’s laugh. I can’t imagine there had been many of those recently and it made me feel good.

  “Ray would have liked that. Sure, he was a proud member of the police department, but he didn’t believe in all that ‘You’re not one of us’ bullshit. He liked everyone. Especially you.”

  “And everyone liked him. Especially me,” I said.

  “Thanks, Quint.”

  “Look, Glenda, the OPD is going to make sure that I’m no longer part of this investigation. And I’ll respect their wishes, but that doesn’t mean I want to lose contact with you. Can Cara and I take you out to dinner sometime soon?”

  “Of course. It’s going to be pretty lonely around here.”

  And that’s when I thought of something. I’d bring my mother to that dinner.

  For all the wrong reasons, she had a lot in common with Glenda Kintner. Widowed, and widowed in the worst way possible. I didn’t know if Glenda would want to open up about her grief, but my mother could certainly listen and sympathize.

  “I’d like to bring my mom as well, if that’s okay?” I asked.

  “That would be fine.”

  “I’ll call you soon and set up a time.”

  “Thanks, Quint.”

  “And I’d just like to let you know that Ray was a phenomenal man. I loved him dearly. He not only saved my life, but became a great friend. I’ll miss him every day.”

  “So will I.”

  The tears were about to come once again, so I decided to get off the phone.

  “Take care, Glenda. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Thanks for calling, Quint.”

  I tried to spend the next few days remembering the great friendship I had with Ray. While at the same time trying to ignore the madness overtaking our beautiful section of Northern California.

  The Bay Area Butcher ruled the first fifteen minutes of any half-hour local news program. He seemed to consume everything. And they’d inevitably show pictures of Ray, so I tried to avoid the news whenever possible.

  And no new letter had been posted from the Butcher, so the news was just rehashing events I didn’t want to rehash.

  Instead, I remembered the good times we’d had. How Ray had saved my life. How he’d accepted me when most of his fellow officers in the OPD had not. How he’d invited Cara and me into his home, the nicest gesture of all.

  I was on my third level of grief. First, you’re shocked. Then you grieve and feel terrible for the friend you have lost. And finally, that gives way to a form of acceptance. And when that occurs, you can go back and relish the great times you shared.

  That’s what I tried to concentrate on now. Which doesn’t mean I wasn’t still livid and eager to rip the heart of the Bay Area Butcher. But I was trying to focus on the nice times I’d had with Ray.

  I remembered first meeting him outside of the house in Oakland where Griff Bauer had been murdered. How, at first, I thought he was just some old, washed-up police officer. How he started to grow on me and how we developed a nice back-and-forth. How our friendship seemingly ended when he arrested me for a murder I didn’t commit. How he redeemed himself (and then some), by saving my life out at sea.

  And how all of that had led to a great friendship over the last year or so. Which had culminated in finally meeting his wife, someone it seems he rarely introduced anyone to.

  I grieved for Glenda more than I did for myself. I’d been friends with Ray for a year. They’d been married for close to three decades and had raised two children together. It must have been unimaginably tough on her. Just as it had been on my own mother.

  After Ray’s funeral, I tried to spend some time smelling the flowers. Watching the birds. Enjoying the sunrise. And just taking in the finer things in life that we so often take for granted. Life is short, and I’d been reminded of that, so I tried to soak in everything around me.

  And I have to say, somewhere in the sadness, those were a peaceful, tranquil few days.

  That tranquility proved short lived, vanishing when I approached my apartment one day.

  A letter fluttered, pinned to my front door. I’d already paid rent for June, so this shouldn’t be some sort of reminder of that. Maybe it reported a maintenance issue for the complex. With four buildings and hundreds of tenants, that happened quite often.

  I removed the red tack holding it up and grabbed the letter. I opened my apartment door and threw the tack in the garbage.

  I opened the letter and my heart froze.

  At the top, written by hand, was the following:

  I didn’t see you at the funeral, Quint. My guess is the OPD is pushing you away. So, I decided to hand-deliver a letter myself. This will be sent to the usual suspects as well. And I’m sorry about Ray…but he had to go.

  My hands started shaking so badly that I dropped the letter. I picked it back up and, trying to hold myself steady, I read the printed section below his personal note.

  Three down, two to go. It was a nice little funeral you guys threw, but where was Quint? Ray enjoyed his company more than all of you fellow shitty cops. And I do mean that. What kind of cop lets a stranger kill him outside of his house? Especially with all that’s going on. Just pathetic. Maybe Ray didn’t deserve to live.

  I think all of you are catastrophically inept at your jobs. Which is good for me. It could even mean I’ll go on killing forever. But I’ve only got two more for this summer. And then I’m going to vanish for awhile.

  Not forever, mind you. I’ll return at some point and start a new killing spree. You see, I’m the smartest serial killer there has ever been. I know that if you just go on killing and killing, you will eventually be caught. So after my next two sets of murders, I’ll be going underground for a while.

  And you’ll never find me. But when I do pop back up, everyone will say just how pathetic the Bay Area police forces are. You’ll be laughingstocks to the entire world. If you aren’t already!

  Just a final reminder before I go: The death of Ray may cut deep, but it’s going to be a picnic compared to the final two sets of murders. No more killing of a lone cop. Time to step up my game. There will be lots of victims. And I do mean lots.

  Happy Hunting!

  I set the letter down, careful not to touch anything but the corners. I grabbed a paper towel and used it to fish in the garbage for the tack, which I set on top of the letter.

  My mind rocketed and ricocheted in a million different directions.

  I’d only been gone a half hour, drinking a coffee at the Starbucks downstairs. A few of the baristas had become friendly with Ray and we’d spent a few minutes reminiscing about him.

  So the killer had been outside my apartment very recently. That scared me, there’s no way around it.

  There were two things I had to do.

  I dialed a number.

  “Oakland Police De
partment.”

  “I need to talk to Captain Lockett.”

  “May I please ask who’s calling?”

  “Quint Adler. It’s extremely important.”

  Thirty seconds later, Lockett came on the phone. “Quint, I thought we made it clear we’d call you if needed.”

  There was no point getting into that right now. “The Butcher was just at my apartment.”

  “What?”

  “He thumbtacked a letter to my door. I saved the letter and the tack.”

  “Have you called the local police?”

  “Not yet. No offense to the Walnut Creek police, but I thought of calling you first.”

  “I’ll call them right now and coordinate something. Stay at your complex. We’ll be there soon. What number are you?”

  “481.”

  “We’ll see you soon.”

  Now to the other thing I had to do. I walked down the hallway carefully, not to say nervously, and took the elevator to the first floor.

  Usually, four or five employees of Avalon would be working at the front desk, but I only saw Kayla when I approached. That was fine. The fewer people, the better.

  And I knew I had to watch what I said. No reason to let them know what had happened. That could wait until the police arrived.

  “Hey, Quint,” she said, looking up at me.

  “Hi, Kayla. I know this is going to be a weird question, but do we have cameras outside Avalon?”

  “No, we don’t. Can I ask why?”

  I tried to keep a causal tone as I lied, “Just saw a guy who looked like a troublemaker roaming the fourth floor. Wanted to see if he had left the building.”

  She frowned. “I’m sorry, Quint. We don’t have cameras. But if you want to file a report with the police, they could be on the lookout for him.”

  “Alright. Thanks, Kayla.”

  That had amounted to absolutely nothing.

  I headed back toward my apartment, knowing it was going to be treated like a crime scene shortly.

  Soon members of the Walnut Creek police started arriving, followed by the OPD ten minutes later. A few local sheriffs came as well.

  I realized this could take awhile.

  I called Cara and asked her if she wanted to come over. I didn’t tell her why.

  Ten minutes later, she was walking down my hallway. I’d planted myself outside of my apartment and headed in her direction, meeting her halfway between my door and the elevators.

  “What the hell happened?” she asked.

  “The killer left a note on my apartment door.”

  Cara looked at me and her expression said it all.

  But she also spoke, making a good point: “Can we take a cruise around the world and just get the hell out of the Bay Area? We’re in the line of fire. The letters mention you. Ray’s been murdered. And now the creep who killed him comes by your apartment?”

  I really had no comeback. She was right.

  I was in harm’s way. And maybe she was too. And maybe my mother. I shuddered at the thought.

  “We’ll talk about it, but let me see if they need anything else first.”

  I approached the officers. Two of them stood at the front door, using a device to dust for fingerprints. Six other officers wandered around in my apartment, but I’m not sure exactly what they were doing since the killer had never set foot inside.

  Freddie Fields approached me. He was the only one I recognized. He led me to the corner of my living room. Cara was within earshot, but she didn’t follow us.

  “How long did you say you were gone for?”

  “About thirty minutes,” I said.

  I’d answered these questions when the Walnut Creek PD arrived first, but I’d liked Freddie and didn’t mind talking to him.

  “And where did you go?”

  “The Starbucks downstairs. Some of the baristas had gotten to know Ray and we started talking about him.”

  Freddie nodded. “I know how much he meant to you, Quint. And he was a friend to me as well.” I believed him on both counts. Ray had liked him and I’m sure he was crushed. His sympathy also seemed genuine.

  “I know, Freddie. It’s all so terrible. You and Ray coming by the Walnut Creek Times seems like it happened a lifetime ago.”

  “It certainly does. Now, where would you exit when you left the apartment complex?”

  “I got off the elevator at the first floor and walked through the parking garage to the Starbucks.”

  “So if someone was parked down there, they would have seen you walk out.”

  “Yes. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “I doubt the killer would risk leaving that note unless he knew you were gone. What if you had been inside and heard him putting the tack in your door? Way too risky for a guy who has been so diligent to this point.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “How about getting into the complex? Would he need a key?”

  “You need a fob to get into the complex. Hypothetically.”

  “Hypothetically?”

  “There’s always people going in and out. And no one says anything if you just follow someone in. If he saw me leave, it would be fairly easy to wait a minute or two and follow the next person in. My girlfriend just got up here without a fob,” I said, motioning to Cara.

  “And you didn’t see anyone suspicious when you left the complex or when you returned?”

  “No. A few people were on the elevator, but I recognized them as tenants. And I didn’t see anyone suspicious walking inside or outside the complex.”

  That was the truth, despite what I’d told Kayla earlier.

  “Alright. We’re going to need another hour here.”

  “I’m going to go for a walk with my girlfriend,” I said.

  “Stay close, just in case we need you. In fact, give me your number, Quint.”

  I did, said goodbye, and then went to Cara.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I need some fresh air. Let’s go for a walk.”

  We headed out of the apartment and took the elevator downstairs.

  Across the street from Avalon was the Iron Horse Trail, which I often ran along. I took Cara’s hand and led her in that direction.

  While my initial plan was to go for a walk, a lot of people were currently using the trail, strolling or jogging, and I didn’t need anyone hearing what I was going to say.

  A few vacant park benches sat about twenty feet from the trail itself. “Let’s go sit down,” I said.

  Cara followed me there, but I could tell she was tense. She never kept this quiet.

  We sat down and watched a few people run by.

  “I wish I could be like them right now,” I said. “Not a worry in the world.”

  “What are you going to do, Quint? I remember you said this wasn’t going to be like last year, but it’s exactly like last year. You have this monster’s attention.”

  I put my head in my hands, propped up, barely, by my elbows on the park bench.

  “What can I do?” I asked.

  “I’m on summer break now, so we really could travel around the world until this ends.”

  “I don’t exactly have a travel-the-world budget.”

  “We won’t be gone that long. The guy has said he’s committing five sets of murders. That’s only two more. We can return when he finishes.”

  “We’re going to believe what some psycho says? And worse than that, we’re going to have our lives dictated by him?”

  By Cara’s expression I knew she agreed with me on the last point. We couldn’t change our lives just because of this asshole.

  “Okay, fine, I’ll grant you that. But what? We can’t just keep things as is. He knows where you live.”

  Just then, a group of five bikers sailed by along the path. I’d never liked the idea of bikers and runners doing their respective endeavors on the same narrow strip of pavement. It was a recipe for disaster. Bikers should have stayed on the streets and let runners
and walkers have the trail. I reined in my wandering mind and looked back at Cara.

  “He won’t come back to my place. He’ll assume we have the apartment videotaped from now on.”

  “Seems like he took a pretty big risk to me. How could he know you guys didn’t have cameras?”

  “He wouldn’t know. But he may have seen all the people who walk out every few minutes and figured he’d blend in. Maybe he was wearing a hoodie, I don’t know. And I guarantee you one thing. He was wearing gloves. The officers won’t find anything useful at my apartment.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because this guy is ultra careful. He’s not going to get caught doing something like this. It’s not going to be that easy for us.”

  “God, I hope you’re wrong.”

  “So do I. But I’m not. We’re either going to have to do great detective work to catch him or get lucky. It won’t be a fuck-up by him. And certainly not something as small as forgetting to wear gloves.”

  Cara looked on pensively.

  “Then why don’t we do it?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Become quote-unquote ‘detectives’ and pour everything we have into catching him.”

  A smile, both excited and incredulous, stretched across my face. “You’re serious?” I asked.

  “I am.”

  My smile vanished, although the excitement remained inside me. “We’re not going to get much help from the local police departments. I can promise you that.”

  “It will just be us.”

  Against all better judgement, I was intrigued.

  “Did I tell you the last thing Ray ever said to me?”

  “No.”

  “He told me I should become a private detective. He said I loved the action and there’d never be a dull day.”

  “Was he right? About the action, I mean.”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “Then let’s do it. I hate to sound so pragmatic at a time like this, but I’ve got the whole summer off. This maniac’s murders will surely end before I have to go back to teaching. Especially if we step in to stop him. We could do this.”