The Bay Area Butcher: (Quint Adler Book 2)

by Brian O'Sullivan

  My mother called and we had another long conversation. It kept reverting back to something like this:

  “But I really want to see you,” she’d say.

  “And I want to visit you. But I really think it’s best that we don’t hang out until this is over. I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “I don’t like it, but fine.”

  “I’ll make it up to you when this is madness is all over.”

  She hated it, but I could tell she understood.

  There were numerous voicemails or texts from the media, asking if I’d be up for an interview. I didn’t answer nor return any of their calls. My email was inundated with the same thing. We could do the interview over the phone, they’d say. Or, better yet, in person.

  Fat chance of that.

  I didn’t respond to the emails either.

  “So, what’s our plan for tomorrow?” Cara asked as Monday finally wound down.

  “I’m not sure. But we’re not going to just sit around the apartment like we’ve done today. We’re certainly not getting anything accomplished here.”

  “Why don’t we drive around tomorrow? Head into SF? I’m not saying we’re going to run into the Butcher on the streets, but being out and about might get our creative juices flowing. Maybe some ideas we haven’t considered yet will come to mind.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Especially since today has been a total waste.”

  She shrugged, pointing to the T.V. and then to the collage we’d made on the wall. “We’re learning things about the Butcher every time we watch the news. And as usual, we’ve read his letter dozens of times. Those aren’t a waste. Something might click.”

  “That’s fair. I just wish we could be outside.”

  “Well, we will be tomorrow. Even if we’re just going to be two chickens with our heads cut off, driving around randomly.”

  Despite the gruesome image, I laughed. And hugged Cara. She hugged me back.

  “We haven’t had enough alone time lately,” she said.

  “Not the right kind of alone time, anyway.”

  “It’s just hard to think about anything except the Butcher. His killings. His whereabouts. Those are always dominating my thoughts. I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. When this is over, we’ll go somewhere together for a few days. Just us. A place on the coast. And we won’t leave our bed.”

  “Sounds perfect. Now let’s do all that’s humanly possible to catch him before he strikes again.”

  I hugged her closer.

  “We’ve done more than I ever could have imagined. We just have to finish it.”

  It sounded good. We were both motivated. And I knew we would do everything we could.

  But looking at it honestly, we’d have to get extremely lucky to catch the Butcher.

  40.

  TUESDAY

  “Let’s do this,” I said.

  “I’m ready,” Cara said.

  “And I’d prefer if we stayed close together today.”

  “The Butcher’s not going to be out in public”

  “Humor me. Let’s not get too far from each other.”

  She sighed. “You’re right. Sorry, Quint.”

  “No problem. I know we’re both on edge.”

  She nodded, but already a bit of tension had started growing between us. Going into the belly of the beast could do that.

  We headed off toward San Francisco.

  As we crossed the Bay Bridge, the forgotten brother to the Golden Gate, but majestic in its own right, Cara turned to me.

  “Do you think he’ll wait the entire month to kill?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I think he’s realized we’re getting closer. I don’t care where he’s hiding, a month is a long time.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. If he truly wants to escape without getting caught, he’ll do it earlier than that.”

  “Agreed. But he won’t just rush into something. We know him better than that,” I said.

  “About his escape…the only way he’s getting out of town is driving, right?”

  “It’s the most likely,” I said as I looked out on the approaching skyline of San Francisco. “He’s certainly not going to fly under his own name. And something like a bus or a train seems like a long shot since he’d be surrounded by so many people.”

  “But you said the pictures they’ve been using on the news barely resemble him.”

  “That’s true. I’ve seen two other pictures now and they’re just as bad as his yearbook photo. Plus, as part of going into hiding he must have changed his appearance somewhat. Still, I don’t see him taking the risk of a bus or a train. And certainly not a flight.”

  “At least not under his own name,” Cara said.

  Which gave me pause. Who was to say the Butcher didn’t have the resources to create a fake ID to buy bus or plane tickets with? Underestimating him certainly had never worked before.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t get to the escape phase. Let’s catch him before then,” I said.

  “Amen to that.”

  We took the first exit off the Bay Bridge and circled back toward the Embarcadero. I found a parking lot and paid them an arm and a leg for two hours. At least, it felt that expensive.

  Cara took my hand and we started walking along the world-famous Embarcadero. We strolled past Pier 39, the sea lions, and farther along, Fisherman’s Wharf. Along the way we saw great restaurants and views of Alcatraz.

  It was a warm day in June and thousands of people milled around, out and about. Usually it would be a glorious time, but a sense of foreboding hung over the scene that I’m sure everyone felt.

  “Do you think this place will empty out as the month moves on?” Cara asked.

  We had just come up to Pier 39, and now we looked out at the gathered sea lions. They made for a majestic sight. I’d always enjoyed hearing their sounds and watching them dive from the wooden docks into the Bay below.

  “You’d think so,” I said. “I guess that’s part of the genius of saying he’ll kill within the next month. People can’t just stop what they’re doing for that long. Need I mention the pandemic? Now, if a few weeks go by and we get closer to finishing a month, then I think you’d see it start to empty out.”

  “Not sure I agree. I think we’ll see the streets get quieter soon.”

  “Maybe,” I conceded.

  “It’s possible his goal is to have more sitting ducks throughout the month.”

  “Sitting ducks?”

  “Is it impossible to think of him with an assault rifle taking out people?”

  It wasn’t impossible, but it sure wasn’t a visual I wanted to entertain. Especially in the moment, as we walked around with hundreds of other people in close proximity.

  “Anything is possible,” I admitted. “After all, he doesn’t really have an MO.”

  I lowered my voice as people walked within earshot of us.

  “Exactly. And since he’s been building up to the fifth set of murders, I figure it will be something massive. Something that kills more than the cookies laced with fentanyl or the fire at Treeside Manor.”

  “This could be helpful. Let’s talk through the possibilities.”

  “I’ve mentioned one. A mass shooting.”

  “Look, I’m not going to discount anything. But he’s talked so much about avoiding capture and killing again down the road. If he tries a mass shooting, there’s no way in the world he’ll escape. There would be a hundred members of law enforcement on site within minutes.”

  “I get your point. But it’s still scary to think about.”

  “No question,” I said. “And like I said, I’m not ruling anything out. I’m just expecting something more subtle.”

  I immediately hated using that word, but it was what came to mind.

  “How about you?” she asked. “Have you thought of ways he might kill?”

  “Of course. I’ve probably imagined fifty horrible scenarios. But none have jumped out as more like
ly than the others.”

  We looked back one last time at the sea lions, which had fallen behind us as we walked and talked.

  “They are so full of life,” Cara said.

  “They just lie on those docks all day. When I sit on the couch for an hour, you give me shit.”

  Cara laughed and playfully pushed me. It made for a nice break from our heavy conversation.

  Next our eyes fell on the Golden Gate Bridge, a few miles ahead of us.

  It seemed like Cara could tell what I was thinking.

  “That would certainly be symbolic, wouldn’t it?” she asked.

  “Without doubt. It’s crossed my mind. But how do you kill on the Golden Gate Bridge without being caught?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I took in the sight of the Bay, remembering being aboard Charles Zane’s yacht as it sped under the Golden Gate and off into the Pacific. I tried to avoid thinking about what had followed.

  “What other sites would be symbolic?” Cara asked.

  “Coit Tower. The Transamerica Building. The Bay Bridge. Alcatraz. Oracle, the Giants’ baseball park. Some places right here, like Pier 39 and Fisherman’s Wharf. BART.”

  “Scary. And that’s all assuming he chooses San Francisco. Well, I guess BART could be anywhere in the system.”

  “I do feel like San Francisco is his goal. As you’ve said, he wants to make the biggest splash on his last set of murders. And San Francisco is undoubtedly that.”

  “It’s also the only city of the original five that he mentioned in which he hasn’t killed,” Cara said.

  “Great point.”

  A line of people started boarding one of the boats for an Alcatraz tour.

  “There’s also a number of possibilities on water,” Cara added as we watched them.

  “We’re both getting somewhere and not getting anywhere at the same time. Is that possible?” I asked.

  “I feel the same way.”

  A couple walked too close to us and we stopped talking for a moment.

  So much movement and noise came from and surrounded the bay that we had been able to keep our undeniably scary conversation to ourselves. But we’d pause from time to time when someone walked too close. No need to cause a panic, or to make anybody suspicious of us.

  “Do you want to grab an early lunch?” I asked.

  “Thought you’d never ask.” She added sarcastically, “This heavy talk has my stomach growling.”

  “Let’s walk up to Fisherman’s Wharf and get some fresh seafood.”

  We had a great lunch at Franciscan Crab Restaurant, with an outdoor table that overlooked the Bay. Given the name, we obliged them with our orders: I had some Dungeness crab melt sliders and Cara ate a crab salad. Both meals were delicious, and we vowed to return when this was all over.

  “So, what’s next?” Cara asked.

  “Let’s do something a little more hands on,” I said.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Let’s go to the Butcher’s place of work and see if we can talk to an ex-coworker of his.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I didn’t feel sure of just how much we’d accomplished by coming to San Francisco, but we’d talked through some of our ideas. Maybe that would be helpful down the road. If nothing else, our sightseeing had been a welcome break from stewing in the apartment.

  We headed back toward the East Bay.

  From the outside, Caltenics looked more like an apartment complex than a computer company, a two-story building painted gray.

  But we saw C-A-L-T-E-N-I-C-S in big, green letters on the sign and knew we were at the right place.

  Since we’d eaten early in the city, we arrived at Caltenics by 12:45. Hopefully we might catch some people returning from their own lunch breaks.

  Cara decided we should sit on the bench located about fifteen feet from the entrance. With my quote-unquote celebrity status, she thought it was likely at least one of the employees would either recognize me or even approach me.

  She was right on both counts.

  About ten minutes after we sat down, a woman came over to us.

  “Excuse me, are you Quint Adler?”

  “I am,” I said.

  We shook hands and I introduced Cara as well.

  “My name is Luann, but you can call me Lu. What are you doing here?”

  She was in her early forties, with straight blonde hair and bright eyes. Overall she looked very affable.

  “Take a guess,” I said, smiling back at her.

  “Trying to find out more information on Tyler?” She seemed almost excited.

  “You got it. Although to me, he was Tad.”

  “Yeah, I heard that. He probably put on different fronts to a great many people.”

  “Well said. Did you know him well?” I asked.

  “We worked together for several years, so in that way I did. But we never hung out socially.”

  “We had similar experiences.”

  “So how did you think I could help?” Lu said.

  I didn’t bring up the fact that she had approached me.

  “Do you have any idea where he could be?” I asked.

  “None at all. The police came by yesterday and asked me the same thing. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you there.”

  “Any tidbits of information might help us, though. Maybe you remember something you hadn’t thought to tell the police?”

  “Sadly, same answer. Since then I’ve racked my brain, but nothing.”

  A few of her fellow Caltenics employees approached the entrance. They looked in our direction and nodded at Lu, but kept walking into the office.

  “I have to get back to work,” she said. “But it’s been nice meeting you two.”

  “One last thing if you don’t mind,” Cara said. “Who are the two or three people who were closest to Tyler?”

  Cara had made a habit of always asking the perfect question. Now she’d done it again.

  “I guess there were three of them. All guys, since he kind of creeped the girls out. One was Brendan Cabela, but he doesn’t work here anymore. He was fired a few weeks back. And then there’s two good friends: Scott Shaw and Roy Irving. They were both cordial, I’d even say borderline friendly, with Tyler. They’re both very empathetic souls and I think they might have known that Tyler was a little odd. Obviously, they never knew to what level he was off. They just tried to befriend him and make him feel liked around the office.”

  “Do you have their contact info?” Cara asked.

  “Sure, give me a second.” She took out her phone. “You ready?” she asked.

  Cara took out her phone as well. “Go ahead.”

  “Alright, you want phone numbers or emails?” Lu asked. “Actually, you could just find their emails on our company website. I’ll give you their phone numbers.”

  “Thank you, Lu.”

  “You’re welcome. And I’m not going behind their back by giving you their numbers. We’ve all said we’d do anything to help catch Tyler.”

  I noticed she hadn’t referred to him once as the Butcher.

  “We appreciate it.”

  She gave Cara the three numbers.

  “Thank you so much, Lu,” I said.

  She looked at me and then over at Cara.

  “You guys are welcome. I sure hope you catch him before his next set of murders. The whole Bay Area is scared as shit.”

  It was surprising to hear profanity from the polite woman in front of us. But in these times—different times, to say the least—I could certainly understand her choice of words.

  “We all are,” Cara said. “And let’s exchange numbers. You can text me if you think of anything.”

  They exchanged numbers.

  “Got it. Thanks, you guys,” Lu said.

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  She waved goodbye and headed into Caltenics.

  I called Captain Lockett later that afternoon and asked if we could get the case file on the Butcher.


  “That would be highly irregular,” he said.

  “This whole situation is highly irregular.”

  “That’s certainly true.”

  “And you’ve said in the past that I have the instincts of a detective.”

  “That’s also true.”

  “Look, Captain, we’re all on the same team here. All I want is to help catch the Butcher. That’s the only reason I’m calling.”

  “You have helped blow the case open.”

  As soon as he said that, I knew he was going to share the case files with me.

  “I’ll give you what I can,” Lockett continued. “Some things are meant only for the police.”

  “I understand. And thanks. Do you want to fax it?” I asked.

  “No. Better not to leave a paper trail in case the chief finds out.”

  “Alright. Do you want me to come to you?”

  “No. I’m going to be in the East Bay tonight. I’ll text you and you can run downstairs from Avalon and I’ll hand it off.”

  “Thanks, Captain. How are you guys holding up right now?”

  “I’ve never felt more anxiety throughout a police precinct in my entire life.”

  “I’m sure.”

  It’s all I could think to say.

  He sounded tired as he told me, “I’ll text you when I’m there this evening, Quint.”

  “Thanks.”

  41.

  WEDNESDAY

  Not that the outside of my apartment complex was conclusive, but noticeably fewer people walked around it on Wednesday than the previous two days.

  I couldn’t imagine how this would continue if the entire month went by without the Butcher killing. All that tension, building and building. There wouldn’t be a soul out in pubic. It appeared Cara had been right when she’d said the streets would be quieter sooner rather than later.

  I’d woken up early as usual and wanted to get out of the apartment, so I went walking along the Iron Horse Trail. It was nice to have it almost entirely to myself, despite the circumstances. I could spend the time thinking.

  Captain Lockett had come through and dropped off the file on the Butcher the previous night. Cara and I had each read it, but it was mostly crime scene and autopsy reports, details of the OPD’s investigations, and a few psychological profiles.