by Maria Siopis
“Thinking about the case,” she lied. “We’ve got to go public. I don’t see any other way. If we’re lucky, someone will come forward.”
“Do you want me to prepare a statement?”
“Yes, release the names of the victims. Perhaps warn the public about the serial killer and at the same time ask for their help,” she paused, still thinking. “Let’s keep the little details we have close to our chest for now. Come on. Let’s have breakfast. It’s getting late.”
They decided to arrive at the precinct separately. Most people already thought there was something going on with the two of them, long before the actual hook up took place. Did their colleagues interpret their sexual tension? Was it that obvious? Fiona didn’t give a fuck if their newly formed relationship was uncovered. Would she jeopardize Sophie’s position and image within the department? Possibly, after the conclusion of the case, they could come out as a couple? What the hell was wrong with her? One hook up and she was ready to commit? Was Sophie’s attraction pulling stronger than anything else she’d experienced thus far? Would it make Fiona forget her notion about staying away from women who worked in the department? She accelerated as soon as Sophie disappeared in her house and forced herself to think about the serial killer again. She hoped Phil had made concrete connections, something they could extricate from the mass of information he was producing.
When she saw Phil, he looked like someone who hadn’t slept all night. Dark circles had begun to form under his eyes, his hair was in a cataclysmic state, and his clothes were indicative of prolonged wear.
“Anything yet?”
He looked up. “Hey, Fiona. Well, yes. Look at this map. These dots represent possible connections to the last victim. I’ve been trying for hours to retrieve the information. It seems to be classified. It’s certain the FDA is involved, and that’s weird.”
“FDA, as in Food and Drug Administration?” She was puzzled too.
“Yes, and the authority to access their database is beyond the police department.”
“Do the dots represent physical locations?”
“The dots represent people and their locations, yes.”
“How many?” she blurted out. There was a pressing issue that was beginning to take shape.
“Twelve locations.”
“Print them now. We have to go.”
She hoped Phil understood what she meant. If there were two more victims out there, then it was possible they were among the twelve dots that appeared on his screen. If this new program was correct, then the connections were real. She grabbed the list while her heart flipped and danced abnormally. Fiona asked Phil to call Sophie, informing her of the new developments while she drove uncharacteristically faster. Phil talked to Sophie and then worked his phone in silence.
“What’s so funny?” Fiona asked, not amused when her peripheral vision caught the grin on Phil’s face.
“Funny?” he questioned, seemingly unaware of it. “Nothing is funny. I’m amazed with this app. I launched a request to all available cruisers to check the locations of interest. It’s astounding how technology has changed in the last few years.”
Fiona knew a lot about technology and enjoyed conversing about it. She opened her mouth, her lips parted a bit, and her thought was tangible and ready to utter. Yet, nothing came out. Another thought crossed her mind: her failure to protect two other possible victims. The first blond victim was killed two days ago. Consequently, she was already too late. The previous three murders were committed the same day, unless the killer changed their MO. She looked at the neighborhood through her window trying to make a connection. The new location was different, and the dwellings were not conforming to similarities. The house that she passed had a golden gate, as though Midas had touched it, and the house next to that had a black iron gate like the darkest night. The location had nothing to do with the murders, so there was another common denominator that she was missing.
“Right there,” Phil pointed to his left.
She pressed on the brake and jumped out with the speed of a devil to follow Phil, who was approaching the front door. Phil knocked and waited, then knocked again. There was no response, which wasn’t a good sign. She thought she was a fool if she hoped to see the person behind the door alive. Fiona was as angry with herself as if it was her doing. Finally, the door opened before the next round of knocking began.
“Ma’am, I’m Detective Shapiro, and you shouldn’t open your door before asking who it is,” she advised.
“This is a safe neighborhood, and besides, you were insistent. You were knocking at my door with urgency.”
“Well, we are responding to a 911 call from this location. Are you okay? Do you need assistance?” Fiona was sincere and hoped that she wouldn’t alarm the woman.
“There was no phone call made from this location. I’m okay.”
“Probably a mistake. Sorry to have bothered you. Have a nice day, Ma’am.”
“You are good. I wasn’t sure what to say.” Phil’s remark made her feel good even for a second.
“You think? Thank you.” Fiona’s relief filled her insides. But before they had both situated themselves back in the car, Phil’s phone buzzed, and her relief turned to something entirely different. Fiona’s inner world shuttered, and she blamed herself for not saving the two victims that had surfaced. For the first time, she considered leaving the police force behind her if she proved to be incapable of catching the killer. She did not want to give up, so she pushed the gloominess away and let hope guide her. She owed that much to the little girl who perished, her innocence lost forever.
Chapter Fourteen
Playing her obtuse self for the doctor was easier than Andrea thought. The simplicity of the task was unexpected, and she hadn’t even prepared before she faced him. She had to be careful though. Dr. Taylor possessed great intelligence. After all, he was the inventor of the device that she now carried. She caressed the keyboard and tensed when she reached the key that would change everything. She calmed herself. She still had some control over her actions. Just a soft tap and the doctor’s twenty years of research was going down the tubes. He deserved it for using her and her son. She hadn’t seen her son throughout the years of his studies. He had exploited and sacrificed them both. How long did she have to wait? Perhaps it would only be a couple more weeks before she tapped the key. She felt the longing increasing, calling her, beseeching her to do it. She placed her fingers on the keyboard again and pressed lightly. The beast within was imploring her to do it in an enticing, smooth voice.
“Hush,” she whispered to calm the inner desire that was building.
She thought of her son, and her soul warped in a way that scared her. She was aching to see him again soon. Her son had been as happy as a little kid ought to be. He was active and normal, and then, the doctor came into their life and unexpectedly changed them. She couldn’t remember if it was her doing. Her early memories were erased and only bits and pieces came to her consciousness. She remembered the dead body in the park reasonably well, but then, complete darkness entered her like a murmur on a starless night. Her husband ... well, her ex-husband made sure her life was contained within the length of a small room, completely disregarding her needs. He would pay like the rest of them ... in time. Besides, she had been able to overcome the difficulties and reinvent herself. She was now a respected member of society, totally reformed.
She brushed her fingers on the keyboard, closed her eyes, and felt the energy building. The doctor’s channeling and guidance couldn’t reach her inner paths now that she was in control of her energy. Of course, the bypassing of commands helped, but it took her years to learn how to break them. All the network security in the world would not have kept her away. Was it kismet that she was versed in technology, or was it coincidental? She removed her hand from the keyboard to avoid an accidental discharge. She looked around and noted that everything was in place as it must be. Dr. Taylor was meticulous and would know if something was disarran
ged. She had to be careful until everything was ready to be unraveled like a broken levee. She got up, gathered the documents from the printer, and walked out of the room. When the door closed behind her, the security system was in full swing. Only authorized personnel could pass through the door, and she was one of them. She almost erupted in laughter like a crazy person would.
“Hush,” she said to herself again.
Chapter Fifteen
December 4, 2017
Dr. Taylor leafed through the science magazine as he did every morning in the sunroom at the back of the house. Then, he placed the magazine back on the table. This was his time—two hours of quietness far removed from the reality of living, job, and family. His wife, a creature of a habit, went out to breakfast after dropping off their two kids at school, and he didn’t mind at all. With his schedule, this two-hour period of complete isolation was invigorating. He picked up his coffee mug and sipped the black liquid. He gazed around to confirm his successful life: his house was enormous, he owned two luxury cars, he had money in the bank, and his device had finally been approved by the FDA. He was a millionaire, and as soon as production finished on the first models, he would join the ranks of billionaires. Was money his objective? Money never crossed his mind. He was making history. Dr. Timothy Taylor would be remembered like Cerletti and Bini. He was, of course, indebted for their invention of ECT. Without it, he wouldn’t have been able to delve so deeply in the human brain. But their approach was wrong, and they had caused more harm to their patients using a cruel mechanism. His invention was a true breakthrough with minimal side effects.
He looked up. The clouds were rolling in, devouring the winter sky. The speck of dark blue was disappearing, leaving behind the melancholy grays. He evoked the memories of past spring skies where the clouds were white and fluffy, like cotton balls traveling at the speed of a snail. They appeared as lightweight, feathery sculptures that were better than any known human artist could create. He looked at the magazine again, contemplating for a second, and then he picked up the local newspaper instead. The headlines corroborated the news of a serial killer. Even serial killers could be treated and could lead a normal life, if his device was installed, he thought. The change would be dramatic, making the brain waves and ideas conform to societal normality, and the possibilities were endless. The article disclosed minimal information, perhaps because the police force hadn’t much to offer. The detectives were incapable of reaching the depths of a distorted mind. That required intelligence, he reassured himself. He was the only expert in the mental health field that could and would reach the full depths of a criminal mind. It wasn’t time to reform them, though the device did wonders with Andrea, who was the only recipient in his project who had murdered another human being and had the predisposition to do it again. His involvement had changed both her life and his in an unexpected way. Andrea became his assistant as her intelligence circumvented all others around him. Her diligence created the environment fit for his research. She wasn’t institutionalized any longer, and she was free to blend into the streams of humanity. He never revealed to his colleague and friend, Dr. Andrew Kaufman, that his ex-wife was a member of society. He had promised Dr. Kaufman to keep her locked up and far away from his son. He didn’t keep his promise because he felt his project required a different approach. It was a revolution in treating mental illness, thus her release into the social settings. He had no qualms about breaking a meaningless promise. Hell, no reservations penetrated his soul for installing the device in Dr. Kaufman’s son, an otherwise healthy brain. Of course, there had been a minor abnormality, but it didn’t justify the operation, not until significant studies of an adult human brain had been performed. Did he bend the truth a bit? Perhaps. On the other hand, it was an even exchange. He buried Dr. Kaufman’s secret about the murder in the park in exchange for enrolling his wife and son into a program that held the answers to a future free of mental diseases.
He continued reading the article, forgetting, for now, the possibility of serial killers as future recipients. When he reached the paragraph where the names of the victims were displayed, his heart rhythm quickened, and the blood rushed to his head. It couldn’t be true! Six victims that carried his device? Six members of his elite project were dead? He had to calm down, think, and contain the damage before it spread like wildfire in a dry forest. All the scenarios, possibilities, and conspiracies invaded his intellect, creating a hindrance to the logical path of his thoughts. He was besieged. He placed his fingers on his temples, squeezing thoroughly to set his rapacious thoughts back on a consistent pattern. Andrea popped into his head. No, that was preposterous. His device worked; no uncertainties existed. She was cured and would never kill again. He fervidly scanned the article, trying to locate any details of the bodies. No, there was no mention of a makeup artist on the loose, and the police talked about the victims being killed by some type of incision. Andrea stabbed her prey to death and then painted the girl’s face. He breathed more easily now that there was no artistic expression found on the faces of the victims. Another idea began to form though; one that made more sense. Someone was trying to alter or destroy his project ... but who?
Was it his ex-partner, Peter, who left the program two years ago because he thought the device was too omnipresent, allowing new ideas to be infused in the minds of his subjects? Or was it a pharmaceutical company producing psychotic medications that was on the threshold of losing billions of dollars if treating psychosis with pills was eliminated completely? Or was someone else the sole conspirator? He was dangling by a thread, like a bug caught on the edge of a web. His attempts to free himself by flapping his wings helped to undo part of his body. He wasn’t completely free, and the spider would come to collect the token of her web efforts. His mind was frantic. He would defeat the spider and somehow find a way out. He didn’t give a flying fuck about anything other than his project, and if he had to unearth the conspirators by digging in the dirt with his two bare hands, he would do it.
He dialed Andrea’s number and waited impatiently, ready to utter something disharmonic or stupid if necessary. He was morphed into something inhuman. His face was a ball of fire, the vein on his neck pumping blood like a gas pipe. His eyes lost their kindness, and his nostrils inhaled so much air that the room was suddenly dried out. He rose and saw his reflection in the mirror by the sliding door. He realized he wasn’t in the right state of mind to converse, and he hung up the phone before he made a mistake.
He was determined to find the conspirator, but first, he had to calm down and reclaim his balance. He must follow logic, not his panic-stricken mind. He sat down, his brain in overdrive, and dialed the only number that could resolve the situation temporarily, at least until the conspirator(s) were caught.
“Dr. Taylor?”
“Matthew, we have a serious situation on our hands. The project will collapse if we don’t act now.”
“What’s going on?” Dr. Taylor knew he had gotten Matthew’s attention; the project was important to him as well. It made him money. They were illegal funds, but nonetheless, it was money that no one in the agency knew he received for helping with the approval process. Further, his device was exceeding any expectations, and Matthew merely paved the road to acceptance.
“Six of the recipients are dead. I’m almost convinced the killer is after the project. I need you to delete their names from every document the FDA received, and it has to be done now ... today!” his desperation echoed in the room.
“What you are asking me to do is impossible. I can’t locate the hard copies that the panel may have received.”
“Listen, Matthew. If the program goes down, you are going down with it. Do what you need to do. Erase these names,” and he listed all the names that needed to be eliminated from the documents.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said bemusedly as he hung up.
His next move was to uncover the conspiracy that was thriving right under his nose. He felt the desolation wakening in him l
ike the winter sky. A storm was coming. Was he prepared? Tomorrow, his interrogation would begin, and he would find out who was the weak link in his chain.
Chapter Sixteen
December 5, 2017
The notes were scattered on the coffee table and on Fiona’s lap. Sophie lay on the red sofa going through the TV channels. Fiona was intently reading the notes on the Queens’ murders and the FDA involvement while her mind was thinking about the gorgeous detective. She could not concentrate when a beautiful woman was next to her. She could smell Sophie’s perfume, and it was causing her to fantasize about her soft skin. In a most bizarre turn of events, her feelings toward her lover were altered. In the beginning, Fiona felt she had detected an arrogance in Sophie. In fact, she discovered it was not arrogance. It was just Sophie protecting her territory by asserting her opinion about the crime scene and dictating a course of action. Fiona struggled to remember when her feelings had begun to change. Was it a gradual thing or was it instantaneous? No, she didn’t believe attraction could happen that fast. She was afraid to acknowledge it was even possible.
“I’ll call Jennifer and ask for her assistance. I’m sure the FBI has access or can get access to penetrate the FDA’s data if necessary,” she sounded casual, still absorbed by thoughts of her personal feelings. She didn’t see Sophie’s face when she mentioned Jennifer. “The names of all six victims appeared in some type of FDA file. I’m assuming they represent a trial group of some sort,” she continued as she turned to look at her. Sophie appeared disinterested, which was odd. She was a detective that normally cared intensely about her work. Why this emotionless face?
“Did you hear me?” Fiona touched her leg to get her attention.
“I did. Is Jennifer the only contact you have in the FBI?” she asked as she continued gazing at the TV.