Mencken and the Monsters

by Jeff Elkins

  Detective Benny sat forward and leaned in close to the suspect. “Let’s try this again. This conversation will be recorded. Do you understand what I am saying to you?” Chris began to speak, but the detective plowed forward. “Now, I don’t want to hear about anything but the recording of the conversation. I don’t want to hear about your cuffs, or the temperature of the room, or French-Canadian bulldogs. I only want to hear that you understand that everything said in this room will be recorded. Do you need me to explain that fact in any more detail?”

  “No,” Chris said.

  “Excellent. Now, please state your full first and last name.” Benny smiled with confidence, believing he was in charge again in the room.

  “Christian Gracanjo Junior.”

  “Gracanjo? Is that Spanish?”

  “It’s more like a title. Actually, I think it’s a curse word. In Latin.”

  “What?”

  “I know, right?”

  “Can you explain your last statement please?”

  “Sure. Legend says it’s what the army across the Veil called the first one of us when we kicked their asses for the first time.”

  “Whose ass did you kick?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t there. That battle was in Rome. I’ve never been to Rome. But it’s where we got the name. We kicked their asses, and they screamed as we pushed them back into Midian, ‘Gracanjo!’ That’s why I think it’s a curse word. I can’t imagine they had anything nice to say. I mean, screaming something like, ‘Flowers and cotton candy’ just doesn’t make any sense. Rothman knows more about it all, you can ask him. What’s your name?”

  Benny stared at the suspect in utter confusion. “Detective Benny,” he replied.

  “Benny what?”

  “Detective Benny is all you need.”

  “Strange first name. Brings the whole officer thing full circle though, Officer Detective Benny.”

  “No. My name isn’t Detective. I just don’t want to tell you my name.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not important, and it’s none of your business.”

  “Oh. Don’t say that. Your name’s important.”

  Rosie laughed a third time.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Benny said. “Yes. My name is important.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Fine. Frank. My first name is Frank. Now for God’s sake,” Detective Benny said shaking his head in disbelief. “Let’s continue.”

  “If it is for his sake, then I am more than ready,” Chris said.

  “How do you know State’s Attorney Alexander Cleveland?”

  “I don’t think I know State’s Attorney Alexander Cleveland.”

  “Did you ever have any contact with him or his family?”

  “Not that I can recall.”

  “Were you outside of his residence on the night of October 23rd?”

  “Where is his residence?”

  “Twenty-five fifteen Kentucky Avenue.”

  “Oh, I know where that is.”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “Sure. Plenty of times. It’s right off Harford Road.”

  “So you do know State’s Attorney Cleveland?”

  “No.”

  “But you’ve been to his house.”

  “No.”

  “But you just said you know where it is.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve indicated you knew it was off Harford Road.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’ve been there.”

  “Walked passed on patrol. Yes.”

  “On patrol?”

  “Yes.”

  “Patrolling for what?”

  “Work.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I patrol.”

  “Is that your occupation?”

  “I’m a monster hunter,” Chris said with a grin.

  “Have you ever been inside State’s Attorney Cleveland’s house?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you were hunting a monster in his living room?”

  “No.”

  Detective Benny opened the folder on the table. Carefully, he removed three photos and placed them in front of the suspect. “Do you recognize this scene?”

  Chris studied the photos with grim intensity. The first was of a man in a pool of blood, in a hallway. The next was taken from behind a couch in a nice living room. In the center of the picture was the back of a woman’s head. The third picture was taken from the front. It was clear from this angle that the woman was dead. Her throat had been cut. In her lap was a small toddler. There was a slash across the toddler’s neck as well.

  “No. I don’t recognize this,” Chris said. There was a new, dark seriousness to his demeanor. His voice had lost the playfulness.

  “You weren’t there, on the night of October 23rd? You didn’t jab that knife into that poor, defenseless baby’s neck, you brutal, sick, son of a bitch,” Detective Benny barked.

  “No. I wasn’t there,” Chris said slowly, meaning every word.

  Detective Benny retrieved three more photos from the file. With dramatic care, he laid them next to the ones already on the table. The first photo showed two burned bars. The second was of the pummeled body of Anita Dickson. The third and final was of Anita’s mangled face and missing eyes. “Do you recognize these?” he asked with grave precision.

  “I know the bar.”

  “Did you set the bar on fire?”

  “No.”

  “But you were there?”

  “I heard about the fire and came to watch the firemen put it out.”

  “Did you know Anita Dickson?”

  “Who?”

  “Anita Dickson. The woman you beat to death. The woman whose eyes you cut out? Did you know her?”

  “I didn’t cut anyone’s eyes out. And no, I didn’t know her.”

  “Did you know she had a husband?”

  “No.”

  “What about her five year old daughter, Sasha? Did you know she had a five year old daughter? Do you like hurting moms of young kids? You know they had to have a closed casket funeral? Because you destroyed her face so badly. Sasha wept, begging to see her mom again. Is that what gets you off, Mr. Gracanjo? You like hurting moms and watching kids cry?”

  Chris’ eyes glistened with tears. With soft sorrow he said, “Gracanjo is more of a title.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” Detective Benny shot back with fury. “Answer the goddamn question. Did you know Anita Dickson?”

  “No, I didn’t know her.”

  “So you didn’t drop her body out of a car before you lit the two bars on fire?”

  “I didn’t light anything on fire.”

  “You lit a pickup truck on fire today, didn’t you?” Benny said. He let the question hang in the air. “So you’re saying you didn’t light the bars on fire, but you were there?”

  “Yes. After the fire started.”

  “How long after?”

  “The buildings were fully engulfed by the time I arrived.”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  “My nephew.”

  “Your nephew. His name is,” Benny checked the notes Rosie had given him. “Jose?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jose what?”

  The suspect flashed a small grin. “No. Not what.”

  “Don’t smile at me you dirty, baby-killing, son of a bitch. This isn’t a game. What is your nephew’s last name?”

  “Gracanjo.”

  “I thought it was more a title.”

  Chris looked up with a critical glare. “Titles define us. Like Officer-Detective.”

  “What about the fire a few nights ago? In Fells Point. You and your nephew were there too. Did you light that one?”

  “No.”

  “Was it just the two of you at that one?”

  “And another friend, Agnew.”

  “There wasn’t another small man with you?”

  “No.”

&nbs
p; “A man in a fancy suit?”

  “No.”

  “I have witnesses who say they saw you at the fire that night, and that they saw you leave with a short man in a fancy suit.”

  “I was there. I didn’t leave with a small man.”

  “These same witnesses say they saw you violently kill a group of men and stuff them into the back of your friend Agnew’s pickup truck.”

  “I would never treat a person with violence.”

  “But you did stuff someone in your truck?”

  “Not someone.”

  “Not someone?”

  “Not someone.”

  “So something? You shoved something in your truck?”

  “Yes. We put something in Agnew’s truck.”

  “Do you often refer to people as objects?”

  “No, not often.”

  “So you only refer to people as objects when you beat them, kill them, cut out their eyes, stab their children, or throw them into the back of trucks?”

  “I didn’t do those things.”

  “Agnew is telling my partners a different story right now. She’s rolling on you.”

  He smiled. “Good luck with that one.”

  “When you say you stuffed ‘something’ in Agnew’s truck, those somethings were people.”

  “No. They were not.”

  “What were they then?”

  After a pause, he replied with a deep sigh, “They were Mardocks.”

  “What’s a Mardock?”

  “Nasty strong things with no hair and sharp teeth that get high off human pain. I’ve got to keep them off the street. They’re never here for a good reason.”

  “Do you see a lot of these creatures roaming the streets?”

  “More than two or three at a time are rare. They only come in force when something big is about to go down.”

  Mencken stared at Chris with confusion. He couldn’t tell if the man was playing with Benny or if Chris was genuinely insane.

  Benny leaned forward again. “Listen,” he said with empathy, “you’re in a lot of trouble here. You need to shoot straight with me and maybe I can cut you a deal. If all you’re doing is keeping monsters off the street, then maybe we can work something out. I don’t like politicians much either. I mean, I don’t think anyone is going to disagree with you that the city is a better place with one less of them roaming around. Just shoot straight with me, okay?”

  “An interesting metaphor for an officer to use.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I am shooting straight with you.”

  “How many monsters have you ‘taken off the street’ this week?”

  “I don’t keep count.”

  “Estimate it for me.”

  “It’s Thursday? So seven. I’d guess this week there’s been seven.”

  “You’ve killed seven monsters this week?”

  “Um, not really killed. Killing implies an end. I really did something more like pushing their reset button. They don’t die. They reincarnate back in their homeland, but for your limited understanding, yeah. I killed seven monsters this week.”

  Detective Benny continued to pursue his line of questioning, ignoring the random comments. “Did your nephew help you with all of these?”

  “Yep. We’re a team.”

  “When you killed the State’s Attorney’s family, did that count as one take down or three?”

  “I didn’t do that. And they weren’t monsters. They were people. I’m disappointed you don’t know the difference. I’m starting to think you lack compassion for humanity, Officer Detective Frank Benny.”

  “You expect me to believe that,” Benny said. “You’re trying to tell me that you saw three giant monsters with sharp teeth, sitting in front of a church today, and you decided to do a public service and rid the world of them?”

  “No.”

  Detective Benny brought his emotional levels back under control. “Thank you. I appreciate your honesty. So what really happened at the church today?”

  “I told you.”

  “But then you said ‘no’.”

  “‘No. I said I don’t expect you to believe it.”

  The Detective raged again. “Goddamn it,” he said, smacking the table.

  “You need to make up your mind if we are doing this for his sake or if you expect him to damn it. Or are we asking him to damn it for his sake?”

  “I’ve seen enough,” Rosie said. She stood and left the observation room. Much to Mencken and Frank’s shock, Rosie appeared in the interrogation room a second later.

  “Excuse me,” she said to Chris. “I’m Detective Jimenez.”

  “What in the fuck are you doing in here?” Frank barked, but Mencken could tell from the look on his face that he was happy to get some help.

  Rosie didn’t answer. She stood next to Frank, and looked at Chris. “Listen,” she said apologetically. “I’m really sorry. It’s just, Frank and I are under a lot of pressure. Our boss is all over us to get these cases wrapped up. But we shouldn’t take it out on you. Tell me about State’s Attorney Cleveland.”

  “Okay,” Chris said.

  “So you know him?”

  “No.”

  “But you said you knew he was a State’s Attorney?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did someone order you to kill State’s Attorney Cleveland?”

  “No.”

  “Did you know he was holding up a development deal for new condo construction in the inner harbor?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think that’s why someone had you kill then?”

  “I’m not sure how to answer that.”

  “Who’s paying you to kill people?”

  “No one.”

  “But you admit to killing them?”

  “No.”

  “We have a source that says he saw you attack a different group of men three days ago. How often do you throw groups of men into the back of pickup trucks?”

  “Never.”

  “This is nonsense,” Frank mumbled. “I’ll have your fucking badge for this.”

  “We have a source that saw you take three men off the street, beat the hell out of them, and then toss him in your friend Agnew’s truck,” Rosie said, pressing on.

  “You have a lot of sources who speak to my actions,” Chris said.

  “Our source took a picture of you driving away from the Cleveland’s house.” Rosie reached in front of Frank, pulled a seventh picture from the file, and placed it next to the others on the table in front of the suspect.

  “That Mencken Cassie just can’t mind his own business,” Chris said.

  “He is a reporter, it’s his job,” Rosie said.

  “He’s not a real reporter,” Chris said with a smile.

  “He is a real reporter.”

  “So he’s the source?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Okay, Officer Detective Frank Benny and Detective Jimenez. You know who you should never trust? A man with a last name for his first name and a woman’s name for his last. Talk about not trusting people. And a reporter on top of that. Have you read what he has written about your fellow officers? Officer-Detective Frank Benny, I’m pretty sure you’ve been featured.”

  “What are you talking about?” Frank said.

  “Have you read what he has written about them? He doesn’t think much of your profession. Corruption. Greed. Accepting bribes,” Chris said.

  “I’ve read Mr. Cassie’s work,” Frank said. “But I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “Mr. Cassie does not say nice things about the Baltimore police force,” Chris said.

  “What Mencken does or does not write about the police force is not the issue here,” Rosie said. “You’ve been arrested for the murder of three people, and are suspected for murdering a council member, his family, and an upstanding member of the community.”

  “First name basis, huh?”

  “What?”

  “Speaking of outlandish sou
rces and Mr. Cassie. Mr. Cassie, or Mencken as you call him, wrote a shocking expose a few months ago about corruption in the Eastern District force. He claimed he had an inside source.”

  “Mr. Gracanjo. You are in serious trouble here,” Frank said. “We’re going to put you away for life. Do you understand? Do you get what is happening here?”

  “Do you?” Chris said.

  “Of course I do. I’m the one in charge here. I’m the one that’s going to throw you away for the rest of your goddamn life, you baby-killing, son of a bitch.” There was less conviction in Frank’s voice now.

  “Have you found them?” Chris asked Rosie.

  “Found what, Chris? What am I supposed to find?” Rosie said, pulling up a chair to the table.

  “Bodies. You said I took people. Have you found the bodies?”

  “No,” Frank said, looking at Rosie.

  “Good,” Chris said

  “Why is that good?” Rosie asked.

  “Because if the answer was ‘yes’, it means we did something wrong,” Chris said.

  “I guess you did something right, which is why they are called ‘disappearances,’ rather than murders,” Rosie said.

  “Do you have names?” Chris asked.

  “Names?” Frank asked.

  “Names of the people I supposedly took away in Agnew’s magic truck.”

  “We suspect the small man you attacked at the fire is actually this child here,” Frank said. The detective removed another photo from the file. This one was a small, rectangular, wallet sized picture of a small brown haired boy. He placed it on the table. “Do you know the Couches? Their son went missing the night of the fire.”

  “I don’t know them,” Chris said.

  “How long did you stalk him?” Rosie asked.

  “Stalk who?” Chris said.

  “Jessie. Jessie Couch,” Frank said. “The boy you kidnapped. His parents said he was prone to playing dress-up.”

  “I didn’t stalk Jessie Couch,” Chris said.

  “So you just nabbed him. What? Just grabbed the closest kid to you. Where is he you bastard?” Frank yelled, smacking the table again.

  “I’ve never seen nor had contact with Jessie Couch,” Chris said. “I’m sorry he’s missing.”

  “Bullshit,” Rosie said.

  “I’m sorry?” Chris said.

  “Bullshit on all of it,” Rosie said. “You know what they do to candy-ass guys like you in the Baltimore prison? Guys that steal kids? Guys that stab babies? They are going to rape you over and over and over until you don’t even remember your name. So for your sake, you need to start talking.”