by Luis Samways
“Boston PD — show yourselves,” Mullins shouted to the empty-looking apartment.
“The door has been kicked in,” one of the officers said from behind Mullins.
Mullins looked to his left and saw the wooden splinters that caked the floor. He spotted a plywood door leaning against the wall of the apartment. The TV in front of him had its screen smashed. A cobweb splatter of plastic donned the expensive-looking screen.
“Looks clear,” an officer said as he came to a stop after a perimeter sweep.
“Bedroom, bathroom?” Mullins asked, still clenching his police-issue firearm.
“All clear,” the tight-jawed officer said.
“Shit,” Mullins mumbled as he grabbed his cell phone and punched in some digits.
The tight-jawed heavy-looking officer spotted something on the ground next to the mutilated TV.
“Look at this shit,” he said, bending down and grabbing something. He held it up for the rest to see. “It’s a damn tomahawk.” The officer laughed.
Mullins shook his head. He didn’t find it the least bit funny. Whoever was on the receiving end of the tomahawk must have had a nasty head wound. The thing was, he knew exactly who had been on the receiving end. He was standing in her apartment, after all.
“Frank, we are at the apartment. No sign of Olivia Cormack. There seems to be evidence of a struggle. The whole place is turned inside out. We found a tomahawk at the scene. Looks like the killer wasn’t bluffing. He bumped her on the head and now has her. That much I can be certain of,” Mullins said as he tried to catch his breath. The case and the stairs were really making him feel the burn.
Seventy-Two
Chief Shaw nodded as he held the cell phone up to his ear. He had a look of excitement on his face. The sort of look someone would get when something they were wishing for finally came true. A break in the case was very much welcomed, as it was also needed. Shaw was smiling from ear to ear, the type of grin that you would imagine a kid would get on Christmas Day as they opened up their presents. It was quite a sight. The commissioner had never seen the chief so happy. Even though the conversation Shaw was having on the phone consisted of mainly grunts, the commissioner knew something newsworthy and delightful lay ahead of him when Shaw hung up.
“Good news, I assume?” the well-dressed commissioner said as he glanced at his manicured fingernails. Looking good was what the commissioner was all about, that and being firm in the office.
Shaw nodded enthusiastically. “Depends on what you call ‘good news.’ Wasn’t good news for the victim, that’s for sure,” he said, shaking his head in disapproval of the case. The commissioner held out his hand in anticipation, waiting for a response from Shaw. “Oh, right, yes, sorry about that. I do get sucked into it sometimes. It’s been a long couple of days. The blood samples to the Boston Common victim have come back. They match the bloodstains at the Foster Industries office. The even better news is, we were able to get a match on the military database, and the results came back as Jesse Foster, CEO and co-founder of Foster Industries. We have a case now! That makes three victims matched with Foster Industries. We could be on to something,” Shaw said, sounding a little overexcited at the idea of being so close to a break.
The Commissioner didn’t look as eager. He had a look of uncertainty on his face. He tried to brave it with a seductive smile.
“Still nothing on the killer, though?” he said, still looking at his nails.
“I’m afraid not, sir. We don’t know much about him, really, just the fact that he is a madman on a mission of destruction and despair across our great city.” Shaw grimaced as he looked right through the commissioner, consumed by the thoughts of success and the likelihood of obtaining a foothold on the case.
“Absolutely perfect. Just what the mayor wants to hear, Shaw. All we need now is a damn break, and I might be able to rest a little easier,” Commissioner Alvarez sneered in a slight sarcastic tone.
Before Shaw could respond, his cell phone rang. He immediately answered it, thanking his lucky stars for a diversion from the pressing conversation with the big-shot commissioner.
“Shaw,” he said into his cell. For a moment he remained quiet. He didn’t utter a breath, just nodded his head along with the rhythm of his grunts. Alvarez looked on in hope of some actual news that he could take to the city office.
“Okay, thanks, Frank. I appreciate the update,” Shaw said, flipping his cell phone shut and putting it down onto the table. He smiled at Alvarez, who didn’t seem as if he was enjoying being kept in suspense.
“Go on, please, for the love of God, give me some news, man!” he said, half smiling.
“That was Frank on the cell. Mullins came through on those two old guys at Foster Industries. They managed to get an ID on the woman the killer has hostage. Her name is Olivia Cormack. Mullins went to her apartment and confirmed that the place is a crime scene. It appears that she was kidnapped. We have some blood samples. Hopefully we will be able to match her up,” Shaw said with a smile on his face.
The commissioner didn’t budge. He still looked openly disappointed.
“Is that it? That’s all we have? The goddamn name of the next victim? Forgive me, Chief, but we would have been able to establish her name when we find her remains. I’m sure she’s dead, and yet again, we don’t have an iota on the killer. Not one thing, zilch!” Alvarez nearly wept, getting up from the seat across the Chief’s desk. He looked distraught; sweat was running down his tanned cheeks.
“That’s not all sir. The girl, Olivia Cormack, is a VP at Foster Industries. That makes three confirmed dead employees – one possible kidnapped VP. We are getting closer to the end, sir. I can feel it,” Shaw said, also standing up in an act of defiance, trying to make a point
“I don’t see it, Shaw. We have nothing. We just have the links, but no chains. We need some damn chains!”
There was a knock on the door. “One second,” Chief Shaw said.
Before Alvarez could open his mouth, Shaw had chucked him a photo. Alvarez looked at it in confusion. “What is this? You planning a party?” Alvarez asked.
“Nope. That there, sir, is a picture of a small Mexican party hat. A tiny sombrero. Readily available from various ‘Party Essentials’ stores around Boston,” he said.
Alvarez still looked confused.
“And? What has that got to do with anything?”
Shaw stepped from behind his desk and walked up to the sweaty-looking commissioner, and patted him on the shoulder.
“All will be revealed, my friend,” Shaw said. “Come in,” he said, turning around and walking back behind his desk.
Seventy-Three
I greased the palms of my hands on my sides. They felt sweaty, so getting rid of the moisture was one of my top priorities. It was one thing being nervous when presenting my case, but to be visibly nervous would make my points feel weak and non-binding. That was the price I paid for being me. Everybody in the department knew that I wasn’t all that level-headed. Various public news stories confirmed that.
Top Boston PD detective involved in therapy scandal, the news stories read a few years ago.
It wasn’t so much a scandal as it was my private life being displayed for all to read. I got over it, though. So what I needed therapy? What’s wrong with that? The things I see justify me getting some help. Would they rather just let me go nuts and overthink everything? I didn’t think so.
I heard the Chief usher me in from the other side of the door. I had told him on the phone earlier that I’d be popping by with some even better news. I had told him about the link between Olivia Cormack and Foster Industries. He was happy, but we needed more. So I had offered to show him some files. I didn’t know Commissioner Alvarez was going to be there. He’d kept that quiet, but it didn’t really matter. I needed to do my job, even if politics was trying to get a bit of the limelight away from mine and Santiago’s hard work. That was the usual bill of things, you see — I work hard on a case, and then th
e politicians lap up all of the credit. It’s wonderful, really; I mean, who needs gratitude and self-worth? A detective in therapy? Nah….
“Ah, Frank, nice to see you. That was quick,” Shaw said with a smirky grin on his face. I could tell he was trying to ease my nerves. I guess he wasn’t so bad all of the time, just most of the time.
“Thanks, sir. I’m glad you gave me the opportunity to address you on the case,” I mumbled under my raspy breath. I couldn’t believe that I’d just said what I said. I was sounding like a lamb being led to slaughter.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Goddamn it, I’m lame.
“No problem, McKenzie,” Shaw replied in an uncertain tone. He gave me a look that I wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. He had finally lost all faith in me. Not only was I a screw-up, but a suck-up as well. Oh, how my pills and therapy have helped me so!
“This here is Commissioner Alvarez. He’s from the mayor’s office. He’s hoping for some good news, as am I. What have you got for us then, McKenzie? I know you went over it on the phone with me minutes ago, but I wanted you to explain yourself in front of the commissioner. Maybe he’d like to see the faces that are involved in the results. You know…a face to success.”
I didn’t know what to say exactly. I was a bit underwhelmed. I mean, why not just tell the commissioner himself? Why did Shaw insist on putting up hurdles? Was it that hard to just run with something?
So there I was: sweaty hands, a sweaty brow, a pounding headache, and the driest throat in the building. I was ready to blow this case up. Cue Super-Salesman Frank McKenzie, ready to sell the conclusion to this case and get some action underway.
“Sir, with all due respect, I can’t really be bothered to play your games. I have been up for nearly four days working on this damn case. I don’t care for any of the glory. It’s not why I do this. I do this because it’s what I’m good at. I do well at this because I have a good partner. I don’t care for prancing around and licking each other’s crotches, and telling each other how well we did and how good we are. I’m in it for the victims. Not for the gold stars and smiley faces. As far as I’m concerned, the mayor’s office should stick its nose out of our goddamn business and let us fucking do our jobs,” I said in a hailstorm of fire and brimstone.
I could see the look on the commissioner’s face. He looked like he had just witnessed me killing puppies in front of him. To say he wasn’t impressed would be an understatement. But, to give the man his credit, he did somewhat handle the situation rather well.
“Spare me the damn shock-value spiel, Mr. McKenzie. I know who you are, and I know what you are doing. As far as your opinions regarding the mayor’s office are concerned, please feel free to write a formal letter to the city. In the meantime, please elaborate on your findings in the case. I’m sure the Chief and I will be ever so proud of you,” Alvarez said. The cheeky bastard didn’t even bat an eyelid at my remarks. He just swatted them off, like flies in the summer.
I stood there in the office of the chief of police and grinned. I grinned for what felt like the first time in years. I realized something that day; no matter how fucked up you think you are, there will always be someone in government who beats you at every level. God bless America. God bless Boston. God bless this mess.
“I do apologize, sir. My medication makes me irritable,” I said.
“I don’t care, Mr. McKenzie. Just get on with it already!”
I nodded and sat down next to the commissioner. Chief sat behind his desk. He had the strangest look in his eye. I couldn’t make out what it was exactly, but it was a cross between happiness and embarrassment. The man was a strange one, that was for sure. But I could never fault him on his ability to put up with me. Even to this day, he still gets a Christmas card from me. The only damn Christmas card I send at all, as a matter of fact.
“The hats are a calling card for the killer. He used the small sombreros in all of his killings. He wears a massive red sombrero. He is a showman at heart. I feel like he is feeding us clues. He has been since the start. A real cool cucumber, in fact. Santiago and I found links between his red sombrero and the party hats. Come to think of it, every single prop he has used has the same insignia imprinted on it: ‘Party Essentials.’ The thing is, when the officers at the crime scenes went on and investigated the origin of these calling cards, it was apparent that Party Essentials was a well-established brand of chain stores. That obviously discouraged the officers. It didn’t stop them investigating the stores, though. As of yesterday at 10 p.m., all sixty-five Party Essentials stores in a 300-mile radius had been searched and marked off the list. Not one of those stores or its employees recognized any of the stock. They said it was discontinued years ago. They also denied ever serving a Mexican man wearing a big red sombrero. So the officers called it quits, and fair enough, I would have done, too, but I’m a stubborn bastard,” I said to a few laughs from Shaw and Alvarez. At least I wasn’t coming off as the asshole I knew I was. “So I asked myself a few questions. Why is the killer using discontinued party props from these stores, and if he didn’t buy them from any store in the east of the country, then why does he have them at all?”
Shaw nodded as if he was coaching me.
“Maybe he owned one of the stores. A store we are missing, perhaps?” Alvarez interjected.
I nodded and gave him a wink. “Bingo. My first thought as well, but then it occurred to me, what if he didn’t own a store? What if we were looking for the wrong thing? What if he owned a warehouse?” I asked.
Alvarez’s eyes lit up.
“A warehouse? Damn it, McKenzie, you’re good,” he said.
I was getting a smiley face and a gold star after all!
“So San and I got to looking for the corporate files belonging to Party Essentials LTD. It turns out they have a few warehouses, as one would imagine. None currently in Boston, anyway. One active one in Cambridge,” I said.
“Maybe it’s the one in Cambridge. It’s not too far away. It’s out of town a bit, but doable. More so than any other lead we have at the minute,” Shaw said.
“Not so fast, Chief. I said Boston didn’t have one currently. It used to have one. There was a fire there a few years ago. It’s now abandoned.”
Shaw broke a big smile as he thumped his fist on the desk.
“Well done, Frank,” he bellowed in his deep Irish-American accent.
“The warehouse is located in the Boston Marine Industrial Park. I had a few uniforms check the place out. They were staking out. They didn’t spot anything too peculiar, but they did spot a van going into the abandoned warehouse.”
“Great. We make our move, then,” Alvarez said.
Chief Shaw looked a little glum. His excitement was instantly gone as if reality had slapped him in the face. “We will still need a warrant to search the building. A building of that size is going to need a Supreme Court order,” Shaw said in a huff.
“We will get the warrant, don’t worry about it. Concrete case, Shaw, it’s concrete!” Alvarez said.
I decided to intervene, maybe cheer Shaw up a little.
“That’s not all — the van in question had some writing on it. Foster Industries. It matched the van from the abandoned vehicle homicide we found Toby Thomson in. Now, there’s a link for you!”
Shaw immediately perked up. “Gentleman, we no longer have circumstantial evidence. I’ll get on the phone with the DA. Get this warrant signed, sealed, and delivered. We need to act fast. We could save the Olivia Cormack girl,” Shaw said.
Alvarez bolted up in a spree of frustration. “Why can’t we just assault the building, raid it? Why do we need a damn warrant? We have probable cause to suspect that someone is being held against their will. Surely that warrants no damn warrant?” he said, out of breath.
“It’s a commercial building owned by a publicly traded company. We have no evidence of Olivia Cormack being alive, let alone being held against her will. If we make a move with no warrant, then we could get sue
d by Party Essentials. It’s a legal thing. We could also void a conviction if proper steps were not taken,” Shaw explained.
There was a knock on the door. The person didn’t wait to be invited in — they just barged through the door.
It was Santiago. He looked pale and frightened. “Boss, you have to see this. We have just received a special delivery from the killer. It has a severed ear in an envelope. We’ve sent it down to the lab. We should have blood results back ASAP,” Santiago said, still looking drained of color. He just stood there in the doorway, looking unsteady as he steadied himself by leaning against the doorframe.
“An ear? Damn it!” Alvarez shouted.
“Was there anything else in the letter? Anything that can actually prove it was the killer and not some damn sicko playing games with us?” I asked.
Santiago looked a little green around the gills. I had never seen him like this.
“San!” I shouted, soon snapping him out of his daze.
“Yeah, the envelope contained a letter sealed in a clear pouch. The letter said: ‘MAKE YOUR MOVE,’ written in newspaper cut-outs.”
There was a long pause in the room. San, Alvarez, Shaw, and I were all too preoccupied to notice the phone ringing. Finally Shaw picked it up. He didn’t say anything; he just put the phone back down after a few seconds.
“It’s Olivia Cormack’s ear. We just got a match,” he said.
Seventy-Four
The Mexican was sitting in a small office he had assembled in the warehouse. It was basically a small broom closet. It had an abundance of cleaning apparatus such as buckets and drums of cleaning product within it. It smelt of old bleach and carpet cleaner. It was the only room in the warehouse that wasn’t full of garbage or…people such as Olivia Cormack.