Houston, 2030

by Mike McKay

  “Fortunately enough, we are not the Sex Trade Control division,” Mark pointed out. “Our task is not to jail the pimp, or this Jen Lien, but just squeeze them for some intel, – and only if they know anything at all.”

  “If sending the crooks to jail is not our priority, we can arrange a set-up,” Alan nodded, “it would not hold in front of any judge, as you may imagine… Let me make a couple of calls to my old criminal underground friends…”

  As soon as Mark walked into his office, his telephone rang.

  “Mister P!” Sergeant Zuiko sounded promising, “you don't believe what I found for sale at the Garret Road market!”

  “Tell me.”

  “A bike. Half-price, and in excellent working order.”

  “The excellent order is excellent, and the half-price is even better, but not a big surprise,” Mark already could guess what it was about, but did not want to spoil Alex the punch-line.

  “Together with the bike, I also got a fine gentleman who calls himself Joe Smith. I don't buy this for his real name, naturally, but we will rectify this in due time… Right, Mister… Smith?” The last remark was spoken loudly, to somebody invisible on the other side of the line. Mark had no doubts that Alex had multiple methods of ‘rectifying’ who the man was.

  “Anyway, Mister… let say, Smith, has a pair of perfectly good legs. He never broke his leg, believe it or not. Judging from how he tried to run from us, nothing wrong with the legs at all… Not until you suddenly break one, that is. Accidents happen all the time, right, Mister… still: Smith? The longer you call yourself Joe Smith, the higher the chance of an accident, by the way… Oh, that is not for the phone, this is for my friend Joe here… Anyway, the bike Mister Smith tried to sell, it has very peculiar right pedal. With a brace. Right, as for a prosthetic leg! What? It belonged to your uncle, Joe? He had no leg? And I am your Bolshoi Ballet dancer, Joe. Ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta…” Alex probably trying to show ‘Mr. Smith’ the Swan Lake now, Mark imagined. Considering that Sarge had two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle, this would be comical.

  Only if it was not scary! The Russian accent was authentic, and the matter-of-fact tone – extremely convincing. “Sorry, it's again to our friend here. We are having a conversation most interesting. Trying to communicate, so to speak. Did I ever tell you what I did to that ballet dancer, back in Moscow? The man had a peculiar interest in young boys… That is ‘Moscow, Russia,’ Joe, not ‘Moscow, Texas!’ He is, like, don't touch my legs, don't touch my legs… And I am: who am I to ever touch your legs, man? Am I a barbarian? I have respect for the classic ballet, do I? No-o-o, I did not touch his wonderful legs. Just between the legs… let say, the other things. Off! Now, he must be so grateful: nothing interferes with his stellar performance… As for you, Joe… You are not a ballet dancer, by chance? No? Outstanding! I already imagine a heavy office desk… which may suddenly fall on somebody's leg, dear Joe. Such a cruelty, even difficult to explain… Sometimes, in the night, I ask myself: Sarge, what are you doing in the Police? What are you doing? Sad, very sad indeed…”

  “Excellent catch, Alex. How sure are you about Mister Smith's one-legged uncle?” Mark was truly enjoying the phone call. It seemed they managed a lucky strike of the day.

  “I forgot to mention the most important thing. It's a mountain bike, 26 inch. The rear tire has exactly the same patch on it, as our CSI saw at the dirt trail you-know-where. Anyway, this would be all from my side – for now. Kim has already phoned the ‘flying squad,’ and we will be delivering our friend Joe to the Station. He will sit next to my heavy, heavy desk and have some… further conversations with me. Of course, if he's really Joe Smith with recently deceased one-legged uncle, we would be happy, very happy to let him go… I meant… hop away. I would even leave him this bike! He would find a brace on the right pedal very useful…”

  …Three hours later, Mark was facing a disheveled man in his mid-fifties, with mouse-like facial features.

  “Mister Joe Heller,” Alex introduced his ‘friend.’ “Upon the investigation, we got few things straight. Mister Heller got the bike two days ago. He will tell you everything in his own words, right, Mister Heller?”

  “Yes, sir. Look, I am so sorry. I have a family to feed…”

  “Never mind, Mister Heller. If you are completely honest with us, we will not press charges. Tell the FBI agent what you have told me.”

  “Sure, sir. As I said, I was walking through the woods, at about ten PM…”

  “How sure are you about the time?” Mark interjected.

  “I always leave work at nine sharp. Takes me about an hour to walk home. Give or take five-ten minutes…”

  “So the time is plus-minus ten minutes?”

  “I'd say so. I have no watch.”

  “You always walk the same route?”

  “Pretty much so, sir.”

  “OK, please continue.”

  “Then, I heard some noise in the woods, unusual.”

  “Unusual?”

  “Oh, so to say. I hear noises every night. People chatting, kissing, having a fu… sex, I mean. Once I have stumbled upon one of those sado-maso couples. She was all in leather, with a riding stick, and he was handcuffed to a tree…”

  “So, let me get it right, you like stalking the lovers in the woods?”

  “No, sir. Never!”

  “Remember, we agreed to have one hundred percent honesty here,” Alex pointed. “You ran from the Police, resisted arrest… Regretfully, we will send you to jail, after all…”

  “OK, I confess! I do… watch… sometimes.”

  “Fine. And so, you were walking through the woods and heard something unusual…”

  “Oh, yes… It was like somebody was ripping heavy material. Trrr-rip! Something like this… I thought: if lucky, it will be another sado-maso, or somebody having a wild sex. Ripping clothes apart, my favorite…”

  “So?”

  “So I pulled a bit back and went around the bush. You have to be very careful, or may get into trouble… Then, I opened the branches. Just a bit. And looked. There were three of them: two men, one woman. One man was lying down on the blanket, and the other was fu… I meant: having sex with the girl.”

  “Are you sure he was having sex?” Mark asked. A witness with wild imagination – what could be worse?

  “I meant: I thought he was having her. Because she was on the ground, and he was sitting over her. I thought: nothing special. Two guys sharing a hooker. One is already done and having a nap, the other decided to use the girl… through the rear. Make all the money worth, so to speak…”

  “Wait a moment. How could you see all this? It was dark, right?”

  “No, sir. They had a lantern… One of these electric lanterns. On the blanket. It was dark for sure, but not too dark…”

  “Why did you think the girl was a hooker?”

  “The man was moving, and she was not. I thought, she was not too keen having it this way, but got the money, have to do the work… But then, the man stood up. He had a chunk of meat in his left hand and a knife in the right. He wasn't having sex, he was cutting her, see? I nearly shit my pants! First, he put the meat into a bag. He had a bag, like a small backpack. It was on the ground. Then, he wiped the knife with a piece of rag.”

  “What did he do with the rag?”

  “Put it in the bag too, sir.”

  “And the knife?”

  “I could not see how he hid the knife. He was sideways to me, like this… Maybe, he dropped it in the bag too… Then, he walked to the blanket and clicked the lantern off.”

  “And then?”

  “Went towards the road. I did not want to have a better view, you understand…”

  “How the man looked like?”

  “All dressed in black. Black jeans, black canvas shoes. Black shirt. Long sleeves. Only his gloves were white. Like those work gloves, with little rubber dots…”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “No, sir. He had lik
e a ski mask. A balaclava – that's what they call those. Also black.”

  “Was he tall or short?” Alex asked.

  “Average, but well-built. About your size, sir.”

  “Anything else you mention?”

  “No, sir. I was too scared…”

  “At what time did he leave the clearing?”

  “Oh, I am not sure. Looked like a long while to me, but then, I was too scared. Now I would guess – no more than five minutes. Ten – max.”

  “OK. You are telling me the killer left the clearing towards the trail around 10:05 or 10:15?”

  “…Yes… I would say so. Yes.”

  “And what did you do next?”

  “I waited for twenty minutes or so. In the bush. I was shit scared. If he came back and saw me… Then, I came out. Looked at the man. The one on the blanket. He was dead. Looked at the girl – she was dead too. Well, I started to the trail. And then, – I saw the bike. It was against the tree. So I did not see it first, right? I thought: the killer is on-foot. If I have the bike, would be far better chance not to meet with him again.”

  “If you were going the same direction the man went, you would overtake him on the bike. One trail, left or right. Fifty-fifty chance.”

  “Maybe… But again, he had a good head start: twenty minutes… And I decided to go to the Pineland instead of going on the dirt trail, right? So I took the bike and rode straight home.”

  “Did you see anybody on the road?”

  “A couple walking hand-in-hand. Lovers…”

  “How far from the clearing?”

  “Half a mile, maybe less… Then, I came home and thought: oh, shit. I have been in the woods, I have the bike. They will suspect me for a killer… The following day – the TV news… So I decided to sell the bike at once.”

  “You would have done yourself and us far better service if you rode to the Police instead of hiding at home,” Alex commented, “but considering… I would not blame you…”

  It took them another hour to prepare the statement and make Mr. Heller to sign it. They let the witness go, but not before obtaining and cross-checking his exact address.

  “Not bad for a day of work,” Mark concluded. “Now we have a reasonable lead to the female vic ID, but most importantly, this is the first time someone has positively seen our Butcher at the crime scene.”

  “Yeah, better than nothing,” Alex agreed. “The closest we ever had before, was that Indomerican couple, case number eleven. If I am not mistaken…”

  “I remember it too. At that time, there was not enough data to connect the dots… Want to listen to them again?” Mark unlocked his computer screen and moused around for a while. “Here it is. It has been transcribed and back-linked to the audio. Let me scroll to the right spot…”

  A woman voice came from the laptop speakers: “…there was a little noise in the bushes. Somebody came out on the path in front of us. Radjeev said: we should wait. If they were some lovers, like us? Who would like bumping into each other? Then, we saw a man, he was alone. Walking away from us. I said to Raji: weird…”

  “Away from you? How far was he from you when he came to the path?” Mark's voice said on the audio.

  “Not sure. Two hundred or two hundred and fifty feet? I am not good at distances… Besides, it was a bit dark…”

  “You said, it was a bright moon.”

  “Yes, sir, but still. The path is all under the trees. Shady.”

  “OK. Did you see how the man was dressed?”

  “Something dark, nothing special. Military style, khaki, I guess. Trainers. Those sport shoes with textile top. I always wanted such for myself, but difficult to find now, – they don't make those anymore. And he had a little backpack. That's all.”

  “You said, it was weird? Because you expected to see a couple, and he was alone?”

  “No, not that. How he walked.”

  “What was unusual?”

  “He was not on the road. Walked on the grass, just next to the bushes. And very quietly. Could not hear footsteps. But apart of this, the walk was normal, not running or anything…”

  Mark hit the stop button. “That was pretty much it. She gave a very generic description. Average height man, about 5-9. Well-built. Her boyfriend's story matched perfectly. This could have been our man, what do you think, Alex?”

  “We decided he could have been trained in special ops. Quiet walking and all. Or perhaps, he is just very smart. Figured out he was seen and walked away. Yet, was cool enough not to run and even not to leave any footprints. Forensic-aware, exactly as Alan said…”

  After the interview with the Indomerican couple, Alan had high expectations. The weather was reasonably wet, and there was a good chance of obtaining the killer's footprints. The CSIs declared three hundred yards of the path, from the place the couple saw the man to the nearest road intersection, a crime scene and spent three days documenting all they could find. Natalie literally lived and slept at the scene. Together with Tom, she identified, photographed and cataloged an enormous number of distinct footprints: over one hundred shod and a couple of hundred barefoot, although about two thirds of the latter were clearly children-size. The vast majority of shoe imprints came from the cheap locally made flip-flops. There were five or six imprints of army boots, and even one trail made by women dress shoes, but nothing which could be linked to a pair of trainers. Finally, Alan called the investigation off. After all, they were not even sure the man in khaki clothes and trainers was ‘their’ man! Now, the information obtained from Joe Heller made Mark believe that they had abandoned their search a bit too early.

  Chapter 8

  Mark came home after nine, and the younger kids were already in bed. David-senior was smoking his pipe at the front porch, while Michael, William and Clarice were having tea in the sitting room. Mary was not at home – she went to Baytown to visit her sister. Riding over twenty miles from the Sheldon-Res was a big undertaking, and Mary could only do such family visit a couple of times per year. Besides maintaining the family ties, the trip had more pragmatic targets: Mary planned to visit the Baytown market, at which salt and seafood were always cheaper than around their own neighborhood.

  Clarice set a plate with cold dinner in front of Mark and went out to check the mailbox. She tumbled in, smiling, and proudly demonstrated Mark and the others a legal-size envelope.

  “Guess what we have? All the way from the Pentagon! This must be Billy's compensation papers! And – just in-time. The baby is due in a couple months – some money would come handy.”

  William turned towards her voice: “Open it then!” He also looked pleased. Clarice carefully opened the envelope and extracted three stapled pages.

  “Oh, it's just a letter…” she looked into the empty envelope with a little disappointment, “nothing else inside.”

  “What did you expect, honey, – a bundle of cash? You know how the post is working, who would put a check in the mail nowadays? Read on,” William replied impatiently.

  “To: Private (PV2) William M. Pendergrass, the USACE, honorably discharged,” she started reading: “Dear Sir. By the orders given to me from the office of the Deputy Chief of Staff G-1 Personnel of the United States Army, I am pleased to inform you that your application dated August 12, 2029, in regard to compensation for the injuries you have sustained at the active duty while in the US Army Corps of Engineers, has been granted a positive decision… Sounds cool, is it?” Clarice was delighted.