by Adam Bennett
“Sick bastard,” he said, thinking he was alone in the room.
“Sir,” the remaining officer started to say, but the captain cut him off.
“What the hell are you still doing here, Reynolds? Didn’t I tell you to get back out there and do your job?” the captain yelled, slamming the photos down onto his desk. The sound caused the officers whose desks surrounded the captain’s office to stop what they were doing and look up. “And you can start by closing my door on the way out. Dismissed!” Officer Reynolds tucked tail and exited the office, nearly slamming the door behind him. Andrews stood and walked over to the windows that faced the rest of the precinct and looked out. Most of the officers had now stopped what they were doing and were staring back at him.
“Get to work!” he shouted, pulling the cords that closed his blinds, blocking him from any more unwanted audiences. The muffled sounds of people hurriedly getting back to work let him know that they had heard him. He looked out over the courtyard that was directly beneath his corner office. People of all ages walked along casually, as if nothing was wrong; as if there wasn’t a lunatic out there targeting men his own age and killing them sadistically. A few of the kids below had already donned their best costumes for trick or treating later; he watched what looked like a dinosaur holding hands with a ballerina. Only on Halloween, he thought as the phone rang behind him, startling him just a bit. He looked back out over the people once again before the intercom buzzed.
“Captain, I have Agent Michaels on line two,” announced one of the officers in the outside office.
He walked over and pressed the call button. “Patch the leech through,” he answered sarcastically. It was no secret that the Agent Michael of the FBI and the Captain of the Seattle Police Department were not bed buddies. Each would rather that the other stand down, but since neither would do that, they had to learn to put up with each other on occasion.
“Agent Michaela, what can I do for you today, ma’am?” Captain Andrews answered with a smile and a side of sarcasm. Michaels was his personal favorite to joke around with because he was about as witty as a prune.
“Funny, Andrews. Did you get the file I sent over?” the prune answered dryly, causing the captain’s smile to widen.
“You mean that nice photo album of your family? Yes… yes, I did. I must say your wife looks good in rainbow.”
“You have two days, Captain; two days to actually come up with a lead, or this case will be turned over to the FBI,” the Agent answered dryly, not taking the bait the captain had laid out for him.
“Oh, I have leads; lots of them actually,” the captain started to banter, having prepared multiple smartass comebacks to the word lead, but was he cut off when Agent Michaels hung up on him.
“Someone found dog piss in his Fruit Loops this morning,” the captain joked. He still wasn’t feeling too worried. This thing out there killing people would slip up soon; he could feel it. The intercom buzzed again.
“What now?” he barked into the receiver.
“I have Commissioner Chandler on line one,” said the officer a little more cautiously.
“Great… now what?” he said to himself before picking up the phone. He wanted to get out to the latest crime scene to see if he could find anything else, since his own men seemed to be giving up on it already. Incompetent asswipes, he thought as he picked up the phone. “Commissioner, how are you this lovely day?” he asked sarcastically.
“Dammit, Andrews, I’ve got the FBI breathing down my mother’s throat. Tell me you have something — some kind of lead, so I can pull them out of my ass and—” the Commissioner yelled.
“Skkkrrkksskk, you are breaking up, skkrrrkkss, can’t hear you,” Captain Andrews mumbled, faking a bad connection.
“Don’t be a dumbass, Andrews. I called you on the landline,” the Commissioner rebutted, but the Captain wasn’t finished playing.
“Sskkrkkkssskk, can’t skkkrrkkss, hear, skkkrrkks, have to call back later, skkrrkkk.” He hung up the phone and grabbed his coat, leaving the office before he received a personal visit from the commissioner.
On the drive to the crime scene, he let his mind wander while he sifted through all the linking evidence they had at present. So far, the victims were not only somewhat similar in appearance and age, but they shared an unsettling coincidence. Each victim was found with his cell phone still on his person. That wasn’t the weird part, although usually a perp would strip his victims of all personal items before leaving them. This perp played a different game. He not only left everything intact, but pictures were found on each of the victim’s phones, indicating that they had been followed before they met their untimely deaths. The pictures all captured one image: a photo of the victim sleeping soundly in their beds. At first, the police thought nothing of it, thinking that a spouse or friend had taken the pictures as a joke, but when more bodies starting showing up with the same MO, they realized that the perp was actually the photographer. It was as if he was leaving clues as to who the next victim would be. Up until now, there was no way of having any kind of warning. The pictures were the game changer.
Two days prior, the commissioner had held a press conference revealing this fact to the citizens of Seattle, urging everyone that matched the descriptions to check their phones each morning. If anyone had one of these morbid photos on their phones, they were to report to the police immediately. So far no one had stepped forward, but once again, a body was found matching the MO of the clown serial killer, including the picture on the cell phone. Guess the unlucky bastard didn’t watch the news.
The captain pulled up just outside the yellow police tape that marked off the perimeter of the crime scene and locked up his squad car before heading over to where the body had been found. He hiked up his pants and sighed as he took in the sight. Everything matched the others, right down to the dirty alleyway where the body had been dumped to the victim’s body, dressed like the star of the Circus from Hell. Two detectives were standing over the body, looking as if they were sharing notes. The captain was glad he’d made it here before the coroner had shown up. He didn’t have a lot of faith that these two goons had seen everything. Looking closely at the ground and behind boxes and other debris that littered the alley, he approached the officers. The kill was fresh, as he noted no smell of death had yet set in.
“Captain,” one of the officers addressed him as he walked up, adding, “We found this,” handing him a small piece of folded up paper. Captain Andrews took the piece of paper from the officer and, before opening it, cinched up his jacket. The cold, brisk October days always seemed less bearable around crime scenes. He opened and read what was written and cinched his coat even more tightly.
“Where did you find this?” he asked in a lowered tone. This note was a new chess piece, so to speak; the first one to be left behind, and what looked to be a personal message directly to him.
“We found it lying on top of him, sir,” answered the shorter of the two officers. One of these days he thought he should probably take the time to learn everyone’s names, but that time wasn’t now.
“And you two found it… just now…? What about the team that was here earlier?” the Captain questioned.
“They must have missed it, sir,” said the taller officer. Captain Andrews saw that his name was Mullen from the tag on his uniform.
“Missed it? How the hell does anyone miss a note sitting all pretty in a dead man’s lap, you idiot! How long ago did you find this?” he asked, almost shoving the note in Mullen’s face.
“We just got here, sir, about five minutes before you. The other team had only been gone for a couple of minutes before we came,” Mullen rambled before the captain cut him off.
“That means the perp is still close, doesn’t it? Or does it mean that the City of Seattle has hired the biggest bunch of buffoons, including you two, that we have ever seen? I would like to think that former is true, so my question is this, gentlemen… what the hell are you two doing standing around here?
Why aren’t you out there looking for him?” He shouted, waving his hand out toward the now collecting crowd of lookie-loos. “Call for crowd control while you’re at it.”
He walked over to the body and looked down at the man. There was a slight puffiness to the skin where it had been brutally cut away and it made his stomach tense up a bit. Not that these crime scenes ever gave him a weak stomach, but more because there was a chance that the perp was watching him. He looked back down at the note and grimaced.
Are we having fun yet, Cap’n? I know I am…
He folded the note back, took out a baggie from the inside pocket of his jacket, and placed the note inside, tucking it back into his pocket. He let out a long breath and watched as the air around him grew cloudy with his breath. This was getting creepy. Never in all of his years on the police force had a perp left him a note. If only he could talk to these dead men and find out if there were any other coincidences that tied them together. He didn’t, for one minute, believe that the pictures were the only torment the perp sought to inflict upon his victims before he killed them. He dragged his hand over his face slowly as he let out another sigh and turned his attention back to the alley. There had to be something this creep left behind. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Captain Andrews,” he answered, without looking to see whose name came up on the screen.
“Finally, you answered your phone. Let me guess; you didn’t stop and look to see it was me before you answered. How stupid of you,” his ex-wife speculated facetiously on the other end.
“Hey, Cynthia. What’s up? I’m kind of busy, can I call you…”
“No, you don’t. You are not putting this off any longer. Max has one wish and that is for you, his father, to walk him around tonight for trick-or-treat. If you don’t do it, so help me, Paul, I’ll make our divorce look like a walk in the park.”
Knowing she would make good on that threat, he decided to cave in. “Fine. Tell Max I’ll be there around seven.”
“Seven is too late. I’ll tell him you will be here at five on the dot, and remember… walk…in… the… park if you decide to bail on him again,” she hissed as she ended the call.
He was suddenly glad for cell phones. She was the champion of slamming the phone down when they were married. He smirked a little, imagining her pushing the end button with vigor.
He checked his watch. It was already after three in the afternoon, and knowing it would take him most of that time to close things back at the office and get him to his ex’s house to take their son trick or treating, he needed to wrap things up at the scene.
“All right, you bastard, what are you up to?” he asked out loud. His phone buzzed in his pocket again and this time he looked at the screen. It read Unknown Number, and he thought about not answering it, but he remembered that a couple of the phones at the office showed up as unknown, and tapped the call button.
“Captain Andrews,” he said into the receiver, but instead of a greeting in return, he heard music. He didn’t quite place it at first, but after listening to it for a few seconds, he recognized it as the type of music you would hear coming from an ice cream truck or a carnival ride. A strange, eerie laugh started up as well, and he held the phone away from his ear for a brief moment. Shaking his head to bring himself out of the music-induced shock, he brought it back to his ear. The laughter stopped immediately.
“Are we having fun yet, Captain? Are we?” sang the voice on the other end. “I love a good game, Captain — don’t you?”
“Who is this?” Captain Andrews demanded.
“Now, now, Captain… tsk, tsk! That is not how we play the game,” the voice taunted. “If you can’t play by the rules, then you automatically lose,” the voice announced, changing his tone mid-sentence to one that was void of any soul, as if it had dropped several octaves and belonged to something not of this world. The clicking sound of a disconnect sounded in his ear, but the captain couldn’t seem to acknowledge it and continued to listen to the phone. Goosebumps covered his body and sound ceased to exist around him. The world itself seemed to spin while he stood still.
Not only was the perp nearby, but he had gotten his phone number and knew that he had received the note.
He snapped out of his funk and looked around frantically, searching the faces that had drawn around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fiend. All sorts of faces stared back at him, but none looked as if they had been capable of so much bloodlust.
He took slow steps toward his car, increasing his pace, until he was almost jogging. He climbed into his car and slammed the door just as he was being assaulted by the local reporters asking him questions about what the police were going to do about these crimes. He let his head drop onto his steering wheel and tried to catch his breath. His phone vibrated again, but this time it was a text message, so he took his time looking at it. He did a few of the breathing exercises his shrink had taught him to do when he felt a panic attack coming on and it started to feel like it was working. He laid his head back against the seat and looked at the crowd of reporters surrounding his car. He laughed at them, not because he found humor in them, but because he was nervous, overwhelmingly so. He drove off, forgetting the text message completely.
“Max,” Cynthia yelled up the stairs. “Your dad will be here any minute. Do you need any help?”
“No, Mom,” Max yelled back.
Cynthia walked to the living room and stood looking out the window. She had actually just lied to Max. It was a little after six and there was no sign of Paul. “Figures,” she huffed and turned to go into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. She rarely drank, especially in front of Max, But Paul always brings out the best in me, she thought flippantly. She popped off the top and took a large sip, stopping only because her cell phone began to ring. She put the beer down and grabbed her phone, answering it before checking to see who it was. She didn’t have to; she knew it had to be Paul trying to excuse his way out of another thing.
“I guess you thought I was challenging you when I said walk in the park,” she started to argue.
“Cynthia, you have to help me,” Paul whispered into the receiver. “I was mugged, and now I’m chained to some pole in the middle of a warehouse that looks like it is used to store carnival equipment. Call the commissioner and tell him. I don’t think I have much time,” he begged.
“So now you are into grandioso tales to get out of things, Paul? You are ridiculous!” she shouted back.
“It’s not a lie, Cyn — you have to help me,” he continued to whisper. “Crap, I think he is coming back. Tell Max I love him and I had every intention of —” he said, sounding panicked; then his voice was cut off by a gurgling noise as if he had been just been dumped in water.
“Paul… Paul!” Cynthia shouted into the phone. A strange music started to play and she recognized it as the music they played on carousel rides at the fair, followed by a strange, eerie laugh.
“Paul…!” she shouted one last time. A voice came on the other end and silenced her. She gripped the phone to her ear, fearful that this was far from a joke.
“Paul can’t talk any more, Ms. Andrews. He’s a little tied up at the moment, but when he is done clowning around, he’ll be once again… available.” Cynthia shivered from head to toe. The voice on the other end sounded as if she had just talked to Satan himself.
“Mommy,” Max called out behind her, jolting her from the wakeful nightmare she felt like she was now living in. “Is Daddy here yet?”
The look on his little face almost split her heart in two. “Not yet, sweetheart. Why don’t you go out and wait on the porch and I’ll be out there in a minute, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy,” Max smiled and skipped out to the porch in the policeman costume he had begged his mom to buy so he could match his dad.
Cynthia quickly dialed the commissioner’s home number, knowing he would be home by now. He picked up on the second ring. “Hello,” he said into the phone.
“Bob, it’
s me, Cynthia. I just got the most disturbing call from Paul. He said he was tied up in some warehouse that was filled with carnival equipment, and… Bob, he wasn’t alone. I think he is in big trouble, Bob… please do something,” she begged.
“Cynthia, calm down. Everything is going to be okay. Let me call a few people and we’ll go get Paul. He will be all right, Cynthia,” he tried to reassure her, hearing the panic in her voice. He hung up and she placed her phone on the kitchen counter. Taking a huge breath, she went to join Max out on the porch. She would tell him Daddy had gotten busy catching a bad guy. That always worked with Max. His dad was a hero in his eyes.
The wind had picked up, blowing old newspapers around the dirty warehouse. It was a different place than the artist was used to for completing his masterpieces, but beggars could not be choosers. He placed his easel on the floor and stood back a few feet, taking in the surrounding area. He had always wanted to paint a circus scene, and since none had come to town in many years, he had heard of this abandoned warehouse from a fellow artist and thought that this was going to be as close as he was going to get. He wanted to capture the feel of Halloween and abandonment, and this was perfect.
He let his eyes drift across all the different things that had been left behind. Several collapsed tents were leaning up against the walls; carts that evoked the smell of fresh popcorn and corndogs fresh for the taking were lined up in a row and rack after rack of costumes, including a large box overflowing with hats and wigs. He walked over to it and picked up a brightly colored rainbow-striped wig and laughed. He placed it on his head and did a little jig, acting like a clown he had once seen as a kid when his grandpa had taken him to the circus. He looked around and saw a large mirror that had been propped up against a pole and decided he needed to see his reflection. He smiled widely at it and laughed again.