“How do you know they’re here? I haven’t seen any more missing persons reports than usual in that area, which isn’t many to begin with. Not a lot gets reported from that side of town.” Kasparov asked.
“I received a letter about a week ago. It contained one name and a symbol I have come to associate with the group. The name was Eliza Renoir. Knowing what I did about them I looked for women with that name and narrowed it down to the one that lived in this town based on several qualifying factors. The individuals in the photographs are not guaranteed to be victims of the group but they are the most likely candidates based on missing persons reports.” Lofgren replied.
“Who sent you the letter?” Kasparov had already asked for more information than he needed, but he was curious about how this man had come to Landsford and ruined his day off.
“It was anonymous. I need to go and get the warrant arranged. Try to find out what you can about Eliza and call me. My number is on that card.” He motioned to the card in Kasparov’s hand as he gathered his things. He was nearly gone from the kitchen before he stopped and spoke without looking back. “If I don’t hear from you in one hour with the information I need I will have to have her detained. Either way I expect we will be talking again soon. I don’t like wasting time, so the sooner the better Detective.”
For a moment Kasparov stood and looked at the photographs that Lofgren had given him. The faces of a few were familiar in the way you would recognize a stranger you passed the week before in a supermarket. He didn’t know any of them; perhaps it was better that way. He would likely get roped in to the investigation and he preferred distance from the victims. The photos made little noise when Kasparov let them fall to the table as he turned and walked for the front door. He shoved the agent’s card in his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes and lighter as he joined Bambi on the porch.
“Well he’s a charming fella isn’t he?” Kasparov asked sarcastically through pursed lips as he lit his cigarette. Smoke filled his lungs and he expelled it through his nose as he waved to Lofgren who was just getting in to the green Saab that had been parked out front. “You know Ms. Hodge, today was supposed to be my day off. I haven’t slept and now it looks like I’m going to have to work after all. Bambi, as far as I can see it, you’re fucked. I can’t protect you from prosecution this time.”
“Look, I don’t know what that asshole said to you in there, but for real I didn’t do anything to that girl. Come on Scott, you know me baby. I wouldn’t hurt anyone, not like that. What did he say to you?” Bambi replied.
She was obviously nervous and that made Kasparov uneasy about her involvement. She had been known to have involvement in the local drug trade, but it had only been as a user before. She had been clean for a while and living on her own. He hoped she hadn’t fallen back in to that life. If she had, and if it was bad enough, she may have information about the disappearances after all. The evidence was on file, and if she was seen leaving the club with one of the people who had disappeared, it isn’t going to look good in court. Kasparov was tired and knew there wasn’t much he could do to help the girl. If she wasn’t going to tell him what they needed to know he would have no choice but to lock her up. Damn Bambi for dragging him in to this mess. He had been cleaning up after her for too long and now she had gone and gotten herself in a situation he couldn’t help her out of. Now that Kasparov had made contact with Lofgren, the agent was sure to request his assistance over the other officers.
“Bambi, you need to listen to me. You’re in deep this time. He’s got you on tape leaving the club with Eliza and no one has seen her since. You are going to have to cooperate with him if you want to get out of this thing without too severe a consequence. He is on his way to get an arrest warrant as we speak and I’m likely going to have to bring you in. Fuck Bambi! How could you get yourself mixed up in this? I thought you were doing better. I thought you could keep your fucking nose clean. These people have murdered god knows how many people. If you know anything at all, I need you to tell me, and I need you to tell me now.”
Kasparov was tired and he didn’t want to lie to her. He knew he would be called in to work the case and that made him almost more frustrated than he was worried for the woman who he realized was now glaring at him with hurt and anger in her eyes. It almost seemed easier to just take her in now and let Lofgren deal with her. This was the FBI’s problem and she had to go and make it his.
“I can’t fucking believe you, Scott!” Bambi knew manipulation wouldn’t work and she did the only thing she knew how to do when her charms failed her. Kasparov had known her well enough to have seen it coming and didn’t so much as flinch when she began shouting at him. “You actually believe that guy? You think I fucking murdered that girl.”
“I think you might know who did. What are you and Frank back together? Was it him and his boys? Damnit Bambi! I thought you were done with that asshole. All he wants is for you to be his whore. He never loved you and he never will, can’t you see that. Stop protecting him.” Kasparov was angry as the idea that she might have gone back to Frank. He was a drug dealer and he used to beat her. If she was back with him, jail may be the safest place for her.
It took nearly a minute for Bambi to speak again. Her expression had turned from rage to a cold hurt and tears threatened to escape from her blue eyes that had gone so dark they almost looked black. When she did speak her tone was quiet and defeated.
“I was nice enough to offer her a ride home that night and this is how my good deed is replayed. I can’t believe you’d throw Frank at me again. I haven’t talked to him since the last time he put me in the hospital. Remember that? I sure as fuck do. I don’t know why I thought you could help me. Get the fuck off my porch. I never want to see you again.” Bambi’s words cut through Kasparov like a knife. He never meant to hurt her. He would find some way to make it up to her, but she would need time to cool off first.
For a moment he considered apologizing but he knew it wouldn’t make a difference so he lit another cigarette and made his way back to the Dodge Dynasty. As he slammed the door shut the upholstery came loose and sagged against the sick black padding. He put the key in to the ignition and turned. The car made a heinous sound before finally turning over. It had never been in great condition, but the car had served Kasparov well enough for the last four years. Soon he would need to replace it, but for now he was attached.
He put the vehicle in gear and steered it toward Peak Fitness. It was the only local gym that boasted its 24 hour operating time and clean locker rooms. In truth, there was little else that kept the place going. The machines were archaic and poorly maintained, almost all of the free weights had been stolen and only every other treadmill seemed to have the will to turn on anymore. Kasparov would have canceled his membership years before if he went to work out. Instead he went for the convenient showers when he didn’t have time to go home, to watch the more attractive women as they did yoga, and on occasion, for the punching bags.
He pulled in to the parking lot and carefully directed the car in to a parking space. The brakes were tricky but he knew how to handle it and stopped with his bumper a papers depth from the curb. A neon sign hung above the door that read Peak Fitness. Had it been night it would have been apparent that both “E”s had gone out. Kasparov smoked one more cigarette sitting in the car. He would be back on the job soon and wanted to take the time to enjoy something first. He let his mind focus on the feeling of smoke trailing down his throat to fill his lungs. It made him feel almost invincible. It wasn’t much longer before he had extinguished the cigarette and was retrieving his duffle bag from the trunk to go inside.
As soon as he walked in to the gym he waved to the woman behind the counter and she smiled happily back at him. She was a pretty girl who looked to be barely twenty. She had mousy brown hair that fell in delicate curls from her high ponytail down to her lower back. Kasparov had always wondered what she would look like naked, but he had never gotten the nerve to ask her. After all
he was thirty seven and had never been the most attractive man by any standards. He assumed she was paid to be nice to the guests. He knew when she smiled at him she didn’t mean anything by it.
“Good afternoon, Scott.” She greeted him as he signed in.
“Hey, Danni.” Kasparov replied. “How are you doing these days?”
“I’m ok. Jeff and I broke up.” She responded.
“I’m sorry to hear that. You will find someone else. You’re a beautiful girl.” He assured her.
“Well, funny you should say that.” She started.
“See, you already have then. Take care gorgeous.” Kasparov interrupted and made his way in to the locker room before she could finish her thought. He would gladly stay and talk to her all day if it got him closer to finding out what she felt like, but he was in a hurry to get cleaned up before he had to go pick Bambi up.
Kasparov went directly to his favorite locker and went to reach for the latch before noticing someone else had gotten to it first. Of course someone had. Nothing had gone right since he got in to Iron Grinders that morning. Maybe it was a sign he drank too much. He opened the locker next to the one he was used to and hung his coat on the hooks before undressing. His stomach had started to swell and he realized it might be a good idea to start working out when he came to the gym. It had been awhile since he paid any attention to how he looked, but here it seemed to be expected of you. He hurried to get to the shower. The floor was always cold and the water was never hot enough for him. Kasparov liked to clean in water so warm it turned his skin from white to red. He felt it absorbed more heat and would allow him to retain that heat longer and there was no convincing him otherwise.
After washing away the filth of the last three days Kasparov turned off the water and stepped out of the stall to dry himself. He made his way back to the lockers and found his duffle was on the bench. He had forgotten to lock it away. Concerned for its contents, he quickly opened the bag and found everything was as he had left it. He resolved to get dressed and grab a coffee at the nearest gas station before heading to Bambi’s.
When he pulled His clothes from the bag a disposable razor clattered to the floor sending the blade guard flying across the smooth tile floor. It had been a few days since he had shaved and his hair was overgrown. After locking everything up he took his clippers, shave-gel, and the disposable razor to the sink and lathered his face. He shaved his face as close as he could. If he was going in to the precinct he didn’t want to hear anything about his facial hair. He used the trimmer on the sides and back of his head to tame the unruly growth that had become unsightly leaving him with a much cleaner look. After rinsing all of the shave cream and the bits of hair away he was satisfied and went to collect his things.
After fiddling with the lock on his usual locker for several minutes he remembered he had taken the one next to it and retrieved his things. For a moment after he just sat on the bench staring in to the now empty locker and didn’t think about anything at all. It wasn’t long after he had started to zone out his phone rang.
It was the precinct calling him to apprehend Bambi and bring her in. Lofgren had gotten the arrest warrant and sure enough he had requested Kasparov’s assistance on the case. The woman on the other end made it clear she was to be brought in immediately and that he was to report to Lofgren for briefing on the situation.
With a sigh Kasparov got up from the bench and grabbed his things. As soon as he stepped out of the gym he opened his pack of cigarettes to find that it was empty. He had a carton of them in the trunk of the car and would grab one when he put his bag up. He opened the driver side door and pulled the latch to pop the trunk. Inside he found his side arm and strapped it to his belt and grabbed his cuffs. He hoped he wouldn’t need them.
Once everything was put away and he had what he needed to pick up Bambi he reached in to the carton he kept in the trunk to pull out a fresh pack of cigarettes only to find that it was empty as well. Kasparov swore and kicked his back bumper causing some of the rust to give and his foot to get stuck in it for a moment. He lost balance removing his foot and fell to the ground. He didn’t want to get up. He was tired and nothing was going right. Superstition wasn’t something Kasparov put much stock in but he knew if a day started this bad it wasn’t going to get better.
II.
Back at the police station Lofgren was trying to establish a place to work. He had talked with some of the officers and with their help, located Kasparov’s desk. The light brown finish of the desk was marred with cigarette burns and coffee stains. Disorganized papers littered its surface as it mixed with notebooks, empty cigarette packs, and crumpled fast food receipts. As he began to collect papers and dispose of trash bin the in under the desk, he exposed a small name plate at the front of the desk. Despite being covered, the name under the brass was clouded by dust. It wasn’t until he brushed the thick dust from it that he could make out the name. Scott C. Kasparov. He wondered what the C stood for and made a mental note to find out.
Lofgren had always been a very inquisitive man, never accepting that an answer could not be found. It was this trait that led him to a career in the Bureau. As much as he would like to boast a desire to stop the wicked and to protect the innocent, he just didn’t care about any of that. He wanted to learn as much as he could before his life was over; the more guarded the information, the more enticing. He had a history of early Alzheimer’s on both sides of his family and had accepted long ago that he would eventually succumb to it.
After piling the loose papers in to a neat stack, Lofgren began to sort notebooks in to piles organized by dates. He looked through a few of them to sate his curiosity and was almost disappointed. They were full of reference numbers, crude sketches, and case notes. As he worked he uncovered a three level organizer that had never been assembled. He quickly fit plastic pegs in to their clearly labeled holes and fit the pieces together. Lofgren admired his work for a moment before placing the notebooks on the bottom level. He had started to organize the papers when his cell phone chimed. He placed the papers in the tray and pulled out device.
He flipped it open and the screen alerted him to a new message from Yvonne, his ex-wife. She was a beautiful woman and at one time that had been enough for Lofgren. He was young and his hormones were raging. It was several years until he realized he could no longer live the life of a married man and asked Yvonne for a divorce. They hadn’t been happy for several years and when she became pregnant six years earlier it only added to the strain on the relationship. Both his Ex-wife and his daughter had a hard time understanding why Lofgren wanted to leave. After all, it wasn’t that he was interested in someone else, they didn’t have money problems, he seemed happy enough to sit with his daughter and have tea parties, and he still regularly engaged in sexual relations with Yvonne. The truth was, he could learn nothing from their company. After so many years his hormones had quieted leaving him stricken with the realization that neither woman was very smart. Sophie couldn’t be blamed, she was just a child, but Yvonne was an educated woman. She should have been able to introduce new information to their conversations.
The message on the phone was one she had sent him many times. CALL ME NOW! Lofgren knew what this message meant. Yvonne wanted more money. Anytime something came up that involved money she always seemed to need to talk right away, just not enough to actually call herself. He replied with a simple message: Use the credit card I gave you. No more than $80.
Lofgren had a lot of work to do and had no intention to waste time on her latest manufactured emergency. There was a time to argue and a time to let her have her way. He stowed his phone back in his jacket pocket and sat down at the desk. It was a great deal better than when he had arrived, but it was still not fit to work from. He wondered to himself how Kasparov had managed to let it get this bad before recalling his state when he had met him earlier that day. It was for situations like these that Lofgren carried disinfecting wipes. You never knew when you would need them, and he didn’
t like filth. He hummed a song from somewhere foreign as he wiped down the desk and then set up his own organizers and placed his files in their designated rack.
Once everything was organized to his liking, Lofgren turned to the computer and found it was password protected. He vaguely remembered something that he was told when he was obtaining the warrant for Ms. Hodge and checked his files for a password. There on the top of the page in red pen he found his answer. He carefully typed in the code. 5r4c3. The computer monitor showed a bright blank screen and he was sure he had broken it somehow. It wasn’t a minute later that the speaker erupted in sound signaling the login was successful and the background overtook the display. He clicked on an icon that resembled an E with a planetary ring it and navigated to his email client.
He had some time to kill before Kasparov would be back with Ms. Hodge and decided to send an update to his superiors. When he arrived in Landsford he called in to alert his office of his arrival but the conversation was rushed and he was quickly ushered off of the line. There had been tension before he left and it was very likely his return would be marked by some difficult conversations if he failed to put a stop to the murders he was investigating. He quickly typed up the important details of his findings, careful to only include facts and to avoid speculation.
Although Lofgren knew what was really going on, he still had not been able to track down the people behind the murders. His views on the reason for the crimes had earned him the moniker of “Loony Lofgren”. He had been vocal at first about his ideas on the case in the beginning and, in time, he was ostracized because of this. It never bothered him to work alone, but he found himself frustrated with the lack of care from the bureau regarding this investigation. They had closed the case too soon and only allowed him to continue his work on it after several requests. It was clear they were just humoring him. Despite the reoccurrences, the cases were declared to be a single killer in the first incident and copy cats after that.
Yearling Investigation Archives (Book 1): Sanguine Page 2