by Luis Samways
The on looking officers are still in shock.
‘Get back to work. 15 people died here tonight,” Frank says. “Let’s catch whoever is responsible for this.’ Stepping over the knocked out officer on the ground, he follows the cobblestone path to the entrance of the house. The officers make way for him and a few attend to the officer on the ground. Frank walks into a narrow hallway, entering the crime scene.
The signs of a struggle are evident everywhere. He looks down the hallway and takes a deep breath in as he takes in the carnage. Blood cakes the walls, pools of it contaminate the floor. Frank is careful not to leave footprints that will confuse the attending crime lab technicians. Despite the excess of blood on the floor, no bodies in the vicinity justify the mess. He follows the bloody path down the hallway. The amount suggests some one died here. An abundance of holes in the walls are the unmistakable aftermath of shotgun shells and the hallway is plastered with shotgun shrapnel.
Light from other rooms pierces through the holes in the walls. Frank sticks his finger through one of the holes, and is surprised at how thick the walls are. Three inches from side to side suggests that the shooter was in close proximity of the wall when shooting.
But still, there is not one body near any of the bullet holes. A lot of blood though.
Frank pulls his finger out of the hole and stares at it. The urge to peep through overwhelms him and he bends down and looks through. An eye stares back at him and he jumps away from the wall. Sweat forms on his brow and Frank loosens his tie. It is definitely hot in here.
Returning to the wall, his mind races. A faint whisper seems to emanate from the hole. The sweat trickles freely down his face and Frank breathes harder. He feels the heat of the wall with his hand, the whispering becomes clearer.
‘Don’t you touch me,’ a dark raspy voice whispers.
Frank squirms and pulls his hand away from the flaky dry surface. The sticky sweating is profuse now and his once white T shirt is drenched. Frank’s throat feels dry.
‘It’s so hot. The wall is so hot.’ he murmurs to himself.
He reaches toward the wall and the whispering stops. He smiles nervously and bends to look through the bullet hole. The eye meets his gaze again and Frank feels fire in his soul.
‘Die, Fucker,’ the voice whispers.
Someone taps Frank’s shoulder from behind. He turns around to face the intruder. The man studies Frank with curiosity.
‘You okay, Frank?’ Frank clears his throat twice. ’Yeah I’m okay; it’s just real hot in here, Eddie’
‘Like a Goddamn Mexican whorehouse,’ Eddie agrees. ‘Well, heck it’s good to see you! Boy it’s been far too long, but under the circumstances I’d rather just get down to business. You know that I don’t like to come to crime scenes at all, but this one is a little too close to home. I knew a few of the victims. If this sort of shit is happening on my street, what hope have I got at making this city a safer place?’ he asks.
Frank looks unsympathetic. ‘With all due respect, I think we’d all like to not come to crime scenes like you.’ Frank cannot keep the hint of bitterness from his tone.
‘Well all I’m saying is to get your ass in gear. We need to nip this in the bud before anything else like this goes down. It will be a media circus when the press finds out this shit went down in my own neighbourhood. I am the victim’s next door neighbour!’ The DA tries to make his intentions clear.
‘I got it Eddie. I’ll just get on with what I am here to do. I’m sure you didn’t break protocol so I could listen to you rant.’
Eddie looks Frank up and down disapprovingly, noticing the sweat riddled shirt. ‘Frank get your shit together! I don’t condone drugs or taking them, but man if you’re going to do your job, I need you to get your fucking shit straight! Pop a pill. Do whatever you do. Just get me some damn results, or the only protocol I’ll be following is the one under the Drugs ACT,’ Eddie warns.
As Eddie walks away, Frank grits his teeth and tries to hold his temper. As soon as Eddie is out of sight, Frank reaches for his pills and takes 3 to settle his nerves. He is going to need the edge if he is going to catch a mass murdering psychopath
.
Three
Frank had been at the crime scene now for twenty minutes. Light was breaking through the morning clouds shading the living room’s towering white bay windows. Those windows would have been worth the price in cold cash if the 10 foot security wall around the garden hadn’t prevented any likelihood of someone witnessing the crime. Or maybe that was the whole idea.
Frank looked around the once immaculate living room. It was well furnished and had its fair share of Persian exports. He thought about how wealthy the occupants were compared to him. They were not millionaires by any stretch of the imagination, but they could afford premium cable. A 52 inch theatre sat nicely in the corner.
No wall brackets. At least they were not idiots. TVs were notoriously unstable mounted on walls.
They had some marvellous paintings on the wall, but he didn’t genuinely care for art. He realised he was paying attention to the mundane because of what lay in the corner and finally decided to acknowledge the 15 bodies neatly piled there. The corpses were scattered with bullet holes and he was sure there was not a pint of blood left between them.
‘Shit. That’s sad.’ Frank said to himself.
‘What’s sad?’ A woman’s voice asked next to his ear
Frank turned to see a tall brunet standing beside him. She wore a white lab coat that identified her as part of the forensic team. Overtly assertive in the way she stood, she knew she was good looking, but she also didn’t think of it as an asset. ‘It’s sad,” he says, ‘That the Persian carpet underneath the bodies can’t be sold at the police auction now. It’s probably worth at least $800; I could have gotten it for $150. Always wanted one of them rugs.’ The woman isn’t impressed by his sense of humour.
‘Frankly, I don’t honestly care for overpriced tat. I’m more concerned with the fact that 15 people were murdered last night. That in itself is scary enough, let alone the fact that the murderer is still at large.’ Frank lets out a little laugh. ‘I’ll catch them. That’s what I do.’
‘Well, let’s hope you do, Mr McKenzie,’ the woman answers.
Frank’s eyes light up. ‘Ah, so you do know who I am? I was hoping you did so we can skip all the small talk and get to the fun!’
‘I can assure you, Frank, that the only fun we will have is this.’ The woman lets her gaze wander to the pile of bodies keeping them company.
‘Damn, I was just playing around, lady. Haven’t you ever been told that a little joke here and there can do wonders for your life?’ Frank says. ‘I’m sure that the things you see every day are just as bad as the things I see. So releasing steam seems appropriate.’ She blatantly isn’t impressed.
‘Look Miss, I’ll catch the bastards. They are only human after all,’ Frank assures her.
She grimaces. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that.’
She gestures for Frank to follow her and walks out of the living room and up the stairs.
He follows her into the home’s office. A trashed computer seems out of place in a whole house that is in pristine condition. None of the house’s contents, so far, is damaged-- aside from the Persian rug. ‘What’s up with the broken PC?’ ‘The woman downstairs is Jane Chase. We have a positive ID on her and the 14 other victims. Her children are included on that list. The only person who did not die here last night is her husband, Connor Chase. He’s MIA at the moment. We know he works at MIT, and we also know he went to work yesterday. He acted normal all day, then all of a sudden, he ups and vanishes 30 minutes before his shift ends,’ the woman fills him in.
Frank looks puzzled. ‘How do you know all this?’
‘I am his boss,’ the woman declares.
‘Oh, I thought you were a CSI.’ Frank laughs.
‘MIT works in all fields, Mr McKenzie.’ She points up to the ceiling. Frank follows with hi
s eyes. The woman is pointing at some writing on the ceiling.
“FOR HELL HAS RISEN HERE TONIGHT. IT SHALL ONCE AGAIN ARISE UNTIL JUSTICE IS MET, AND THE INVADERS ARE EXECUTED.” The message looks like it was written in blood.
‘So much for the murderer being human, Frank,’ she says succinctly.
‘What’s with this guy?’ Frank isn’t sure what to think.
‘He thinks he’s Judge, Jury and Executioner to privacy invaders,’ the woman explains.
‘What do you mean? “Privacy invaders”?’ ‘He has a thing for privacy.” The woman looks exasperated and Frank isn’t sure if it is with him or the situation. “Haven’t you noticed the rather large wall outside of his house?’ She waited for Frank to nod. ‘When he’s at work, he’s always talking about how it’s socially acceptable it is to plaster your life online for everyone to see. He’s always said how one day that would change. I guess this is what he meant.’
Frank laughs. ‘Look Miss. Leave the detective work to me. You don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. He murdered his family for Christ’s sake. He clearly loved them; there are countless pictures of him and his family all over the house, smiles and all. Maybe, just maybe, he killed them to save them, save them from the invaders,’ says Frank
‘Who are the invaders then?’ she asks
‘You guys. He was protecting them from you’ Frank says
‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s simple, lady. He thinks officials and government is the enemy. It’s obvious. He smashes his office. He puts an enormous wall around the house. Yet there are no CCTV cameras anywhere. Why? Because he thinks the government is spying on him. He doesn't have the internet. He has cable downstairs, but I noticed no router for the internet. Don’t you think that is strange, seeing that almost all cable packages usually include the internet?’ The woman looks confused.
‘How the hell did you come up with that? So that’s it? The guy is a paranoid psycho! All worked out within a few hours by master detective Frank McKenzie?’ the woman says sarcastically. “Case solved?”
Frank gives her his trademark wink and a smile. ‘No, I’m just getting started lady.’ he assures her.
Four
Connor Chase is tired. He’s been running through the subway system in the middle of the city for over 6 hours now. The modern wonder stretches over 17 miles underground. It is a maze of darkened passages and old brittle tracks. His steps echo loudly as he runs through the western tunnel leading to his planned safe haven.
Connor is finding it hard to see. The lighting down the western track is sparse, making sections of the track completely pitch black to the naked eye. He carries on full pace down the tunnel with all the momentum he can muster. Suddenly, his right foot shifts on the gravel between the tracks and he falls tumbling down the western tunnel faster than he would like. He crashes into a platform and to a stop. He gasps for air and feels pain. A smoulder of dust surrounds him as he gets up. He pats himself clean. His office clothes are now torn, and he looks like the victim of a natural disaster. He carries on and makes his way up the platform he crashed into. Stopping dead, he looks up at the flickering sign above the platform exit.
“SOUTH BOUND MAINTENANCE” the sign reads.
He smiles and makes his way to the exit.
Five
Frank McKenzie walks into the downtown police precinct at 9.00 am. He just spent six hours at the crime scene. There is a certain fear in the air. Frank could smell the anxiety a mile away. The place is abuzz with chaos. Police officers rush around, files are scattered everywhere, and phones ring off the hook. For only one reason. No, the president has not been assassinated; the super bowl is not on; there hasn’t been another 9/11. The police precinct is in chaos because Connor Chase made history with the most prolific serial killing ever in 12 and half hours. Everyone in the room looks scared, and not because they feared being hurt. They knew it wasn’t over. Out of the corner of Frank’s eye, he sees the Chief rolling towards him with his arm extended to shake Frank’s hand. Frank obliges and the chief chuckles. ‘Good to see you lad, been way too long in my estimation.’ ‘It’s good to see you, Shaw,’ Frank says.
Admittedly Frank did not like Shaw. He isn’t sure if it is the Chief’s lack of Irish charm, or the fact that Shaw fired him not too long ago.
‘Good to have you back, Frank,’ Shaw confesses. ‘Let me be the first to admit it was not in the best interest of the Force to let you go.’ Frank realises Shaw isn’t walking on egg shells here and digs deep to find a sudden respect for the man.
‘I appreciate that, Shaw. Now let’s stop fucking around and concentrate on nailing this bastard!’
Frank and Shaw shake hands again; Frank walks towards the information desk. He waits a few minutes, soaking in the disorganised chaos that engulfs the police headquarters. The information clerk is nowhere to be seen, so Frank goes behind the desk in hope a spare case file on Connor Chase may be lying around the vicinity.
He searches the assortment of papers and floppy discs on the desk. None of the labels coincide with the subject he is looking for. He sits at the desk and stares into space, trying to piece together yesterday’s events. The officers going about their business blur his vision and Frank holds his head in pain. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pills. He swallows a few to alleviate the headache that has made its presence known and to put him on an even keel.
As his vision returns to normal, and the pace in the room goes from slow-motion to fast forward to reality... He stands and shakes his head clear. The CCTV monitor catches his eye. He sits back down and pays close attention. A figure walks out of the stairwell to the side exit of the building. Normally, nothing to raise an alarm in Frank’s mind, but this figure in the CCTV is hiding his face from view.
Frank goes numb as he realises what is happening and stands to yell out his hunch. A massive explosion from upstairs is followed by shattering glass that falls from the two storey atrium. It cascades all over the first floor of the precinct. Officers hit the ground in reflex but Frank stands in shock behind the desk. Files that were once cluttering desks float all over the room. The atmosphere fills with smoke and dust.
The gas pipes ignite a second explosion. Frank knows that sound and isn’t standing any more. He hits the ground as a huge fireball courses through the precinct from grates and pipes interconnected in the surrounding walls. Shrapnel pings and clangs off every surface, a piece of it nearly taking Frank’s eye out. The CCTV monitor above his head implodes. Shards of plastic and wiring fall as Frank lies on the ground and tries to protect himself from the horrors of the explosion.
Finally, the sounds of terror die down and people begin to get to their feet. Chief Shaw is among the officers trying to recover from the physical and mental shock. He pats himself down and makes his way to the middle of the room. ‘Is every one okay?’ The response around the room is timid at best.
‘Okay I want a full sweep of the building.’ Shaw continues when he sees there are no injuries. ‘We need to search for any wounded and find the fuckers who did this. I want three man teams going from top to bottom. No mistakes gentleman.’ Frank gets up from behind the desk.
‘Sir we have a problem,’ Frank says as he approaches Shaw.
Shaw laughs. ‘I know detective. We’ve just been attacked by terrorists. I think that qualifies as a big fucking problem.’
‘It’s not terrorists,’ Frank says.
‘What are you saying? Santa Claus came in and blew out the fucking chimney?’
‘No sir. I saw who did this. It wasn’t Santa Clause.’
Six
‘That’s bullshit Frank! You have no evidence what so ever,’ Shaw laughs off Frank’s assertion.
Frank doesn’t appreciate being laughed at. He thumped his fist on the table to make his point. ‘Look just hear me out. I know for a fact that Connor Chase is the man behind this,’ he says.
The room goes quiet. Shaw stands with his back to everyone and look
s out at the skyline of the city. ‘How do you work that out Frank? Please tell me why my best detective is pulling at strings here?’ ‘I know it was Chase sir because I saw him on the CCTV before the explosion. One shoulder was lower than the other as if he was carrying a heavy bag. He wasn’t carrying a heavy bag though. That’s the way he walks after the accident. That’s how I know it was him,’ explains Frank.
‘What accident?’
‘He sustained one at work a few months ago. His boss told me about it this morning. She was at the crime scene. She told me a lot about him, valuable personal stuff,’ Frank added.
‘So why did you not write up a report on it McKenzie?’ Shaw asks.
‘I was just about to sir, when the explosions started.’ Everyone in the conference room mumbles in doubt. Shaw looks at his fellow peers and then at Frank. ‘Okay Frank. Get the woman to verify you’re story. In the mean time, everyone here will run a risk assessment on whether this psycho will strike again. I want a profile on this asshole as soon as possible; this guy is going down today.’ Shaw’s orders emptied the room. In the midst of the crowd of officials leaving the room, Frank holds his phone to his ear.