by Rick Murcer
She shook her head. “You know, the news station has had the information on the Internet before we even got out here, right? Damn Web anyway.”
The rush of relief almost made his knees weak.
Getting caught was not on his dance card, but if that was going to happen, he wanted to express his love a few more times first. Check that. Many more times first.
“I must confess, you’ve got me there. I’m a bit of an online news freak.”
“Yeah, well, how they got the scoop on what this sick son of bitch did is beyond me. Next thing you know, there’ll be pictures posted of the crime scene,” she said.
A sudden flash of pure rage took over his thoughts. Sick son of a bitch?
Again, he was fully aware that the police wouldn’t appreciate his skills because, in their world, he was breaking the law. But to not appreciate the gift he’d offered exclusively to them was a different story. He’d thought that, above all others, law enforcement would appreciate his art.
Sick? He’d never been better. The shade of anger he was feeling was hard to ignore.
“Oh my, wouldn’t that be something?” he asked.
The woman tilted her head and began to scan him from head to toe.
“Do you live around here, Mister . . .?”
“Vee. Mister Vee. And I do. Just around the corner on Stony Brook.”
She smiled. “Well, Mister Vee, would you mind if we stopped by to ask you some questions? Sometimes people see things that are important but don’t really seem that way at the time.”
“You mean like strange people and vehicles? Of course, officer, anything I can do. The house number is two-two-five-zero. I’m home during the day, mostly.”
She opened her mouth to say something else, but the sound of loud voices coming from a group of neighbors caused the woman to turn from him and head back toward the house.
Turning around, he sauntered back the way he’d come, his mind racing with new concepts.
He wasn’t sure what the people who lived at that address on Stony Brook would say to the cops when they stopped by for a chat, for one. How about when the cop tried to describe how he looked when she realized she’d been lied to, for another? Would she realize she’d been speaking to Valentino? He thought yes.
Yet neither of those ideas held a candle to what he was about to do next. He could thank the officer for the idea of how to expand his fan base. In fact, he might just have to do that in person. Maybe her boyfriend or husband would want to join him in the coming discussion.
If he were a betting man . . .
Reaching his car, he pulled away from the shaded side street and drove in the opposite direction from the house that would be forever enshrined as Peter’s and Gladys’ fifteen minutes of fame, thanks to him.
Yet, if the cops thought that he was a sick son of a bitch and didn’t appreciate what he was offering to his exclusive audience, then what?
It didn’t take a genius to see that his work would never be made available to the public, which in the beginning was a far thought from his mind. He had only wanted someone to recognize his gift, only wanted to show his brilliance to someone who would recognize him for what he was, and to show his unselfish love.
But if that need, and he did recognize it as such, wasn’t going to be realized, then he had little choice but to go a different direction, one that would benefit artists and art connoisseurs alike.
“There are other methods to the desired results,” he whispered.
CHAPTER-13
“Shit. Okay. We’ll be there.”
Marie put her phone back on her belt, her short hair moving in counter-rhythm with her shaking head as she walked back to the rest of the group, shaking her head.
Here we go, thought Manny.
“And I thought we had issues the last time you were down here,” she lamented, making eye contact with Josh, then Manny.
“Another one?” asked Manny.
“Yes. A son and mother.”
He could see from her face that there was more behind her answer.
“How bad?” he asked.
“Bad. Two of the officers left the scene, after puking their guts out, and four more refuse to go near the master bedroom suite. They said we don’t pay them enough.”
“Great. He’s now not just a serial killer with some kind of screwed-up, delusional look at life, but a spree killer as well,” said Duane James.
“Technically, he’s a spree killer. Yet, I’m not sure of that,” said Manny. “But I agree with your other assessment.”
“What do you mean?” asked Duane.
“I’m talking about how he looks at his life. Who can define a cooling off period for a serial killer? People like us? I think that’s up to the killers themselves. Is it five days? Six months? Twelve hours? Above that conjecture in this case, I don’t believe this killer thinks of himself as hot or cold or whatever. He thinks of himself as free from whatever constraints he had previously.”
“Okay, I see your points. We have to think outside the established norm for this guy,” said Duane. “But it looks like a spree to me, and that means more bodies.”
“I think we have to think like that with all of these cases because the perps hear a whole different type of music than the rest of us,” said Josh. “And we have to stop him before we find more bodies.”
“Listen, we can talk about the logistics of vocabulary and more victims later. I’d like to get to the new scene ASAP,” said Manny.
“Are we going to talk about this message, how he did it, and what the hell it means first? We’d better because it’s sort of freaking me out. How can he write so precisely and in such detail with something like blood and then pull off the effect like that?” asked Sophie.
“We’ve got to get to the new scene, but I’ll ask you the same question. Other than the obvious perversion of what he did and how, who has this kind of ability?” asked Manny.
“I’d say someone who has a proclivity for arts and lettering, so maybe an art student or teacher. Or someone who might make a living drawing, painting, or whatever else those folks do,” said Josh.
“Oh, right. Maybe even someone who owns or runs a studio,” said Sophie.
“Yes, good guess on all accounts,” said Manny. “Maybe even a graphic artist. This guy uses the same lettering type and is remarkably consistent. That says talent and practice to me.”
“That makes perfect sense. We’ll get to work on compiling a list of schools, colleges, and studios and get staff out there to start the interviews.”
“Before you do, there’s something else we should consider, an element that might narrow down the search.”
“Damn. This is going to be sick, isn’t it?” asked Sophie.
Manny shrugged. “We’ve seen enough things in this job, and outside of it, to know that one case of normal doesn’t apply to all.”
“So what should we be looking for?” asked Marie.
“There are and have been artists over the years that paint with their own blood, Vincent Castiglia from Hell’s Kitchen in New York, also known as Doctor Rev, is pretty famous for that style. His work is creepy enough, but throw in the element of his own blood as the creative media and you have something truly eccentric,” said Manny.
“I’ve seen his work and eccentric is a mild term. It’s freaking creepy,” said Dean.
“Really? You’ve seen his work? You’re sleeping in another hotel room tonight,” said Sophie.
“I said I’ve seen it. I didn’t buy any, yet,” said Dean, winking at Sophie.
“Yeah, hell will freeze over first before you hang that shit in our house.”
“So we should look for locals who paint with blood?” asked Marie.
“Certainly. But not only that. I’d inquire regarding anyone who . . . well, has a different idea of just exactly what art is, and unusual media too,” said Manny. “It may not lead to anything, but it’s a start.”
Marie exhaled. “I’ll take a start, no mat
ter how weird it is. Duane?”
“I’m on it,” her partner answered. He then hurried toward the parked cars.
“All right. Let’s get this sideshow on the road,” Josh said. “I’ll stay here with Dean while he processes the area. Manny, Sophie, and Belle, you go with Marie to the new murder scene. We’ll meet at Marie’s office in, say, four to five hours?”
“That works,” said Manny.
He looked at Belle, and it occurred to him that she’d kept to herself during the last conversation. That wasn’t like her.
She must have felt his eyes because she glanced in his direction, offering him a sad, if not nervous, smile. He felt as if she wanted to tell him something, but wasn’t quite to the point of sharing yet, maybe not mustered enough courage. That thought alone was odd because she didn’t appear to be afraid of many things.
“You okay with that, Belle?” he asked.
“Well, since you’re asking. I’d like to stay here with Josh, if that’s okay with all of you. I see some things that I’d like to take a closer look at,” she said.
“Dean?” asked Manny.
“Sure, whatever she wants. I’m flexible. Besides, that would mean I can ride in the back with Sophie, you know?”
“I’ll be driving. But if you want to sit in the front and put your hand on my leg, that works.”
“TMI, from both of you. Okay, that’s settled. And for the record, Williams is riding in the front. You three can take the SUV, after I get my sunglasses out of the back. We’ll ride to town with the blues when we’re done. Let’s get to it,” said Josh.
Josh headed for the SUV, Dean and Sophie right behind. Manny waited until they were out of hearing range then went to Belle.
“You okay?”
“Yep. I guess I’m still making adjustments, that’s all.”
“I understand that. But you know you can’t bullshit a profiler, right?”
Her eyes danced, accompanied with a wide grin. “Can’t blame a girl for trying though.”
“Nope.”
“You are good, no doubt about that. What gave me away?”
“I’m not sure about that good thing. I just pay attention. So what’s bothering you?”
She touched his arm, her expression strong. “I appreciate your concern. I really do. And I’ll make you a promise. Once Josh and I are done with this crime scene, and I’m satisfied with what we find, we’ll talk.”
“Fair enough. There’s no pressure, just an offer to talk. These types of murders can rot your mind.”
“Oh, I couldn’t agree more, and thanks.”
Belle released his arm, reached for her case, then limped over toward the tree.
He turned to go, then it struck him. He reversed his direction and moved to where Belle was opening her case.
She looked at him quizzically. “What? Do my pants have a hole in them?”
“No, none that I noticed. I have just one question for you before I leave though.”
“Fire away.”
“How did you injure your leg?”
Belle glanced away under the pretense of digging though her case. “I was injured on a trip. And I don’t want to talk about it now.”
“Another time then.”
“Maybe.”
Manny headed for the SUV, getting the answer he’d expected but seeing more.
Belle Simmons had a secret to share. An important secret.
CHAPTER-14
“How are you feeling?” asked Barb.
“Good, and wow, this is like a déjà vu moment. Do you remember the last time we were here at Walter Reed?” asked Alex.
“Oh, I sure do. Getting lucky in the closet while I was wearing the nurse get up. How could I forget that?”
“Ahh, well, that part was totally unforgettable and as far as I know, there was no security video showing what happened.”
“There isn’t. I checked.”
Alex scowled. “Checked where?”
“The Internet. I looked through a bunch of porn sites having to do with nurses and didn’t see us.”
“You were looking at porn?”
“Sort of. I just wanted to make sure we weren’t rising stars. But I’d be a liar to say I didn’t enjoy some of it. Some of those guys are well . . . you know.”
“I think Sophie would say ‘hung’,” said Alex.
She sat on the edge of the bed and kissed him. “She would, but she doesn’t know about you, does she?”
“Not unless you told her during all that woman-talk thing you ladies do.”
She zipped her fingers across her lips. “Some things are off limits.”
Alex studied his wife. She hadn’t grown a day older, it seemed, over the last ten years. Her platinum hair and striking features were enough to make anyone believe she was a famous actress or a model. She wasn’t either of those things, and she loved him for some ungodly reason.
“What are you staring at?”
“You. Always you.”
Kissing him again, she then ran her finger down his left arm to the fleshy stub that began where his hand had been.
“There’s not much more to say about this, but I just want to make sure you’re comfortable about this surgery.”
Good question. Was he?
He’d run the various options over in his mind a million times and always came back to one conclusion. He had to do it this way. He could have finished his life with the other prosthetic, but this new technology would offer him far more, if things went right.
“I am. I’m excited to see where it will lead. And I can’t wait to pinch Lee with fingers that are supposed to feel like the real deal.”
Barb nodded. “That will be a Kodak moment.”
Alex glanced at the wall clock. Twenty minutes until they came to get him. His stomach jumped at the thought. He wasn’t sure if it was excitement or anxiety. Probably both.
“Well, I’d better go. They’ll be here soon,” said Barb, reading his face, no doubt. “Do you need anything else?”
He suddenly remembered that he did.
“I do, kind of. Last year, before Josh and I flew to Vegas, he gave you a piece of paper with an address and sent you there. I remember you had this big grin on your face when he told you that you’d know what to do when you got there. What was that all about?”
Her face grew somber. “I’m not really sure what you’re talking about. I don’t remember that.”
He was no profiler, but he recognized a lie when he saw one, and lies were rare animals in Barb’s world. Maybe she didn’t remember. It was possible, right?
“Really? You don’t remember? Josh said he had something else for you to do when you wanted to come with us.”
Her face grew more taut. “Listen, Alex. I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Are you calling me a liar?”
“Of course not. I just distinctly remember that situation and was curious, that’s all. It popped into my head just now for some reason.”
“Well, I don’t remember what you are talking about, and surely I would. Maybe it was the pre-surgery medication.”
It had been a long while since they’d actually fought, and he didn’t think this was the time to go down that path.
He smiled.
“Okay, I was a little drugged up. I was probably imagining things.”
Her expression softened. “You’re right. You were. But you’ve got more important things on your mind, so let’s drop this.”
Just then, the ER prep team entered the room.
“We’re going in a bit early. So, if you’re ready, let’s get to this,” said the tall doctor leading the procession.
“Sure, I’m ready, I think,” said Alex.
Barb hugged him and pecked him on the cheek, but her usual warmth was missing, or at least it seemed that way.
She then walked out of the door.
The team rolled him out a few minutes later, and Alex was grateful for what was to come, his mind shifting away from the awkward con
versation with his wife. He was going to be as close to normal as technology could muster, and that would be a dream come true, he prayed.
*****
Barb Downs watched as they rolled her husband down the hallway, thinking of their last conversation. She knew she hadn’t really fooled him. He was a kind man who’d chosen not to call her out on her obvious lie. That kindness and soft-heart approach was a good trait, but it hadn’t always served him well. Like today.
Then again, his day wasn’t going to end like he, or the rest of the BAU, expected.
Not by a longshot.
CHAPTER-15
Manny ducked under the yellow ribbon and walked up the red stone path that led to the front door of the neat, white ranch. Dean was on his left, Sophie on his right, Marie led the way.
They entered the small foyer, moved past the two cops standing guard, and stopped in the middle of the open living room.
Immediately, the distinct scent of smoke and burnt wood invaded his senses, stopping him dead.
The chill that ran down his spine confirmed what he detected underneath those two odors. He’d been exposed to that deplorable scent only a couple of times in his career as a cop and special agent, but like his first murder case, he’d never forgotten it. No one in their right mind could.
Burnt flesh was like hell on earth.
“Is that what I think it is?” asked Sophie.
“I pray it isn’t,” said Dean.
Manny didn’t think their prayers were going to be answered this time.
Marie echoed his thoughts. “I think you might be a little late on the prayer side of things. Follow me.”
They moved over the immaculate hardwood floors, which were complimented nicely by the light blue leather furniture making a semi-circle around the large flat screen TV hanging on the wall. On each side of the TV and also on the adjoining wall leading to the kitchen were at least fifteen pictures of Gladys Blanks and her family from over the years. It was impossible to sit in either of the chairs or sofa and not see them. Gladys had obviously liked to reminisce.
The living room was cozy and could have been a special place for Gladys and her son. He could almost hear them ruminating and laughing as they spoke of the past with fondness.