Dead Burn

by Jennifer Chase

With the sound of vomiting, Emily watched the burly man violently eject some of the cheap alcohol he had consumed. The repulsive mixture of vomit and blood engaged her gag reflex. She held her breath and swallowed hard. She brushed her hand up to her nose to induce any other type of odor.

  She stepped forward over the barfing man and pushed him down flat on the floor. Quickly retrieving a couple of heavy zip ties from her pocket, she slid them easily over his wrists and ankles. Pulling hard, she secured them.

  The man moaned and whined with incomprehensible words, now mixed with spit, blood and vomit smeared across his face.

  Emily leaned him against a wall in the hallway, not worried that he’d escape or hurt anyone else. She quickly went to the little girls and made sure that they were okay and not in need of an immediate doctor.

  “Rick?” She said into the headset.

  No answer.

  She kept moving. “C’mon, let’s go.” She gently instructed to the girls.

  “Geez, what stinks?” Rick stood at the doorway grimacing, relief was evident in his eyes.

  “Bad guys.” Emily’s flippant answer didn’t slow her down. Relief washed over her that Rick was safe.

  “You okay?” He stopped her for a moment to examine her shirt.

  “I’m fine, I’ll need to take a shower for a week though.” She tried to sound like nothing was wrong, but the gravity of these types of situations ate away at her, losing a bit of her humanity with every incident.

  Emily began, “Is the other guy…?”

  Rick solemnly nodded.

  Emily and Rick escorted the girls down the hallway as they made their way to the front door when they heard a helicopter swoop overhead.

  “They’re here faster than I thought.” Rick said.

  “Let’s get the girls to the entrance of the road.”

  The group sprinted as fast as they could to the main entrance driveway.

  “Stay here and the police will take you to safety.” Emily instructed with a definite tenseness in her voice.

  “No…” Spoke one of the girls attached to Emily.

  “Honey, the police are here, you’re safe.” She looked directly at the little girl and her heart broke.

  Sirens quickly approached with cops at least two miles away.

  They didn’t have much time if they wanted to leave the girls and then retreat back to the SUV without being caught.

  Rick grabbed Emily’s arm and they ran back into the compound using the buildings as cover just as the helicopter made a sweeping pass again. A spotlight shined across various areas of the property and then stopped on the little girls waiting for them. Dirt and debris spiraled all around.

  The brief reprieve gave Emily and Rick just enough time to disappear into the thickets and trees. The duo waited deep in the brush and watched as the emergency vehicles arrived.

  First, patrol officers secured the area after finding the two little girls safe and the dead man in the compound. The local cops did a quick look around before they called in detectives and crime scene techs.

  Emily let her eyes wander around the darkened area, something didn’t look quite right to her. Previous experiences culminated her gut instincts and something told her to move toward an enclosed area behind them to have a closer look.

  Rick mouthed the words with a quiet whisper, “What are you doing?”

  Emily smiled, which was in direct contrast to her blood stained shirt and hair.

  A few more patrol cars arrived on the scene as well as an ambulance and fire truck. No one ventured toward the outer, darkest areas of the compound – at least for now.

  Secluded behind some dead trees and overgrown brush, a path meandered to a clearing away from the police zone. It was an area tucked away that Emily and Rick didn’t see or stumble upon when they had first arrived.

  Emily stood upright, muscles in her back tightened from the scuffle.

  The helicopter overhead took one final perimeter of the property and then headed off toward the city.

  After the leaves and dust settled, Emily scrutinized everything she could visually see in the nighttime lighting. The area was approximately fifteen foot square and relatively flat. The earth had been disturbed recently, it was an unnatural occurrence and definitely not caused from nature or natural erosion.

  Emily stayed on the perimeter of the small clearing and studied everything, the foliage, soil, level of the dirt, and made a crime scene grid in her mind. A reflection in the evening moonlight caught her attention. She flicked on her mini flashlight and beamed it over the area. A decaying skull still partially protruded. It still had some hair strands attached to the decomposing scalp.

  Emily gasped. She kept her composure as Rick’s eyes meet her own.

  “A burial ground…” Her voice drifted off.

  Emily didn’t have her familiar digital camera for documentation, so Rick’s phone would have to be sufficient. He stood next to her as she photographed the scene. She didn’t want to take a chance that the cops might not find the location.

  A few clicks and Emily shot an overall view, medium vantage, and a close up of the bones. She stayed in place and only moved around the small perimeter to gain a better view. She didn’t want to disturb any more of the area, but knew in her gut that there were more bodies just beneath the surface. With a few more snaps of the camera phone, Emily had a decent documentation of the area. She posted some notes of where the area was on the property and estimated dimensions using an Internet map and GPS.

  Voices grew louder as law enforcement personnel roped off areas to wait for detectives and the coroner. Conversations about what had happened sounded more like idle gossip than police work.

  “We better get out of here.” Rick whispered. His eyes looked troubled in the dim light.

  Emily handed the phone back to Rick so he could send the information to the detectives and forensic division of the local sheriff’s office. It may, or may not be connected to the girls kidnapping, but now at least the bodies could be identified and cold cases closed.

  Rick sent the new photographic evidence with a few well-placed buttons and screen maneuvers. The information flew out into cyberspace and almost instantly, the phone reported it sent successfully.

  Emily and Rick retraced their steps in the dark and made their way back to the SUV without incident. The covert rescue was a success, but it left a heavy weight upon Emily’s shoulders that would never quite go away.

  The ride home left more raw emotions and little time to heal until the next case.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tuesday 1030 Hours

  The sun spilled through the large bay window into the dining area, which cast its appealing streaks across the hardwood floor. A large black Labrador retriever rested strategically on his side with just paws warming in the direct sunlight. The large feet twitched every few seconds to reflect the enjoyment of a wonderful canine dream.

  The sound of computer keys pecked away in a manner that lent to the urgency of the operator. In between the pauses of the keyboard, a distinct dog snore filled the momentary gap.

  Emily worked diligently on her open cases, her tireless efforts paid off almost ninety percent of the time. These particular cases had gone cold for most police departments, but she persevered and searched for the next break in order to solve the case. Important clues discovered only by the relentless pursuit of the truth made for Emily’s strong investigative integrity.

  Learning from experience and from dangerous cases of the past, she didn’t store her investigations on paper or in the house anymore. She didn’t leave any type of evidence that could be found by others, either accidentally or by any law enforcement agency. All files, reports, profiles, forensics, and photographs were stored in an online, heavily encrypted file that was known to only three other people. This file resembled a type of hidden file found in the mass clutter of innocent website information. It was simple, but highly effective.

  Even though the case of the abducted twins was
over and the criminal justice system had to clean up the loose ends, she took the time and typed out all of the information of what took place. It was her way of closing another file. This case made one fifty-seven.

  Emily paused from her report writing and looked down at her sleeping Labrador, smiled, and then typed out the current date and time that sealed the case. Taking a sip of coffee, she dragged her finger across the mouse pad and opened a file that simply read: FIRE

  It was the most complicated investigation with what seemed like endless reports, profiles, and photos of the crime scenes, scanned newspaper articles, excerpts from criminology researchers, and even quotes from incarcerated arsonists. Not one bit of information proved particularly useful, but in the right combination, all of the records told a very specific story. It was her challenge to find the answer.

  This case dated back to almost ten years and the police were no closer to solving the cases; in fact, they didn’t link all the cases in her opinion. With each incident, there was only one, specific victim in a carefully executed fire.

  Was it a different kind of serial killer?

  It intrigued Emily and her borderline obsessive behavior. She searched her victim files as faces of people flashed across the screen, both men and women of different ages and races. Most didn’t have anything in common and wouldn’t have crossed paths with one another in any kind of interconnected order. She had viewed their faces and backgrounds, for what seemed like a million times, and knew everything about them. She could draw every line of their face from a skilled photographic memory.

  The computer screen showed a photo of a handsome attorney by the name of Chad Bradford. His well-rehearsed smile, sparkling teeth, perfect jawline, and dead grey eyes reeked of a high-priced lawyer that commanded a hefty retainer.

  She toggled to an article from a few months ago of the last known arson victim, which had highlighted the attorney’s career of getting child molesters, rapists, and murderers acquitted.

  There was no doubt plenty of people who wanted him dead, thought Emily sourly.

  She knew that this murder wasn’t a copycat killer by the behavioral evidence of each crime scene she had studied.

  Emily leaned back and sighed. Her mind always reset itself back to this serial case after a closure of a tough investigation. In a strange way, going over this file helped her to cope with the work stress, and increasing depravity of society.

  “You’re looking at the case Dead Burn again?”

  Emily turned her gaze from the computer monitor to Rick. He stood in the dining room, barefoot, wearing loose sweats and a black t-shirt with the word S.W.A.T. imprinted across the front.

  “I like to clear my mind.” Emily replied.

  “Looks like you’re cluttering it if you ask me.” He leaned in and kissed her, lingering a moment. Emily stole another kiss before he straightened up.

  “I think this is the one case I’m not going to be able to solve.” Emily’s gaze went back to the computer where the smiling face of Chad Bradford stared back at her. It was as if he had a secret to tell her. “I knew there would be one sooner or later.”

  Rick grabbed her coffee cup and headed toward the kitchen. “It’s too early to contemplate any worldly wisdom of cold serial murder cases.”

  The large Labrador stood up, yawned, and stretched into his usual downward dog pose before he padded after Rick.

  Emily laughed. “You too Sarge? I thought you were on my side.”

  The dog hesitated, looked directly at her with his dark eyes, and then turned his large head toward the kitchen at the sound of the refrigerator door opening and the clatter of dishes. It was too much for any dog to dismiss when food was part of the deal.

  Emily watched the dog saunter around the corner, and the tip of his tail disappeared before she returned her attention to the open computer files.

  Her cell phone toned with a downbeat from an 80’s slasher movie.

  She immediately picked it up and saw that it was a text message that read: Chk in howdy hi over and out

  It was exactly eleven in the morning on Tuesday – right on time. With a few quick keys, she responded with: A-OK closed talk later

  Before she put down the cell phone, another text came in: XO

  “Jordan?” Rick said as he downed a half glass of orange juice.

  “Yep.” She put her phone down on the corner of the desk.

  “Did he send you a love poem?” Rick smirked.

  “Funny. No, he’s checking in and I think it’s a great idea.”

  “Does he think that we’re going to get murdered, buried, and no one will ever know what happened to us?”

  “I think its great protocol.”

  Rick finished the glass of juice in one gulp. “What then if we’re missing? He’s going to track us down?”

  “Something like that.” Emily closed down her computer. “There’s nothing wrong with being careful and organized.”

  Rick put his empty glass down, pulled Emily up from the chair and held her tight. “I suppose careful is good sometimes.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tuesday 1115 Hours

  Jordan still had a subtle smirk etched on his face as he pocketed his cell phone. His entire life had changed the day he ran into Emily Stone, and he would never forget that chance encounter. His days of working for the FBI in the Behavioral Science Unit as a criminal profiler was over, and he knew even before he had met Emily that there was something more important out there waiting for him.

  Jordan’s last assignment with the FBI was an undercover assignment into a computer game company. It had changed his life forever. Not only meeting Emily, but also understanding how he could really make a difference without corporate politics, favoritism, lack of trained agents, and hidden agendas. His perception about life and law enforcement did a one-eighty, things now really made sense to him.

  Computers and technology kept Jordan entertained in the meantime. What started as a side job to keep him employed until he figured out what to do with his life; he had turned into a full time and lucrative security consulting business. The money was good, great in fact, but the benefits were even better with incredible places to vacation and influential names to fill his secret little black book.

  He watched his latest client Mr. Bishop, as he was introduced, stroll around his lavish veranda speaking quietly to one of his trusted minions. The dark, wavy hair and the general nondescript alpha male appearance kept the sharpness of his reptile-like eyes in check. His lean body structure of a middle-aged man didn’t lend itself to just eating right and plenty of exercise; it seemed oblivious to the gaining years.

  Jordan gave him the usual speech about security. It was the effective blah, blah, blah version of safety and security that the world demanded, especially for the ones who could afford it. He never thought of himself as a salesperson, sometimes a profiler and covert investigator with Emily, yes, but rather someone who had turned his charm into information of interest. It worked most of the time. It didn’t take much prodding to convince a mega billionaire that there were people who wanted them dead.

  The current assignment involved a huge security undertaking. The house was enormous with just under nine thousand square feet that sat right in the middle of three acres. It opened up all sorts of security nightmares with unannounced point of entries.

  Jordan worked many hours on the security details of the house, roamed the grounds locating various options for cameras and alarms, and searched for every possible breach. The detailed layout that he carefully scrutinized looked more like a drawing an architect would render in a sci-fi movie than a home security system.

  The glint of the mid-morning sun directed Jordan’s gaze to a beefy bodyguard. The suit jacket had stretched its limit over the gym-induced physique as the skewed lines of the garment compensated the bulky frame. When the jacket flopped open slightly from a quick breeze, Jordan could see a fully automatic weapon tucked neatly into a holster against the ribcage.

&nbs
p; Jordan turned his attention back to the huge windows and breathtaking vista of the garden just as two more of the armed bodyguards came into view. He knew that Bishop ran a background check on him, probably for the tenth time. It was the beautiful thing about technology that kept everything on the upscale, but it still didn’t delve into the deep, dark secrets of anyone’s true mind and motivations.

  Sitting down at an antique writing desk, Jordan slid out his laptop from his briefcase, flipped it open, and clicked a few keys. He waited for some information to come back on two of the assistants and one bodyguard on Bishop’s staff. It amused him while he waited for his potential new client to return to their meeting. It demonstrated a big test, a game of sorts, for the wealthy and powerful types to make a service person wait for as long as they wanted.

  Jordan had the inexorable gift for sarcasm and spewing out whatever he felt like saying among a group of people. Today, he had to rein in his tongue, get through the gauntlet of professional niceties, and then move onto the next client.

  “Mr. Smith, thank you so much for waiting. I can tell you’re a patient man.” Bishop forced a smile and never left his sights from the security specialist.

  “It’s my pleasure. I was thinking of ways to break into your beautiful home while I was waiting.” Jordan’s confidence spilled through his classic all-American good looks.

  Bishop purposely walked to an armoire, dated easily from the 1600s, opened the left door, and retrieved something that Jordan couldn’t quite see from his position. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the scenario as how a movie would unfold, and this was where he would be bludgeoned with a baseball bat.

  “Mr. Smith, your report on security was quite impressive and very thorough.” Bishop turned and lit a cigarette with well-rehearsed precision. “But I am a bit surprised though.”

  “By what, may I ask?” Jordan thought he would play along with the game already in progress. He quickly tightened his jaw to keep from saying something more colorful and off beat.

  “You being an F.B.I. profiler, rather an ex-F.B.I. profiler.”