Who knew what would happen in the arson cases, or when Red might decide that they were all expendable?
“Don’t look at me, there’s no problem here.” Rick shrugged.
Rick’s tense voice accompanied by the habitual clenched jaw and ridged body language didn’t convince her.
Emily decided to dismiss the entire conversation and move on to what was more important. She rejected the thoughts and feelings of anything that would interfere with the investigation.
Glancing around at the room, she realized that the arson case had more information and investigative hours than any other case she had worked to date. There were volumes of information to plow through. Between the three of them, it would be easy to dismiss superfluous facts, and focus on the evidence that would eventually lead to the killer.
She remembered clearly each step she took at the crime scenes. The differences in soil, the points of origin, footprints, and clues to where the killer stood fueled Emily’s drive.
The answers they desperately needed stared back at her.
It gnawed at her every waking moment, a numbing current that ran the length of her spine, and sometimes ended at the pit of her stomach.
Was he changing his M.O.?
Were all the victims working within the criminal justice system?
She wanted to solve the case as soon as possible. She sighed, clenched and unclenched her hands, and willed all of her focus to the case. Emily transferred her energy on the physical and behavioral evidence taking up half of her new house.
“I’m pulling up Jordan’s files right now.” Rick announced. “And here we go…” He punched several more keys for a slide show of photographs.
Jordan joined Rick and Emily at the table. He pulled a chair out and spun it around backwards, as if he was in a country bar ready to play poker.
“Okay…” He began. “Here’s the hardware store with the heavy-duty door.”
The oversized image showed a steel reinforced door with shiny hardware.
Jordan explained. “… I found the exact match of the door. It comes from a security catalogue company called AA Armed Security, Inc. and they are the distributor for the U.S. They cater to high-end clients, you know like the rich and famous, etcetera.”
Emily took a step closer to the image. “How many of those doors do they sell every year?”
“More than you would think. According to their records, one hundred-twelve last quarter.”
Emily let out a breath in disappointment.
Jordan fidgeted in his chair. “You guys will want to adopt me after I tell you this.”
Rick stared poker face at him.
“Well, maybe a steak dinner? Anyway, I spent hours cross-referencing the sales to actual locations where they were installed. I love being a security expert and a licensed P.I. because… I located all the doors but one…” A huge smile washed across his face.
“Who is it?” Rick asked.
“Ah, who or what?” Jordan asked.
“What?” Emily and Rick chimed together.
“You guys practice that or what?” Jordan laughed. “Martin Rover.”
“Who is he?” Emily’s mind searched through any of the names that she had turned up in her recent research.
“It took me a while to figure it out because I couldn’t find anyone that matched the name and then… BAM… it hit me. Our arson killer has a fetish, or maybe just an obsession. Martin Rover was the pseudonym of a writer who wrote about a serial killer from the 1940s.”
“I’ve never heard of him.” Emily stated.
Jordan scratched Sarge behind the ears. “That’s because it was a popular mystery novel in the early 1960s about a killer who killed all the members of his family, even distant cousins. He would devise these elaborate plans to make them look like accidents.” He looked at the couple. “Clever don’t you think? This writer wrote about serial killers even before the phrase was coined in the 1970s.”
Rick typed in search words for the novel and the author. “There’s nothing on the author. Apparently he wrote the one book, or possibly used other pseudonyms.”
“Too old to be the arsonist. My guess is that the killer found this obscure book at some point in his life and then used it as inspiration. No telling how long he had been planning the murders.” Emily pulled out the photographs of the black box. “I suppose there were cameras and other devices bought by the same name – all cash transactions.”
“You stole my ending. I think there are small hidden cameras placed around all the scenes so he can watch firefighters and detectives work.”
“Interesting.” She mused. “But not original.”
Emily digested everything and added it to her criminal profile. She walked to the white boards; each represented one of the three fire crime scenes.
She added to her growing list of killer characteristics:
Organized offender to the point of excessive control, age 30ish to possibly 40, male, Caucasian, no relationships, hated family life, poor experience growing up, maybe adopted or a foster child?, virgin?, voyeurism, watches others through cameras, makes judgments of others, fire represents a new start for him, high intelligence, no social skills, computer work of some type: writer, programmer, etc., anti-social but not to the point of psychopathic, has strong delusions of right and wrong, will continue to kill until caught or killed.
“So… we have a 40 year old virgin who hated his mommy, works at home, and kills others with malice?” Jordan said sarcastically.
“Why a virgin?” Rick asked.
Going through photos, Jordan piped up. “Geez poor guy, no wonder he kills.”
Ignoring Jordan’s flippant comment, Emily continued to brainstorm. “There’s an element about relationships that seems to be at the root of his psychological needs, something that he’s never received. Fear, hatred, resentment are part of him, but mostly he keeps it under control.” She gestured toward the photos of the fire scenes. “Fire represents a cleansing, starting over, new, and pristine. Something he’s seeking. He may see himself as pure in an impure world, but the fires are an acceptable sexual release to him.”
“I’m receiving some files on cold arson cases around the state from an old working buddy of mine.” Rick downloaded the files into organized desktop folders.
Jordan moved to the couch and pulled out his laptop. “I’ve got autopsy reports to review.”
Emily looked at him questionably.
“Don’t ask… and I won’t tell you how I retrieved them.”
Emily thought about a man who was so isolated from the world, but yet, he felt obligated to try to clean it up. She imagined him at his computer devising new firetraps for his victims, and congratulating himself after the job was completed.
As she walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and retrieved a cold bottle of mineral water, she thought of the killer as a lone wolf of justice. At least that was how he thought about it in his own mind. He wasn’t the typical serial killer in any retrospect; he blurred the lines of textbook killers. That’s what made it so difficult, if not impossible to get an accurate read on him.
“Okay, there’s a lot of work ahead of us today if we’re going to catch him before he kills another person.” Emily took a seat opposite her team and began to sort through photographic evidence of each crime scene.
“I brought my favorite sleeping bag.” Jordan joked.
Rick looked up from his computer screen. “What about the A.D.A., jury foreman, stenographer, private investigator, and anyone else associated with the Devlin case?”
Not looking up from her notes and photos, she said. “The cops should be taking care of it. And it will bide us some time.”
“I’m hungry and it’s going to be a long day and evening…” Jordan punched a button on speed dial. “Yes, hello, I’d like to order the Number One for three please.” He waited. “Yes, the works. I’ll be there in twenty. Thanks.” He hung up.
“Without MSG I presume?” Ric
k didn’t miss a keystroke as he took another jab at Jordan.
“Dude, give it a rest…”
CHAPTER FORTY- FIVE
Saturday 1800 Hours
The late day sun cast beautiful tones of oranges, yellows, and bright pinks across the horizon. The light speckled between the trees and dappled upon the jogging trail. The workout regime, enjoyed by many, pushed the exercise level for seasoned athletes from moderate to advanced. The challenge of the trail usually deterred many casual runners from completing.
It did not take long for Stephen Caldena to make his usual evening run. The fit man pushed his endurance to the limit, apparently to achieve the runner’s high, and to keep the focus on his almost nonexistent body fat.
Sidetracked by what had recently transpired in his life, Red found it difficult to concentrate as he sat in the rented car. A few emotions crept into his mind. A different feeling washed over him with attachment, and even a sense of loss. Meeting Emily made his life seem even emptier.
Was this how other people felt most of the time?
The probing question and somewhat unsettling feeling deep inside him demanded immediate attention. It was a bit unusual. However, it was better than the acid burning stomach symptoms.
A growing trepidation filled the assassin’s body. After a few moments, he felt in control once again, and satisfied with the new assignment. The anger and resentment for Bishop festered with tenacity. However, as with most unsettling things, it would soon end.
Force and intensity guided Red’s mission.
From two days of research and surveillance, Red knew the most opportune place to kill the mark. The man’s business ventures were synonymous with dealings with the mafia, as well as other unscrupulous characters.
It didn’t matter to Red what he did or why.
The scope from the high-powered rifle easily fixed on Caldena. The man slowed his pace to a comfortable jog about one hundred-fifty yards away. He stopped his forward momentum and ran in place, kept the heart rate up with each raised knee, tightened his core muscles, and simultaneously turned to enjoy the view.
Red inhaled gently and held his breath. With a modest squeeze of the trigger, one quiet thrust blew straight through Caldena’s brain, exiting the forehead, and spattered the internal matter all over the nearby foliage, just before his body hit the ground.
The diminishing sunset glow accented the chunky blood droplets in a somewhat artistic manner. Beauty and death infused the macabre.
Red slowly exhaled. He sensed his body maintaining the usual sensations. He normally didn’t feel any different than at any other time of his day.
But today, a little bit of relief filled him.
With the job completed, he broke down the rifle. He noticed his hands slightly shook from overexertion. Curiously, he watched the index and middle fingers waver. The sickness in his gut returned, burning and churning.
A simple job now proved somewhat of a challenge.
As Red raised his eyes and stared through the windshield, a young man and woman in their mid-twenties stood staring horrified at him. They were unable to move and unable to avert their gaze from him.
When the couple saw his eyes staring back, they turned and ran.
Calmly Red turned in his seat and retrieved a pistol fitted with a suppressor. Within seconds, he exited the car and jogged after the couple.
He hated complications, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped no matter how much planning was involved.
He passed the couple on another parallel trail and cut them off.
The gun rose.
He stood in front of them with the calm demeanor of a pro. The startled couple had already begun dialing a cell phone for the police, but didn’t complete the call.
Two expertly aimed bullets dropped the man and woman to the ground.
Red’s favored shot, face-to-face, was straight through the heart. Simple, less mess, and dropped most people instantly.
The fair-haired couple sprawled haphazardly on the dusty path, arms and legs in peculiar hooked positions, which left a mess for the local cops to clean up.
Collateral damage sometimes happened. It was often unavoidable.
Without any hesitation as the precious seconds ticked away, Red slipped the gun into his jacket. He quickly made his way back to the car. He never saw another person or vehicle until his reached the busy highway.
Red knew the murders would quickly go cold for the local cops.
CHAPTER FORTY- SIX
Saturday 2000 Hours
Pinned up in two strategic rows were ten faces of the most likely suspects; each had their own demons and psychological needs, which dictated how they committed crimes. Their eyes seemed to follow your every move, like an intimidating portrait from inside an ancient castle. Listed next to each convict was a long list of misdemeanor and felony charges, brief backgrounds, and general physical characteristics.
The software program projected the suspect images onto the wall, but the provocative question remained for Emily and her team. Is one of these men the arson killer?
“Well?” Jordan probed his partners as he nervously tapped his pen against the side of his laptop. “Have we found the arsonist?”
Emily moved closer to the photographs. She scanned the lists, while comparing each one to the next. The glare from the hardened faces stared back at her. She knew how to focus and filter through her mind with possible scenarios of each rap sheet, imagining how and why they committed their crimes.
Her exhaustion hadn’t outweighed her tenacity, even though her eyes felt weary, legs fatigued, and her shoulders tensed. She made her shoulders periodically raise and lower to relieve the stress. All the usual aches and pains associated with a tough serial killer case had bubbled to the surface.
“Five of these men don’t have the intelligence to pull off this type of scenario with the elaborate planning. Look at their petty stuff, definitely not the making of an extremely organized offender.” Emily stated.
She paused another moment and then pointed to the five mug shots to delete. “Take these guys out.”
“Okay.” Jordan clicked the keyboard with effortless speed as the faces disappeared one by one. “That still leaves five potential suspects.”
“At least from what we have...” Rick added sourly. “I don’t know, but this is the first time where my gut says it isn’t any one of these losers. It doesn’t fit.”
“I agree with Rick and his gut. Something doesn’t seem right with these guys for those arson traps.” Jordan tapped his pen in an annoying manner to a well-known beat.
“We have to follow every lead and not second guess the pool of suspects.” Emily quickly added. Her right eyebrow rose slightly with a questionable expression. “I can, in good conscience eliminate three more suspects.” She pointed out each man one by one. “This guy is too old and doesn’t have the background. And this one is twenty-one, even though that’s not impossible for him to be a serial killer, it’s not him either. His capabilities are too low.”
The two faces disappeared from the large screen.
“I see where you’re going. The last guy has focused more on peeping Tom techniques, and lighting things on fire. Clearly not the intellect or a common motivator as our guy.” Jordan added.
“Wait, leave the younger man with the last two in the group.” Emily chewed her left thumbnail and stared harder at the two remaining photographs: Jonathan DeBeer and Broderick McCain. Both men were in their early thirties, intelligent, had a fascination with arson, some higher education in electronics and chemistry, no known relationships, and were loners.
“Why?” Jordan asked curiously.
“I think there’s more to Sebastian Hernandez and I don’t have solid reasons to eliminate him entirely.”
Emily stared at all three men. She didn’t want to agree with Rick and Jordan, but she felt that none of them was the arsonist. Eliminating the potential clues and suspects proved the only direction to proceed, and if they were luc
ky, one of these men would lead them to the real killer.
Rick sighed and directed his question to Jordan. “Have you received anything back yet from the AA Armed Security, Inc. about employees?”
“It’s a small staff overall. I’ve check out and cleared the administrative staff, still checking on the installers and trucking companies.”
Emily interrupted, “What about outside consultants, like someone who would write technical manuals or update their websites?”
“Nothing has popped yet. No one said that technology is going to solve the case right away.” He smiled his toothy grin.
“If our infamous Martin Rover is using the 1940s author to hide his identity, it’ll be next to impossible to track him.” Emily garnered her focus at the photographs.
“It looks like we should find out a little more about the boys.” Rick stated. His frown made it apparent that he felt doubtful. “What do you think Em?”
Emily searched the photos of the burn scenes for something she had missed.
“Em?”
She looked up. “Yes?”
“Let’s split up and find out more about these guys. You and I can take DeBeers and Jordan can tail McCain.”
As Emily watched Rick’s face, strong, controlled, she was reminded of his secrecy about the escape of Leo Brown. Vivid memories flooded back into her mind of the ordeal, and the fact that the police hadn’t recaptured Brown yet.
How could he do this to her?
“Okay.” Emily stated with authority. “But, I’m going with Jordan to check out McCain.”
Rick’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. It was obvious he wanted to argue, but knew it was futile, so he let it go. “Fine.”
Jordan seemed to sense the tension in the room and stood up. “Cool!” He pantomimed a dance move. “Rick it’s your lucky day no matter how you look at it, you didn’t get stuck with me this time.”
* * * * *
Cleanliness.
The makeshift kitchen transformed the corner of a single car garage into an immaculate and spotless room. Only one set of dishes resided, which consisted of a drinking glass, mug, dinner plate, small plate, bowl, fork, spoon, knife, and a serrated knife perfectly placed in the upper open cabinet. The dishes were white and the silverware simple without any decorative features, allowing for easy cleaning to wipe away water spots or lingering germs.
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