by J. L. Hickey
“More like heard, assumed,” Clent replied. “I took the back, while Vanessa stayed up front attempting to break the door. By the time I made it through the damned pine trees, I heard what sounded like a man running through the forest, but I never laid my eyes on him. The backdoor was locked from the outside. I started to take after the noise when I heard Vanessa’s scream.”
“Scream?”
“I wasn’t expecting...the site,” Vanessa couldn’t find the words, embarrassment overcame her face. “The garage is a bit further back, past the home. You’ll see.”
Pike nodded; he followed the officers around the house. They led him past the two parked cars in the driveway. They’re off in the distance the garage came into sight.
“BMW,” Pike noted as he walked past. “Good taste,” he added. “Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags.”
No one replied.
“When you enter, you’ll see a restoration shop for Dennis’ Camaro. The suspect claimed he came to spend a few days with Dennis to help restore the vehicle. Towards the back of the shop, left side, there was a hidden door behind a large toolbox on wheels. It had been pushed off to the side of the door when he escaped. That’s where it turns bizarre,” said Clent.
“You entered first,” Pike’s eyes turned to Vanessa.
“Yessir,” she replied.
“Did you guys touch anything?”
No, we both made our way inside, her first, I followed. We were cautious,” Clent explained.
“Was anything compromised? Pike took a step into the central portion of the garage. The floodlight hanging above them was bright. In the middle of the garage sat the Camaro, its hood popped open, tools neatly set to the side on a workbench. The place was clean, orderly, all tools and objects neatly set, organized. When the putrid smell of rotting bodies hit Detective Pike’s nose, he almost didn’t expect it.
“There it is,” his nose twitched.
“The smell?” Clent asked.
“Yep…” Pike shook his head with disgust.
“I vomited,” Vanessa frowned.
“Where?” Pike asked.
“When I entered the back room, the smell, and the sight of the bodies...I’m sorry.”
Don’t be,” Pike replied. “Come back outside with me,” he exited the front threshold of the garage.
“Yessir,” Both officers nodded.
“You two stay out front, keep watch. We have officers in the home?” asked Pike. “We got the warrant for both, I assume?”
“Yes, and the small group searching the woods. Snow’s coming down hard now though, visibility’s shit.” Clent frowned.
“Let me look around,” Pike nodded to the officers. “I’ll meet with Fat man and see what we got.”
“Detective,” Clent spoke up. “For real, twenty-seventeen doesn’t compare to what you’re about to walk into.”
“Okay,” Pike nodded. He appreciated the heads up. The double murder on 1228 Orr Road right down the road was terrible. That night rocked the small town, it never really recovered from it. Still very fresh in the minds of the townsfolk. Now this, one house down. Another double murder. Bizarre, he thought. Coincident?
Doubtful.
Pike didn’t subscribe to the notion of coincidences.
He’d seen too much in his time as a detective. Nothing caught him off guard anymore. He wasn’t sure what was waiting for him in the back of that garage, but he’s sure it wasn’t the last time he’d be washing the stench of death out of his dress slacks.
Pike stepped outside, gathered his bearing before going in deeper.
He took a deep breath of the cold winter air, it stung his lungs, but it made him feel alive. Grounded him in the present. This always helped him before walking into what he was sure was some form of hell on earth. He reminded himself he chose this. He knows, it hardens you, thickens your soul. He’d seen children gun down, pieces of bodies littered across streets, bodies disfigured from the vile thing’s men do. These dark images stain your conscious. He’d seen everything, or so he thought. H entered the garage once again, stood before the Camaro, and began taking notes.
“Very clean,” Pike walked through the main portion of the garage, taking his time before making his way back towards the secret door. He took immaculate notes, jotting down random thoughts, scribbling fast.
Organized, neat freak, old cars. Security system? Pike noticed a small security camera overlooking the vehicle. Maybe it caught something? He’d make sure to check the tapes on the security system, probably stored on the local router.
Pike approached where the toolbox was askew from the wall. He noted the bloodstain on the floor. Knelt down and took a few pictures of the blood. It was small, only a few diameters each. Possibly droplets from a murder weapon?
“Detective,” A young voice came from inside the once hidden room. “Brace yourself,” he said.
“Everyone keeps telling me that,” Pike stepped into the room, he looked up, and his eyes immediately fell on the site.
“Fuck me,” the words fell from his mouth, now agape. The site of two hanging bodies strung up from the ceiling, mutilated and on display for the world to see, caught him off guard, despite multiple warnings. “Dear lord,” Pike frowned. “Poor bastards…”
More video cameras, these were not security systems like outside. These were for pleasure, set up like a porn shoot? Pike began jotting down a rush of words and half thoughts flooding from his consciousness.
Sexual Deviant? Porn Addiction? Website??? Home Made porn?
He needed to make sure he took his time surveying everything in his legal pad. His team photograph and gather evidence later. But experience told him, his first string of thoughts frequently led to clues later. So, he always wrote down his initial thoughts and reactions.
“Lew,” Brenkins stood up from his kneeling position. He was observing the bodies, taking notes of his own.
“Wait,” Pike held up his hand, shushing the corner. He continued his feverish scribing of thoughts. A few forced awkward silent minutes passed before Pike looked up from his legal pad.
“Fat Man,” Pike shook his hand. “Sorry about that, I have a system. You were interrupting it.”
“Sorry, and you know I hate that name,” Brenkins said plainly. Contrary to the moniker, Paul Brenkins was not fat. In fact, the young man, in his late thirties, was quite thin, handsome with a square jaw and a picture-perfect classic cop mustache. Pike had joked with Brenkins when he first landed the Medical Examiner job, that he was the spitting image of a ‘pencil-neck,’ and since Paul despised that nickname as well, Lewis began calling him Fat Man. The name stuck.
“And I hate Lew,” Pike countered. “This is…” Pike didn’t have words. He nodded to the site before them.
“Yeah,” Brenkins sighed.
“Enlighten me,” Pike took in the view. The two bodies, one beheaded stung upside down, hung from the ankles. The female hung from her neck. Both with hands tied behind their backs. Adult male, adult female. Then, the camera’s, two of them, pointing at the scene.
“There’s a lot going on,” Brenkins took a deep breath. “Judging by age, and what we can tell from the parts of the bodies that remain, we are looking at the homeowners. Dennis and Nora Simmons. My best guess from decomp is they’ve been dead for a few days. Both bodies, as you can see,” Brenkins approached, with a blue Bic pen began to point out his thoughts, “—through the thighs here, breasts on the female, both victims’ buttocks, have been bitten badly. Chewed might be a better description. To the point, the flesh was torn, possibly consumed? That’s an assumption. The male’s testicles and penis have been removed as well, including, well, as you see
, his head. None of which has been found. Female’s face also shows signs of bites. It appears the killer chewed half her face off, including her eyes, their missing as well.”
“Any idea how they were killed?” Pike joined Brenkins near the body, taking in the grisly site up close. He didn’t flinch, but it was apparent from the grotesque nature of the site, that he would experience many sleepless nights in the near future.
“Nora looks like she was stabbed in the back of the neck, large deep puncture wound here,” Brenkins pointed to the wound with the pen. “That’s a good guess due to the severity of the wound. Bite marks appear to have been made while she was still alive. At least some of them. She may have survived a while, bled out. That’s my guess.”
“Hmph,” Pike shook his head. “The male?”
“The body is too...mutilated. I will need to get him back to the lab and run some tests.”
“Yeah,” Pike took a sip of his coffee.
“How can you,” Brenkins face turned to revolt.
“—Oh, I’m the monster here?” Pike interrupted him.
“The smell alone…” Brenkins shook his head.
“Give me your thoughts here,” Pike ignored him. “I’m pretty sure we’re on the same page. Or close to it. But, maybe I’m wrong.”
“Yeah okay, Brenkins added. “I mean, pretty sure we find semen in and on both vics. Obviously, some kinky shit was going on behind the scenes here. Hidden sex dungeon? BDSM? Its more common than people think, but I don’t know too much about that lifestyle myself. This device that Mr. Simmons is hanging from, it’s a type of BDSM torture device, free-hanging pulley, meant to hang and strap up your, umm…partner. Learned that from Google, right before you came in. So, I dunno? Things went too far with the bondage? The killer panicked? Killed them both? Maybe one was an accident, the other a necessity? You know, didn’t want to get caught, innocent bystander sort of thing?”
“Maybe,” Pike added, his eyes fixated on the device. “So not premeditated? Accidental, then kills the second spouse to cover his tracks? Depending who was involved with the bondage stuff? Maybe both, a threesome? Hard to tell, right?”
“Once we get the exact time of death down, that will tell us more,” Brenkins added.
“Yep,” Pike shook his head. “This is fucked,” he had no other words.
“There’s more,” Brenkins went back to the woman’s face. He pulled a small Maglite flashlight from his breast pocket and illuminated what was left of her. “Something has been lodged in her mouth. Looks like some sort of paper? We’ll know more when we get them down and back to the morgue.”
Pike stood up, made his way over to the cameras. “Digital,” he said out loud. “Wonder what we’ll find on these?”
“Hopefully, everything,” Brenkins answered.
“So, let me ask you a question?” Pike flipped to a new page in his notebook. He clicked his black pen; he began writing scribbling his thoughts once again.
“Yeah?”
“This guy shows up, let’s say it’s a threesome. Simmons are swingers or something like that. They’re into this, BDSM stuff we see here, sex swings, dildos plastered all over the walls, all the kinky fixings, right? Then things go wrong. Playtime turns deadly, right? Maybe the choking goes too far? Maybe someone slips knocks their head on something, either way; the sex turns deadly.”
“Yep,” Brenkins nods.
“So, what then? He panics, kills the wife or husband, depending on who is the first ‘accidental’ victim. But, after all, that is done, why does he then string the bodies up, cut off the man’s head, chews on their corpses,” Pike shakes his head. “That’s a hard pill to swallow. Not to mention, instead of getting rid of the bodies, he lets them hang around for a while-literally-and just camps out in their home? Do I want to get caught? That’s not even mentioning, where the hell is the guy’s head? His dick and balls?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Brenkins stood back up. “I guess that’s why you’re the detective, and I just look at dead bodies.” He begins to make his way out of the sex dungeon.
“Where you going?”
“I need a break from this scene.”
“I’m curious, though?” Pike followed, taking another sip of the stale coffee, following behind.
“About?” Brenkins made his way past the Camaro through the broken door, and outside into the cold winter night. He took a deep breath.
“Your immediate thought is an accidental death, then manslaughter, panic to cover up his tracks. Just curious. What lead you there?”
“I dunno, man, okay?” Brenkins sounded more human than ever, gone are the medical degrees and years on the job. There in the wintery night, the dense clumps of snow falling from the skies, Paul Brenkins was shaken. He felt less than human. He understood science, formulas. When you add ‘x’ to ‘y,’ the results are ‘z’ because of these so-called laws he learned from a college professor that told him so. Men had laws too, but they weren’t based on science. He’d never understand how anyone could do that, do what was done to the Simmons couple.
He had to get away. The Simmons hanging like animals, their bodies decimated, violated. Such evil, such vileness.
“Look that…” Pike lost his words, something that does not happen to a man of his experience “—that crime scene. That was inhuman. That’s the shit nightmares are made of. You looked into the devil’s playground, and you humanized the scene. That means you’re one of the good ones. You tried to make sense of something that, let’s face it, will never make sense to us.”
“What do you mean?” Brenkins frowned. “No human I know could do that to another person. How did I humanize that?”
“Right,” Pike nodded. “But humans make mistakes. Humans kill, we see it all the time. You gave this murderer, this lunatic, killing son-of-a-bitch, you gave him a reason, an excuse, an out. The sex went too far. Maybe he was choking one of the Simmons, consensual, no safe word, whoops, accidental death. Now panic sets in, sorry witness, but you gotta go. Whack, dead. That was your thought, wasn’t it? It wasn’t a bad thought. I just want to know what made you go there?”
“I don’t know. I was just thinking, with the severity of it, the ugliness of it. Maybe there was a loss of control, an irreversible accident, then yes, panic mode sets in. The killer has to cover his tracks, right? Leave no witnesses. Then I don’t know? His mind snaps? I mean, even if you accidentally kill one person, then in a state of frenzy kill a second, don’t you think that might cause a break? A mental split. The guy goes crazy, loses his shit, and I dunno...cannibalism? How do you make sense of it? Any of it? How does anyone get to the point in their life they’re chewing off someone’s face? How does Jeffery Dahmer go from a college drop out to drilling holes in people’s heads trying to make zombie sex slaves?”
“I don’t know,” Pike frowned. “But they do, and they will continue to because we’re animals. Sick, fucking, animals.”
“Yeah,” The two men stood there, both staring out at the wintery night sky. Eerie silence befell them.
“—But that’s our job, right?” Pike broke the silence.
“What’s?” Brenkins asked.
“To make sense of it.” Pike pointed to the ambulance pulling up to the scene. “Let’s get you help, get the bodies down and out of that hell hole. Lots of evidence with this one. We got a lot of work ahead of us.”
“A lot to collect,” Brenkins added.
“We’ll be here for a while,” Pike shook his hand. “I look forward to your report, Fat man, wouldn’t want anyone else on the job.”
“I hate that fucking name, Lewis,” Brenkins shook his hand back.
“Shouldn’t have lost that bet,
” Pike smiled. “Out drink a veteran like me? Any time kid, you can have a rematch.”
“Let’s find this bastard, and then the drinks are on me,” Brenkins replied. “I’m going to go meet with the boys.”
“Sure,” Pike nods. “Fuck, why did I quit smoking at a time like this?”
EIGHT
Aaron opened up multiple tabs in Google Chrome. He’d already bookmarked the town’s Neighborhood Watch Facebook page, and a few local news websites. Usually, these types of groups were toxic filled dumpster fires, where entitled Facebook users troll the shit out of each other, arguing over race, religion, and politics. Through the bullshit, there were nuggets of useful information. As he expected, he’d found two posts already regarding the murders on Orr road.
The first linked to a news article, bare-boned, void of any real information other than the fact a double homicide had occurred and that a suspect had fled on foot into the surrounding woods. The other, a random post about how Orr road was cursed with two murders in less than three years, all excessively violent.
The replies started flooding in for both comments. They had only been up for a few hours, and they hit over a hundred each and counting. It was talk of the town; the comments would double within the hour. It was sure to go national soon, just due to the sheer violence and close timeline to the other murders right down the road. Aaron figured by tomorrow it would be get reposted on the NY Post and Chicago Tribune.
He clicked on both threads, opening new tabs for each. He began scrolling down, reading each reply. The comments were mostly nonsensical ramblings:
Mary Hildenbrook: This is fuckign disgusting!!!! What is wrong with Orr road? We need to find these soulless assholes and kill them all. It’s probably a cult! Find Jesus! Demons live right here! We need church and God back in this country! Make America Christian again!
Can’t even proofread before spewing out their hate-filled dogma rhetoric. Aaron couldn’t help but cringe.