Nature of Evil

by Robert W. Stephens

  “We’re running her prints now,” Ramsey said.

  Angela turned and saw Ramsey standing in the doorway. He had broken out in a cold sweat.

  “I assume we’ll get a match soon,” Ramsey continued.

  Marcus walked up to the body. He stared at the snake wrapped tightly around the throat of the victim. He saw the heavy metal nails which were driven through the bones of her wrists and ankles. There were deep gashes in her wrists where the weight of her body pulled at the nails. Marcus prayed she had been dead before MAI attached her to the wall of the priest’s bedroom.

  “He was at the funeral, Marcus,” said Angela. “He tracked Father Moore. He knew where his church was. He knew he did walks after every sermon and would most likely be the one to find the mannequin. And he knew were Moore lived.”

  Marcus nodded. It was undoubtedly another connection to him. This was his fault. There was no questioning that.

  Angela walked over to the window and looked outside. Several photographers began snapping shots of her. She didn’t seem to notice. She just watched the ambulance drive away with Father Moore inside.

  She turned back to Marcus who was still looking at the victim. Marcus could feel Angela looking at him.

  “This is the second victim left in the crucifix position,” he said.

  “What do you think it means?”

  “A sacrifice of some kind…one person dying for the sins of another.”

  “The killer’s sins?”

  “Maybe. The snake represents original sin. Now he shows us the classic symbol of the repentant sacrifice.”

  Angela stared at the snake. She always felt an instinctive repulsion for the reptile.

  “Let’s get back to the station,” Marcus said. “I want to be there when they pull up the I.D.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Pieces of Flesh

  Journal Entry: Rome, October 14, 1948

  I sat alone in the dark, waiting for the voice to return. I sat on the small wooden chair with my back to the table and looked out into my room. Would it speak to me again? Or had it also turned its back on me?

  Just a few hours earlier I had killed my third victim. It had not gone as planned. She was not carefully chosen, and that was my error. I had seen her walking with Bianca before, so I assumed she was worthy to be picked. But she wasn’t. She simply didn’t understand what I was trying to do. I must be more careful if there is to be a next time.

  “Where are you?” I yelled, trying not to sound panicked.

  “Did you bring me what I asked for?” the voice finally said.

  “Yes.”

  “Show it to me.”

  I held up the pieces of flesh.

  The voice laughed.

  “How do you expect me to use that?”

  “It was harder than I thought it would be. The knife was too dull.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Didn’t you see?”

  “I heard her screams, the fear in her voice. I heard her beg you for mercy. But I didn’t watch any of it. I want to see it through your eyes now.”

  “There was so much blood,” I said. “I didn’t use the rock this time. I was afraid I might damage her face. So I slit her throat. I cut the artery on the first stroke. Blood went everywhere. It’s all over me.”

  “Did anyone see you?” it asked.

  “No. I was hidden behind a building. I was more worried about returning here. But everyone was asleep.”

  “Then you have nothing to fear.”

  “I started to cut under her jaw. But the blade was too thick. The face kept tearing. I couldn’t get it off like you wanted me to. I’m sorry.”

  “Then you must bring me another. You mustn’t rush it this time. You must find a place where you can take your time. The face must be intact. It must be undamaged.”

  “When will I hear him?” I asked.

  “He doesn’t visit the darkness. But sometimes we can get close to the light. That is when you may hear from him.”

  “How do you get close to the light?”

  “You must bring me the perfect face. We will wear the face and trick him. He will think we’re someone else. He will think we’re someone who dwells in the light. Then he will talk to us. Then he will reveal himself to you.”

  “Have you seen him before?” I asked.

  “Yes, when I was in the light. I would see him always. He would talk to me. He would extend his grace to me. Then he turned his back on me and cast me into the darkness.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why,” he said.

  CHAPTER 15

  He Likes to Hurt Women

  Present Day.

  Marcus and Angela didn’t need to go back to the station. Within a few minutes of leaving Father Moore’s house, they received a call from the AFIS technician who had already learned the victim’s ID.

  Her name was Carrie Dempsey. She had two arrests on her record, both for prostitution. She had lived relatively close to Eva Parks, and Marcus wondered if the two women had known each other in life.

  Angela parked across the street from the victim’s apartment complex. Although it was a different building than the one where Eva Parks lived, it had a similar dull, decayed and hopeless feel to it.

  Marcus couldn’t stop thinking about the scene in Father Moore’s bedroom. He had never seen anything so horrifying in his entire life. Each murder site seemed more horrible than the last. He still couldn’t fathom how someone could do that to a fellow human being.

  Marcus and Angela sat silently in the parked car. Neither one of them wanted to get out. Marcus knew what she was thinking: Let’s get the hell out of here. Let’s go to our homes and tell ourselves none of this is actually happening.

  Marcus glanced up at the apartment building again. Which one of those windows had belonged to Carrie Dempsey? Which window had she looked out of and dreamed of living in a better place? He was also wondering what they might find up there. Would there be another victim, a roommate who also had been terrorized and murdered?

  Marcus had called the hospital for an update on Father Moore. He blamed himself for what happened to Moore. It was true that Moore would live, but he had been horribly disfigured, not to mention the psychological damage that had been done. Moore would never truly heal. He was a young man, full of promise. Now he would be covered by scars. Would he have to live the remainder of his life in the shadows, hiding his disfigured face from others?

  Marcus and Angela eventually entered the worn out building and walked down the dimly lit hallway. Loud music blared from one of the apartments. The person’s neighbor had cranked their television up to full volume, probably in protest to the music. Marcus thought back to his own apartment. He had thought it a dump, but it was a five star resort compared to this place.

  Angela reached into her pocket and removed the slip of paper where she had written the address down. She quickly read the address and then slipped the paper back into her pocket. They continued to the door marked 7D.

  Marcus knocked loudly on the door. There was no answer. He banged again, this time even harder.

  “All right. All right,” they heard from a female voice inside.

  A few moments later the door opened as far as the thin security chain allowed. Marcus didn’t know why so many people had those chains on their doors. They offered zero protection.

  Kendra Martin stared at them through the crack in the door. She looked to be in her early thirties. She had clearly just gotten out of bed. Her long hair was a mess, her make-up nonexistent. She wore a thin, tattered robe.

  “Yeah?” Kendra said.

  Marcus took a step back and allowed Angela to get closer to the door. She held her detective’s badge up so Kendra could clearly see it.

  “I’m Detective Darden. This is Detective Carter. We’d like to talk to you about Carrie Dempsey.”

  It was obvious from the look on Kendra’s face that she knew Carrie was dead. She didn’t cry. But she looked defeated, as if she k
new this day would eventually arrive for Carrie or even herself.

  Kendra shut the door. They heard the chain being taken off the latch and then the door opened wide. Kendra stood in the center of the doorway, blocking the entrance.

  “Can we come in?” Angela asked.

  Kendra turned and walked into the apartment. She sat down on a worn sofa and started watching her television show. It was one of those court TV shows, and the volume was way too high. Someone was arguing about unpaid child support and calling the father a deadbeat. The father responded by calling the mother a drug addict. They were both probably right, Marcus thought.

  Angela entered the apartment first. Marcus followed and closed the door behind him. Kendra didn’t take her eyes off the television.

  “Somethin’s bad happened to the girl. Didn’t it?”

  Kendra leaned forward and snatched a pack of cigarettes and a lighter off the table.

  “I’m sorry,” Angela said.

  Kendra lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. She blew a long cloud of smoke out of her nose.

  “How’d it happen?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t discuss the details,” Angela said.

  “But you expect me to answer your questions?”

  “She was murdered. Don’t you want to help us catch the guy?”

  Kendra took another long drag on her cigarette. Angela interpreted her silence as a willingness to continue.

  “Do you mind turning that down?” Marcus asked, nodding towards the television.

  Kendra didn’t budge.

  Angela leaned forward and picked up the remote control off the sofa. She pointed it at the television and muted the sound.

  “Did she have a cell phone?” Angela asked.

  “Yeah. But she always took it with her.”

  “Did she have a computer or a book where she kept her regular’s names?” Marcus asked.

  Kendra nodded her head in the direction of one of the bedrooms.

  “Probably still in there,” she said.

  Marcus walked across the room and headed into the back bedroom. The bed was unmade and cheap clothes were thrown across the floor. The paint on the walls was cracked and peeling. The room had only one window, and the soft gray winter light passing through it was the only illumination. The glass pane of the window was so thin Marcus could easily hear the traffic outside.

  Marcus spotted a tiny make-up table in the corner of the room. It was covered with magazines and scraps of paper. He walked over to it, careful not to step on the clothes on the floor. He flipped through the contents on the table and uncovered a small red notebook. He could still hear Angela’s conversation with Kendra.

  “When was the last time you saw Carrie?” Angela asked.

  “Last night. We was workin.”

  “What time last night?”

  “I don’t know. Around ten or eleven.”

  “Did you recognize any of the guys?”

  “I only saw her leave with one. Young. Blond. Nervous as hell. I don’t think he ever been with a woman before.”

  “Did you see her after that?” Angela asked.

  “No, but she told me she was supposed to see Bob later.”

  “Bob?”

  “One of her regulars.”

  “Do you know his last name?”

  During the short conversation, Kendra had not taken her eyes off the television. Now she turned to Angela and stared into her eyes.

  “His name is Ingalls. Bob Ingalls. If you find him, do me a favor and put him away for good.”

  Marcus found very few entries in the book. But he had no doubt they were her customers. Every listing was a male’s name and phone number.

  “Why do you want us to lock up Bob Ingalls?” Angela asked.

  Marcus found the listing for Ingalls in the red notebook. He closed the book and slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat.

  “Son of a bitch cut her. Like he cut me,” Kendra said.

  Kendra rolled up her sleeve to reveal a long, thin scar on her arm.

  Marcus exited the room. Kendra looked over to him.

  “Find what you were looking for?” she asked.

  Marcus ignored her question.

  “Why’d he cut you?” Angela asked.

  Kendra turned back to her. Rage was in her eyes.

  “Because he likes to hurt women,” she said.

  Angela looked over to Marcus. Her look clearly asked “Have we finally caught a break?”

  Marcus wanted to believe they had. But only time would tell.

  CHAPTER 16

  Bob Ingalls

  There were three Bob Ingalls registered with the Department of Motor Vehicles. One was a seventy-five-year old man. Marcus assumed he was too old to commit the crimes. The second Bob Ingalls was twenty-five and the third was a forty-two-year-old. None had a criminal record, not even a speeding ticket. They would have to check out the two younger men. Marcus and Angela decided to check on the forty-two-year-old first.

  This Bob Ingalls lived in a modest one-story house in a neighborhood on the outskirts of town. It was trash day, and the street was littered with overflowing trash cans. When Angela drove around the corner, they saw a police cruiser was already waiting for them. Any chance of catching Ingalls off guard was now gone, and it royally pissed Marcus off. He had told them twice not to arrive before he and Angela did. He would have to lay into these guys afterwards.

  Angela parked across the street from the house. She and Marcus exited the car. The two police officers also excited their patrol car. They all nodded to each other, Marcus doing his best to remain calm and not display his frustration with them.

  Marcus took the lead as they made their way to the front door of the house. The police officers stayed a few paces behind Marcus and Angela.

  Marcus checked out the windows. Curtains were drawn across all of them. There was no sound coming from inside. Maybe he wasn’t home.

  Angela knocked on the door and Marcus scanned the surrounding houses. This certainly wasn’t the best neighborhood he had been to. But it wasn’t nearly the worse. No one was outside, probably because of the cold weather. And there were no cars driving down the road. It was quiet.

  Angela knocked a second time, much louder.

  “Bob Ingalls, this is the police. Open up.” she said.

  Marcus looked across the street. He saw Leah Grey standing beside Angela’s car. She was wearing the same thin dress he had seen her in before. She stared at him, saying nothing, doing nothing, just watching. Where had she come from? What was she doing here?

  “What do you want to do?” Angela asked him. She didn’t notice Marcus staring across the street.

  Marcus felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach. He turned back to Angela. She was now looking at him, worried.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  He turned back to Leah. She had vanished. A second wave of nausea flooded over his body. He started to sweat. Then he understood.

  “Down!” Marcus yelled.

  He grabbed Angela by the sleeve of her coat and pulled her down and away from the front door. As they hit the wooden planks of the porch, a shotgun blast blew a large hole in the door. Both police officers were a full second slower than Marcus, but their added distance from the door bought them the extra time they needed to get out of the way. Despite the shotgun’s wide burst, they were unhurt.

  A second blast widened the hole in the door. Angela’s ears were ringing. The porch ceiling above her seemed to spin out of control. She looked to Marcus, but he was already standing. He yelled something to her, but she couldn’t understand what he said. Then he turned and he was off, charging towards the door.

  Marcus kicked the splintered wood near the door knob and the weakened door flew open. He saw Bob Ingalls about twenty feet away holding a shotgun. He was frantically trying to reload the shells, but when he saw Marcus he threw the shotgun on the floor and fled towards the back of the house.

  Ingalls was
much smaller and faster than Marcus, and he had the advantage of knowing the layout of his house. He ran through the kitchen and out the back door before Marcus had a chance to turn the corner.

  Marcus charged down the back steps, but he was still several feet behind him. Ingalls dashed across the back yard. He ducked under a clothes line and ran at full speed towards a six foot privacy fence. Marcus assumed he had him once he saw the tall fence, but Ingalls jumped and was able to swing his body over the fence like he had done it a million times before.

  Marcus tried the same technique, but he was unable to get his feet over the fence on the first try. He cursed his clumsiness and made it over on the second attempt.

  Angela ran out of the back door and was a few seconds behind Marcus. He could hear the police siren in the background. Marcus assumed Angela had directed the officers to try to head Ingalls off around the block. It was a smart move.

  Ingalls ran through a neighbor’s yard. He was already scaling a second but smaller fence by the time Marcus had climbed over the first. A pit bull was in the backyard and Ingall’s presence had angered it.

  It charged when Marcus landed on the frozen grass.

  “Dog!” Marcus screamed a warning to Angela, who had not yet made it over the fence.

  Marcus kicked at the dog, but his foot glanced off the dog’s muscular body and its powerful jaws clamped down onto Marcus’ lower leg. The pain was instant and excruciating. He hit the dog’s head several times, but the pit bull would not let go.

  He heard a gunshot and the dog yelped, instantly releasing Marcus’ leg. He turned to see Angela standing on his side of the fence. Her gun was in her hand.

  “Go!” he yelled.

  Angela took off after Ingalls. Marcus looked at the dog. It had a small hole in its body, just behind the front legs. Blood was streaming out of it. The dog was panting. He could see its chest heaving in and out as it tried to catch its breath. It was only protecting its territory, doing what it had been bred to do. And now it was seconds away from dying.

  Marcus limped off after Angela. He had no chance of catching up with her and Ingalls now.