by Lee Perry
Disarticulation was easy if you had the proper tools…
When he dismembered the bodies and set up each torso, severed head and limbs, he compared it to executing steps in a ritualized dance, placing the body parts inside the drip pan placed next to the drain in the center of the garage floor in such a way as to maximize drainage.
Everything is ritual.
He always bagged the severed parts first, arranging the bags in a neat semicircle in the trunk of his car, and he always drew latex gloves on his hands when he pulled the folded tarp from its cellophane bag and cut a new piece for the torso.
Torso preparation is key…
After he packed his gear bag for the boat and locked up the house he always backed his car into the garage to where the torso lay, placing it in his trunk on top of the custom-cut tarp, his gloved hands carefully placing it within the semicircle of bagged limbs.
The symbolism may never be understood, but directionality is still important.
The locations he chose were remote, and he always programmed a secondary location in his phone in case of unforeseen circumstances. He disposed of the torsos between 2 and 4 a.m., a period most likely to insure deserted roads so he could quickly extract the torso from the trunk and position it before driving to Belmar.
Christ fed the multitudes with just a couple of fish, but I am feeding multitudes of fish with just a few limbs.
He stared down at his hands, still hovering over the keyboard.
It’s ritual, and all of this is sacred… Yes! It’s a sacred ritual.
He sat up and shook his hands out at the wrist and the heavy sigh that left him transformed into a yawn.
Still tired… He powered down the laptop and stood, Time enough for this tomorrow.
When he decided to buy a boat, he spent four months researching models and manufacturers; debating how long the boat should be, if it should have single or dual engines, and the quality of onboard amenities. Every night he ended his research with a search for a name for his new vessel. After scanning famous literary works of seafaring voyages online, he remembered reading Melville’s Moby Dick, after his father began taking him out on his boat, the Amicus. He had memorized many passages and he searched online for a particular quote, "Let me square the yards, while we may, old man, and make a fair wind of it homeward." As a boy, he was unsure what the passage meant and he waited until he was on the boat before asking his father. “Fair Winds,” he told him, “it means add on all sail and make a safe journey home.”
When he finally decided on purchasing the Larson Cabrio 330 he had chosen the name, Fair Winds, but that night he began rereading Bowditch's American Practical Navigator, and came across the term following seas. The famed encyclopedia of navigation defined it as, "A sea in which the waves move in the general direction of the heading." He quickly searched online for following seas and found a listing for Fair Winds and Following Seas. He was directed to a site for naval history and found it was a nautical phrase of good luck; a blessing to one who departs on a voyage in life and he frantically called the boat dealer, leaving a breathless voice mail that he needed to modify the name to be stenciled on his new boat.
He crawled under the blanket on the bed and placed his head on the pillows near the bulkhead. Finding the name for this vessel and discovering its meaning was just as important, and prophetic, as discovering my own.
Even after his son started going out with him on his boat, Richard Alden still spent Saturday nights getting blind drunk in front of the TV, and during the summer months Jonas would put up his pup tent and spend those nights camped out in their backyard. He would lie on his back in his sleeping bag, his head sticking out the opening so he could gaze up at the night sky.
Discovering ritual and prophecy… like finding the rhythm in code.
He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of water slapping outside the hull just inches from his head, unaware of the smile that touched his lips.
Listening for messages, hidden in the waves…
Gwen Alden always brought a bedtime snack of milk and cookies out to his tent, “What are you doing?” He could always hear the smile in his mother’s voice. Back then, he’d say he was trying to crack the code in the configuration of the stars, But I was a boy then, and now I am a man and I know the right answer. It’s like watching for patterns and rhythms when I write code; I’m listening for patterns in the chaos…
Part 3
““It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it;
every complaint already contains revenge.”
- Friedrich Nietzsche
Red Bank, NJ
“Have a seat and he’ll be right with you.”
“Thanks.” Jordan nodded and stepped away from the receptionist’s desk. “I really hope no one at SAEx has been paying attention to the news.”
“At a stock exchange?” Catherine scoffed, “I think the stock tickers and news feeds are all they watch.”
“Well, and porn, don’t forget porn...” Jordan paced slow circles around her, “We really need to find something here… I need a break in these cases.”
“Don’t worry; I can retrieve everything on his hard drive.”
The grin was professionally brief but genuine, “I know you will.”
Two men entered the lobby, “You’re from the FBI?” The taller of the two asked.
Jordan held up her badge wallet, “Special Agent Hawkins and this is my associate Doctor Bernard.” She could see both men’s brows arch high when she introduced Catherine and the shorter man stepped forward, his hands conspicuously stuffed in his pockets.
“I’m Tim Dean, I’m the Director of Human Resources here, and this is Bill Wilson, Vice President of Commodities. We understand you’re here about Darrel Lesous, but he is not at work today.”
“I know,” Jordan handed Wilson the document she held, “Mister Lesous has been murdered and I’m here to execute this warrant.” She watched as the men’s jaws dropped and even the receptionist gasped aloud. “It permits Doctor Bernard to copy his hard drive…”
“I can’t believe it.” Wilson took the document and stared down at it, whispering, “Darrel’s dead?”
“Yes,” Jordan gestured to the doorway, “Shall we?”
Wilson recovered himself quickly and handed the warrant to Dean, “Read this.” He said brusquely, “Come this way.” He led them from the lobby and into the office area, to Lesous’s cubicle. “This is it,” he waved a hand distractedly, “Darrel was a trader and a division manager but he preferred to keep an eye on the troops on the main floor here.” Jordan only looked at him and he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, “We have the two floors above us too. Corporate’s on the top floor…”
While he spoke, Catherine sat at the workstation, it was running but rather than interrupt for a password she simply hacked her way in, It’s not like they’re paying any attention to me anyway.
“And how long did Mister Lesous work here?”
“Uh… nine years…” The HR manager said sounding distracted as he rapidly scanned the warrant.
“He have any enemies here?”
“NO.” Wilson said, emphatic, “We all work very hard here and we try to party when we can… we’re a family.”
“Really?’ Jordan looked surprised, “I thought stock exchanges were competitive, dog-eat-dog environments.”
Dean looked nervously at Wilson and the taller man’s eyes narrowed, “Not here.”
Catherine retrieved even the deleted data from the hard drive and sent everything she could legally touch to the bureau’s non-networked servers. “I’m done here.”
“Okay.” Jordan nodded and turned back to the men, “Any other employees not here at work today?”
“People do come and go, Agent Hawkins.” Dean finally finished reading the warrant and rolled it in his hands. “They give notice and…”
Wilson turned to him, “Mitch Ryan didn’t, he just left.”
“He’s a trader here?�
� Jordan asked.
“He was; he just stopped coming in a few weeks ago. That happens but damn infrequently; everyone signs confidentiality agreements so when…”
Dean cut him off, “We simply assumed he got a new job elsewhere.”
Jordan nodded, “Good at his job?”
“Oh yeah, aggressive motherfucker…” Wilson stopped awkwardly, “Sorry. Excellent numbers, always surpassed his quota, very driven… has a real feel for how to work the market.”
“He left before or after the company flash crashed?”
He exhaled heavily, “That was one fucked up day… But he left after… Mitch left after the crash.” He stood with his hands stuffed in his pockets and shrugged, “A couple of other guys left too but they gave notice, we know what exchanges they went to. I think they just lost confidence and got scared.” He shook his head, “I thought Mitch was made of sterner stuff though. It surprised me when he wouldn’t even return my calls or emails.”
“Okay, well then we’ll need to have a look at Mister Ryan’s workstation too.”
The Human Resources Manager held up a finger, “Uh, no, I believe your warrant covers Mister Lesous’s workstation only.”
“And besides,” Wilson added, “we emptied out Ryan’s cubicle as soon as it was clear he was gone.”
“And where’s his workstation?”
“Recycled, when we suspect an employee of going to a competitor, as a precaution, we always have our techs remove and manually destroy the hard drives and delete their company investor accounts and passwords, user names, all of it.”
“That’s alright,” Catherine smiled brightly, “I can still retrieve the data from your servers.”
Wilson’s face fell, “You still need a warrant for that.”
“And that’s right.” The HR manager agreed, sounding smug.
“Okay, then,” Jordan said, “that’s the plan, I’ll need to shut down SAEx and post agents throughout the building…” The men’s eyes flew open wide, “to make sure no one tampers with your servers until I can get a warrant letting Doctor Bernard search them for Mister Ryan’s deleted files.”
Catherine watched Bill Wilson’s face and the small twitch that tugged spastically at the corner of his left eye.
“You can’t do that.”
Jordan dug the phone from her pocket, “Oh, I can, and I’ll start by clearing out this floor, just let me get this new warrant going…”
She began scrolling for a number on her phone when Wilson suddenly hissed, “Alright… STOP!” He glanced around worriedly, “We’ll give you access, but you’ll have to sign confidentiality agreements…”
Jordan looked up from her phone, “Seriously?” She stepped close to the SAEx vice president, her tall frame in boots making her slightly taller than him, “Let me explain to you again why we’re here; I’m from the Federal Bureau of Investigation and I’m investigating the murder and dismemberment of one of your employees…” She watched the color drain from the man’s face and she continued, “And at the moment, I have a strong suspicion Mister Lesous’s murder, as well as two other gruesome torso murders I’m investigating could have been committed by another one of your employees, Mitch Ryan. Now, you can either help us or I can shut down SAEx and really search this place from top to bottom for every kind of evidence. And you and I,” she gave the HR manager a thin smile, “and Mister Dean here, all know there are going to be at least a few of your loyal employees who will leak this to a friend who will in turn inform the media and I doubt any of that will be good for business.”
Tim Dean swallowed convulsively and Catherine bit the smile from her lips when she saw his large Adam’s apple bob comically up and down his throat.
“I’m, ah…” Wilson’s voice sounded raspy and faint and he cleared his throat, “I’m sure we can find you a workstation to use.”
Catherine piped up, “I’d prefer to conduct my research in your server room.”
Wilson drew a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with either Catherine or Jordan, and waved to a young man watching them surreptitiously from over the top of his cubicle, “Come here a minute, would you Jerry?”
A young thin Asian man left his cubicle, “Yes?”
“Take these people to the server room and give them access.”
His eyebrows bounced high on his forehead, “Really?”
“Just get me in with your admin password,” Catherine said, “I’ll do the rest.”
Wilson gave the HR manager a curt nod, “Accompany them.”
The HR manager's Adam’s apple bobbed nervously, “Yes… certainly.”
Jordan followed Catherine as she followed Mr. Dean down a long hallway, keeping her eye on Bill Wilson as he hurried to the elevator, Rushing off to tell the corporate executives, who will most certainly call the lawyers. As they passed the sea of cubicles, she noted the traders either were watching them with interest or were completely oblivious, No in-between here…
Mr. Dean was silent and Jerry used a keycard to access the server room and stepped inside, holding the door open.
“Thank you.” Jordan gave him a smile that grew wider when she saw him blush.
He hurried to a workstation jammed between racks of servers and sat, his long fingers flying over the keyboard, “Here you go…” He stood and motioned awkwardly for Catherine to sit.
“Thank you.” She murmured and sat, her eyes locking onto the screen as her own long fingers flew over the keyboard.
“So,” Jordan turned to the young man and held out her hand, “hello, I’m Agent Jordan Hawkins, I’m with the FBI.”
“I know,” he shook her hand and looked nervously at the HR manager, “I mean, I heard you… out there.”
“And you are?”
“Jerry… Jerry Han.”
“Did you know Darrel Lesous?”
“Not really, no. He’s a trader, I’m a tech, we don’t mix much.”
“How about Mitch Ryan?”
The young man licked his lips and shook his head slowly from side to side, “No.”
“Okay,” Jordan nodded and pulled her business card from a jacket pocket, handing it to him, “thank you. Call me if you think of anything.” He took the card and Jordan noted the anxiety on his face when he shot a look at the HR manager who stood silently, his arms folded stoically across his chest, I probably won’t be hearing from anyone around here.
“Okay,” Catherine piped up brightly, “all done here.”
New York, NY
“Dammit.”
Catherine looked around her monitor, “What?”
“I just got Mitch Ryan’s financials… and he’s definitely a victim and not our suspect. His bank accounts, credit cards… nothing’s been touched since he disappeared from SAEx.”
“You said his neighbors hadn’t seen him in weeks.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think that was suspicious since his neighbors didn’t know his name or really who I was talking about until I showed them the picture on his driver’s license and even then only about half of them said, ‘oh, yeah, that guy.’ Although they all had townhouses with electric garage doors, so it figures they’d only see each other driving past in their cars.” She slumped in her chair and swiveled it to the side of her desk so she could see her, “How about you and Mister Ryan’s hard drive?”
Catherine wrinkled her nose, “Nothing helpful, I’m afraid… his company account was tampered with but when I tried tracing this odd code I was led on a wild goose chase to China.”
“China?” Jordan sat up and rolled her chair next to hers.
“Yeah, see this?” She pointed to her screen, filled with Chinese writing.
“Oh, my god...” Jordan groaned, “He was hacked by the Chinese?”
“No,” Catherine shook her head, “I can read it, they are Chinese characters, but it’s nonsense, like someone just copied and pasted stuff.”
“I don’t get it, no one’s touched his money… why hack him?”
“I don’t know, but
he was monitored for a while by his hacker, I’m still trying to figure it out, but whoever hacked Mister Ryan is very good at covering his tracks.”
“Dammit.” Jordan leaned back in her chair and stretched until the vertebrae popped, “Lesous and Ryan… like the other victims, they had friends but when you talk to them they don’t seem to know much about each other.”
“Fear of intimacy… isn’t that stereotypical for men?’
She shrugged, “I guess, and these stock traders don’t seem to have much going on with either real friends or intimate relationships…. Find anything on Lesous?”
“Nope, hard drive was clean; a real company man, everything was neatly organized and on the up and up.” Her nose wrinkled again, “But their emails… the language they use is so aggressive.”
“I know,” Jordan sighed, “if they weren’t already dead they’d all make excellent murder suspects. They’re so embarrassingly macho; they’re always killing it, or him or them… and they’re always gonna fuck competitors to death.”
“Stock trading,” Catherine shuddered, “what a horrible way to live.”
“That reminds me…” Jordan glanced at the time on her screen and rolled her chair back to her desk, “I want to call that tech.” She had asked Wilson, Dean and the young tech for their business cards and she called Mr. Han on his cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Yes, Mister Han, this is Agent Hawkins from the FBI, we spoke this morning?”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Are you in a place where you can speak freely?”
“Oh, sure, I’m out at lunch right now, go ahead.”
“Good, I was calling to see if you had remembered anything unusual about Mitch Ryan or Darrel Lesous’s behavior before they disappeared.”
“No, it’s true what I told you before, us techs and the traders don’t mix socially and at work we only write code for the company and fix their workstations. Both Lesous and Ryan were hardcore, very aggressive traders who totally focused on their jobs…”
His voice trailed off and Jordan waited a moment before prompting, “And?”
