James Beamer Box Set

by Paul Seiple

  I wanted to hug her, but when Rebecca said something she meant it. I kept a good distance, hoping she would cool down. She was an all-star softball pitcher in high school. If Rebecca threw something else in my direction, she wasn't missing.

  “You can’t come with us,” Reid said.

  “Like hell, I can’t. It’s your fault that psycho has my baby girl. I’ll be damned if I’m going to put any faith in you getting her back.”

  I turned to Reid without saying a word, and he understood, it was just wasted time and wasted breath arguing with Rebecca.

  “Let’s go,” she said, walking by me.

  “You need shoes first.”

  Rebecca looked at her bare feet. “Does Barbara wear size seven?” The determined look on her face shifted again to sorrow. “I’m sorry about Barbara. I’m sorry. It’s just...” She left the sentence hanging in the air.

  “Barbara’s tough,” Reid said. “I’ll get you some shoes.”

  Thirty-One

  Dillwyn, Virginia

  “Warden Becker will be here shortly. He’d like a word with you before you speak with Palmer.”

  Mack nodded his head as the guard locked the door. Jill tapped her fingers against the metal table. She pointed to raised loops welded on top of the table. She looked underneath to find two more loops built into the concrete floor. "The last time I saw hooks like these was when I worked at Madam Ruby's Love Boutique."

  “Nervous?” Mack asked.

  “Just gotta pee,” Jill said smiling.

  “It’s going to be fine. Palmer will probably try to get in your head. Don’t let him.”

  “What do you know about this guy?”

  “He was called the Sad Face Killer because he wore a ski mask that had a frowning face painted on the back. Claimed…”

  A loud knock interrupted Mack. An inmate pressed his face against the glass window separating the room from the rest of the prison. He flicked his tongue against the glass and said, “Gimme a little bit of that suga, mama.” His breath left a fog on the glass. The guard grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him away.

  “Was that supposed to turn me on?”

  “He was talking to you? I thought he was talking to me,” Mack said, sticking a piece of gum into his mouth. “Anyway, Palmer murdered fourteen — seven guys, seven girls. All couples. A psych evaluation revealed that in high school, Palmer was the victim in an elaborate hoax. Apparently the quarterback of the football team talked his girlfriend into making Palmer think she liked him. Mr. Football then proceeded to embarrass Palmer in front of the whole school.”

  “Sounds like a John Hughes movie,” Jill said.

  “Yeah, if you replaced John Hughes with John Carpenter.”

  “Sorry to keep you folks waiting. Warden Becker at your service.” The short, pot-bellied man slid a metal chair across the concrete floor sending a screech off the walls. Instead of sitting down, he placed his foot on the chair, and put his elbow on his bent knee. “So you folks want to talk to Downer Boy, do ya?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mack said. “We are working on a case that Palmer may be privy to.”

  “That’s funny, Mr. Root, I didn’t realize that you were an officer of the law now. And you, Miss Tanner, isn’t this a little,” Becker made quotations with his hands, “advanced, for a rookie.”

  “It’s Dr. Root, and I’m not an officer of the law, but I’m here on authority of the FBI.”

  Warden Becker chuckled, the rolls beneath his tight-fitting khaki shirt raced through the fabric like waves. “Oh, I know who you are, Mr. Root.” He put emphasis on the word mister. “And I know who you are working with on this particular case. Let me ask you a question, when you drove onto the property did you see the words Federal Bureau of Investigation anywhere?”

  Mack didn’t answer.

  “You didn’t,” Warden Becker said. “This is my prison. My rules. Are you digesting what I’m feeding you?”

  “I’m sure smelling the crap you’re shoveling,” Jill mouthed, barely above a whisper.

  “What was that, rookie?” Warden Becker cupped his ear. “Come again?”

  “She said, ‘Yes, and it tastes so good. May I have another serving, sir?’” Mack said.

  Jill smirked, lowered her head, and bit her bottom lip to hold back laughter.

  “My authority is a joke to you, huh? This is why I fought tooth and nail to prevent you from bringing this circus to my prison. Anywhere Reid Hoffman goes, clowns, whether it be media, psychos, or simple jackasses like yourself, are sure to stumble out of his clown car.”

  “I’m…” Mack was cut off.

  “Listen, I am going to let you meet with Palmer because,” Warden Becker, paused and scratched his double chin. “Well, because I am a man of the law and I respect all that it stands for. If Palmer can help get those priest killing bastards off the street, I’m all in. But do not forget, this is my prison and my rules.”

  “No, sir,” Mack said. His tone shifted from sarcasm to sincerity.

  “And one more thing.” Warden Becker scratched his chin again. “Palmer doesn’t make sense anymore. Just spits out random words. Good luck.” He slid the chair across the concrete, placing it against the wall. “Get Downer Boy,” he said to the guard at the door. Becker turned back to Mack and Jill. “Remember no funny stuff. No one in the media knows you’re here. Let’s keep it that way.”

  The guard guided Ian Palmer into the room just as Warden Becker was leaving. Palmer stood about five-foot-six and couldn’t have weighed more than one-thirty-five. Not the picture that comes to mind when you think of a monster. A strong scent of body odor mixed with feces filled the room.

  “Holy hell,” the Warden said before dry heaving.

  “Shit himself as soon as I got him out of his cell,” the guard said.

  Warden Becker looked at Mack and smiled. “Looks like Downer Boy brought you a present.” He turned to the guard. “Hose him down after this is over.”

  The guard sat Palmer in a chair on the opposite of the table from Mack and Jill. He unlocked one of the cuffs from Palmer's wrists and shackled it to the table. Palmer stared at the ceiling with a vacant look. He took another pair of cuffs and secured Palmer’s other arm. The guard took a deep breath. Just before he locked Palmer’s legs to the floor, Mack spoke up.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  There was a rule that stated Palmer had to be completely shackled, but since the odor was intensifying, the guard didn’t argue. He stood up. “You got twenty minutes.” He gagged, but made it sound like a cough, and left the room.

  Mack handed a small container of vapor rub to Jill, who has having a visibly hard time adjusting to the smell that overwhelmed the small room. “Rub it under your nose, it will help.”

  Palmer’s eyes shifted from the ceiling to Jill as she caked the rub under her nose.

  “Mr. Palmer, we are here to ask you a few questions today.” Mack said. “Is that OK?”

  “Tits small. Perky. Holly,” Palmer whispered. His tone was so low that the words were almost impossible to make out.

  “Mr. Palmer, this isn’t Holly Morris. This is Officer Jill Tanner.”

  “Bitch. Dead.”

  Jill shifted. Her uneasiness didn’t go unnoticed. Palmer smiled at her, exposing rotting teeth. “Play. Fuck. Kill.”

  Mack put his hand on Jill’s knee and shook his head from side-to-side without taking his eyes off Palmer. Jill sat still.

  “Mr. Palmer, we need to ask you few questions about Norman Wallace. Do you know him?”

  Palmer took his eyes of Jill and tried to stare a hole through Mack.

  “Do you know Norman Wallace?”

  Palmer showed his decaying teeth again. “Norman Wallace is the Devil. He is my savior. He set me free from a world of ridicule. He showed me my true worth.” Palmer’s voice was considerably deeper than when he spoke gibberish.

  Mack and Jill were taken aback by the change. It was almost as if Palmer became possessed.
r />   “What do you mean when you say he showed you your worth?” Mack asked.

  Palmer looked at Jill. “He showed me the truth about whores like you. You’re not worthy of anything other than death. No need to waste my time on anything other than killing you.”

  Jill started to speak, but Mack put his hand on her knee again.

  “How do you know Norman Wallace?”

  “I prayed for him and he came to me.”

  “Prayed for him?”

  “For weeks I saw him sitting at a coffee shop across from a stop on my route. I used to be a delivery truck driver before my true calling. One day, he stopped me and said four words that made the world tolerable. He said, ‘I understand your pain.’ I’d never talked to him and yet he knew the disease inside that I fought. My savior helped me to realize that it wasn’t my place to fight it. I was put here to spread the disease. He’s an angel of death. He helped me get my wings.”

  “Your wings? You mean the murders?” Mack asked.

  “He helped me to realize that giving death is a favor.”

  The door opened. The guard entered. “Time’s up. Gotta give the baby his bath.” He held up a hosepipe.

  Palmer leaned in and whispered. “The girl you seek is Babylon. She will make all the nations drink the wine of the wrath of her fornication. Norman prophesied her.”

  “Where is she?” Mack asked.

  Palmer smiled as the guard unhooked a cuff from the table.

  “Where is she?”

  “Cities will fall. Death to all.” Palmer winked, blew a kiss at Jill, and stared vacantly at the ceiling again.

  Two guards ushered Mack and Jill out of the prison and followed them to the rental car.

  “I think I can find my way from here, boys,” Mack said.

  The guards didn’t acknowledge him.

  “Either they’re really polite here or a lot of people get lost on the way to the parking lot.” Jill turned to the guards. "Funny, right?"

  Not even a smirk from the guards.

  “Tough crowd,” Mack said, reaching into his pocket for the car keys. “All right, boys.” he held up the keys and dangled them. “Thanks for the escort.”

  “Tax dollars well spent,” Jill said.

  “You two have a lovely afternoon,” one of the guards said.

  Mack and Jill laughed as they got in the car. The guards kept watch until the Chevette was out of sight. Jill rolled down the window and stuck her head out. “Have you ever seen anything as weird as that?” she asked, sucking in fresh air in attempt the flush Palmer’s odor from her nostrils.

  Mack pulled the car into a 7-11 parking lot. He reached for his phone and dialed a number. “That ranks up there.”

  “What did Palmer mean when he said, ‘The girl you seek is Babylon.’?”

  Mack held a finger up, a non-verbal way of asking Jill to hold on a second.

  “Reid, it’s Mack.” A woman screaming in the background caused him to pause. “Reid?”

  “Sorry. What did you find out?” Reid asked while Rebecca yelled about running in circles into his ear.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Rebecca Aaron is with us. We’re blind out here. Please tell me you got something.”

  “Sounds like you’re about to be deaf too. Wallace knew Palmer. Reid, I think Wallace is recruiting people to be serial killers. Palmer hadn’t killed before he met Wallace.”

  “Neither had Richard Lick,” Reid said.

  “Right. And Wallace is still playing the Revelations shtick. Palmer mentioned a girl who’s named Babylon. Then he quoted from Revelations about the fall of Babylon.”

  “I should have known that,” Jill said.

  Mack faced Jill and put his finger over his lips again.

  “So, Wallace convinced Patty Cline that she’s the whore of Babylon?” Reid asked.

  “Sure looks that way,” Mack said. “That’s all we were able to get out of Palmer. Sorry.”

  “That’s enough. How far away are you?”

  “About two and a half hours.”

  “When you get here, go to the hospital. If Barbara wakes up I want a familiar face to be there for her.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I think I know where Wallace took Michelle. Don’t call the cops. Go straight to the hospital. If you haven’t heard from me by nightfall call Yemana at the Bureau. He will know what to do.” Reid hung up.

  Mack handed the phone to Jill. He started the Chevette and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Do you really think Wallace has the kind of power to convince people to commit murder?” Jill asked.

  “Desperate people will follow those who promise the right things. Wallace is a master at reading people. He knows their vulnerabilities. He uses that as a weapon. It’s not much different than the theory of demonic possession. It’s said that those who become possessed do so through their vulnerabilities. Demons sneak in through the cracks. Wallace has a knack for finding people full of cracks.”

  “By that definition, Wallace could be the Devil,” Jill said.

  “He’s the closest thing I’ve seen to Satan.”

  Thirty-Two

  Arlington, Virginia

  Reid hit the end button on his phone. Before I could ask a question, Rebecca beat me to it. “You know where he has my daughter?” She pushed her head between us from the backseat.

  “There’s an abandoned church on the outskirts of the city. Wallace is still playing the religion card. I should have thought about the church sooner. When we get there, I want you to stay in the car while Michael and I check it out.”

  “Hell no. No way. I’m going to be there. My baby girl needs me.”

  “She’s going to need you the rest of her life,” I said. “You have to stay safe.”

  Reid’s phone rang, bringing the discussion to an abrupt ending.

  “Reid.”

  “I’ve got a lead,” Yemana said. “Came in anonymously on fax so take it for what it’s worth, but it’s better than nothing. 255 Walter Reed.”

  “You sure, 255 Walter Reed?” Reid repeated.

  “Yeah, and it makes sense. Reed. Reid.”

  “Thanks.” Reid hung up.

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  “Yemana got a lead, but I’m going to the church first.”

  “What do you mean you’re going to the church first? You’re wasting time on a hunch?” Rebecca said.

  “You’re going to have to trust me on this. The church is only five minutes away.”

  “Shouldn’t you call Yemana back so that someone knows where we will be?” I asked.

  “Someone has always known where we will be. That’s been our problem all along.”

  Thirty-Three

  Arlington, Virginia

  Hella slipped a tape into the one-speaker cassette player. She turned the volume to ten and ‘The Number of the Beast' by Iron Maiden invaded the room like a rabid army of demons.

  “This is music,” she said. “Something evil about listening to metal in a church.”

  Sanford thrashed his head as if he were shaking off a sucker punch.

  “That’s it, Sasquatch. Bang your head.”

  “I’m not dancing to it. It’s awful. No rhythm. Now, Prince, he’s got rhythm.”

  Hella turned the volume down.

  “He’s right. That sucks,” Michelle said. Her wrists were tied to the arms of a chair with bandanas. Her feet, which fell a few inches short of touching the hardwood floor, dangled.

  “No one asked you, brat,” Hella said.

  “It’s a free country. I can talk when I want.”

  Hella balled up a red bandana. “Not if I shove this down your throat.”

  “No one is shoving anything down anyone’s throat,” Norman said, entering the room, carrying a box of NERDS candy. “Untie her,” he said to Sanford, who hurried over and freed Michelle’s wrists. Norman offered Michelle the candy.

  “My daddy said not to take cand
y from strangers.”

  “Your daddy is a smart man,” Norman said. “But I’m not a stranger. I’m your grandfather.”

  “You’re lying. My granddaddy went to Heaven before I was born.”

  “That’s what your father told you to protect you from me.”

  “You’re not scary. What are you, like 100 years old?”

  Hella laughed. “The brat may not be so bad after all.”

  “And you look like one of those women in the books my daddy hides in the garage.”

  Sanford laughed.

  “You two, leave us alone. I wish to catch up with my beautiful granddaughter.”

  Hella grabbed the radio and followed Sanford out of the room. “You know you’re a disgrace to giants everywhere. Prince? Debarge? You never listen to Judas Priest?”

  “Nope. I guess I’m just a soul man,” Sanford said.

  “You’re a disappointment. That’s what you are.”

  Norman waited for the door to shut behind Sanford and pulled up a chair in front of Michelle. “You’re not scared, are you?”

  “No, but I miss Linus. And that man hurt Aunt Barbara. Is she OK?”

  “Aunt Barbara is fine,” Norman said, picking up one of the bandanas. He manipulated the fabric, tying knots until it transformed into a flimsy stick figure. “I know it’s not your bear, but this is all I could do on such short notice.” He handed the bandana to Michelle.

  “I want Linus.” She tore the knots free and threw the bandana to the floor.

  “Ah, the rage. My blood does flow in you, child. How old are you?”

  “Almost seven.”