by TG Wolff
“When I went out, there was a closed-for-maintenance sign in front of the door.”
“You said you heard her voice. What did she say?”
“I asked her why me?” Her eyes glassed with tears. “She said I was kind. She asked me to tell Nick it was because ‘he stands.’”
Wednesday, May 23
“Who is Drug Head? I’ll tell you who Drug Head is. Drug Head is me!” The broad-faced black woman with her hair permed straight swung an arm out to the crowd behind her. “Drug Head is everyone one of us who is sick and tired of the plague drugs and drug abuse are on our community.”
A wiry black man nodded in agreement. “How many babies have to die before we say enough. Drug Head is doing what the cops can’t do—driving drugs out of Cleveland.”
A small white woman with mousy brown hair looked up at the interviewer. “It’s not that we condone Drug Head’s methods, but there’s no dismissing his results.”
A Hispanic woman looked into the camera, her hands on the shoulder of a tween. “All I know is my street is safer. The only thing on the corners are stop signs.”
Win Ramsey stopped the video replay of the in-depth news program aired the previous night. “The rest are the same.”
They knew that. Cruz knew everyone at the table—Dr. Chen, Alison Hyatt, Homicide Commander Montoya, Detective Matt Yablonski, Special Agent Bishop—had watched the show produced by one of the local news agencies.
The chief forwarded the video until Alison Hyatt’s face filled the screen. Her styled hair, professional make up, and polished lines made a poignant statement in comparison to the raw and unrefined passion of the average man cuts. Her answers to the questions were professional, specific while being vague and as antiseptic as a bottle of Listerine.
Then came the cut away to Cruz. The news crew had caught him on the street, nagging him like a May midge, buzzing in his ear until he couldn’t take it. He looked over his shoulder at the camera, his braided tail hanging to his shoulder blades. “No community is perfect. The sinners are ours every bit as much of the saints. I stand for them all.”
If the average man was raw and Hyatt professional, Cruz looked dangerous. A predator on the hunt. Aurora had said it. So had the family and friends that called after it aired. At least five people stopped him on his way in to say something similar. He wished he felt as confident as the man on the screen. It would be a nice change from exhausted and frustrated.
“Nice interview, Detective,” Ramsey said. “Next time, stick to the script. Where do we stand on recovering the bodies?”
“I can tell you five hundred places they aren’t. It’s a priority to find the bodies both for the families and for the evidence they could bring.”
“Anything resulting from the Pelletier incident?”
“The shop did not have video security, but we have three things we didn’t have before. White, male, clean shaven. The woman working remembered the suspect’s shoes and added baggy clothes and a pulled-up hoodie. She said the suspect, male, purchased a small bowl yogurt, then sat at a table and read. When pressed on the gender, she said his hands were a man’s. Rough, hair on the back and fingernails bitten low. She was working alone and hadn’t noticed the bathroom being taken over. No one complained. The number that texted Pelletier was a disposable. The last cell tower ping put it at the yogurt shop.”
“Doctor, has the information provided by Kroc and Ms. Pelletier been added to our profile?”
“As y’all expect, it confirmed some aspects of my theory. Clearly, the suspect is operating within an altered reality, one in which he recognizes anyone associated with the illegal drug sales, distribution and use as a physical threat to his children. We can infer, of course, by the location of the heads, he views the residents of the city as those children.”
Chen consulted his notes. “The suspect has proven he is highly capable of planning and executing complex scenarios.”
“Pelletier is insistent the suspect was female. How confident are we she is wrong?” Ramsey turned the conversation back to Cruz. “Have you started investigating a potential female as a suspect?”
“The only name that popped on multiple victims was Hayley Parker. We had brought her husband in for questioning twice. She had the connection to one victim through high school and then several of the others through her husband.”
“Bring her in.”
Yablonski had volunteered for the job of bringing Hayley Parker in. Damn but Cruz did not like Hayley for these crimes. She just wasn’t together enough to pull off something this complicated without tipping someone off, somewhere.
Still, he went back through the files and mapped the connections between Hayley Parker to the victims, most through her husband. But that was an assumption. Maybe Parker met them through Hayley.
Before he knew it, Yablonski hovered over his desk. “She brought her kid with her.”
“What? Why did you let her do that?” Not part of his game plan, interviewing the mother in front of the kid. Wasn’t going to happen.
“There was no one to watch him. The father was out. Since we weren’t arresting her, we didn’t have a lot of choices.”
“Where is he now?”
“In the interview room.”
“Get him out here. He can eat cookies over your keyboard while I talk to the mother.” He picked up the phone and told the officer on the other end to bring the kid out.
“My keyboard? You think…no, Cruzie. Ain’t gonna happen.”
Two minutes later, it happened. Cruz spent a few minutes with the boy sitting in Yablonski’s chair playing detective.
Jace’s blue eyes narrowed as he considered the man facing him. “How much is two plus two.”
Cruz mirrored the boy’s position. “Four.”
“What song am I humming. Hmm hmm mmm mmm—”
“Twinkle twinkle.”
“Which is the best ninja turtle?”
“Michelangelo.”
“Wrong.” Jace collapsed on the desk in laughter. “You’re going to jail, Cruz.”
His interview with Hayley Parker didn’t go as well. The only alibis she had needed a drug dealer or a five-year-old to corroborate.
“Have you followed the Drug Head case,” he asked her.
“A bit.”
“What do you think of it? Of someone killing the drug dealers, staking their heads on poles?”
She shrugged a boney shoulder, her gaze on the floor where it had been since he walked in.
“Why do you think he does it? What does he get from it?” He paused after each question, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t acknowledge the question.
“Somebody is out there stalking and killing drug dealers. Have you thought about what that means to you? To your son?” His words shortened, hardened in proportion to his frustration. The woman didn’t have the sense of a—
“Christopher takes care of us.” She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, but the worn-out look didn’t go away. “He knows people. They don’t come to the house. Where’s Jace? I don’t want him getting in trouble.”
Knowing when to cut his losses, he wrapped it up. Getting Hayley out of the interview was simple. Getting Jace out of homicide? Much harder. It cost him a candy bar and two peppermints. The kid was a born negotiator. That was a tragedy Cruz had a hard time stomaching, the kids who never had a chance at normal.
Yablonski reclaimed his seat, adjusting the throne for his legs. “You like her for it? Being the accomplice?”
“I’m trying to picture Hayley Parker taking the family car, parking on the side of a highway, taking the stake and the head and getting busy. The ghost of a woman would have left footprints and fingerprints and likely DNA, just because she wouldn’t have thought not to. We need to look somewhere else.”
May 24
Today was an amazing day. I went downtown and there were so many good people there. We talked and sang and prayed. I couldn’t stop moving. It was like my feet had their own mission an
d it was to dance. There was so much energy, the whole city vibrated.
The army of the people is rising. The message is getting out and people are listening. I have to push now, push the evil out.
Chapter Nineteen
Thursday, May 24
Marches and counter-marches were the order of the morning. The accounts of the facts were overshadowed by the bling of self-promotion.
All roads through downtown weren’t blocked, just one.
A pregnant woman wasn’t trapped in her car. The passing Jimmy John’s delivery man did not deliver the baby.
Windows weren’t broken. A plant stand wasn’t used as a battering ram, but one was turned over. Too many people standing on one side.
The ghost of Eliot Ness did not patrol the square. Probably. That one wasn’t disproven.
But, six people were injured, and four arrests were made.
And the chief was not happy.
216-555-1255 CPL W25TH STREET 25MAY2018 15:59 SEND: COMPLETE
Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil.
Through us, may God rebuke him I humbly pray and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.
Saint Michael the Archangel, lead us in battle.
Be our light through the dark alleys and shadows where evil thrives.
Let us be your instrument, I humbly pray.
Teach us, O mightiest of angels, to shelter the worthy while vanquishing to hell those that have been corrupted beyond redemption.
Chapter Twenty-One
Friday, May 25
“I will not tolerate another incident with this holiday. Do you understand, Detective De La Cruz?”
Cruz bent backwards under the weight of Win Ramsey, both the man and his office. He’d worked day and night on a strategy to cover the city during the popular Memorial Day weekend. He’d been buoyed by two pots of coffee and a mug of tea because you have to have balance in your life. His stomach felt off. He needed more coffee. “To our knowledge, he does not have a victim in hand, but we have added patrols to get ahead of the suspect.” He pointed to the map laid on the conference table. “We have mapped the locations considered most likely for the suspect to strike. There are two high-speed, limited-access roads remaining, the West Shoreway and I-176. I formed a team of those familiar with the case, and they will work with the Districts to stakeout the Cleveland corporate limits.”
“Wasn’t the last crime scene in University Circle? Last I checked, it is not a high-speed thoroughfare.”
“In our opinion, University Circle was precipitated by a unique set of circumstances. We expect the suspect will return to his original pattern.”
“You expect. You are aware this is Memorial Day weekend. We have the rib cook-off, the Greek festival, and a half-dozen other events.” Ramsey lowered his gaze, looking at Cruz as though he were a defensive back needing a pounding. “We can’t be everywhere, Detective.”
“No, sir, we can’t.”
“Drug Head Killer is changing our community, Cruz. Socially, economically, psychologically. The organizations key to the import of illegal drugs into the city have shifted their sales to the suburbs and other communities. Latest estimates have drug trafficked into the city last month down forty percent from a year ago. However, the street value is about the same. When supply is cut, prices go up.”
“And buyers are having to go farther for their fix,” Yablonski said. “Our snitches are telling us nobody wants to work the street corners these days. It’s pushing sales underground and out of town.”
“Which,” Hyatt said, “has neighborhood groups celebrating.”
The downside came from gang intervention. With turfs shrinking, the competition for control was increasing. Gang-on-gang violence had ticked up in the past months. It wasn’t unlike the race for a presidential party nomination but with smaller words, fewer dollars, and politer rhetoric. Dangerously, civilians had taken stands. Injuries to date had been minor, superficial, further empowering neighborhoods to stand. Cruz worried that somewhere, sometime, the price would be deadly. But even on that point, there was not unanimity. Policing is most successful when people feel part of the system rather than subject to it. Those taking to the street were standing for the rules that made the city part of one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Cruz raised his hand, measuring the sun’s distance above the horizon. “Two inches,” he said, driving through the streets with his windows down. The temperature was meant for taking a pretty woman out on the town. Aurora could put on her little black dress and the purple heels that put them eye to eye. There was a party. It was Vito’s birthday and everyone would have a good time. Food. Music. Wine. They’d have wine. She’d have wine, but he would taste it on her lips.
“Son of a bitch. Whose car is that?”
Parked in his driveway was a Lexus. The body style was nearly a decade old, but it was in pristine condition and sitting exactly where it shouldn’t be.
He stomped into his house, shutting the door loud enough to let whoever was here know he was home. And not happy.
Aurora’s voice floated to him. He stalked to his living room, stopping in the doorway. If he’d been a dog, the fur on the back of his neck would be standing up. “What are you doing here?”
“Zeus!” Aurora was on her feet, bridging the distance between him and the woman sitting on his couch. Frankie Pelletier. “Where are your manners? I’m sorry, Frankie.”
“Don’t apologize for me,” he snapped, taking Aurora’s hand and pulling her behind him. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
Frankie Pelletier rose from his couch. Wearing blue jeans and a Cleveland Indians jersey, she wasn’t dressed for the job. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her face bare except for the worry it wore. “I get why you don’t want to talk with me, after the whole he/she thing, but I need talk to you.”
“You have my number. Go home and call me.”
“Zeus!” Aurora shoved him into the room. “The Drug Head Killer contacted her again.”
“It’s another fax,” Frankie said, “from a library I think.” She held out a neatly folded paper.
Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil.
Through us, may God rebuke him I humbly pray
and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell
Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.
Saint Michael the Archangel, lead us in battle.
Be our light through the dark alleys and shadows where evil thrives.
Let us be your instrument, I humbly pray
Teach us, O mightiest of angels, to shelter the worthy while vanquishing to hell those that have been corrupted beyond redemption.
“Creepy,” Aurora said, running her hands up and down her arms.
“I know the first part,” he said. “It’s the prayer of St. Michael the Archangel. The second part, I don’t recognize.”
“That’s because it’s not part of the prayer,” Frankie said. “At least no version I could find.”
Aurora sat on the couch, encouraging Frankie to relax again. “It’s dark. Dark, heavy, and violent.”
He read it twice, looking for the message between the lines. This was dangerous. He felt like he held the invitation to disaster. He let it drop to the coffee table. “Are you printing it?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I completely, one hundred fifty percent, believe in freedom of the press.” Frankie popped up, pacing in a small, two-step move. “I believe that society is better when we know what is happening in the world around us. To make good decisions, right decisions, people have to be informed. Fairly, honestly, and without bias.”
“I hear a but.”
She slapped her palms on her denim clad thighs. “That’s just it. There shouldn’t be a but.”
“But there is.”
“But, if I reprint material sent to me by a killer, maybe not a manifesto but definitely a message, what is fair and without bias about that? There is no…” She struggled for a word. “Honor. There is no honor in being a mouthpiece for a killer.”
She was in a tough place, he agreed. She would be scrutinized no matter what decision she made. Which made it a dilemma, standing on a mountaintop with long, sheer drops on all sides. “Have you talked with your editor?”
Frankie looked at his shoes. Guilt, he guessed. “I know what he’s going to say. I need to decide what I’m going to do before I go to him. It could be the end of my job.”
“So, you came here.”
She looked up now, her blue eyes years older than when they first met. “I didn’t plan to.” Frankie looked down at Aurora, who jumped to her side.
“I insisted she come in.”
Cruz plopped into one of his chairs, pulled his braid to the front and began to unweave it. “Talk.”
“I didn’t ask for this to happen,” Frankie began. Cruz listened. Aurora ordered Chinese. It wasn’t so different from his AA meetings, people listening to each other, in support. It was nearly Sunday when Frankie left. She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do about the fax. Cruz felt otherwise.
On the front porch, he cut Frankie a break. “Don’t beat yourself up on the gender thing. You saw exactly what the suspect wanted you to see. We caught our first break when he went to see you. I’ll catch him, no matter what you choose to do with that.”
“Thank you. I, uh, really appreciate you saying that.”
Aurora opened her arms and hugged Frankie. “Call or come over anytime. Our door is always open.”
