by J L Aarne
Brockden looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end he didn’t.
“What about victimology?” Ezekiel asked.
“There were six victims,” Kenner said. “Two women and four men. All white. Only the last guy, Nathan Overton, was older than thirty. He was thirty-five. They were all attractive people. Really attractive people. Otherwise, there aren’t a lot of similarities. They’re blond, brunette, pale, tanned, none of them were real wealthy, but none of them were poor, none of them worked together or seemed to know each other. Hell, they didn’t even live in the same neighborhoods.”
“The men were gay,” Schechter added helpfully.
“Uh-huh, so we’re definitely looking at a man,” Ezekiel said.
“I don’t know. Women can be bitches, too,” Gonzales said.
“But the women weren’t lesbians,” Schechter pointed out. “If it’s sexual… and it seems like it is… well, if he used that to lure them, to get them alone, then it has to be a man.”
“And female serial killers don’t kill this way,” Brockden said. “Besides, unless we’re looking for a female bodybuilder, she wouldn’t have the upper body strength to get some of them up on the tables. Sorry, ladies, but it’s true.”
Ezekiel glanced at his watch. It was after two in the afternoon. “All right. Talk to the victims’ families and friends. Look for any connections. What made these people vulnerable? Have Murray and Jeong look into getting the video footage from some of the places where they were last seen if it’s available. I want stills of anyone they talked to.” He stood up to go and looked around at them all. “Anything else? Questions?”
“You taking the new girl wherever you’re going?” Brockden asked.
Ezekiel gave him a flat look. “Not today. She can go with you, Al.”
Brockden raised his eyebrows and eyed Crewes, young and pretty in her tailored pantsuit and heels, with disdain. Brockden was almost ready for retirement, he had been on the job a long time, and he resented the hell out of it that Ezekiel, seemingly so much younger and less experienced than himself, was his superior. His hair was greying, his suit was off the rack and he had been wearing it for a couple of years, he could not respect a woman like Beatrix Crewes for her intellect. He was not alone in this; it had been a popular opinion about Crewes since she joined the team.
Crewes regarded Brockden with open curiosity. Then she got up from the table, ready to get to work. “Well, let’s go,” she said.
Brockden made a scoffing sound and turned his eyes briefly heavenward, but he got up and went with her out of the conference room.
Ezekiel left the federal building and drove across the city to the university. He had stayed up all night reading the file on The Lamplighter. He hadn’t slept in five days, but he had not spent that free time in idleness. He had been looking into the background of Rainer Bryssengur and he had come up with some pretty interesting stuff. None of it was evidence, none of it proved anything, but it was all very compelling late night reading.
Cosra Melmoth’s office was not in the same building as the rest of the English department, it was in an old converted classroom in the same building as the auditorium where he held most of his lectures. He was in when Ezekiel got there because he had made sure to arrive when he had scheduled office hours, but the door to his office was closed and there was not immediately an answer when he knocked.
He knocked again.
“What is it?! Come in and stop your damn banging on my door!” called Cosra in a heavily accented, slightly slurring voice.
Ezekiel opened the door and stepped inside. He was instantly hit by the strong scent of wolf and felt an instinctive growl begin straining at his throat.
Cosra sat behind a large desk with his head down on his folded arms. When Ezekiel walked in, he lifted his head and growled. “Ah. Here kitty, kitty,” he said. He chuffed soft laughter at himself and stood up. He slapped a hand to the desk, unsteady on his feet, and walked around it to him. “Aye, you’re a kitty, all right. What manner of feline are you? If you don’t mind me asking. Hell, even if you do mind me asking as you find yourself now in my territory, kitty.”
Ezekiel took out his identification and showed it to him. “I’m the federal agent kind,” he said.
“Are you indeed?” Cosra said, scowling at his badge. “Thought I smelled a bit of something else on you, but if that’s how it is, you can get the fuck out.”
Ezekiel sighed. “Mountain lion,” he said. “But that’s got nothing to do with why I’m here.”
“And why might that be?” Cosra demanded.
“I want to ask you about one of your students,” Ezekiel said. “Rainer Bryssengur.”
Cosra laughed. “Oh, aye? Well, tough titty, Agent…”
“Herod,” Ezekiel supplied. “Ezekiel Herod.”
“Whatever,” Cosra said. “I got nothing to say to you on the subject of Mr. Bryssengur or any other thing, for that matter. Off with you. I’m nursing a mother of a fucking hangover and you’re not helping matters.”
“Mr. Melmoth, I really just want to ask you a few questions. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Bah. You’ve taken up enough of my time as it is by darkening my door, Mr. FBI Man. I’ve got nothing to say, so unless you’ve got a warrant or a court order, you can fuck off.”
“Mr. Melmoth, I—”
Cosra turned on him with a snarl, his lips drawn back from his overlong wolf canines, his bloodshot brown eyes gleaming with a touch of wild animal gold. “I said no,” he snapped.
Ezekiel took an involuntary step back with a hiss, surprised by the violence of his refusal to even speak with him. It was not a matter of him being a cat and Cosra a wolf, it had nothing to do with that ancient feud or he wouldn’t have bothered to ask him his business at all. It was because Ezekiel was law enforcement.
He considered pursuing it anyway. Sometimes being persistent with the belligerent ones paid off. They would talk to you just to make you leave. He got the distinct impression that Cosra Melmoth was not one of those, however.
“I’ll leave you my contact information if you decide to change your mind,” Ezekiel said, with no real hope that Cosra would do anything of the sort.
He removed a business card from his inside jacket pocket and walked over to Cosra’s desk. There were books, journals, magazines and student papers stacked up on the floor, overflowing bookcases, and piled atop the desk. He placed the card on a stack of student papers covered with red ink notations and the stack slumped to one side and spilled off the desk onto the floor.
Cosra whipped around and saw the papers falling. He stared at them and a growl rose in his throat. Then he jabbed a finger at Ezekiel and pointed him toward the door. “So help me God,” he said through his teeth. “Get thee fucking hence before I lose my temper and murder you, Agent.”
Ezekiel sighed and headed for the door. He couldn’t force the man to talk to him if he wouldn’t, especially since he wasn’t actually there to see him in any real professional capacity. Technically, they were not investigating the copycat killings anymore. Ezekiel was there more to satisfy his own incessant curiosity than because he truly believed Cosra had any information about the murders.
He had parked as close to Cosra’s office building as he could and walked back with his head down, still thinking about Rainer Bryssengur. He was guilty. Ezekiel knew in his bones that he was guilty. He was becoming less and less convinced that he would ever be able to prove it though and he had started to entertain thoughts of killing him. He had done it before when he couldn’t catch them or—less often—when they angered or offended him so much that he preferred to see them dead. Rainer was beginning to look like he would be one of those; too clever, too controlled and too goddamn lucky.
Chapter 7
From his parked car across the street from Rainer’s apartment building, Ezekiel watched Rainer digging through a dumpster. He was cursing around the filter of a cigarette, tossing garbage bags out of the dumpster after h
olding them up to examine them long enough to determine whatever he was searching for was not to be found within. One of the bags hit the concrete and burst open, spilling half decayed kitchen refuse onto the pavement.
Ezekiel sipped his coffee while inside his head, a pleasant male voice narrated this wildlife documentary. In its natural habitat, the psychopath is much more volatile and prone to risk-taking behavior, such as dumpster diving in Los Angeles where one may come into contact with all manner of toxic material.
Rainer finally gave up and boosted himself out of the dumpster. He did not return the trash bags or clean up after himself. Instead, he kicked the side of the dumpster, which emitted a resounding hollow clang. His cigarette had gone out at some point, which he apparently blamed on the dumpster as well because he kicked it again.
Observe the psychopath’s inclination toward impulsive behavior and violent outbursts.
Ezekiel grinned and watched Rainer hop on one foot a couple of steps, flick his cigarette aside and limp up the stairs to the second floor. He slammed his apartment door behind him.
Ezekiel waited a minute before he got out of his car and crossed the street. He took Rainer’s dissertation on Jack the Ripper with him.
When studying the psychopath in the wild, it is best to do so from a safe distance and not to interact or interfere with the creature, the narrator in his mind said.
Ezekiel stood in front of Rainer’s door and he could hear music coming from inside. 50s rock and roll. Del Shannon; “Sea of Love.” He thought, But sometimes that shit just does not fly, and knocked on the door.
He had to wait a minute, but he could hear Rainer cursing and muttering his way to the door. Then it was yanked open and Rainer stared at him, his bright blue eyes flat and without recognition for a split second. Ezekiel watched him with lifted brows and waited for it. His expression changed, the anger disappeared, the tension faded, he pulled himself together and smiled.
The really strange thing about it was that the smile was genuine. Rainer was actually pleased to see him and that took Ezekiel a little aback.
“Agent Herod,” Rainer said. “What a nice surprise.”
Ezekiel eyed him with suspicion. Rainer was favoring his right foot and he gestured to it. “Hurt yourself?”
Rainer glanced down and shrugged. “It’s nothing,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
Ezekiel held up the book he had borrowed and offered it to him. “I came to return this,” he said. “Interesting stuff.”
Rainer took the book and continued to stand there in the open doorway, watching him expectantly. “Thank you. I’m sure it wasn’t at all helpful,” he said. “Is there something else?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you a few more questions,” Ezekiel said. “If you don’t mind.”
“I’ve got a class in a little while, but sure. Would you like to come in?”
Ezekiel blinked at him, a little surprised by the offer. If Rainer was what he believed him to be, he would guard his private space against someone like Ezekiel. He had not been expecting him to visit; he could not have cleaned up. He wouldn’t necessarily be nervous because psychopaths weren’t nervous people, but he should be reluctant to let Ezekiel inside when he had to know Ezekiel suspected him of something.
There was always a chance—a slim one—that Ezekiel was wrong about Rainer. Perhaps he was just an odd sort of person. Perhaps he was exactly what he seemed to be. He thought it unlikely, but he would need to know more about the man before he could feel completely certain. All the signs were there and Ezekiel would have liked to say that he had no doubt, but he did and as long as he did, he wouldn’t put a bullet in Rainer’s head.
Rainer watched him and, between mentally cursing Elijah to the depths of Hell for throwing out all of his clothes in the first wave of redecorating, he wondered what Ezekiel was thinking to make him hesitate like that. He could ask. He was sure he had been pleasant and polite and not the least suspicious or rude, but people were funny animals. The littlest thing could set them off.
Finally, he said, “Would you like something to drink? I have coffee.”
Ezekiel nodded and stepped inside. Rainer closed the door and went into the kitchen to get the coffee. Ezekiel was left to decide between standing by the door or following him. He chose to follow.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” Rainer said.
Ezekiel looked around. There were papers and books left out in places, but it seemed clean otherwise. There were some paint samples spread out on the heavy wood table, drop cloths inside the kitchen door, a wall where several shades of pale green had been tested and the paint had dripped on the linoleum.
Rainer gave him a mug of hot coffee and set sugar and a container of powdered creamer on the table with a spoon. Ezekiel drank his coffee black.
“You’re redecorating?” he asked.
Rainer sat down at the table. It felt rude to remain standing, so Ezekiel took the seat across from him. “Friend of mine is doing it,” Rainer said. “He insisted and I don’t really care since I won’t be paying for it, so…”
“Well, that’s…” Ezekiel trailed off.
“Yeah,” Rainer said, smiling. “I was out last night. I came home to find my clothes replaced with designer shit still bearing tags. It’s nice, but you know, I had these jeans I’d just gotten the way I really love them. You know, denim so worn they’re soft?” He made a disappointed sound and shook his head. “So, you have more questions?”
This was all getting a little too friendly for Ezekiel’s comfort. He pounced on the change of topic gratefully. “Yes,” he said. “I looked you up. The other day after we talked, I don’t know, I just wondered. Had that feeling, you might say, that something’s off.”
Rainer lifted an eyebrow and sat back in his chair, hands resting over his stomach. “And what did you find?”
“An interesting story about a murder at an academy you attended,” Ezekiel said. “A boy named David Forsythe, only fourteen years old, brutally murdered near the grounds after school let out. They didn’t find him for a month and by then the evidence, if there ever was any, had been washed away. Some of the corpse was eaten by animals.”
“I remember that,” Rainer said. “I was twelve. It was rather horrible. I don’t believe anyone was ever arrested for it, but I was a kid. I don’t really know.”
David had been a bully and his favorite target had been Thomas Bryssengur’s strange little brother. Thomas had helped Rainer hide the body.
Ezekiel stared at him for a minute and Rainer stared back, waiting for him to go on.
“No one was arrested,” Ezekiel said. “You said you were out last night. All night?”
Rainer’s lips quirked in a quick smile. “Yes. All night.”
“Where?” Ezekiel realized how that sounded and added, “If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” Rainer said. “I visited my brother. You can call him to confirm it if you like. I’ll give you the number.”
Ezekiel didn’t say anything for a while and Rainer got up to go get paper and something to write with. He scrawled Thomas’s phone numbers on the paper and passed it to him across the table. “More coffee?”
Ezekiel looked down into the mostly full cup of cooling black coffee and shook his head. “You were in therapy as a child,” he said. “The records are confidential, but you went for a while when you were six and seven. You want to tell me about it?”
Rainer sat back down at the table and leaned forward propped on his elbows, his fingers steepled before his mouth. “What are you thinking, Agent Herod?” he asked softly. “Are you wondering if I wet the bed? Started fires? I didn’t do any of those things.”
Ezekiel sat forward and leaned a little toward him, a smile playing on his mouth. “Then what did you do?”
Rainer’s smile broke into a teasing grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said, tapping his bottom lip with his index finger.
Ezekiel couldn’t help it; he smiled before he realized
he was doing it. “I would, but I don’t need to,” he said. “About five years back, there was a murder down the street. Robert Weaver. He was killed in his house and when detectives investigated, they found three bodies in his yard. Little boys between ten and twelve. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Would you believe I don’t, in fact, know the deep, dark perversions of every single person who lives on this street?” Rainer asked. “It is a very long street, after all.”
“It’s a pretty big coincidence,” Ezekiel said.
Rainer laughed. “No, it isn’t. You see patterns because you want to see them. Human brains are just made that way. It’s a shame.”
“What is?”
“For a moment I thought you might be different.”
Ezekiel eyed him thoughtfully, tempted to ask him, Different from what? but he knew. It was the subtle question within the question and a touch of insight on Rainer’s part that he did not like at all.
Different. Different from everyone else. Different like me, aren’t you? Just a little?
They didn’t usually see Ezekiel coming, but Rainer just might. It would not change his mind if he decided to end the man, but it might force him to be more careful.
“I guess I’m not,” Ezekiel said.
Rainer’s smile widened slightly, calling him a liar without saying anything at all. He picked up a pack of cigarettes from the center of the table and lit one, watching Ezekiel over the flame of his lighter while he inhaled and through the smoke as he let it out through his nose. He offered the pack to Ezekiel, but he declined.
Ezekiel stood up and turned to go. “I’ll let you get to your class,” he said. “If I have anything else, you’ll keep yourself available?”
