by J. M. Dabney
I was nervous calling Elise since I’d never really asked her for anything before. We were work buddies, not friends. But she didn’t hesitate, and without me wondering where I was going, she took me to her apartment. I was so zoned out I never got a chance to really see the outside of the place.
We didn’t speak much, she said she wasn’t sure what she could say to make this even a little bit okay. The inside of her apartment wasn’t much bigger than mine, but it was in a safe part of town, and she decorated it to feel like a real home.
While I showered she set up her couch, called Augustine and explained everything, and he told her to relay his deepest condolences and to take the week to grieve. Of course, that made me worry more. There was no way I could go back to my place; the killer saw my face. The police treated it all like I stumbled upon someone stealing my underwear, not carving into my friend.
I knew in my heart there was no way I’d be able to ever be in that apartment again. It wasn’t like Francis got sick and died in the hospital. He was murdered in the place he should be the safest. If the fear of being in there didn’t get to me, the utter depression would.
Exhaustion got the better of me and before I knew it, I was fast asleep. The smell of sauce and spices woke me, and the view out Elise’s window was dark. Night time. I’d come to fear this time of day. As a kid we believed monsters were under our beds or hiding in our closets, parents taught us that was silly and we trusted them. But monsters are real and they are in our closets and—
“You awake?” Elise’s voice was soft and the sound of her footsteps shook me from my dreaded thoughts.
“Yeah, just thinking.”
She sat beside me, worry and sympathy shown in her cornflower blue eyes. “Your thoughts aren’t a safe place to be right now, Andy.” Gently, she took my hand in her own. “I don’t have a roommate or anything. You can stay here as long as you need to. Don’t let that be something else worrying you.”
“I heard one of the cops talking at the station; he said the killer carved words into Francis’ chest and stomach.” The pounding of my heart echoed in my ears. I didn’t want to repeat them; at the same time, I didn’t want to know it all by myself. “Said he wrote ‘Come Back To Me’ in his skin.”
“Oh, Andy.” She pulled me close and wrapped me in her arms. I was tall and lanky and Elise was small and plump. It wasn’t a graceful hug, but it was one I didn’t realize I needed until her warmth thawed the chill of fear.
“Who would do that to Francis?” The tears flowed, and my already raw throat began to close. “What does any of it mean?”
“I don’t know sweetheart and I have nothing to compare it to, but you know what I do know?” She scratched the nape of my neck, and it felt nice to be comforted.
“What?”
“I know how to get through sadness. I made spaghetti, meatballs, and garlic bread. I picked up a triple chocolate cake at the bakery by work, and there’s a rom-com marathon on Lifetime. I say we stuff our faces and cry it out with Reese Witherspoon and Julia Roberts.”
Suddenly my sobs were replaced with laughter. It wasn’t going to fix anything, the fear was there, but Elise wanted to help me forget for a night and I wanted that, too.
“Sounds perfect. What can I do to help?”
We spent the next hour filling our faces with delicious carbs and then sat on the couch, each with a huge slice of chocolate cake, and began our movie marathon. At around eleven I looked over and noticed Elise was fast asleep. I grabbed the remote and changed the channel to the news. There had to be something on there about Francis. And while just thinking his name made my pulse ache, I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t real.
It wasn’t until twenty minutes into the newscast that they began to talk about it.
“What we have been able to find out is Francis Darby was brutally murdered in his apartment over Tumble Dry Cleaners last night. Police are tight lipped on this case, but a source at the police department told me it was similar to the murders six months ago. Of course, when questioned Captain Green offered ‘no comment,’ and it has us all wondering if there’s a serial killer on the loose, and what does this mean for the young men of New West City?”
I couldn’t hear anymore, hitting the button the living room was immediately washed in darkness and silence.
“What happened?” Elise jolted awake. “I fell asleep. Damn, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s late. You should go to bed. I’m going to wash up and pass out myself.” I didn’t want to tell Elise what I just saw because I didn’t want her panicking on top of everything else.
She hugged me good night and when her bedroom door closed, I turned the side lamp on and reached for my phone. I Googled everything I could find on the murders six months ago. There wasn’t much which was a little concerning, but one in the New West Gazette went into detail about the killings. It sounded exactly like Francis’ death. Words were carved into the bodies, but the reporter wasn’t able to find out what exactly. Going through the archives I found an article from two months ago, same reporter, wondering what ever happened to the killer. He spoke about his sudden disappearance speculating he left town or was killed himself.
I knew from reading this that the killer was back and for some reason, Francis was his latest victim.
Scouring both articles, I searched for anything that could help. A name, a location, someone aside from the reporter who knew and would believe me that I was in serious danger.
Captain Green appeared often, but another name was repeated almost as much. Detective Raymond Clancy. He was lead on the case before the killer disappeared. I wondered if he would be taking over again since the murderer was back?
Doing a search for him didn’t give me much with the police force. I wondered if he’d retired or quit? I scrolled a little more, eventually finding Raymond Clancy, Private Investigator. There was a number and address. It was too late to do anything about it now, but first thing in the morning I was calling him.
I wasn’t able to shut the light off beside me, and I checked and double checked all the locks in Elise’s apartment. I knew the killer saw my face and I’d told the police. They had told me they would have a police car drive around Elise’s apartment, and to let them know when I started back to work and a police presence would be there.
It was the most concern I’d seen from any of them. How could they not be more caring that my life was in danger, that I’d just witnessed the only person in my life that mattered slaughtered before my eyes? A quick glance of my clothes answered that question. They likely saw me as a poor guy, not important to society. Not realizing I was a man saving for a better life. To them I was barely worth the man hours. Well, I happened to like living and wanted to do it for at least another seventy years. Tomorrow, I’d call this Raymond Clancy and see about him swapping some information and maybe, if I was really lucky, he’d help to keep me alive.
4
Ray
I scrubbed my tired eyes as I entered the Medical Examiner’s Office. It was morbidly comforting to be in a familiar place. The scents of antiseptic and death bringing back memories. I missed my old life. Since it was still early the staff was at a minimum, but I knew Donnelly practically lived in his office.
Strolling through the halls, I checked the windows into each autopsy room and when I didn’t find him, I made my way to his office. The door was slightly ajar, and I felt my lips pull into a grin at the sight in front of me. Donnelly’s head tilted back with his hair sticking up in all directions and his glasses crooked as he snored. .
“We don’t pay you to sleep on the job,” I yelled as I pushed the door open to bang against the wall.
Donnelly was on his feet and straightening his jacket before he realized it was me.
“You bastard.” Donnelly cleared his throat. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Your new D.B. and don’t tell me you can’t talk to me.”
“Have I ever said I couldn’t?”
&
nbsp; “Nope.” I walked into the room and plopped down on the chair with its peeling and cracked vinyl seat.
I waited while Donnelly retook his seat and leaned forward to place his forearms on his desk. When I’d left the force, I’d told myself I would keep in touch with friends. That was until I no longer had my badge and I wasn’t part of the club anymore. The friends I’d thought I had turned out to be nothing more than acquaintances. That made life lonely as fuck.
“First things first, how you doing?”
I was getting tired of that question. How am I doing? Every answer I had would turn out to be nothing but a lie. Although, the truth wasn’t much better. “I’m good. Exciting life of a P.I. and all that.”
“You fucking hate it, Ray. I know you do or you wouldn’t be here wanting to snoop.”
“Same guy?”
“You don’t lead up, just go right in for the kill. Learn a little foreplay, maybe that’s why you’re still single.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes; I didn’t want to talk about my sex life any more than I did how I was doing.
“It’s similar.”
“Don’t make me have to pull teeth.”
“First instinct, same guy.”
Donnelly was a thirty-year veteran of the M.E.’s office. I’d trusted his gut plenty of times over the years.
“Can I get a look at the report?”
Donnelly didn’t wait before he tossed the autopsy finding across the desk. I grabbed the file and studied it slowly. It was easy enough to see the case matched the ones I’d worked, but the killer seemed to have left the job undone.
“He’s never been this sloppy before. Facial disfigurement. No signs of sexual abuse. The removal of the penis wasn’t done this time, but it seems he was in the middle of doing it. What happened?” I finished reading the file and wanted to get my hands on the case file so bad but knew that wouldn’t happen. I closed the folder and placed it back on Donnelly’s desk.
“Interrupted. Kid’s roommate came home from working late. Word is the kid ran. Killer chased. He hid out in some twenty-four-hour place.” Donnelly spoke as he stood, and I watched him pour two cups of coffee.
“Do you know the kid’s name?”
“Not a clue. Upstairs is being hush-hush. The brass’ asses are so tight they couldn’t fart if they wanted to, and it’s only going to get worse. I don’t know why the guy stopped, but—”
Donnelly turned back to me and stopped talking as he handed me the chipped white mug.
“But what?”
“Did you ever think about the coincidence of the killings stopping when you were kicked off the force?”
I hadn’t, killers got caught for different crimes or moved on to another city. Maybe waited for the heat to die down if they thought someone was getting too close. It wasn’t unheard of for a serial to go underground for years, decades, and then restart.
“It hadn’t. Who says he stopped? Maybe he changed his M.O. or moved on.”
“Could be, but you’re being obtuse. Let’s play What-If.”
Donnelly didn’t look like a man well into his fifties when he got that slightly maniacal youthful glee at the prospect of playing armchair detective. The man had my back and let me look at the file, the least I could do was play along.
“I hate that fucking game.”
Okay, I wasn’t going to concede gracefully.
“You love it and it feeds my Detective Envy, so do it.”
“Fine.” I took a sip of my coffee and waited for Donnelly to start his favorite game.
“What if he went underground because you weren’t on the case anymore?” Donnelly asked.
“Then shouldn’t there have been more personal messages from him? Gifts? Letters sent to the precinct or left at the scenes?” That was the big thing. If the guy wanted to draw me out, wouldn’t there have been more contact outside the murders and just hoping I showed up to investigate? I never felt like a target.
“He was only three murders into his spree. Unlike you, maybe he knows what foreplay is.”
“Could we just leave my skills out of this conversation?” At this point I was so out of practice I wouldn’t know what to do with a man if I had him in my bed. People loved dating cops, Badge Bunnies were a thing and I’d had my share. I gave my head a rough shake at my thoughts.
“Did I hit a nerve, Ray?”
“Let’s move on, next what-if.”
“What about the new part of the M.O., the words carved into the chest. ‘Come back to me.’”
“Maybe a copycat. Someone who knows some of the details. Cops with loose lips talking in public and someone wanted to take out an ex, and the best way to do that is frame another killer.”
“You’re not making this fun for me.”
“I didn’t think that was part of the game.”
“I’m being serious here, Ray, what if he’s back for you? That you’re his actual target.”
“Wouldn’t his victims look like me? Similar build and age, not twenty-something kids. And the club, the blacklight stamps for Epiphany. That’s his hunting ground. That’s a place I don’t go and never have, except for a few times for the case. Harlon Gadsby, the owner, and his husband are the only ones I spoke with.”
Gadsby was about my age. Married with a husband half his age and the husband managed Epiphany. Both the men had been more than helpful when I’d spoken with them. I hadn’t gotten that creepy vibe off either of them. The two men seemed very much in love. You could tell a lot about someone from their body language. The two men had hovered near each other as if gravity pulled them together. I’d quickly marked them off the suspect list.
“I still think it’s something to consider whether you think it’s farfetched or not.”
“Sorry, Donnelly, I don’t see it. If there was some evidence that he was calling me out then I’d agree, but at best you made a circumstantial case.”
“Men have been sentenced to death on nothing more than circumstantial evidence.”
I remained silent as I finished off my tepid coffee, and then leaned forward to set the mug on his desk. I straightened and realized I had more questions than answers, but this was as far up the chain of command as I could go. Green wasn’t going to let me anywhere near the case, and as fucked up as it was, cops who worked serial cases were territorial. Finding a serial killer was newsworthy, got your name in the headlines. Famous by association.
“Would you keep me in the loop? Just let me know if another body comes in.”
“Will do, I’ll ask around and see what I can come up with for you.”
“Who do they have on the case?”
I asked in the hopes it was an acquaintance, maybe someone who owed me a favor.
“Green took lead last night. I don’t think anyone has been assigned yet. As far as I know, they’re still working it as a completely unrelated case.”
I had no doubt that more bodies would start showing up. Then a piece of information from earlier came to mind, there was a witness. Possibly a roommate or boyfriend of the victim, that made me wonder if they’d put him out in the cold. I doubted Green would be human enough to assign protection. I made a mental note to pick up a paper on my way back to my office.
“I appreciate the help, Donnelly. Being friends with me could be career suicide.”
“No, Ray, they fucked you over with that case. You’d made plenty of enemies. Even I saw that frame job a mile away. You were a good cop. I never doubted that.”
My chest tightened, not many people had defended me, but it was nice to hear someone who believed I was innocent on my character alone.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem. I still got your number. If I hear anything, you’ll know it.”
I nodded and said my goodbyes. The walk back to my non-descript, shit colored car was made at a slow pace as I went over the details in my head. I lifted the handle and grimaced at the grating creak of the hinges. Everything around me was falling apart, my car, my house, an
d the building where I had my office. It wasn’t anything new, six months ago, my life had spiraled.
I got into the driver’s seat and jerked the door closed. Luckily, my car still ran like it was new, and I made my way across the city to my office. When I exited my car, I made sure to grab my camera to print off the newest set of pictures. I’d worked the case for two weeks, and there was more than enough evidence to prove my client’s wife was fucking around.
Maybe my client got off on being cuckolded. Everyone had their kink. As long as my client’s checks kept clearing I’d take the money. Right now, my pride wasn’t as important as having a place to live. That thought depressed me and I ran up the steps to my office, using my key to unlock the door. When I entered, I kicked the door closed and tossed my camera on a nearby chair.
I dragged a large corkboard from the corner and positioned it in front of my couch. I made quick work of starting a timeline. Using printer paper, I drew large question marks to indicate the killer, newest victim, and the unnamed witness. I found my old notebook and wrote down more facts on paper to tack them to the board.
By the time I was done, I had the basics and hopefully, with Donnelly’s help, I could fill in more in the days to come. Like always, I knew there would be more, but how many more? That’s what terrified me. How many had to die before the department would get their heads out of their asses?
I took a seat in my office chair and opened my laptop to start researching. I needed to do a national search to see if the killer had stopped or prove Donnelly right that the guy was after me. If that were true, then I had the blood of those young men on my hands for some reason only known by the killer.
These kids had died for something I’d done or at least the killer’s perceived wrong that I’d perpetrated. I hated the unknowns and what-ifs. This was up to me to solve, if the killer was after me then this was my problem. I couldn’t let another young man die because of me.
