Layla would deny the dictates of Fate and Fortune. Dare I let that stand?
Does Natasha get a say in the matter? I should question her about this, but first, I need a conclusion for myself. I can force either action, whether it obeys their wishes or not. Do people given a second chance get to reject the gift held forth? Logic says, yes. By allowing them the chance to choose who dies first, do I relinquish any power, or do I gain by it?
Power must be seized and flaunted where possible.
I know just where to place my drowned friend, but she’ll need to wait in the freezer until I need her.
Chapter 29:
Scratch-off Killer
FBI Field Office
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
“How?” Special Agent in Charge Louis Hatcher’s eyes were the locked-on-target, destruction-imminent sort this morning.
Randomly, Sam Kerman’s mind flew back to his childhood watching a cartoon version of Peter Pan. He knew what his boss wanted, but he didn’t have a satisfactory answer. If he insisted the leak wasn’t him, he’d sound pathetic.
“I’m not sure, sir,” he said.
A copy of the Philadelphia Inquirer sat on Hatcher’s desk between them, facing Sam with the large headline: WHO IS THE SCRATCH-OFF KILLER? He’d read the article. It claimed that “a source close to the investigation” had confirmed that dust from lottery tickets had been found at multiple crime scenes.
“If I find out it’s one of my people, I’ll bury ’em so far in the basement their ears’ll pop from the pressure,” Hatcher declared. The man’s nostrils flared like a bull about to charge.
“Yes, sir,” said Sam. “What would you like me to do?”
Hatcher drew his hands down his face, looking more weary than angry by the time his hands reached his chin.
“Cat’s out of the bag,” he muttered to the air. Refocusing on Sam, he added, “We’re on damage control now. You’ve got a 1 o’clock interview with Kim Riley.”
“Should I confirm or deny?” asked Sam.
“Confirm the detail then help her appeal to the public for information,” Hatcher instructed. “Meanwhile, have your people start canvassing lottery retailers in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Washington, D.C., and Virginia.”
Sam’s eyes widened. The list matched the one he had prepared, but having it spoken aloud drove home the point of how futile it seemed.
“Agent Okiro will help you coordinate with the locals, but I want you to personally follow up on the best leads. Do you have any other angles to follow?” Hatcher’s glare lost some of its punch, but that was the extent of his sympathy.
“Dr. Kumar at the lab has been performing some tests to narrow the search,” said Sam, happy to have something to offer. “I need to check in with him.”
“Good, I’ll have a word with him as well, but don’t be late to your interview. Anything else?”
“After the cabin incident, I put in a request for the Behavioral Science Unit to put together a profile,” Sam admitted. “That should be arriving sometime today or tomorrow.”
Hatcher nodded briefly.
“I’ll give their SAC a call to light a fire under them. You’ll have the report by the end of the day,” Hatcher promised. “Is there anybody else you need me to motivate?”
Sam shook his head, unable to think of anybody else, but he liked this helpful side of his boss. As he rose to get back to work, Sam thought of one thing he needed.
“Are any of the small conference rooms free today?” asked Sam. “I’d like to make my phone calls in complete privacy.”
“Check with Dawn,” said Hatcher. “She’ll take care of you.”
Within ten minutes, Dawn Hopper arranged for Sam to take over Special Agent Emilio Vega’s office. The agent was currently on vacation in the Bahamas and wouldn’t need his office for the next few days. It felt strange to sit in another man’s chair, but Sam soon got past the awe. He’d refrained from bothering Dr. Kumar since that frantic midnight call-to-action Saturday night, but the news article gave him an excuse to check up on the man’s progress.
The scientist answered on the second ring.
“It was not me,” he said, before Sam could even blurt out a greeting.
“It doesn’t matter who it was at this point,” Sam noted, “but it gives us a chance to do a wider appeal to the public.”
“That is not necessary,” said Dr. Kumar. “The last few confirmation tests are running now. I would have called you soon anyway.”
“What did you find?” Sam’s question came out in a rush.
“I’d rather not say until the tests are finished,” said the scientist.
“If they’re for confirmation, you’re pretty sure of your theory,” Sam pointed out with obvious impatience. Time with Jenn had taught Sam that science people loved to share their knowledge. “Tell me.”
“The closest chemical match for the dust found at the crime scenes are tickets from New Hampshire, Texas, Oregon, and New Jersey,” Dr. Kumar reported.
Sam’s mind mentally smacked down each suggestion then seized upon the last possibility. It had to be New Jersey. He supposed someone could stock up on lottery tickets, drive down from New Hampshire or fly up from Texas, and go on a murdering spree before returning home. But easy answers tended to be right answers.
“Can you narrow it down any more?” Sam asked hopefully.
“I called lottery officials in each state. They would not confirm much, but I believe each state uses the same factory to manufacture their tickets,” explained Dr. Kumar. “The four states mentioned have formulas for scratch-off material that is similar to your crime scenes. I have not checked tickets from every state, so I could not tell you these are the only ones.”
“Have you checked Pennsylvania, New York, DC, Delaware, and Virginia?” Sam asked. “Those are the other likely places our killer could hale from.”
“I did check those,” confirmed the scientist. “No match.”
After thanking the scientist profusely, Sam checked the time. He still had almost four hours before the interview, so he decided to track down Adana. The lottery ticket retailers in New Jersey would need to be canvassed, but Sam wanted to know as much about this guy as possible before they started asking questions. If they failed to ask the right question, they could miss the chance to identify their suspect. This was inherently a long shot, but the evidence showed this wasn’t a casual scratch-off ticket player. He would be a regular somewhere, perhaps several places.
Somebody out there has seen this guy.
One would hope lottery ticket sellers would notice their regular customers, especially those who spent a lot of money on the games. Sam wondered if that part was true. Did the killer spend an unusual amount of money on tickets? The weight of Sam’s job landed on him anew. Orders from him would change the day for many agents and policemen across the state next door. What if he was wrong?
He needed a second opinion.
Finding Adana, Sam pulled her into his temporary new digs, brought her up to date, and asked for her thoughts on the matter.
“I agree with you,” she said, after letting a long, uncomfortable silence reign a while. “Somebody who plays enough that he’s leaving shavings on bodies will be known to the few places he frequents.”
“Can you handle the search?” Sam asked, knowing it was a monumental task.
“Yes, but I recommend using the hotline too,” said Adana.
Sam made a face. When he’d been a brand new baby agent they’d stuck him on a two-month hotline tour, which translated to time listening to crazy people air conspiracy theories. The disgust had never quite worn off.
“I know it catches a lot of nonsense,” said Adana, correctly reading his expression, “but it will be easier than going store to store, even if we could identify every place with a lottery license.”
“I’ll mention it in my interview,” Sam said, letting his tone convey his reluctance.
“Surprise Ms. Riley
with that news at the end,” Agent Okiro suggested. “She enjoys leaving her readers with a sense of suspense and giving them a chance to help. The paper has enough readers in central and southern New Jersey to help, but I’ll also create a press release to distribute tomorrow.”
“Why wait?” Sam asked. They would lose a whole day on the search if they put off their public plea until tomorrow.
“Politics,” Adana said succinctly.
Sam’s face reddened with anger.
Adana held up a hand to delay his reaction.
“I don’t like that aspect either, but it’s the only reason we received an early edition of the paper they intend to run tomorrow.”
“Early edition?” Sam echoed, stunned.
“Didn’t you check the date?” Adana asked. She waved the papers he hadn’t realized she’d been holding. One was a copy of the newspaper he’d seen earlier and the other was a plain manila folder.
“No,” Sam admitted. That explained why Hatcher hadn’t chewed him out completely. “Why would they send us a copy?”
“It’s a common tactic. The article’s vague and full of questions. They know if they ask us nicely, there’s a small chance we’ll make their day. It doesn’t always work, but this time, it got Ms. Riley her interview with you. Speaking of which, I’m told I should prepare you for that, but first, this was faxed from DC.” Adana handed Sam the manila folder.
Whipping it open, Sam skimmed the profile. Most of it he already knew: likely a white male age 28-42 with a high affinity for technology. He’d practically told them that much. A statement near the end caught his attention.
Unknown Subject is probably a compulsive gambler. He enjoys taking risks as evidenced by multiple public areas for dumping bodies. He likes games of chance, but needs a sense of control over the game. His gambling may be confined to online opportunities or lottery tickets. If the latter, he will likely buy in bulk, perhaps even purchase a whole roll. He may be using them to make decisions. I.e. Does she live or die today?
When requesting the report, Sam had not known the gambler angle. It felt good to get third party confirmation.
“Did you read this?” Sam asked Adana.
“I did,” she confirmed, “and I agree with the conclusion.”
Sam read on to get to that conclusion:
Unknown Subject is likely to escalate until caught. Although many serial killers are average and blend well with society, this subject exhibits a high degree of movement. If he has a day job it’s either computer based or involves making deliveries that include the body sites. There’s a high chance he resides within a 50-mile radius of the affected areas. He may keep an online blog or diary to anonymously gain fame for his deeds.
Head snapping up, Sam stared at Adana.
“How would we check something like that?”
“I’ve already set the cyber agents on the hunt,” said Adana. “Jordan loaned us two agents for the task, Fritz and Keagan, and he promised to keep me informed of their progress.”
Sam didn’t like delegating so much, but the level of technical expertise needed for that task was far beyond him.
“All right. Let’s go beat the bushes to find our gambler,” he said.
Chapter 30:
The Apprentice Test
The Killer’s Lair
Undisclosed Location
Day 6: Late evening.
I got so wrapped up in the latest moral questions that I forgot to give an update about getting an apprentice. Several days ago, I realized I’ve been going about this very wrong. My initial hope was to turn one of my captives into an apprentice, but I haven’t the patience for slowly breaking down their will.
Of my current captives, only Layla would have the backbone to work for me, but her disposition is completely wrong. Worse, I think she may be religious. The cameras catch her sitting in a corner with her eyes closed muttering to herself or quietly comforting her friend. She’s chosen her role as sacrifice, and I respect that. It will buy her friend a few extra days on Earth. The one to live is allergic to peanut butter, but I’ve enough other options to weather the inconvenience.
It’s not quite time to kill Layla. It should go without saying that bodies keep better while alive. The freezer option works, but it can be troublesome, especially when one puts in a soaking-wet drowned body.
What I need is somebody who already appreciates my work and wants to help expand the cause. Normally, this process should take months or even years because rushing in will only lead to trouble. However, I have the advantage in that I already know some likely candidates from years frequenting the same forums.
Psycho67 would be my first pick, but he’s not the kind of man to take orders. I need someone willing to learn and grow with me. He must be of a like mind. It amuses me that when I dig deep into the background of those who visit the Dark Web most often, I find them to be from every walk of life. Politicians and law enforcement personnel are well-represented in my world.
The Dark Web has many levels. On the surface, one finds posers and fantasy lovers, those who enjoy the thrill of pretending to indulge their darker impulses. Many “normal” people are attracted to the shadowy cyber world because it breaks up the monotony of their boring lives. A level beneath this, you will find the marketplace, which mostly attracts the shady consumers. Those wishing to buy illegal drugs or guns but who can’t or won’t get off their sorry behinds to hit the streets and make the proper contacts can be found here.
The third, fourth, and fifth rings down start getting more serious. This is the modern manifestation of a medieval guild, where one must prove their worth before being accepted into the fold. Everyone in the fifth ring must be sponsored by an established member. Psycho67 was my sponsor. I don’t know how long he’d been a member before me. I too have sponsored a few worthy individuals, but I’ve not kept close contact with them.
I’m currently in the fifth ring of the Dark Web. I’m told there is a sixth and seventh ring, but I’m not privy to them. These written accounts are my application essay for the sixth ring. It’s not about number of kills. It’s about the thought and the appreciation for the craft.
Attracting an apprentice will be a big step forward in proving my worth. One must have a following. This isn’t a problem. There are millions in the first and second levels who endorse their favorite stories. I think half the fools think them fiction. The program changes key details and names, of course, and publishes them in regions unlikely to be affected by the events. It even translates them as necessary.
What am I looking for in an apprentice?
He—or she, for now I’ll keep an open mind—must have attained the fourth level of the Dark Web. This means the individual has a proven record of ending another life. That’s not hard to obtain, for we allow soldiers, mercenaries, assassins, and other professionals to count their government sanctioned kills. I’m sure the other rings have people who would devote themselves to me and my work, but I haven’t the time to teach a complete newcomer.
My apprentice must be loyal and willing to take orders blindly. I will not reveal myself for a prescribed time. I’m sure some of the people lurking here have hidden agendas. If he gets caught, I’ll not have someone who will rush to a plea deal at my expense.
When I put out the official call several days ago detailing my requirements, I received five applications immediately. Three were worthless, not even meeting the most basic requirements. I’ve kept the other two to look into further. Since then, I’ve built up a list of seven more potential candidates. Their occupations range from secondary physical education teacher to police officer to truck driver to rich widow to barista. There’s even a prison guard, a professional clown, and two taxi drivers. Many more applications were rejected because they’re not working in the same area I am.
I’m inclined to trust the uniformed applicants more than the others, but these nine have earned the right to take my test. As I’m a firm believer in there being more than one right answer, I shall
give them several options for passing this exam.
The FBI agent is a little dull as a nemesis, but one does not control such things. I did some research and found out a possible reason he may have drawn a case like this. He’s former military. The talking heads just love their soldier boys. Women must dig them too. I’m surprised Mel has stuck around so long. Guess he’s okay to look at, but she’s got to be on a different plane in terms of intelligence.
Their relationship must end, but I’ll handle that part myself. He’s not good enough for her. Half the time he ignores her in favor of chasing me. Mel deserves a man who can give her his full attention, and treat her like a princess.
Making the lottery ticket connection was unexpected and a point in Kerman’s favor, but I do not know if it was his triumph or something accomplished by the vast resources he can access. The story hasn’t officially released but chatter from several news sources confirms it will break tomorrow.
The body in the freezer may need to come out soon. I’m ready to make my next statement. It’s good that he does not scare easily, but I do wish he took me seriously. We’re drawn together like stars locked in a gravitational embrace. If this keeps on, there will be a crash. That’s why I need to get Mel away from him.
It would be lame of me to order the agent assassinated from afar, but it’s fair game for the candidates to capture him. Same goes for his sister. Jennifer Kerman reminds me a bit of Mel. They both have brown hair, though Mel’s has golden streaks at the tips. My sister’s far more beautiful, but pictures of the young woman easily capture a wholesome goodness in her. She wears little makeup and her nose is slightly larger than it ought to be, but instead of making her awkward, they add to the earthy quality.
I may even have Mel brought to me, though I certainly wouldn’t harm her. I’d like to see her. It’s hard to fight so long for someone who does not know the real you.
In the interest of giving my potential apprentices options, I’ll open up the field to include Special Agents Adana Okiro and T.J. Newhouse. I might even settle for dead or alive on the last two. I hesitate to mention that because people are not always bright. They may rush off in a frenzy and accidentally kill those I wish taken alive. Much as I want to see Mel in person, I’ll not risk her life. Perhaps she should be barred from the first round. Once I have an established apprentice, that can be his first job for me.
Scratched Off Page 19
