“Great,” Tyler said and waited for it.
“He’s being held under counter-terrorism charges pending an ongoing investigation,” Lewis said, the pomp and self-importance of his being able to get this information unmistakable.
“Wow,” Tyler said, sounding impressed (he wasn’t, he’d figured this would be the case) “What is the investigation?” This was the big part and if Tyler could get some eyes on this, his newspaper and his own career would be set for a long time to come.
“I’m afraid that was a dead end,” Lewis said, “I couldn't find a single thing about it, but I’ll keep on looking.”
“Please do,” Tyler said, “But what you have on Danny answers a lot of questions and will give me some new avenues to explore.”
“I look forward to reading them in the ‘Echo’” Lewis said and with that he slid to the opposite door he’d gotten in from and was gone without another word. Tyler got the impression, Lewis might think he was slipping away like some ninja into a masking cloud, but in reality he was cumbersome and slow getting out despite his seemingly rapid movements of arms and legs. Tyler couldn't complain though, Lewis had been good in the past and he was eager to please and just as eager to show off the information he had access to.
It was unlikely he would find out anything more about the investigation the FBI were ‘secretly’ running into a suspected mass serial killer (aka Dwight Spalding). That investigation had been closed off to any of Tyler’s informants and from what Sarah had said there were very, very few people involved in an effort to stem any leaking of the story to the media. He had to admit it was the best case of covert policing he’d ever seen. Tyler hadn’t been able to get so much as a sniff of the investigation from any of his sources.
Before setting off for his home, Tyler scanned the news on his phone. There had been another farmer murder in Virginia and he cursed himself for not being there right now. He clicked on to the TV coverage and saw the usual red and blue flashing lights as the camera zoomed and strained to see what was going on in and around the farmhouse a couple of hundred yards back from the road.
The reporter was the first on the scene and was giving a rundown on what she knew so far- which wasn’t much and was as likely as not to be in need of correcting later on, but as she spoke, Tyler saw on screen a familiar shape emerge from the building. The camera panned to the door and focused, hoping, Tyler was sure, to see white faced and shaken officers coming out. Instead there was one woman, the calm and poised but determined face of Sarah Brightwater.
“You’re looking well, Sarah,” Tyler said, though he could tell she was tired. He wondered if she had been able to find out anything on the case that should have been hers. Would she share with him if she had? Unlikely; their dangerous collaboration had come to an end when Davis was arrested. Tyler guessed Sarah had been living in fear since then about what might happen if her superiors found out she’d been hiding things from them during the ‘John the Baptist’ case.
She didn’t have anything to fear from Tyler, he wasn’t going to say anything and he was sure she knew that. He wasn’t the only person who knew though, that was the kicker. Davis had been somehow in on what they’d been doing, and ‘The Monster’ seemed to know everything Davis did too, so there was no telling for sure how the information could get to the FBI if someone wanted it to.
This brought Tyler’s mind around to the silence of the anonymous tipster since Davis had been arrested. Every day since, Tyler had been expecting a letter or a phone call where the harsh metallic voice would tell him something no one else knew yet.
Tyler didn’t think it was Davis once the identity of that killer came out and he still didn’t think it. He was sure it was part of a larger thing, perhaps the ‘Monster’ case, but he couldn’t be sure. He did hope so, though. Getting in on that would be a major boon for his career and for the book on serial killers he was currently writing.
Tyler had run the idea of visiting incarcerated killers like he had with Stewart ‘The Spider’ Spekler, and using the bulk of the interviews in the newspaper and saving some juicy bits for the book. The new editor, Calvin Briggs, jumped at the idea. Tyler was his star and he didn’t want to give him any reason to leave the newspaper. Tyler’s inside knowledge on Davis had seen the sales of ‘The Baltimore Echo’ rocket into the stratosphere since the trial.
Now that the major fuss of the murders had died down, Briggs was starting to organise the visits all over the country. It wouldn’t be long before Tyler was on the road a lot, and he was looking forward to it. Meeting these people would be fascinating and he knew he was going to love it.
Still, he thought turning the key and bringing the car back to life, he better get home for some sleep before he started looking into the farmyard murders in the morning. He would have some catching up to do on the other reporters, but perhaps there was a personal connection he might be able to leverage to make up the deficit.
Chapter 4
CARSON LEMOND HAD NEVER been so scared in his life. He didn’t know what to do. At first he wanted to go home, grab a shower and get out of these bloodstained clothes, but that was insanity. The police would be at his door before he even got there, waiting to shoot him at the first provocation. Something at the back of his mind was telling him just to go to the police himself. He hadn’t killed Jeff; if he told them the truth surely the evidence would exonerate him?
Carson’s mind played out this scenario for him to show him how bad an idea this really was. You want to walk into a police station, covered in the victim’s blood, carrying the murder weapon, having threatened to kill this man only earlier today in front of multiple witnesses (after beating him up) and you tell them the real killer was some big huge guy who was in the bathroom? Does that sound about right?
But it’s true, he protested but the idea was whipping away in the wind like the trash it was. They would never believe a guy like him. The police knew him from previous assaults and robberies and they would just assume he’d made the natural progression to murder and was too stupid to cover it up. He would be in jail for life and that would be the end of any dreams he might have for his future.
The night was cooling and the blood was hardening on his clothes making them uncomfortable as well as disgusting. He had to get out of them. He carried on through some more alleyways and then saw a couple of concrete apartment buildings he recognised. The people were poor enough there that any clothes drying that went on was outdoors. At any time of the day or night clotheslines would flutter with drying and he should be able to grab something temporary there.
Carson stopped at the street corner; he was going to have to make a dash across a wide road and then a derelict site of a former small playground long since vandalised beyond recognition. He wasn’t too worried about anyone from the apartments seeing him as they saw violence every day and might not even bat an eyelid at him. People on the street though, in the cars passing by could be trouble. This was unlikely but possible; but it was really a cop he was looking for. There was no way a cop was going to ignore someone running from an alley and ducking into the apartments covered in blood.
The coast looked clear, and Carson took a deep breath and sprinted for all he was worth. Car horns honked him as he passed in front of the headlights-no one actually came close to hitting him, but people can be very annoyed about having to slow down when they are driving, especially in a place like this one.
He continued his run even after getting to the other side and then decided to let his momentum take him over the knee high wall that separated the apartment compound from the street. As he’d expected sheets and clothes hung all over. He ripped through grabbing a few things (no one was stupid enough to leave any of their decent clothes down here on the ground floor- he’d have to take whatever he got).
“Hey! Give that back, asshole!” someone shouted at him but it was from a higher floor and no running footsteps came to his ears of anyone in pursuit.
“Fuck you!” Carson called b
ack in an almost gleeful way, the giddiness of his theft getting the better of him. This had been his trouble all along. For a moment, he even forgot why he needed these clothes at all.
When the reality seeped back into his mind, though, the buzz dropped at once and again he was running scared. He went to a gap in the metal railings of Druid Hill Park, and made for one of the ornate fountains there.
The place was thankfully deserted and Carson dropped to his knees and took off his bloody shirt. He washed his hands and dried them quickly with the back of the shirt and then checked in his coat to see that the money was still there. It was fine and for that he felt blessed. It was what was going to keep him going for now. Ten grand could be spread pretty far if he was hiding out.
Next he unwrapped his coat the rest of the way and took out the long knife. He looked it over a moment and marvelled at how long the blade was; he would have trouble trying to use this to stab someone. Looking around to be sure no one was observing him, Carson then dipped it into the water and started to clean it up with one of the garments he’d stolen from the apartment clotheslines. He carried out this work for a full minute before deciding he’d probably managed to get any fingerprints of his off it. He then put it in the fountain base, letting the water come all the way up to his shoulder and placed it on the concrete bed as close to the wall as he could. It would be fairly well hidden here, but someone would find it at some point, but by then Carson would be long gone.
He washed in the cold water and dried off as best he could and then put on the ill-fitting clothes- really baggy pants and a shirt that was too tight, and still carrying his jacket he left the park by a different route than he came in.
Life seemed different now; there was no doubt that the police would still be looking for him, but without the blood soaked clothes and the murder weapon like an albatross around his neck, he felt freerer than he had in a long time. Was this the effect of the adrenaline wearing off?
As he walked the streets, glad to be at least out of the alleys, Carson saw a payphone that looked like it was in working order- a rarity in this day and age. He lifted the receiver and there was a dial tone. Depositing some coins into the slot, he contemplated who to call and settled on Giggsy as the last coin dropped. He dialled the number, proud of himself for still being able to remember people's phone numbers with all the smartphone use the last few years. It rang for what seemed like an age to him and Carson was just about to put the phone down when it was answered.
“Yeah?” the languid voice of Giggsy came on the line.
“Giggsy, it’s me,” he said urgently though at the same time whispering and holding his hand over his mouth as though he feared being lip-read.
“Who?” the lazy reply came back, no sense of urgency at all at the other end of the phone.
“It’s me,” he said again, “Carson.” This woke Giggsy up,
“Oh shit, Carson, you are in deep shit!” he said.
“I know, I know,” Carson said but then caught himself, it had only been a few hours since he fled the back door of ‘Vito’s’ how would Giggsy know about that already? Was his name all over the news? Was there a huge manhunt about to start up? “Wait, what do you mean I’m in deep shit?” he asked.
“Jeff Suchet is dead,” Gisggsy said and the police went to the Castino's about it.”
“Why?” This didn’t make sense to Carson at all. He’d been the one who assaulted Jeff earlier in the day, not one of the Family’s usual; goons.
“They heard about a debt collection that went bad today and are asking the family about it. They know it was you who beat the shit out of Jeff and made sure everyone knew about it and the connection to them. They’re seriously pissed at you right now!” Now it made sense, but it also made things much worse.
“They looking for me?” he asked, hoping against hope for an answer he knew he wasn’t going to get.
“Of course,” Gigsy said like it was nothing. “If you’re still in town, get out now and never come back is my advice.” He was right of course; the police might take him in, stitch him up for the murder and have him sent to jail for the rest of his life, but the Castino's would not be so good to him. It would be a long slow torture from them followed by a gruesome death, something to send a message to any other fool who tried to act on their behalf or brought the cops to their door. Things were a million times worse for Carson now, and once more the idea of going to the police and fighting for his innocence was becoming appealing.
Chapter 5
SARAH WAS SITTING AT her desk at the FBI Academy near Quantico the morning after being at the scene of the latest farmyard killing. She was looking over the crime scene photographs and comparing them to the other two previous murders. It was the random objects that were taking in her focus. She was looking for a pattern in the way they had been placed on the floor, or some commonality between objects at different sites. She spoke the objects' names aloud, hoping to perhaps hear something in the words that might spark something, but on and on she went and still all she could see were random things tossed across a dusty farmhouse floor.
Leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes from the computer screen strain, Sarah noticed there was a letter on the in-tray on Malick’s desk. There hadn’t been anything there for many months and it pleased her to see this. It was the clearest indication yet that he was really coming back this week. She would be delighted to have him back in her corner.
“Brightwater!” the booming voice of Special Agent in Charge Bobrick shouted from his glassed office. Sarah sighed and got to her feet. Since being denied work on the case she really wanted, there hadn’t been much excitement in her when summoned to Bobrick’s office. He wasn’t going to give her her case and that was the only thing she wanted from him. Still, he could surprise her yet.
“Yes, Sir,” Sarah said, standing in the doorway. Bobrick looked up from some papers and nodded to the chair in front of his desk before looking back to the papers and cribbing his signature on it.
“Get rid of the sad sack attitude,” he said as Sarah sat down. “You’re doing good work.” Reprimand and reward, she thought, and then ‘Good work on what? Nothing’s been solved for months. No leads on the current case either.’
“Sir?” she didn’t mean it to come out as a question but it did. Bobrick looked at her and she saw vexation cloud his eyes.
“I’ve got a new case for you,” he said, scanning his desk a moment before taking up a file and tossing it into her lap.
“I’m still working on the farmer murders,” she said- something that sounded so strange to her each time; she wished the newspapers or Tyler would come up with a better name she could use.
“Now you’re on this too,” he said toneless. “Anyway, it’s not the first time you’ve had more than one active case.” That was certainly true. Sarah opened the file and was surprised to be greeted with a mugshot of a man called Carson Lemond. A quick scan of the contents showed he was the suspect.
“We know who did this?” she asked, unable to mask her confusion.
“We think so,” Bobrick said, “He looks very good for the last of three murders all committed in the same way in Baltimore in the last three weeks.”
“He’s at large?” She was looking at the crime scene shots now, dead men on toilets, how disgusting.
“Yes, I want you to head up the hunt,” Bobrick said and Sarah could hear some joy in his voice. She looked at him and his eyes showed that same joy, like a father watching a child open a Christmas present.
“Why?” she asked, already thinking about how this was going to impact the farmer’s case.
“You need some chase in you, Brightwater,” Bobrick said, “You’ve been in the mud since we took the Stanver/Roche case from you and you need perking up. This ought to do it.” Her pain laid bare like that stung and she looked away from her superior lest the hate she felt welling up should show in her eyes. “It will give you a different outlook too,” Bobrick went on, “and I’m sure that wil
l help you with the farmer’s case.”
Sarah nodded, at least that last part might be true. Plus, she was going to have Malick back and that could bring her out of the funk she’d been in- now that she was willing to admit she’d been in one.
“I think you’re right, Sir,” she said, turning back to him. “A change of scene.” Bobrick nodded, happy she was willing to agree. He sat back in his chair and put his hands together, intertwining his fingers.
“Agent Malick is cleared to come back,” he said, “I suppose you already know this?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“He can assist you in the farmer murders but I don’t want him running around as part of a manhunt just yet, okay?” Sarah nodded, she knew it was best of Malick to come back slowly, do a lot of office based work before going back out into the field full-time, but she also felt it was going to be pretty hard to constrain him once he was back. “Getting shot is no small thing,” Bobrick went on, “And nearly dying from it is something else on top of that again.”
“Yes, Sir,” she didn’t really know what to say to this. Sarah knew he was speaking from experience, an experience that thankfully she hadn’t had, and hoped she never would. “I’ll take it easy on him." She did her best to smile.
“That won’t be easy,” Bobrick said, sharing none of her joviality. “He may come back gung-ho looking to prove himself. I need you to keep an eye on him, keep him in check if you have to.”
“He’s passed the psych tests,” Sarah said.
“That doesn’t mean a goddamn thing to me,” Bobrick said- great praise for the psychology programme running under his remit.
Sarah knew this wasn’t the moment to ask, but she could hold back from mentioning the ‘Monster’ case no longer.
“Is there any update on the Stanver case?” she asked after a short pause.
A Clattering of Jackdaws (The Birdwatcher Series Book 2) Page 2
