Nine victims had their intestines removed, but Doctor Jones, the coroner, wouldn’t conclude it as the cause of death before conducting more tests. The last victim’s intestines were intact. And, even though, COD needed confirmation, the talk that permeated the corridors of the bunker was the men who did this were scary sons of bitches.
Zachery entered the room. “I find it fascinating he would bury his victims in circular graves.”
I looked up at him more from a need to break from the body than from curiosity. Fascinating? I turned to Jack when I heard the flick of a lighter.
He held out his hands as if to say he wouldn’t light up inside the burial chamber. His craving was getting desperate, though, which meant he’d be getting cranky. He said, “Continue, Zachery, by all means. The kid wants to hear.”
“By combining both the number eleven and the circle, it makes me think of the coinherence symbol. Even the way the victims are laid out.”
“Elaborate,” Jack directed.
“It’s a circle which combines a total of eleven inner points to complete it. As eleven means purity so the coinherence symbol is related to religious traditions—at minimum thirteen. But some people can discern more, and each symbol is understood in different ways. The circle itself stands for completion and can symbolize eternity.”
I cocked my head to the side. Zachery noticed.
“We have a skeptic here, Jack.”
Jack faced me and spoke with the unlit cigarette perched back in his lips. “What do you make of it?”
Was this a trap? “You want to know what I think?”
“By all means, Slingshot.”
And there it was, the other dreaded nickname, no doubt his way of reminding me that I didn’t score perfectly on handguns at the academy. “Makes me think of the medical symbol. Maybe our guy has a background in medicine. It could explain the incisions being deep enough to inflict pain but not deep enough to cause them to bleed out. It would explain how he managed to take out their intestines.” Was this what I signed up for?
“Hmm.” Jack mumbled. Zachery remained silent. Seconds later, Jack said, “You’re assuming they didn’t bleed out. Continue.”
“The murders happened over a period of time. This one—” I gestured to the woman, and for a moment realized how this job transferred the life of a person into an object. “—She’s recent. Bingham’s been in prison for about three years now.”
Jack flicked the lighter again. “So you’re saying he had an apprentice?”
Zachery’s lips lifted upward, and his eyes read, like Star Wars.
I got it. I was the youngest on the team, twenty-nine this August, next month, and I was the new guy. But I didn’t make it through four years of university studying mechanics and endure twenty weeks of the academy, coming out at the top of the class, to be treated like a child. “Not like an apprentice.”
“Like what then—”
“Jack, the Sheriff wants to speak with you.” Paige Dawson, another member of our team came into the burial chamber. She came to Quantico from the New York field office claiming she wanted out of the big city. I met her when she was an instructor at the academy.
I pulled out on the neck of my shirt. Four of us were in here now. Dust caused me to cough and warranted a judgmental glare from Jack.
“How did you make out with the guy who discovered everything?”
“He’s clean. I mean we had his background already, and he lives up to it. I really don’t think he’s involved at all.”
Jack nodded and left the room.
I turned to Zachery. “I think he hates me.”
“If he hated you, you’d know it.” Zachery followed behind Jack.
-
Chapter 2
SALT LICK, KENTUCKY WAS RIGHT in the middle of nowhere and had a population shy of three-fifty. And just as the name implied, underground mineral deposits were the craving of livestock, and due to this it attracted farmers to the area. Honestly, I was surprised the village was large enough to boast a Journey’s End Lodge and a Frosty Freeze.
I stepped into the main hub to see Jack in a heated conversation with Sheriff Harris. From an earlier meeting with him I knew he covered all of Bath County, which included three municipalities and a combined population of about twelve thousand.
“Ah, I’m doing the best I can agent. But, um, we’ve never seen the likes of this before.” A born and raised Kentucky man, the Sheriff was in his mid-fifties, had a bald head and carried about an extra sixty pounds that came to rest on his front. Both of his hands were braced on his hips, a stance of confidence, but the flicking up and down of his right index finger gave his insecurities away.
“It has nothing to do with what you’ve seen before, Sheriff. What matters is catching the unsub.”
“Well, the property owner is in p-pri, prison,” the Kentucky accent broke through.
“The bodies date back two to three decades with the newest one being within the last few years.”
Harris’s face brightened a reddish hue as he took a deep breath and exhaled loud enough to hear.
I think Jack had the ability to make a lot of people nervous. His dark hair, which was dusted with silver at the sideburns, gave him the look of distinction, but deeply etched creases in his facial features exposed his trying past.
Harris shook his head. “So much violence. And it’s tourist season ’round here.” Harris paused. His eyes read, you city folks wouldn’t understand. “Cave Run Lake is manmade but set in the middle of nature. People love coming here to get away. The word gets out about this, there go the tourists.”
“Ten people have been murdered and you’re worried about tourists?”
“Course not, but—”
“It sounds like you were.”
“Then you misunderstood agent. Besides the counties around here are peaceful, law-abidin’ citizens.”
“Church goers?” Zachery came up from a tunnel.
“Well, ah, I wouldn’t necessarily say that. There are probably about thirty churches or so throughout the county, and right here in Salt Lick there are three.”
“That’s quite a few considering the population here.”
“S’pose so.”
“Sheriff.” A deputy came up to the group of them and pulled up on his pants.
“Yes, White.”
The deputy’s face was the shade of his name. “The in-investigators found somethin’ you should see.” He passed glances among all of us.
Jack held out a hand as if to say, by all means.
We followed the deputy up the ramp that led to the cellar. With each step taking me closer to the surface, my chest expanded allowing for more satisfying breaths. Jack glanced over at me. I guessed he was wondering if I was going to make it.
“Tis’ way, sir.”
I could hear the deputy speaking from the front of the line, as he kept moving. His boots hit the wooden stairs that led above ground from the cellar.
I took a deep inhale as I came through the opening into the confined space Bingham had at one time called home. Sunlight made its way through tattered sheets that served as curtains, even though, the time of day was now seven, and the sun would be sinking in the sky.
The deputy led us to Bingham’s bedroom where there were two CSIs. I heard footsteps behind me. Paige. She smiled at me, but it quickly faded.
“They found it in the closet,” the deputy said, pointing our focus in its direction.
The investigators moved aside, exposing an empty space. A shelf that ran the width of the closet sat perched at a forty-five-degree angle. The inside had been painted white at one time but now resembled an antiqued paint pattern the modern age went for. It was what I saw when my eyes followed the walls to the floor that held more interest.
Jack stepped in front of me; Zachery came up behind him and gave
me a look that said, pull up the rear Pending.
“We found it when we noticed the loose floorboard,” one of the CSIs said. He held a clipboard wedged between an arm and his chest. The other hand held a pen, which he clicked the top of repeatedly. Jack looked at it, and the man stopped. “Really it’s what’s inside that’s, well, what nightmares are made of.”
I didn’t know the man. In fact, I never saw him before, but the reflection in his eyes told me he had witnessed something that even paled the gruesome find in the bunkers.
“You first, Kid.” Jack stepped back.
Floorboards were hinged back and exposed a hole about two and a half feet square. My stomach tossed thinking of the CSI’s words, what nightmares are made of.
“Come on, Brandon. I’ll follow behind you.” Paige’s soft voice of encouragement was accompanied by a strategically placed hand on my right shoulder.
I glanced over at her. I could do this. God, I hated small spaces. But I had wanted to be an FBI Special Agent and, well, that wish had been granted. Maybe the saying held merit, be careful what you wish for, it might come true.
I hunched over and looked into the hole. A wooden ladder went down at least twenty feet. The space below was lit.
Maybe if I just took it one step at a time.
“What are you waiting for, Pending?” Zachery taunted me. I didn’t look at him but picked up on the amusement in his voice.
I took a deep breath and lowered myself down. My feet got a firm hold on the ladder rung and I worked on getting my torso the rest of the way into the space.
Jack never said a word, but I could feel his energy. He didn’t think I was ready for this, but I would prove him wrong—somehow. The claustrophobia I had experienced in the underground passageways was nothing compared to the anxiety easing in on my chest now. At least the tunnels were the width of three feet. Here four sides of packed earth hugged me. It felt as if a substantial inhale would expand me to the confines of the space.
“I’m coming.” Again, Paige’s soft voice had a way of soothing me despite the tight quarters threatening to take my last breath and smother me alive.
I looked up. Paige’s face filled the aperture, and her red wavy hair framed her face. It was replaced by the bottom of her shoes.
I kept moving, one rung at a time, slowly, methodically. I tried to place myself somewhere else, but no images came despite my best efforts to conjure them. And what did I have waiting for me at the bottom? Only what nightmares are made of.
Minutes had passed before my shoes reached the soil. I took a deep breath and looked around. The confines on my chest eased as I realized the height down here was about seven feet. The room was about five by five, and there was a doorway at the backside.
One pigtail fixture with a light bulb dangled from an electrical wire. It must have fed to the same circuit as the underground passageways and been connected to the power generator as it cast dim light, creating darkened shadows in the corners.
I looked up the ladder. Paige was about halfway down. There was movement behind her, and it was likely Jack and Zachery following behind her.
“You’re almost there,” I coached them.
By the time the rest of the team made it to the bottom, and the deputy along with a CSI, I had caught my breath.
Paige was the first to head around the bend in the wall.
“The Sheriff is going to stay up there an’ take care of things.” The deputy pointed in the direction Paige went. “What they found is in here.”
Jack and Zachery had already headed around the bend. I followed behind.
Inside the room, Paige raised her hand to cover her mouth. It dropped when she noticed us.
A stainless steel table about the length of ten feet and three feet wide was placed against the back wall. A commercial meat grinder sat on the table. Everything was pristine and light from a bulb refracted off the surfaces.
To the left of the table was a freezer, plain white, one owned by the average consumer. I had one similar, but it was the smaller version because it was only Deb and me.
My stomach tossed thinking about the contents of this one. Paige’s feet were planted to where she first entered the room. Zachery’s eyes fixed on Jack, who moved toward the freezer and with a gloved hand opened the lid.
Paige gasped, and Jack turned to face her. Disappointment was manifested in the way his eyes narrowed. “It’s empty.” Jack patted his shirt pocket again.
“If you’re thinking we found people’s remains in there, we haven’t,” the CSI said. “But tests have shown positive for human blood.”
“So he chopped up his victim’s intestines? Put them in the freezer? But where are they?” Paige wrapped her arms around her torso and bent over to look into the opening of the grinder.
“There are many cultures, The Korowai tribe of Papua New Guinea, for example, who have been reported to practice cannibalism even in this modern day,” Zachery said. “It can also be involved in religious rituals.”
Maybe my eyes should have been fixed on the freezer, on the horror that transpired underground in Salt Lick of Bath County, Kentucky. Instead, I found my training allowing me to focus, analyze, and be objective. In order to benefit the investigation, it would demand these three things, and I wouldn’t disappoint. My attention was on the size of the table, the size of the meat grinder, and the size of the freezer. “Anyone think to ask how this all got down here in the first place?”
All five of them faced me.
“The opening down here is only, what, two feet square at the most? Now maybe the meat grinder would fit down, hoisted on a rope, but the table and the freezer? No way.”
“What are you saying, Slingshot?”
My eyes darted to Jack’s. “I’m saying there has to be another way in.” I addressed the CSI, “Did you look for any other hidden passageways? I mean the guy obviously had a thing for them.”
“We didn’t find anything.”
“Well, that doesn’t make sense. Where are the burial sites in relation to here?”
“It would be that way.” Zachery pointed at the freezer.
We connected eyes, and both of us moved toward it. It slid easily. As we shoved it to the side, it revealed an opening behind it. I looked down into it. Another light bulb spawned eerie shadows. I rose to full height. This find should at least garner some praise from Jack Harper.
“Nothing like Hogan’s Alley is it, Kid?”
-
Chapter 3
HOGAN’S ALLEY ORIGINALLY NAMED AFTER a comic strip from the late 1800s is a mock town used by the FBI in Quantico, Virginia as a training ground for future special agents. Placed on ten plus acres, the government built it with the aid of Hollywood set designers. The fact that Jack mentioned it by comparison rendered me silent.
I latched eyes with him before studying the size of the hole. It was just large enough to fit the freezer through if turned and taken in lengthwise.
“This guy did a lot of planning,” Paige said. She moved closer to the tunnel entrance. “He definitely didn’t want to get caught and probably never thought he would. That could be the elevated thinking of a narcissist.”
Jack watched her speak, and something about the way his eyes fell, tracing to her lips, made me wonder about the nature of their relationship.
“Well, I’d definitely peg him as a psychotic too. Narcissists usually only kill if it’s the result of a personal affront. But this man gutted his victims and grinded their intestines. Who knows if he ate them?” A visible shiver ran through Paige, and for some reason gauging her reaction intensified the severity of the situation.
For the last while, the training had taken over. I had cataloged the victims as fictional, not once living and breathing individuals. With the snap back to reality, I became aware of the presence of death and the way it hung in the air like a suffocating
blanket. My stomach tightened and I felt sick.
“Question is, did these people threaten him in some way? Were they random? Or were these planned kills? The patience he seemed to execute with the cutting and burial indicates he was very organized. I’d almost lean to believe that they were planned, not random,” Zachery said.
“It could be they reminded him of one person who wronged him. That’s not uncommon,” Paige offered.
I was frozen in place, unable to move and incapable of thinking clearly.
The CSI hunched over and shone a flashlight into the opening. “It spreads out after a few feet. It almost looks as high as it does in here.”
“I want to know what happened to the intestines.” Jack made the blank statement. “Slingshot, any ideas?”
“The guy knew he was going to prison and had them cleaned up?”
“But why?”
I wanted to say, what do you mean why? I thought the answer was obvious, the question rhetorical. But I reasoned on the two words Jack spoke. There was little risk that this room would be discovered even if the bodies were. And if the bodies were, what was a little ground-up human intestine? Another toss of my stomach brought bile into the back of my throat. “I’m not sure.”
An ominous silence enveloped the room as if we were all absorbed in contemplating our mortality. The human reaction to death and uncertainty, of wanting to know but not wanting the answers, of sympathy for those lost yet relief that it wasn’t us.
The CSI made his way through the opening. His flashlight cast more light in the dimly lit space. I followed and heard the rest of them shuffle in behind me.
After a few feet, I was able to stand to full height.
The CSI looked up at the lit bulb. “The guy thought of everything.”
The electricity that had been run down here was basic and minimal. A band of wire ran from the meat room to here. But it wasn’t so much the electrical that garnered my attention.
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