by M. Z. Kelly
My phone rang. I brushed my tears away, seeing that the number was unfamiliar. I started to let the call go to voicemail, but then thought better of it. I tried to say hello, but due to my emotional state I realized that I wasn’t able to talk.
“Choked up?” The voice on the line was altered, strangely modulated. For a moment I had the impression I was talking to Lucas Caufield, but this was different.
I brushed the tears on the sleeve of my blouse and finally found my voice. “Who…who is this?”
The odd, wavering voice returned. “The one you have been seeking.”
I stood straighter, my heart now pounding against my ribcage. “Where are you?”
“Close enough to know that you’re crying, far enough away so that you can’t find me.”
I stood up and surveyed the park, the street, and the surrounding buildings, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. I decided to give voice to what I was thinking. “You are the one—who’s doing the killing.”
There was an odd wheezing sound, probably intended as laughter before he said. “Maybe you should talk to your friend about who does the killings in this world. I believe that you have a name for him—you call him God.”
I whirled around, still looking around for any sign of him. “You need to turn yourself in.”
There was more of the odd laughter, before his voice turned colder. “Another girl will be taken soon. The one you call The Prophet won’t be denied this time.”
“I thought…”
“I’m not The Prophet. I am his apostle, Detective. The one who rolls the dice. It is The Prophet who makes the rules of this game.”
If what he was saying was true, it changed everything. It meant that we had two killers, working together, who were probably recruiting apprentices. “Why are you doing this?”
There was a hesitation before he answered. “Because we can…because a change in the world is coming…one that can’t be stopped.”
It was the same thing Lucas Caufield had said, but I had no idea what it meant. “What kind of change?”
“You’ll know soon enough.” I thought he’d ended the call but then heard him say, “Until we meet again, Detective. And, I am sorry about your friend, but that’s the nature of a world without mercy.”
The line went dead. I turned, dropped my phone in my purse, and brushed my tears again.
I’d chased down a lot of bad people in my life—those who had killed out of greed or lust or power, even monsters who had killed without remorse. The Prophet and his apostle were in that league, but they were different. These were killers who had an agenda. I just had no idea what the hell it was.
FORTY TWO
When Bernie and I got to the taskforce meeting in Los Angeles that afternoon, the atmosphere of the gathering had dramatically changed. While the group had always been committed to finding our killer, there was a seriousness and determination that I hadn’t seen before.
The killing of Allison Schwab had raised the stakes to a whole other level. It was apparent that the feds had swallowed a bitter pill with the loss of one of their own and they were determined to avenge that loss.
All the same players were on our side of the table, including Oz, Ted, and Selfie. Belmont and Hardy were also in attendance, but they seemed to also have their game face on, not bothering with their usual banter and put downs.
I settled Bernie into a corner and then walked back to my seat. On the fed side of things, I saw that the Boston profiler, Jeremy Spender, had rejoined the taskforce, along with Janice Taylor. She was sitting next to a man that I hadn’t seen before, probably another profiler.
Then I suddenly realized something else. While Lavern Wallace was in the room, Joe Dawson wasn’t here, something that seemed extremely odd to me, given his past involvement in the investigation.
“In view of what happened to Special Agent Schwab last night,” John Greer said, after calling the meeting to order, “we’ve made some changes to the federal side of things.” He turned toward the buttoned-down agent sitting next to Janice Taylor. “This is Special Agent Dave Hall with our cybercrimes and scientific analysis division. I’ll let him take over and explain what we’ve learned.”
Oz spoke up before Hall could begin; alerting Greer in general terms about what I’d told him on the way into the meeting. Greer said that I could address the group after we heard from the cybercrimes expert.
Greer nodded at Hall who took over. The agent looked to be about forty, with short black hair, and intense coffee-colored eyes. In contrast to his dark hair and eyes, the agent’s skin was pasty, maybe from spending his time in darkened rooms, looking at computer screens.
“Yesterday, we got a court order to engage in the surveillance of a principal subject involved in this case,” Hall said. “His name is Lucas Caufield.”
I had a hollow feeling in my stomach as the cybercrimes agent went on and I realized why Joe Dawson wasn’t in the room. “That surveillance has allowed us to use something called a Stingray on the phone calls to and from the residence where Caufield resides. The technology basically tricks phones into thinking they’re connecting to normal masks or cell towers when, in fact, we’re able to intercept and listen to any in-coming and out-going communications. Late last night, we intercepted a call at Karen Taft’s residence where Lucas Caufield lives that’s pertinent to this investigation. I’m now going to play a portion of that call.”
Hall made a few keystrokes on the computer. What followed was a bit like listening to a couple of cyborgs speak, until I realized I was listening to the electronically modulated and altered voices of Lucas Caufield and the same man who I’d spoken to a little over an hour ago.
The recording picked up in the middle of the conversation between the two men, the man who called himself The Apostle saying, “You alerted Sexton to what’s happening, didn’t you?”
Caufield’s electronic voice answered. “No. I’ve only given her the general information as you requested. Nothing more.”
“She found the girl and killed the apprentice. What happened is unacceptable. I’m going to personally contact the detective. There will be another girl taken. You will give her the message we discussed earlier. If you fail to cooperate, your aunt will die.”
After several moments, Lucas Caufield’s electronic voice came back over the speaker. “I understand. Please don’t harm her.”
Hall killed the recording. “Since we missed the earlier communications, we don’t know what the message the caller referenced is about.”
“Do we have any idea who this caller was or where the call came from?” Greer asked.
Hall shook his head. “We got a ping off a cell tower in the valley, so it’s local. The phone was a burner, there’s nothing to trace.”
“I know who the caller was,” I said, as all eyes turned in my direction. “A little over an hour ago I got a call from a man who called himself The Prophet’s apostle. He said something about The Prophet making the decisions, probably about who dies, but he said that he’s the one who rolls the dice.”
I took a breath and then went on, mentioning Brie. “I have a friend who had surgery this morning. The Apostle knew all about that. He also made a reference to the killings in this world being an act of God, and said that another girl will be taken soon. He then went on to say there was a change coming to the world and something about us all living in a world without mercy.”
The room fell silent for a moment after I’d told them my story. I took the opportunity to ask about Joe Dawson.
“Agent Dawson has been reassigned,” John Greer said. “When it became apparent that his brother was working behind the scenes with The Prophet, albeit under duress, we couldn’t have him involved in the investigation.”
What he said made sense, but it also made me wonder how Dawson was taking his dismissal. He wasn’t one to go down without a fight, and, the truth was, I still wanted him involved in the case. Dawson was a bulldog who got things done, unlike most of the federal
bureaucrats.
Hall took over again, addressing me. “The fact that the man who calls himself The Apostle has been in contact with both you and Lucas Caufield tells me that you’re both keys to what’s happening.”
“Caufield told us as much when he previously talked to Kate,” Oz said. “He said that she’s The Prophet’s adversary.”
I brushed a hand through my damp hair, feeling a deep weariness in my bones. “But why me? I don’t understand why I’ve been chosen for any of this.”
“Maybe it’s the press you’ve gotten in the past, as we talked about before,” Greer said. “All that matters now is that you have been chosen, so we need to use that.”
“We talked to Caufield’s aunt,” Hall said to me. “She’s agreed to let you meet with him again tomorrow. We’ll be listening in on the conversation. If another girl is going to be taken soon, we need whatever information he’s been told to give us. We need to use Lucas Caufield to our advantage.”
“And then what?” I asked.
“We follow up, work the case just like before,” John Greer said. “We find out who this person that calls himself The Apostle is and take him down so that he can lead us to The Prophet.”
“I’ve got something of interest to add,” Jeremy Spender said. The profiler was probably glad Joe Dawson wasn’t in the room, disparaging what he had to say.
“Let’s hear it,” Greer told him.
“As you may know, my specialty is asymmetrical crimes, cases of violence that are atypical of the usual motives that we see in multiple killings. I’ve been meeting with my think tank in Boston for the past couple of days. It’s our feeling that these offenses involve radicalized individuals who will stop at nothing.”
“Radicalized, as in what happens with terrorists?” Greer asked.
“In a sense, yes. However, in these cases, we believe that we are dealing with a dominant that is exerting his will over submissive individuals, namely the apprentices, such as Tyler Linden, and, it would now appear, this person who calls himself The Apostle.”
Despite the profiler’s pedantic and overbearing personality, what he said made sense. I just wasn’t sure how that helped us solve the case.
“Okay, let’s take what Mr. Spender said under consideration,” Greer said, as the meeting ended. “Let’s also see what Mr. Caufield has to say tomorrow and take things from there.”
FORTY THREE
The Apostle walks up the deserted street toward the ocean. The evening is cool, a slight breeze stirring the heavy air. He stops as his gaze moves across the sand dunes and the darkening ocean. A sliver of fading gold and red light, caught between the water and a ceiling of clouds shines like a beacon as nightfall approaches.
“Tomorrow the change in the world will begin,” a voice beside him says. “It is the day we have awaited.”
The Apostle turns, noticing that the last rays of sunlight are illuminating The Prophet’s face. It seems fitting that in this moment his mentor’s countenance glows with an otherworldly light. The Prophet is, after all, the one who has been chosen.
“We are ready,” The Apostle says. “The girl will be taken tomorrow.”
The Prophet nods. “A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit. The world is full of rotting fruit that must be cast into the fire. The change is at hand, and the path has been shown to us all.”
“I am ready to serve.”
The Prophet nods and then looks back out to sea. “And the woman…the one I have chosen as my adversary?”
The Apostle’s gaze also drifts off. “Despite everything, she persists. Her will is strong but her strength is beginning to fade.” His green eyes find The Prophet again. “In the end, everything she believes in shall be taken and she will be lost.”
“Let us begin then,” The Prophet says. “Tomorrow shall mark the beginning of a new day.”
The two figures walk along the water’s edge for a few minutes before going their separate ways. The Apostle watches as the one known as The Prophet fades into the darkness. He realizes there is only one apprentice left now. He was the first, who now shall be last.
FORTY FOUR
Bernie and I got home a little after seven. On my way home, I’d stopped by the hospital again to check on Brie. She was out of recovery and resting comfortably.
When I parked my car and turned the corner to my apartment I slapped my forehead and groaned to Bernie, “It’s the premiere party for Hollywood Girlz. I forgot all about it and my date with Dillon.” I looked around for Lexi’s teacher but didn’t see him.
I was trying to slip quietly into my apartment to change when I heard a voice calling out that sent shivers through me like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on my head.
“There she is. Kate, you can’t sneak away like that.”
I turned and saw Nana. She was wearing a flowing black dress with white opera gloves. She had her hands on her skinny hips as she scolded me. Natalie and Mo came over to Nana’s side, also looking in my direction.
I sighed and realized that I had no choice but to join them. As I went over, I noticed there was a crowd of about forty people milling around. There were tables full of appetizers, cake, and bottles of champagne. Lights and cameras were set up around the courtyard, and I realized that the event was apparently being videotaped by the production company for the sit-com.
I saw Dillon Walker on the other side of the courtyard chatting with a group of people. The handsome teacher waved at me.
I waved back as Mo said to me. “You forgot all about our party, didn’t you?” She was wearing a red dress and, like Nana, had her hands on her hips as she levelled her disapproving eyes on me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”
Natalie looked at me and ran a hand over her white sequined gown. “Vera Wang,” in case you was wondering.” It looked like something you would see at the Oscars. “Mo’s wearing Oscar de la Renta.”
“Feels more like Oscar Meyer,” Mo said. “I feel like a big, bloated weenie wrapped up in a red hot dog bun.”
The words skin and tight came to mind about Mo’s outfit, as Nana said, “I’m Bella Andrade.” She did a little pirouette, showcasing her dark gown.
“More like Bela Lugosi,” Mo grumbled, referencing the dead actor who once played a vampire.
Natalie went over and examined Nana’s dress. “You musta thought this was the after party for that movie Twilight, or somethin’.”
Nana grimaced. “What are you talking about? I’m not only one of the richest women in the world, I’m a bon vivant.”
Mo gave Nana the stink eye. “Say what?”
Nana raised her head as a queen might survey a gathering of her loyal subjects. “One who is of refined and cultivated social taste.”
“Yeah, you and Claude are the highest class vampires we know,” Mo countered.
Natalie looked over the crowd. “Speaking of vamps, where is your other half tonight?”
“Claude had a previous engagement. He’s indisposed.”
Mo didn’t cut her any slack. “There musta been a sale on coffins at the local mortuary tonight.”
I was about to try and excuse myself to change when I realized Dillon had come over. I introduced him to my friends, at the same time praying they wouldn’t say anything inappropriate.
“So, you’re the teacher,” Mo said, after the introductions. She eyeballed me. “Your student could use some extra work.”
I was about to respond when Natalie added, “Kate’s flunked a lot of classes lately. You might wanna give her some extra tutoring.” She winked.
Dillon was grinning as he looked over at me and said, “Maybe we could schedule some homework.”
I was saying something about my friends being short on tact when Nana interrupted. “I once did the dipsy-doodle with my high school history teacher in the girl’s locker room.” She looked at us, her oversized dentures gleaming. “I graduated at the head of my class.”
“I gotta feeling Nan
a was the head expert at her school,” Mo said.
Nana was complaining about being disrespected when a man in a tuxedo came over and saved me from further humiliation by making an announcement. “The outtakes are going to be shown in a minute. You might want to all gather around the TV monitors.”
We walked over to an area near the swimming pool as I asked Natalie about the man. “He’s our director, George Kong. He’s the bomb. I heard he’s even got a couple of them Emmy nominations for some past shows.”
“What kind of outtakes are they showing?” I asked.
“Oh, just a few flubbed lines, missed cues, that kinda malarkey.”
When we got over to the TV monitors, I again realized that almost everyone was formally dressed. Even Dillon had worn a suit. I, on the other hand, had on the dark pants and blazer that I’d worn to work. I felt like a complete idiot. When one of the servers offered me a glass of champagne I accepted it, feeling like I needed to unwind after my rotten day.
“I like your friends,” Dillon said as we sipped our drinks and waited for the outtakes to begin.
I took a sip of my drink and then said, “Then you must also enjoy root canals.”
He laughed. “I think they’re just concerned about your welfare and want the best for you.”
I took another sip of the champagne, suppressing an eye-roll. “Of course they do. I think they could even teach a class at your school. They could call it Humiliation 101.”
A few moments later, the director of Hollywood Girlz had everyone gather closer to the monitors. George Kong then gave a little speech before the outtakes were shown, telling the gathering that he felt the series showed great promise and that they were in negotiations to bring the show to a cable network.
