(2005) 'Whispers In the Wind'

by Michael A Diaz

  He and Holt had talked about the axe, their minds churning, wondering what was the significance of such an odd weapon. In all their work as law enforcement officers, neither one had come across a weapon such as the one the killer had been using. Pistols and revolvers, knifes and machetes, an occasional sword, poison, those were the weapons of choice for most murders. On occasion, baseball bats or other blunt instruments were used by the perpetrators, but this one, an axe…and a strange looking one at that…was something new to him. He had seen axe murderers before, but they were not that common. An axe was an awkward murder weapon, usually one that was seized in the heat of the moment. This killer was bringing the weapon with him and by the look of the axe head and the remains of the handle, it was different. ‘There is something significant about the choice of weapon with this killer’, he thought, another puzzle in an already crazy investigation.

  Turner glanced at the axe head, laying on his desk, still in a plastic evidence bag. He shook his head. The weapon looked old and something in his mind wanted to tell him that he had seen such a weapon…somewhere…in a book…a movie. He had shared the thoughts with Holt, until the man had shrugged his shoulders, saying; “You might want to take that thing to the museum…see if someone there could give you a hint of what it is. We ran tests on the metal…and the wood handle and neither of the materials is old, maybe a few years maximum.”

  Turner glanced at Holt, a puzzled expression on his face at his words. “A museum…what the hell for?”

  “Well…by the look of the damn thing…it’s no common axe, so maybe an expert can help you…shed some light on it.”

  Turner mulled on that for a few minutes, shaking his head. “Yeah…well, I think I’ll do just that. What the hell….I don’t have much of anything else to go on and right now I would consort with the devil himself if it would help this damn investigation.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Chicago Museum of Natural History February 7, 1995 0900 am.

  Josh Turner parked his car in the museum’s visitor parking lot, stepping out and glancing at the dark sky. The weatherman was predicting at least ten inches of snow and another run of intense cold within hours. He shrugged his shoulders deeper into his coat, shaking his head, mumbling to himself about the damn Chicago weather. It was beginning to look as if this was going to be one of the worst years for snow in Chicago. He grabbed at the plastic bag containing the axe head, slamming the door shut, walking away briskly. It was too damn cold and he wished for a cup of black coffee, but that was going to have to wait. He was in a piss poor mood after a row with the Assistant Chief early in the morning. The newspapers and the TV reporters were having a field day with the Department and the investigation and the Chief had come in spoiling for a fight. Harsh words were exchanged, voices raised, until Thompson had come in, putting an end to the fight. Turner knew that if he didn’t get something solid soon on the investigation, then the Chief would use that as an excuse to get rid of his ass. “Like I don’t have enough crap to worry about” he told himself, running up the steps of the museum toward the entrance. He pulled the door open, finding himself face to face with the skeleton of Tyrannosaurus Rex and then he was making his way to a sign that said ‘Iinformation’, a plump looking young woman sitting behind a desk. She watched him walking toward her, her eyes taking in his every move, a smile etched on her face. It was early and not many people were around at that time of the morning.

  “May I help you? she said, her voice small, shrill almost. Turner glanced around the almost deserted hallway, eyes returning to her, his right hand bringing the plastic bag with the axe head in it.

  “I have this…axe and I need someone to help me with it…tell me what the hell it is.”

  The young woman’s eyes fixed on the bag, and she raised her eyebrows in question, apparently unable to comprehend what she was looking at. She glanced at Turner’s face and then again at the bag and slowly realization dawned in her eyes. The brown stains on the axe head was blood! She shivered slightly, glancing at Turner again, her voice low and shaky now. “And…who are you? she asked softly, her eyes appraising him nervously.

  “I’m sorry…ma am. Detective Turner…Chicago Police”, he said, his hand opening the wallet with the gold badge in it, showing it to her. “I would like to talk with someone about this axe.”

  The woman’s eyes glanced at the bag for moment longer and then she shook her head slowly.

  “Yes…that would be Dr. Mason…the museum’s assistant curator”, she said quietly.

  Turner nodded his head in assent, waiting for her.

  The young woman stood up, her right hand pointing at a door a few paces away to Turner’s right.

  “You can go in the Doctor’s office and I’ll get the Dr. Mason for you.”

  “Thanks”, said Turner, whirling around and heading for the office that the receptionist had indicated. He saw the sign on the door that proclaimed it was Dr. Mason’s office and he pushed the door open, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind him. He found himself in a small but comfortable place, incredibly neat and orderly, everything in it’s place. Rows upon rows of books lined the walls and a myriad of objects, old and magnificent, could be seen on shelves and on top of the desk, swords and helmets of a bygone era displayed on one wall. He took a step forward, his eyes now adjusted to the soft light inside the office, his head turning slowly, eyes taking in everything.

  The wall behind the desk was covered with diplomas and awards and immediately to it’s right was a stand, crowded with trophies. He raised an eyebrow when he realized what he was looking at; someone in that office was a black belt in Karate, quite high if the trophies meant anything. His eyes lingered on the trophies for a moment, shaking his head at the numbers. He was a 5th ‘Dan’ himself, but to him it was just personal, he never competed in the sport and very few people outside the department knew that he was a black belt.

  The soft light bounced from a tall, glass case next to the desk, making it hard to discern what was inside and he moved forward again to see what it was. At the sight of it his eyes narrowed to slits and his heart beat painfully against his ribs. He took another step, eyes glued to the axe inside the glass case. It was the same axe head as the one he had in his hand, except that the one in the glass case made the one in his hand look insignificant. It was obvious to him now that the axe in the glass case was old, incredibly old. The axe head was about seven inches long, inlaid with silver wire in intricate designs. The handle was made of some black wood and the shaft measured easily four feet in length. His hand reached for the glass case when suddenly a soft, intimate voice behind him startled him and he swiveled his head around.

  “Tenth century Viking axe, decorated with silver wire in the so called “Mammen style”, probably worth a few million dollars to a collector.”

  His eyes came to rest on a woman standing by the door and then his breath caught in his throat. Eyes, of an indescribable blue, were fixed on him, her head tilted slightly to the side. She was tall and…incredibly beautiful, with hair the color of wheat, long and shiny cascading down to her slender shoulders. Her face was long, with a sharp little nose and her lips were ripe and sensuous. Her mouth was partially open in a smile and he could see a perfect row of white teeth.

  The soft, intimate voice broke the silence again, saying; “I’m Dr. Mason…Mariska Mason”. She continued looking at him for a second longer, her eyebrow rising in question. “And you are…?”

  He nodded his head and still stood there, unable to take his eyes off the creature in front of him. He realized his mouth was hanging open and he clamped it shut, feeling the red color of mortification spreading on his face. He ran his fingers through his short hair, feeling like a school boy on his first date.

  “Sorry about that…Dr., I’m Detective Turner, Chicago police”.

  She came forward then, enveloping him in her perfume, a soft bu
t strong hand shaking his. From up close she was even more striking than he had imagined and once again he was caught speechless. He looked into her eyes and for a brief second he thought he saw something like recognition in her eyes when he mentioned his name, but it passed swiftly. He knew he was just dreaming, though. He had never seen a creature like her and he knew he didn’t know her from anywhere. There was no way he could forget someone like her, not even for a minute.

  He shook himself out of his reverie as she retrieved her hand from him and then watched her walking toward her desk. She was wearing a black outfit, pants and a shirt, feet encased in black leather boots, a gold necklace on her throat. As she walked away, his eyes admired her from behind, watching the taut rear end strain the seat of her pants. She turned around, sitting down in her chair behind the desk, an impish grin on her face, almost like she knew he had been watching her butt and he swallowed hard.

  Like a kid caught stealing candy, he thought, as her eyes fixed on him, bright and mischievous.

  ‘Jesus H. Christ”, the told himself, feeling uncomfortable as the blue eyes took his measure slowly. He shifted his feet, wondering why the woman was getting under his skin so easily.

  “Please…sit down, Detective Turner…and tell me what I can do for you”, she said, and once again the softness and power of the voice jolted him.

  “Name is Josh…Josh Turner, Dr. and I…I need some help with this”, he said, raising the bag with the axe head so she could look at it, letting his body fall into the chair in front of the desk.

  “Good…you can call me Mariska, Josh”, she said, eyes going to the plastic bag in Turner’s hand. Her face remained impassive as she extended her hand, reaching for it. Turner surrendered the item, watching the woman inspecting the axe head through the plastic.

  “This is a replica of the one behind me”, she said, head pointing in the direction of the axe in the glass case. “Very common in pawn shops and with people who collect items like this, but I’m afraid is not worth very much”. She passed the plastic bag to him, cursing herself inwardly for being so stupid and leaving the damn thing at the murder scene.

  “You said it’s…common?”

  “Yes…quite common. As I said, you can buy one in just about any pawn shop or business that caters to people who collect strange weapons or knives.” She paused for moment, eyes on the axe head, finally glancing at him. “At one time Viking axes were the rage with collectors, but the real thing, like this one”, she said, her head nodding in the direction of the real axe in the glass case, “is worth millions now…so collectors who are not too discriminating started getting these replicas, and soon the market was inundated with them.”

  She handed the bag to him, saying; “Now…even inexperienced collectors can get these replicas very cheaply.”

  “So…any one can buy one like this just about anywhere?”, Turner asked.

  “That’s correct, Josh”, she said softly, watching him closely, seeing the frustration building on the rugged, handsome face. She felt the moistness in her loins, thinking how ironic it was that the man in front of her was asking for help from her…the killer. She was about to jump from her seat, emotions running wild with her, forcing her to exert all her control to remain still.

  “Why don’t you tell me what it is that you are working on?” she asked, the strong voice sending shivers through him again. She watched him closely, the expression in her eyes one of wanting to be close to him, expressing concern for his problems.

  “I don’t…want to bother you with details Dr. Mason”, he said, realizing he had reached another dead end. Hell…if anybody could buy one of those damn axes…then any one could be the killer. “We have been working on those cop murders. The killer…as you probably know by the damn newspapers and the TV, is using an axe…just like this one…or that one”. Saying that, he stood up coming closer to the glass case. Inside, the axe head with the silver inlaid shone with a fiendish glimmer. He fixed his eyes on the weapon, taking in it’s beauty, the head and the handle. He turned to her, sighing deeply, watching her closely.

  She nodded her head, the long, wheat colored hair bouncing, shining, and framing her face. She stood up swiftly, coming around the desk to stand next to him, her butt leaning against the desk slightly.

  “I’m afraid I don’t watch much TV or listen to news on the radio, Josh”.

  “We are at a dead end”, he started, raising his eyes to her, feeling the powerful presence of the woman next to him. He could smell her perfume and something else, a smell of muskiness about her, something that made him realize he was becoming turned on by her. He stood up, pushing his hands in his pockets, walking away from her. He wanted to talk to this woman about the murders, but realized that was not very professional. He shook his head, saying; “Any way…this axe was left at the scene of the last two murders. We thought it was unique, that maybe…we could get something from it’. He paused for a second, realizing he was talking too much. Shrugging his shoulders, he faced her again, a smile etched now on his face. “You have been a great help, Mariska. Thank you.”

  “Okay…but if you need anything else”, she said, bending over the desk, picking up a pen and writing something on a pad of paper. Finished, she ripped the paper, turning toward him, arm extended. “If you need anything…or if I can help…in any way”, she said, a small, pink tongue moistening her lips. He felt a shudder run through him again and he reached for the paper, glancing at it, seeing a telephone number written on it. He raised his eyes to her, questioningly.

  “My home number…just call me, anytime”, she said almost in a whisper, deep blue eyes fixed on him with an intensity that left him breathing hard. He swallowed painfully, wondering why he was acting like a goddamn kid in front of the woman, shaking his head, angry now.

  “Thanks…thanks a lot”, he said, stepping to the door and exiting as quickly as he could. He closed the door softly after him, standing still for moment, wondering what the hell had happened in that office. He could swear that the woman in the office was coming on to him. Still shaking his head, he made his way out, the paper with the phone number burning in his hand.

  * * * *

  Inside the office Dr. Mariska Mason smiled to herself, thinking about the discomfort of the lieutenant just a few seconds before. The telephone number was a last minute idea for her. She was feeling powerful, reckless now and she wanted to see how far she could go with the man that was heading the investigation into the murders, wanted to see what she could find out about…her. She was glad the damn axe was going to be a dead end now. She needed to find out more about the murders and what the police really knew, she thought, walking back to her desk, stopping in front of the glass case. She stood still for a minute, eyes resting on the glimmering weapon. In her job as assistant curator, she was able to take work home, items that she was working on and to take the axe home had been no problem for her after the fantasy of killing the two men became a reality. When she had finally resolved in her mind to kill the men that had ruined her life, she had decided on the axe. She had studied the history of such a weapon, her mind fantasizing about the Vikings of that long ago era, creating mayhem around them, and exacting revenge on their enemies with a weapon just like the one she had in her office now. She had thought that it would be fitting for men that had done such damage to die by a weapon like that. At first, in the privacy of her office, she had spent long hours practicing with the axe, and then she had started taking the axe home at night, practicing there, bringing the axe back in the morning without any one realizing what she was doing. Soon, as she became proficient with it, she could visualize herself with the axe, a warrior, killing people that stood in her way and exacting revenge.

  Her thoughts went back to the day she had finally reached the decision, a grin flickering momentarily on the beautiful face. She had stormed into the museum administration’s office after learning that the job of C
urator had being given to another man, not her. She had been promised the job after more than five years as the assistant and then some newcomer had taken that away from her…and just because he was a man. She had felt the rage boiling inside of her; she had been furious at the way she had been treated. Just another demonstration of how little she was valued by the men that ran the museum, how they could destroy her dreams, mess with her life…just like the two men that had destroyed her young life so long ago. The rage had stayed with her all through the day, smoldering, frustration eating at her, the visions of the two men that had at first destroyed her life coming back to haunt her. One night the shining axe had gone home with her and shortly after that, the two officers were dead.

  She breathed deeply, shaking her head slightly at the thoughts. Her fingers finally reached for a key on top of the desk, opening the glass case, extracting the axe. She closed her eyes as her fingers caressed the handle, bringing the weapon to her face, words of endearment coming from her lips. An idea had started when she had seen the Detective in her office, an idea that filled her with wonder and incredible excitement, making her weak, feeling the adrenalin rushing through her veins.