by Ty Patterson
He wiped his hands on a towel around his waist, pulled a laptop closer and typed in the name. He stilled when he read the details.
So he’s the one who brought down the Baseball Bat Killer.
He clicked on more links, got his army record, a bland one.
Nothing much on him.
He pulled up another web page.
Lena Diaz looked back at him. Partner in a consultancy that advised firms and governments.
High profile lady who speaks at many events.
He read more about her as he chewed on his chicken with relish in his underground museum, with the dead bodies and the sightless eyes as his dinner companions. He turned back once to look at the shiny stainless steel table.
Lena Diaz will be lying on that soon. This week.
The stakeouts were still continuing two weeks later with nothing more conclusive on the two chefs. Both actively dated and a couple of times their dates were blonde, young, and attractive. The cops following them tightened on those occasions, but the women came out of the men’s homes the next day, smiling.
Howell usually hit a bar on his way home from the restaurant where he worked in Manhattan. The bar was where he picked his dates.
Johnson’s social circle was wider. He went on dates almost every week night. He usually picked women from the East Village bar he frequented.
Zeb slid inside one of the stakeout vehicles one night in Queens, near Howell’s row home. Pizaka was in the rear, Chang was in the front.
‘That wooden frame,’ Pizaka said without any greeting. ‘There are millions like it around the city.’
Zeb had asked the cops to look into the frame the perp had sent.
‘No special markings on it, no prints. The skin had the same Formalin and olive oil particulates as on the paper, but the frame is a dead-end. It’s your basic low end one that you can buy in any store.’
Zeb thought for a while as the first rain drops fell, splattered the windscreen, turned into a river as the rain fell harder. He looked out at a distorted world, filtered by sheets of water.
‘He could have brought his stationery and the frame at the same store. Check out the stores within an hour’s radius of abduction zone’s extremities.’
Chang swung around surprised. ‘Why an hour?’
‘If I was grabbing a victim off the street, I wouldn’t risk more than an hour in travel back to my base. Beyond an hour, too many variables kick in. The victim can put up a fight, traffic accidents, cops can stop me. Anything can happen.’
‘So his base is within that one-hour zone?’
‘I reckon.’
‘Speculation,’ Pizaka growled.
‘Logical thinking,’ Chang countered and spoke into a cell passing instructions to the rest of the detectives.
‘Any ideas on how he subdues them?’ Chang turned back to Zeb.
‘Not really,’ Zeb admitted. ‘He could use a knife or a gun, but knowing some of the victims, I doubt that would work. If he knew them, which is my hunch, then there’s no need for force.’
The radio squawked, a cop’s urgent voice came across.
‘We have Howell in sight. He has a blonde with him who he’s dragging to his home. She’s resisting.’
Pizaka’s voice was urgent. ‘Any weapons in sight?’
‘None that we can see, Zak. But it’s dark and raining heavily.’ The voice rose. ‘Holy Fuck! They wrestled briefly and he’s now carrying her across his shoulder.’
‘Go!’
Zeb was out of the car even before Pizaka gave the order, moving across the street, the rain parting for him.
He saw two teams spill out of their vehicle, head to the front of row house.
End of row. Nothing to its right.
He brought the plans to his mind.
Fenced in backyard, windows to the front and side. Basement.
Basement.
He swung to the rear, moved ahead of the cops and through the corner of his eyes saw two cops leaping over the small gate at the entrance.
Two strides, a hand to lever up and he sailed over the rear fence.
Landed and slipped on the wet sludge. Recovered.
The backyard led to a glass fronted rear door that opened into a large kitchen.
Elbow to the glass, a hand inside and the door opened.
He heard the door splintering at the front, cops shouting.
Footsteps rushing down stairs.
A startled ‘what the fuck?’
His Glock slid to his hand, became an extension.
He rounded a door and the gun found Howell.
Howell blanched and he stumbled back against a wall, Zeb’s cold eyes boring into him.
Cops rushed in and the air filled with commands. Zeb and one cop stayed with Howell, three others went through the rest of the house. Pizaka and Chang came in.
Basement, Zeb mouthed, Chang nodded and went to the rear of the house.
A cop read Howell his rights, cuffed him, and seated him on a chair in the kitchen.
‘Where’s she?’ Pizaka shouted at him.
The chef stared back at him, shock and incomprehension on his face.
Light dawned on his face as he shouted incredulously. ‘You think I’m him? This Flayer? You’ve been following me?
‘That’s my sister, assholes.’
She was found in an upper bedroom, drunk and unconscious. The adjoining bathroom stank of vomit and stale clothes.
They searched the rest of the house.
Nothing.
Basement was empty
Zeb, Pizaka, and Chang traded glances.
Wrong suspect.
Howell would be taken in for questioning, but Zeb knew deep inside he wasn’t the killer.
Lena Diaz unfolded her umbrella and skirted a puddle on the pavement.
The rain had eased thankfully as she gingerly navigated through the pools of water from her glass fronted office in Lower Manhattan and headed to Broadway.
She was pleasantly tired after a long day at work, preparing for a presentation to the largest oil company in the world. Lena had been responsible for winning that account and a flare of warmth spread through her as she thought about the win and what it had done to her career.
She was a Senior Partner now and lunched with CEOs of the largest companies on the planet. She also advised the most senior politicians in the country. She was widely regarded as Managing Director material and her career was on fast track.
She fished out her phone and sent a text to her husband and daughter.
Heading home. Have dinner. Don’t wait for me.
She reached Broadway when the rain resumed. She glared at the water-laden sky, but it didn’t heed her command. She ditched her plan of taking the subway back to her home in Jackson Heights.
A cab sounds better, will be warmer and quieter.
As she looked around to flag one down, her eyes lighted on the discount store opposite her.
Fifteen minutes won’t hurt. I can buy that dress Olivia has been pestering me for.
Fifteen minutes became forty-five by the time she exited the store, laden with shopping bags. She juggled her umbrella and the bags, brushed wet hair off her eyes and sought a cab.
‘Hi, Mrs. Diaz.’
She tilted her umbrella up and looked at the man beside her.
‘Hi, imagine seeing you here.’ A warm smile broke her face.
He noticed her darting eyes. ‘I doubt you’ll get a cab in this rain.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m parked just nearby and was heading your way in any case. I can drop you home.’
Lena looked up and down Broadway, thinking furiously.
Not a cab in sight. Subway is not an option, not with these many bags. I know him. He’s been to our home a few times, Ted knows him.
She flashed the wide smile again, this time in thanks. ‘If it doesn’t inconvenience you.’
‘Of course not, I’ll bring my car around.’
Lena came out of a thick fog an hour later.
She was lying on something cold and hard and flat. A bright light burned over her head. Her eyes widened in sudden horror as she realized she was naked.
She tried to scream and it died in her throat.
Her mouth was taped.
Her heartbeat accelerated, her breathing became shallow as panic settled deep inside her. She thrashed wildly as she looked around and her eyes fell on a shadow.
The shadow moved, came closer and when light fell on him, she recognized him. A scream tore out of her throat but all that came out were choked sounds.
‘Yes, Mrs. Diaz. I am him.’
The Flayer’s voice was conversational as he went to a cabinet standing against the wall.
Lena’s eyes followed him and her eyes fell on the glass tanks.
The thrashing intensified, her face reddened as she strained against her bonds. The choked sounds grew louder.
The Flayer regarded her with amusement as he brought a tray of instruments and placed it beside her.
‘I bet you keep telling your daughter not to go with strangers in this big bad city. Shame, you couldn’t take your own advice.’
He cupped his chin and his smile grew.
‘But then, I am not a stranger, am I, Mrs. Diaz?’
He watched her as she pulled at her restraints. ‘I think we should drop the formalities, shouldn’t we Lena?’
He ripped the tape off her mouth to an accompanying groan from her.
A knife gleamed in the light when he held his hand up. ‘This won’t hurt.’
He laughed and corrected himself.
‘I am lying. It will hurt and I won’t be merciful.’
The knife sank in and her scream bounced off the walks of the basement.
No one heard it.
It was 2 a.m. by the time the Flayer finished.
He had stopped partway to change into his black mask and perform the rest of his procedures.
Procedures. He liked that word.
Why should doctors alone use that word? What I am doing is important to science.
He snorted in laughter and looked down at himself. He was covered in blood, the basement’s floor was slippery, but he was blissfully happy.
Lena Diaz lay on the table; her eyes had a dying light. He reached out and turned the recorder off with a bloody finger.
Something lay beside him. Something warm and rubbery.
Something skin like.
He cleaned his instruments, returned them to the cabinet and began cleaning up the plastic beneath his feet. His gloves and body suit would go into the incinerator.
He took one last look before heading upstairs and frowned.
Where do I keep her?
No more tanks.
She was the same size as Kohler or Krantz and he could replace one of those bodies with Diaz’s. He shook his head.
Kohler and Krantz were the first inhabitants of his museum. He had developed affection for them.
Diaz will have to go. Such a shame, she had lasted for so long, and given me hours of enjoyment.
He hummed as he went up from the basement and took a long and luxurious shower. A thought crept into his mind just before he fell into a dreamless sleep.
I bet the NYPD will go apeshit in two days.
Another one swam in his mind contradicting his previous decision.
Dump Krantz. Keep Diaz.
Diaz lasted the longest. She earned her tank.
Chapter 8
October 29th – Nov 4th
Howell was let go the next day after detailed questioning – he and his sister had been involved in a sibling dispute that had turned nasty in front of the watching team. It hadn’t helped that his sister was drunk.
The press got wind of his arrest and for the rest of the day they lunched on images of cops battering Howell’s door. The video was helpfully provided by a neighbor who had filmed the incident on his mobile phone.
Rolando was sanguine even after receiving several irate calls from the mayor. ‘These things happen. The media have their business to run; the mayor has to look after his ratings. We gotta catch perps.’
Johnson had been brought in for questioning too. He along with Howell turned out to have rock solid alibis for all the abductions.
Both of them threatened lawsuits against the NYPD and trained their lawsuit guns on Zeb too, the day after.
Zeb waved them away indifferently. ‘Go ahead. You guys were suspects; we brought you in for questioning. Howell’s actions looked suspicious and hence the ‘Go’ on his home. I am sure New Yorkers would take our side once all the details come out.’
Pizaka smiled faintly in Zeb’s direction when the two left. ‘Thank you. Having you on board helps put across a more trenchant stand.’
Chang looked on in amazement at his partner and chuckled. ‘Go on, Zak, tell him you like him.’
The Ray-Bans swung in Chang’s direction and all levity left Pizaka’s face. ‘The perp’s still out there.’
A shout, running feet, and a detective poked his head through the door without a knock. He was breathless.
‘We got a body, looks like he has struck again.’
They piled in Zeb’s car, Chang in front, Pizaka in back with the twins. Zeb drove out of the NYPD parking lot, cutting across Broadway, through red lights and angry commuters.
‘Body was found by a truck driver at 7 a.m. today. It was in a black van with no plates. The van gave off a distinct odor and when he approached it, he noticed the rear door was partly open. He swung it wide and promptly upchucked his breakfast when he saw what was inside.’ Chang chewed gum laconically as he recited what the cop had told them.
He gripped the door handle as Zeb swerved around a bike, cut ahead in front of him, Meghan rolled down her window and a curse floated in the air behind.
Pizaka lowered his shades and looked at her, looked away when he got an angry glare in return.
‘Body’s going nowhere,’ Chang said mildly. ‘This isn’t the Monte Carlo race track.’
‘Yeah, but having you on board gives Zeb the license to drive like it is.’ Beth retorted.
Up Hudson Street, a left on Eleventh Avenue and Zeb finally slowed when cop cruisers and the distinctive tape came into view. He pulled to the side and parked.
Pizaka flashed his badge as he led them to the van. Zeb hung back and looked around the industrial parking lot.
Next to it was a convention center, which caught the weak winter sun’s rays. The parking lot was vast and had a few trucks in the distance. Remote enough that the perp could have slipped in and out.
A thought struck him.
How secure is the lot?
He ducked under the tape that held back the curious and headed toward Pizaka and Chang. They were in a bunch of cops, some forensic personnel, and a few civilians.
Chang pointed out a man in the group of civilians.
‘The truck driver doesn’t have much more. He saw a black van follow him into the lot at 5 a.m. He didn’t pay it much attention. This lot is owned by a distribution company and there’s always traffic in the lot. Not a lot that early, but enough. He parked in his usual spot,’ he waved at a far corner, headed to a cafeteria inside, and when he came out at seven, the van was still there.’
Zeb looked at the driver, a burly man with a thick beard, who was talking to Pizaka. He was smiling a lot and Zeb saw why. The twins were beside the cop.
‘How did he get in? The entry has a guard house and barrier gates.’
‘Not that early in the morning,’ Chang replied. ‘Barrier comes down at 9 a.m. which is when the guard house gets occupied.
Zeb approached the van, stopped a few feet away when Chang pulled him back. ‘Let the forensic guys do their work.’
Men and women clad in white worked in and around the van. Throug
h the open door he could see a pale body on the floor of the van, a woman’s body. Naked, and even from ten feet away he could make out the mutilation, the missing fingers and toes, the large swathes of missing skin.
A light, airy scent came to him.
The twins. They flanked him and followed his gaze without flinching.
They have become stronger.
‘You shouldn’t be here.’
Beth looked at him through her dark shades and stayed silent even as Meghan grinned. ‘Try keeping us away.’
Chang cleared his throat. ‘I always like the show you guys put on, but let’s talk about the body.’ His eyes were sombre when he looked at them.
‘There was a note on the body. Stapled to it.’
He dug his phone out and brought up a picture.
I will save you the effort. This is Peggy Krantz. She’s in good shape isn’t she? There’s coffee in the front. You will need it. You have a long day ahead.
‘There is a flask upfront.’ Pizaka came toward them and rubbed his eyes wearily even though it was not even midday. ‘The tech guys will analyze it but no reason to disbelieve the note.’
‘He’s very confident. That’s good.’ Zeb said slowly as he scanned the parking lot for lamp posts, any other tall structures.
‘How’s that good?’ Beth asked him exasperatedly.
‘He’ll make mistakes. This isn’t confidence, even though that’s how he feels. It’s over-confidence. There was no need for those notes, or that flask. Cameras?’
‘What?’ She lost his train of thought.
Meghan and Chang didn’t. They pointed at three; the nearest one was hundred meters away.
‘I’ve got someone looking into them,’ Chang was glum. ‘Going by our luck so far, we’ll probably get just a dark shadow.’
Zeb looked back at the writing on Chang’s phone. ‘I don’t like those last few lines. He has planned something.’
He looked up at the two cops. ‘Has he sent another frame?’
Pizaka shook his head. ‘Nope. No frame, no other notes. Nothing else.’
‘Check with Missing Persons again.’
Chang dug out his phone, looked curiously at Zeb. ‘You think he’s grabbed another woman?’
Zeb looked back at the van, at the body inside.
