Harvest Of Evil

by William Lehman

  "Received. Clear emergency traffic."

  I shouted over to the BPD officer that had cleared the car, "Thanks, officer, I have him, you guys can clear." He waved, and got back in his squad car. A couple seconds later, we were all alone. As I frisked the driver of the Acura for weapons, I asked, "Paul Meyers, I presume?"

  "Yeah, that's me, but what's this all about? Why the guns and lights? I didn't do anything." He sounded and smelled scared. He didn't have any weapons.

  "Paul Meyers, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law, you have the right at this time to talk to a lawyer, and have him present with you while you are being questioned, if you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning if you wish. You can decide at any time to exercise these rights and not answer any questions or make any statements. Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you?"

  "Yes." He sounded even more scared.

  "Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to me now?"

  "What is this all about? I didn't do anything."

  I put him in the back seat of the Durango, got his keys from off the road and put them in my pocket, then returned to the truck. I pulled out on to the road, and started driving towards Seattle. I planned on booking Paul into the Federal lockup at SeaTac for the time being. When I got onto Hwy 3, I started the tape recorder in my truck, and dictated the date, time, my name, suspect's name, and the case number onto the tape. Then I spoke to Paul. "Paul Meyers, do you know Charles Alberts, George Geisendanner, Anthony Bivens, and Michael Snedker?"

  "Yes, so what? That's not a crime. What is going on? Why are you holding me?"

  "Here are their pictures as I saw them last." I handed back, through the pass through, some of the pictures I had taken as they died. Paul's hands were cuffed behind him, but he could still see the photos clearly enough. I turned on the light in the back seat to make sure of that.

  "God, what happened to them? You don't think I had anything to do with that, do you?"

  "No, but I think the person that did this to them has you next on the list. I'm charging you with Production of Narcotics with Intent to Deliver, and Homicide during the course of a Federal felony, which makes it an Aggravated First Degree Murder charge. If I charge you under the Federal statutes, you will do life probably, with no chance of parole. If I charge you in state courts, you may get the death sentence. However, if the person that did this to your buddies finds you, I suspect they will do that to you. It was a really painful way to go, I know. I watched from seventy yards away through a camera."

  "Dude, who the fuck is doing this? What's this all about?" He was really rattled now.

  "I don't know, who have you guys pissed off? Been cutting into someone's territory? Someone like, oh, say a Mexican organization?" I said with an inquiring eyebrow as I turned onto Hwy. 16.

  At this, he started crying. Oh crap I hate this, I thought to myself, you're man enough to kill a man and bury him in your pot field, be man enough to face the consequences of your actions. He sat there bawling like the scared kid he was for about fifteen minutes, then he stopped crying, and was quiet for a couple minutes. Then he got mad.

  "Hey man, we didn't cut into no one's turf. We had a deal to sell the stuff to someone with distribution. We didn't undercut nobody. That Mexican guy just wandered in one day. Started telling us he was going to take over, that we worked for him because the gods willed it. Said ganja was a plant of the gods and that we had no right to it. We told him to fuck off, and he pulled a knife on us. I was chopping blackberries, so I had a machete. Shit, we had the right to defend ourselves, didn't we? Dude, this guy was crazy. Speaking some weird language, wasn't Spanish, or Portuguese, I recognize those. I speak Spanish, man. Talking some shit about chewy coat all and na howls. What the hell could we do? He was going to stick us all. But I had enough after that, I told my crew I was done, I hadn't bargained for any violence, you know? I told them I was out, and I haven't seen them since. I even left school, came home to get my shit together, man. That was just too weird. I'm peaceful dude, I didn't want to hurt nobody, just make a little cash and provide some stuff. Where's the harm?" He was starting to babble, and I had everything I needed.

  "Ok, it's all right Paul, I'm going to put you where they can't get at you. You are going to want to call your parents when they're done booking you, and let them know what happened. You're going to need a lawyer, do your parents have one?"

  "Yeah, I think so."

  The rest of the drive to the lockup was unremarkable. I turned off the tape recorder, I had all I needed for right now. When I dropped him off at the Federal Detention Center in SeaTac, I booked him on Murder during the commission of a Felony, and Production with Intent to Distribute. But I was nice, and put him under a Federal charge. We would probably plea bargain a little bit, this kid didn't deserve life if what he said was true, and I could verify the weapon eventually, it was probably up at the grow site. OH SHIT. The Sensitive from Olympia was supposed to meet me at the office at 0900 tomorrow. I needed to get home and get to bed.

  5

  By the time I got home and checked off Cencom it was ten P.M.. So much for working better hours now that I was in the Detective Division. When the alarm went off at 06:00, I sprang out of bed, not because I was ready to go for the day, but because I was startled into a flashback to the bad old days in the Navy. Then I realized where, when, and what I was, and the heart rate went back to normal. OK, I thought to myself, got to get over to the office and meet the magic geek from Olympia, Great. I did my normal morning calisthenics, put on a pair of Dockers a shirt and a sports-coat, pulled on my field boots, put the guns, handcuffs, etc. in the appropriate places, and headed to the kitchen for some food. A couple cups of coffee and a fried egg sandwich later, I was ready for the day. At least, so I thought. I got to the office about 08:00, and got the first news of the day.

  As I walked through the door, Tammy looked up and said, "Murphy wants to see you, ASAP."

  Oh great. This is a fun way to start the day, I thought. What I said was, "Any clue why?"

  "Yeah, but you better hear it from the boss."

  This time, I said it. "Oh great."

  From the back of the squad room Lt. Murphy's dulcet tones came out, "Is that John? Get in here!" She did not sound happy.

  So I dutifully trotted back to the Lt.'s office. Once I got to the door, I stepped in, grabbed the door, and quirked an eyebrow at her, as if to say, "Do you want this closed?" She shook her head, so I left it open. This was at least a good sign, if the door was left open, my butt wasn't in too big a sling. I looked at her across the desk, and said "OK boss, what's the crisis?"

  "I need your FULL arrest report on Paul Meyers TODAY." She didn't look any happier than she sounded.

  "No problem, Lieutenant, but what's the rush? I figured to submit an interim report with the charge sheet, then get a full report out later in the week."

  "There is a problem with that. I need the full report for the investigation. He's dead." All of this was delivered deadpan.

  "What the fuck do you mean, he's dead? How the fuck did that happen? He was a bit emotionally messed up when I dropped him off, but he didn't seem suicidal, and those idiots at the jail should have him on a suicide watch for the first twenty-four hours anyway." Now I was pissed.

  "I don't know what happened yet. I just got the call when I got in. The jail was pretty non-committal, they just said he was dead, and that they wanted your report for their investigation."

  "Well that SUCKS. I got a full confession from him on the way to the jail last night, damn it! We could have rolled up the buyer, and maybe the whole ring, off this kid."

  "It sucks worse than you know. Mummy and Daddums are political, and their baby died in our custody."

  "SHIT. All right, I'll get started as soon as I get through with the guy from Oly."

  I walked out of Murphy's office and sat down at
my desk, to start working on the report while I waited for the Sensitive 'tech' from Olympia. About half an hour latter, Tammy called back to let me know that, "Mr. Russell Spencer from the Olympia State crime lab is here to see you."

  I asked her to send him back to my desk, and I would be with him in a moment. Then I started saving my report work so that I could get back to it later. When Mr. Spencer, "Call me Russ," showed up at the entrance to my cubical 'home away from home', I got my first look at him. Russ was about 5' 9" to 5'11", 270lb, long black hair that looked slightly greasy, balding in front, and I caught a sniff of some sort of incense, like patchouli, sort of strange from a guy. He was dressed in jeans and a Red Hat t-shirt, and looked like your average 40-year old, slightly overweight computer nerd. That or an ex-jock gone to seed. I was just logging off when he walked up and introduced himself, so I stood and offered my hand. He grabbed it to shake, and dropped it like he was shocked.

  He looked at me unbelieving and said, "What the hell are you doing asking for my help?"

  I looked back with one eyebrow cocked and asked, "I'm John Fisher, what the Hel are you talking about?"

  "Dude, you don't need me. With what you got, I'm just along for the ride."

  "I most assuredly do need you, and I don't know what the Hel you're talking about." This lack of full information shit was really getting on my nerves. First, my prisoner dies in custody but we don't know anything about it. Now the crime lab sensitive is playing some sort of 'I got a secret' game bullshit. GRRR!

  "Hey, if you haven't come out of the closet, OK, I'll be your stalking horse, but it's a waste of my time with you there," he said shrugging his shoulders.

  I didn't have time for this sort of game right now. I didn't know what he was going on about, but I could worry about it later. Right now, I wanted this guy on the crime scene doing 'that voodoo, that he do, so well'. So, I looked at him and said "Whatever. Shall we go and look around the scene a bit, just to humor me?" He looked at me with a shrug and a 'lead on' gesture, so we walked out to my Durango.

  The drive out to the site was fairly quiet. We exchanged a little small talk, the "So, how long have you been an officer, how 'bout them Seahawks?" variety. I refused to ask again what he was talking about with his cryptic comments re: my alleged lack of need for him, and my coming out of the closet. Now if he had said 'coming out of the kennel' I would have understood, but I'm most assuredly straight. Nauseatingly so, I am told by some of my friends that are a bit closer to the wild side. And I don't know of any other 'coming out of the closet' that he could have been talking about. Besides, what has my straight or gayness have to do with solving this damn murder case? About forty minutes later, we were at the edge of the crime scene. I pulled the Durango up the dirt road leading to the grow operation, past the area where the CDC van had been and stopped at the crime scene tape. We both got out, and started walking the rest of the way in.

  We hadn't gotten very far when Russ looked at me and said, "This was bad. Wasn't it?"

  "Yeah. It was pretty grim."

  "I don't need to go any further. This place reeks of death magic. Yes, this was a 'Murder by Magic' can I leave now?" Russ wasn't looking very good. I don't think he had ever sampled violent magic.

  "Russ, can you tell me what specifically did this? Could you identify the wielder in court? And can you tell me how the Hel to fight this?"

  "– n - no."

  "Then you can't leave yet." He swallowed hard, his face got paler, if that was possible, and I could see sweat beading on his forehead.

  "OK, then let's get this over with." Russ seemed to be willing to at least try.

  We walked the rest of the way around the bend in the road, and up to the place where the growers had died in complete silence. Mother Nature seemed to be holding her breath as well. As we got to the spot where the first boy died, Russ stopped and looked at me.

  "This is it, one of them died here, right?" he asked, looking a bit green around the gills.

  "Yes, what can you tell me?"

  "Lots of rage here, and vengeance. This was a revenge killing. The magic is religious in nature. Not Christian, not Neo-pagan. Older, much older. Native to the New World, but not local. I've never encountered this sort of smell/ taste before. I can't I.D. it, but I will be able to recognize it. I don't know how to fight it, but I can tell you that you will need faith, LOTS of FAITH. And I can tell you that whoever did this, did not think of it as a crime. This was her right." Russ looked thoughtful, " Now why am I sure that it's a her?" Russ seemed to be lost in thought for a second. "There was religious sacrifice involved. A payment to the deity involved. Were any parts of the bodies missing?"

  I thought about it for a second, "Yeah, the livers were missing in each of the victims."

  "There you go. Find a deity that the liver is sacred to, probably from a religion founded on the North American continent. And find a high priest or priestess that worships this deity, probably priestess, that has a reason to hate the victims. That will be your murderer. I will send you a full hard copy report, with the required C.C.s to the WSP, the FPI, and the State Attorney General's office. Now, can we get the hell out of here?"

  "If you are sure there isn't anything more to learn, then, yes, we can go," I said. We went down the path a whole lot faster than we came up it.

  When we got back to the rig and got inside, Russ looked at me with awe in his eyes, and asked, "Man, how can you stand being in the middle of that, with all you got going on?"

  I looked at him with what used to be called an 'old fashioned look' and gave an exasperated sigh.

  "Would you please tell me what the fuck you have been babbling about, regarding 'coming out of the closet, and me not needing you'? I don't understand, and it's starting to REALLY piss me off."

  "Dude, you're not joking, are you? You really don't know. Dude, you light up every magic sense I have, like a damn spotlight." He stared at me with his mouth open, looking like I had just Tazered him.

  "Russ, I assure you, I am not aware of any magical skill that I might have, except for the fact that I'm a Lycanthrope."

  "Oh, you're Furry? I didn't know. Are you a Master?" I nodded. "That explains part of it, but not all. You need to see a teacher. And you need to find one before you go up against whoever did that." He pointed back the way we had came.

  I suppose I should explain 'mastery', this isn't like in an S&M thing.

  The World Book encyclopedia entry on Lycanthropy reads as follows:

  On the Biology of Lycanthropy

  Lycanthropy is a viral disease passed through blood exchange, bites, or scratches while the afflicted is in animal form. Some varieties are more virulent than others, wolf of course being the most contagious, followed by bear, rat, and the big cats. Avian Lycanthropy, non-carnivorous mammal, and reptile are the most difficult to catch. The human body doesn't seem to be very willing to cross class, and the non-carnivore mammals virus seems to be very weak as well. There may be some metaphysical reasons for this. Johns Hopkins is doing ground-breaking research on this, following up on the research of Nazi Germany. Upon contracting the virus, usually via a bite or scratch; the virus is dormant and non-communicable while in human form, the victim will change on the first full moon and all full moons there after. If the victim has the potential for 'mastery,' they will be able to change at will after only a few changes. In some cases they can even do a partial change, becoming a 'rat man' or wolf man', or only change part of the body, like a man with one cat paw. What causes a victim to have this potential for 'mastery' is still unknown; however, the University of Massachusetts School of Metaphysics at Salem is currently doing research on this. It is noted, though, that any change is permanent for at least eight hours. The change occurs over a brief period, usually three to fifteen seconds, and leaves no residue. The fur comes out through the body and then the body shifts as if it were plastic.

  (I will mention here, that while it looks damn painful, it actually feels really good )

 
A Lycanthrope is almost completely immune to communicable diseases, (the exception being viruses that can cross species lines) and the body is immensely resilient. Any wound that does not kill instantly is usually survivable. However, silver-caused wounds, wounds caused by another Lycanthrope, or burns, heal at normal human rates.

  (By the way Silvadine Cream is NOT recommended.)

  One noted side effect of the disease is that if the subject stays in the animal state for a prolonged period, there is a great risk of losing the ability to return to human form. Also, any emotional reaction is more violent, and uncontrollable, and mental instabilities are exaggerated.

  (a Lycanthrope in a rage is really something to see, preferably from about ten miles away. Also, if you're not completely mentally stable, the virus will drive you over the edge.)

  A significant side effect of the disease is the inability of the subject to respond to most medicine, especially antibiotics and analgesics. The same factors of the virus that protect the subject from catching diseases keep the body from responding to medicines.