Splintered

by SJD Peterson

  Hesitantly he picked up the file and studied its contents. A map of Chicago and the outlying areas, dotted with numerous red, yellow, and green dots caught his attention, and his pulse began to race as realization set in. “This can’t be what I think it is. There has to be at least ten green markers.”

  “Twelve to be exact,” Granite corrected. “The yellow dots are another possible five cases. I haven’t confirmed them yet, but my gut tells me they belong to our guy.”

  Hutch’s brows rose as he gawked at Granite incredulously. “You mean to tell me we have a possible seventeen dead attributed to one man and we’re just now getting wind of it?”

  “Given the fact they tend to all be”—Granite made the universal symbol for quotation marks—“queers, hustlers, or homeless, it doesn’t surprise me at all. Factor in that we’re dealing with eight different jurisdictions, and I’d say it’s a miracle we got called in at all.”

  Rage began to brew in the pit of Hutch’s gut. His hands curled into fists around the map as he struggled to keep his anger under control. What the hell was wrong with people? Nobody deserved to die as Akira had, and the way those fucking cops had behaved earlier… Jesus! The bile worked its way up from his gut to burn his throat. It was times like these Hutch was truly ashamed to be associated with the law enforcement community, a profession where closed-minded, bigoted assholes not only ran rampant, but in some cases were actually encouraged by the upper brass. Fuck them. If they wouldn’t do their goddamn jobs and solve these cases, then he sure as hell would.

  He forced down the execrable thoughts and struggled to focus on the case. “Why these men? What do we know about them?” Hutch asked and rubbed his tired eyes.

  “Byte’s working on finding a common trait. He’s still in the process of compiling a complete dossier on each vic. He should have it about complete.” Granite twirled his pen as he spoke. “What I do know so far is each man was tortured and his genitals mutilated. Also, they are all small in stature and openly gay. Race, age, and economics don’t seem to play a role in his chosen targets.”

  Granite tossed his pen aside and went to the small minibar. He brought back to the table two glasses of ice and a bottle of bourbon.

  He continued speaking as he poured them each a drink and handed one to Hutch. “From the reports I have, they all frequented one gay club or another. Which is like saying they’re all from Chicago. It doesn’t mean shit. Per capita, Chicago has more gays than any other city. A large percentage of whom, I might add, also frequent nightclubs, and they didn’t end up on a stainless steel slab.”

  Hutch swirled the dark amber fluid in his glass before taking a healthy swig. He could only hope that Byte could give them some kind of lead, something they could work with, since at the moment he was coming up blank. Finding one man, and his gut was telling him it was a lone perp they were looking for, in a city the size of Chicago was like the proverbial needle in a haystack.

  Byte, like Granite, was brilliant. There wasn’t a computer system on the planet that was secure enough when Byte wanted information. Andrew “Byte” Caswell, in a word, was tenacious. He was hard as hell to understand too—although he spoke perfect English. When Byte started rambling about byte-codes, binary numbers, and volatile data, it was as if the man was possessed and speaking in tongues. However, what he could do with a computer was awe-inspiring, and his knowledge of computer forensics was invaluable.

  If Granite was the poster child for the Goth Nation, then Byte was the GQ King. Dark Armani and Versace suits were his calling card. He was always impeccably dressed, hair cut and styled, not a single strand out of place. It described him even when relaxing. His dark hair and nearly black eyes combined with his deep olive skin gave him an exotic flare. Add in his aristocratic air, and there wasn’t a woman or man alive who could withstand his charms. At well over six foot and built like a linebacker, one would never believe the geekish, shy disposition that lay beneath.

  Hutch downed his drink and threw the file back on the table. “I’m gonna go shower off the stink of Jefferson’s finest,” he informed Granite as he pushed up out of his chair. As he headed to the bathroom, he tossed over his shoulder, “Tell Byte to stop stroking his hard drive and get his ass back here. I have a feeling this guy is going to be adding to the data soon.”

  The stink wasn’t the only thing Hutch needed to scrub away. Too bad a little soap and water couldn’t wash away the images of wide dead eyes and geographical maps from his brain, nor was it going to do a damn bit of good to cleanse him of his anger.

  Chapter 2

  “KASEY MURRAY?”

  “Who wants to know?” asked the young man warily as he peeked out the crack in the door.

  “I’m Agent Hutchinson,” Hutch responded, holding up his badge, and then nodded toward his partner. “This is Agent Green. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Kasey opened the door farther. “I’ve already told the police all I know.”

  “Yes, sir, but we’d like to ask you a few follow-up questions,” Hutch informed him. “Do you mind if we come in?”

  The thin young man appeared to be not much beyond his teens, with mousey brown hair and green eyes. He glanced back and forth between Hutch and Granite, looking unsure. After a long, tense moment, Kasey shrugged and stepped to the side to allow them in.

  The apartment was small, but the open floor plan and the sleek, modern furniture kept it from feeling claustrophobic. The main color scheme of the room was black, white, and chrome, with splashes of bright red. It was stylish and trendy, and Hutch tried to picture Akira living there. Kasey flopped down on the red leather couch and clutched one of the throw pillows to his chest, his expression closed.

  Hutch and Granite sat in the black straight-back chairs directly across from Kasey. Granite pulled out his notebook and pen.

  “You’re actually going to take notes?” Kasey asked Granite with obvious disdain.

  “Yes, sir,” Granite responded. “I want to make sure I don’t forget anything.”

  “That’s more than the last officers did,” Kasey spat, then tilted his head and studied Granite. “You don’t look like a cop.”

  “He gets that a lot,” Hutch piped in with a smirk at his partner. He didn’t comment on the obvious anger Kasey felt for the previous officers. After what he’d witnessed at the precinct, they no doubt deserved Kasey’s disdain. “So, Mr. Murray, I understand Akira Kimura was your roommate?”

  Kasey nodded.

  “We’re sorry for your loss,” Granite added at the obvious distress Akira’s name caused Kasey. “Can you tell us when the last time you saw him was?”

  “A week ago Tuesday.”

  “Why did you wait so long to report him missing?” Hutch asked.

  Kasey visibly stiffened and glared at Hutch. “Akira often didn’t come home at night.”

  “It wasn’t an accusation,” Hutch said gently.

  Kasey sighed heavily. “I told Akira he was crazy for going home with strangers from the club, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “Had he ever gone missing for a week before?” Granite asked.

  “No,” Kasey said, vigorously shaking his head. “He always came home the next day. When he still didn’t come home on Thursday or answer my texts, I tried to report him missing, but they refused to file a report, saying he hadn’t been missing long enough.”

  “Did you notify his family?” Hutch inquired.

  “Akira doesn’t have any family. They disowned him when he was a teenager.”

  “Because he was gay?” Hutched clarified.

  “Yeah. Pretty fucked up, don’t you think? I mean, what kind of parent disowns their child, especially someone like Akira? He was such a great guy. He worked hard to put himself through school, was an honor student, and so damn sweet.” Kasey’s voice cracked, and his eyes filled with tears.

  What kind of parent, indeed. Anger caused tension to settle in Hutch’s neck, and he rolled his head as he struggled to keep a calm outw
ard appearance. Hutch had heard the same story over and over. Young teens being kicked out of their homes, forced to live on the streets when their biggest worries should have been homework and what to wear to the dance on Friday nights.

  “Do you know if he was seeing anyone regularly?” Hutch asked, keeping his focus on the case rather than his personal feelings and anger.

  “No. He dated, but Akira’s life was too busy to have had a full-time relationship.” Kasey sniffled, then pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped at his damp eyes.

  “Did he happen to mention anyone bothering him, making him feel uncomfortable, anything out of the ordinary?” Hutch inquired further.

  “Akira had a lot of admirers at the club. Sometimes he’d complain about guys getting a little aggressive, smacking his ass or coming on too strong, but….” Kasey’s brows furrowed, and he wiped at his nose.

  “But?” Granite prompted gently.

  “It goes with the job, right?” Kasey said angrily. “Look, I know what a lot of people are saying, that Akira somehow deserved what happened to him because of his lifestyle and the people he associated with. But that’s bullshit! He was a go-go dancer to pay for college, not a whore. And even if he was, no one deserves what happened to him.” Kasey choked on a sob, tears streaming down his reddened face. “No one.”

  “You’re right. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. That’s why we plan on finding out who did this to him and making sure he pays,” Granite said adamantly. He grabbed a tissue from the box next to him and handed it to Kasey. “Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

  “No thanks,” Kasey said, accepting the tissue and wiping his tear-streaked face. “There has been so much death in our little community, and no one seems to be doing a damn thing about it. Just another dead faggot.” Kasey looked up at Granite with red and pleading eyes. “He was so much more than that.”

  Hutch’s outrage bubbled to the surface, causing his pulse to speed, and his hands curled into fists. Kasey was right, Akira deserved more than what the local authorities were doing for him. All of them were worth more.

  Hutch pulled a card from his pocket and laid it on the coffee table. “This is my card. If you can think of anything, hear a rumor, or just want to talk, you call me. Day or night.” Hutch pushed to his feet and met Kasey’s gaze intently. “I will catch this guy.”

  He stormed out the front door, nostrils flaring, heart hammering. Once behind the wheel of his car, he slammed his fists against the steering wheel in rage. “I’m coming for you, you son of a bitch,” he growled and hit the steering wheel again. He ignored the throbbing in his knuckles as he breathed harshly, trying to use his anger to focus on what to do next. Focus, Hutch, it’s just another body. No name and no family. This is just a job. He reined in most of his anger, holding on to just enough of it to propel his thoughts, hone them as he went through the facts of the case, but he had so little to go on.

  He was going to need to get his hands on the files from the other deaths, start pounding the pavement, and build a profile of the killer. Get inside the man’s head. The idea made Hutch’s stomach roil. Each time he entered that evil place it took its toll, tarnished a piece of him. So many years he’d been dealing with death and destruction, and he was beginning to lose all faith in humanity and in himself. He wouldn’t let his fear or his faithlessness deter him, however. He had to be the one who brought justice to those no longer able to speak, be their voice. He had to.

  The passenger door opened, and Granite slid into the passenger seat with a concerned expression on his face. “You okay?”

  “No the fuck I’m not okay,” Hutch growled and glared at his partner. “I am very far from fucking okay. Seventeen dead, Granite! Seventeen dead men and no one is doing a goddamn thing to stop this bastard. How many more have to die before someone does their motherfucking job?”

  “None,” Granite barked. “Because we are already doing ours, and we will stop him.”

  Hutch stared at Granite for a long moment through the red haze of rage, shaking, pulse roaring. He wanted to hit something, to kick and maim. He needed to punish, to find an outlet for his anger. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to take in deep breaths, knowing his anger was selfish. It wouldn’t help him catch the killer if Hutch allowed it to control him. He needed to channel it in the right direction, propel him toward a positive outcome. One more deep breath and Hutch opened his eyes. With a slightly better handle on the rage, he ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily.

  “Sixteen deaths too late.”

  “I know,” Granite agreed. “We can’t dwell on things we can’t change. It’s not going to help us stop him. Let’s stop by the diner, grab us something good and unhealthy to eat, and then we’ll head back and see what Byte has for us, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Hutch agreed with a nod and fired up the car. “I also want to set up a meeting with Sergeant Struk.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “I think he may be the one cop in Jefferson who might actually want to help find the killer.”

  “See, things are looking up already,” Granite pointed out.

  Hutch gave him an exasperated look. “I said might,” he reminded him.

  “Might be one decent cop on the fucking force is better than not a one. We got hope.”

  Hutch shook his head. Granite and his hope. God how he missed the days when he was as optimistic as Granite.

  They parked the car. Since their hotel was located close to the center of the city, they had no difficulties in finding a restaurant nearby. Hutch followed Granite into a small fifties-style diner and slid onto a stool next to him at the lunch counter. The heavy scent of onions and fried grease permeated the place, but rather than being an unpleasant scent as it normally would have been for Hutch, his stomach growled. He was going to pay for it later, but the thought of burgers dripping in grease was appealing at the moment.

  Granite snatched a menu from the counter and studied it. Hutch waved to the waitress pouring coffee at the other end of the counter instead. She nodded in acknowledgement.

  “You’re not going to look at the menu?” Granite asked.

  “What for? Best thing at this kind of place is a greasy burger and fries.” Hutch shrugged.

  “What can I get you fellas?”

  “Good point, we order the same thing every time,” Granite chuckled and returned the menu to the holder. He turned to the waitress with a grin. “Can we get three greasy cheeseburgers with the works and three orders of fries, please?”

  She looked a little stunned as she wrote Granite’s order down and then asked Hutch, “And for you?”

  “I’ll just have a glass of water.”

  “I’ll have one too,” Granite added and rolled his eyes at the grin Hutch gave him. “Could you make the burgers to go?”

  “Sure,” she responded with a wink.

  The waitress set two glasses down in front of them as she passed by, and Granite picked his up, stabbing the ice with his straw as he sat back on his stool. “Didn’t really learn anything from Akira’s roommate that we didn’t already know,” Granite said cautiously. “A lot of dead men and little is being done to find the perp. Where do we go from here?”

  “Burns my ass,” Hutch grumbled. “This case is way bigger than I anticipated, and to be honest, I don’t know where to start.”

  “At the beginning is always a good place,” Granite pointed out. “You know this guy is smart. Not only is he choosing victims that law enforcement cares little about, but he’s also counting on the cases not being linked by spreading their bodies over multiple jurisdictions.”

  Hutch swirled the ice around in his glass, staring at it as he chewed on Granite’s words. He only concurred with part of Granite’s assessment. “I agree he’s choosing his dump sites carefully, but he’s not choosing his prey based on the homophobic attitudes of cops, but his own,” Hutch surmised.

  “You think he’s part of some hate group out to rid the world of
fags?” Granite asked crudely.

  Hutch thrummed his fingers on the counter as he tossed the idea around in his head. He supposed it was a possibility, but it didn’t feel right. The ritual of torture and mutilation, the careful planning of dump sites, the fact that all the victims were small and effeminate, spoke of a much more personal need than anything associated with the teachings of a hate group. Had the killer simply hated gay men, wanted them to suffer, he wouldn’t care about their size or their demeanor.

  He was still pondering it when the waitress set a brown paper sack in front of Granite, the bottom of the bag already saturated with grease. Hutch pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw some bills on the counter.

  “At least I’ll have plenty of time to work on the case tonight.”

  “Yeah, in between trips to the bathroom.” Granite started to stand and froze, eyes wide. “Shit. I’m sharing a room with you.”

  Hutch just grabbed the bag and smiled as he headed toward the exit. “All I need is to stop and grab some beer, and my night will be complete.”

  “Oh hell no, you don’t,” Granite complained as he followed Hutch out the door. When Hutch didn’t respond, Granite grumbled, “I’m getting my own room.”

  They walked back to the hotel, and despite his threat, Hutch didn’t stop at the liquor store. In the lobby, he hit the button on the elevator and leaned his shoulder against the wall as he waited.

  “I don’t think he’s part of a hate group or any other group, for that matter,” Hutch said, picking up the conversation as if it hadn’t abruptly ended fifteen minutes ago.

  “So what’s his major malfunction?”

  “I’m still trying to get a feel for this guy, but I think in some way he’s destroying what he hates most in himself.”

  The bell dinged, announcing the arrival of the car, and the doors slid open. “You think he’s gay?” Granite asked as he stepped in to the elevator.

  “If you asked him, he’d steadfastly deny it and actually believe it.”