Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1)

by Douglas Wickard

  Janice heard the click. She imagined Lisette briefly looking at her cell phone and shaking her head. Smiling as she walked back into her classroom. Standing at the chalkboard, teaching, surrounded in her educational element. Multiplication tables and penmanship. English. Janice reconnected to Louis.

  “Mouth…”

  “I’m dressing. I’ll be right down.”

  “Why should that stop you? It never has before.”

  “Fuck you, wise guy!” She heard him snickering on the other end.

  “Listen, I really have to hand it to you. Thanks for getting me involved.”

  “What are you talking about?” She debated taking a shower. “I didn’t really have a choice now, did I?” She tugged at her slacks, pulling them up with one hand to her waist. Forget the shower. Jake got a kick out of watching her contortion act and started woofing his “okay, time to play with me, bark.”

  “See you soon,” Louis quipped. “Make it snappy!”

  Janice hung up on him. “Okay, you big beautiful mutt. Let’s go for a W-A-L-K.” She spelled out the letters, slowly, making Jake go even crazier. He’d figured it out already. He was smarter than that. She snatched the leash away from him, snapped it onto his collar and sprinted for the door. The first item on her agenda? Buy a copy of the Post and Courier, of course.

  * * *

  She entered the newsroom to a fanfare of applause and public display of attention she wasn’t accustomed to.

  “How’d you do it..? Where’d you get the tip..? Was it Donny..?”

  She hurried down the hallway to Louis’s office. She felt overwhelmed, giddy and completely uncomfortable with all this newfound admiration. She would prefer to stay just Janice Porter. Remember her? She used to work here, with you, yesterday. Before The Syndicated Press picked up her piece and jettisoned it out to every other National newspaper. Charleston was finally hitting the big leagues!

  Louis greeted her with open arms, ushered her into his eclectic office and slammed the door. Staff gathered around outside sniffing out leads. Shadows lurked behind frosted glass, hoping for a scoop, a spin-off, a late night edition piece. Everybody wanted in on the action. Competitive to the max. Janice couldn’t blame them.

  “We’ve added some more reporters.”

  Janice made herself comfortable in Louis’s brown leather armchair, torn but cozy. The room smelled of sweet tobacco and mildew. “I’m not surprised. I expected it. If this is what I think it…”

  Louis didn’t let her finish. He lit up a cigarette, a menthol with an old-fashioned metal lighter. He closed it by flicking the cover, the routine practiced and precise. She imagined the legion of cigarettes smoked in order to achieve such level of precision. The price he would eventually pay. She shrugged it off as Louis deposited the lighter back into the front pocket of his white crinkled shirt. Just like Janice’s father used to do. “Cigarette?”

  “No thanks. The one bad habit I don’t binge on.”

  Yellow, half moons outlined Louis’s underarm. He hacked a smoker’s cough. Deep. Dark. Disgusting.

  “Had a chest X-ray lately? That sounds ugly.”

  “I’m getting a cold. That’s what this job will do to you.”

  Louis hadn’t showered yet, either. Janice wondered if he’d gotten any sleep.

  Deja vu.

  Dad. He had one of those lighters. Now she remembered. The obnoxious smell of butane and lighter fluid. Tobacco. False teeth. She remembered it well. Too well. Too close, for comfort.

  Louis interrupted her mental crossfire. “They’ve called in the FBI.”

  “What?” Janice straightened up in her chair.

  Story of a lifetime…

  Might even get a book deal out of it.

  “They think it’s a serial, don’t they?” Janice looked around the room searching for a coffee machine. “You got any coffee?” Not that she hadn’t had enough already. Her body was functioning solely on hypersensitive nerves, jacked up adrenaline and caffeine. Coffee and, of course, Lisette. Her upcoming fantasy evening with Lisette was already percolating in her deviant imagination.

  “Not saying at this point.” Louis walked to the door, opened it and watched on as people scurried away like cockroaches. He called out to his secretary. “How ‘bout some coffee in here.” Turning, he asked, “You take it black, right?”

  “Right.”

  He screamed out, “Black! And make sure it’s fresh. Not like the last shit you gave me.”

  Janice finished off another cuticle as Louis slammed the door. “They don’t want to cause any unnecessary terror. I can’t blame ‘em. We’ve already received a call from the Mayor’s office this morning. Everybody’s concerned.”

  The Mayor’s office. Janice felt as if she were being swept away and deposited smack dab in the middle of some low budget, B-level horror flick. Right on cue, a petite, gaunt woman with straw looking hair entered into the office with a mug of steaming coffee. She offered it to Louis.

  “It’s for her.” He scoffed, pointing in Janice’s direction.

  Janice stood up and reached for the coffee. “Thank you, darling.” She responded kindly, smiled and left.

  “Personally, Mouth, I got a gut on this and it’s gonna be big.”

  “Big… as in… what else do you want from me?” Her job, she felt, was already completed. “I do feel pressed to say one thing, though, Louis…”

  “What’s that?” He took a deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled a long chain of cloudy smoke. He aggressively put out the cigarette in an ashtray shaped like the state of Puerto Rico, Louis’s home turf, his stomping grounds. Dead butts and airy cylinders of ash overflowed onto his desk.

  “I sure wouldn’t want to be that girl when she wakes up.”

  Louis withdrew for a moment. He faced the window. “Me either. Poor thing.” Midday sun cast shadows on his unshaved, sallow face.

  In Janice’s line of work, it was important to bring the people back to the real story. The real issue. In this case, she felt it was her duty. Not necessarily for her, but for the girl. For Angie. And, for the first time, ever, she felt it as an obligation. She realized Louis’s desperation. How badly he needed this story as well. Almost as much as she did.

  “Maybe there is something we can do, Mouth.” Louis, always thinking.

  “What’s that?”

  “The attending physician. You get the name of the doctor who administered treatment that first night?” Louis stretched. He rubbed his eyes and sat back down behind his desk. One big, sleepy gorilla.

  “I wrote it down somewhere.” She began rooting through pages in her pad. “… Gordenson, Garrison… why?”

  “You think he’d be willing to give us a piece?”

  “She.”

  “A woman. Even better. What about it? Put a human spin to the story. Sympathy factor.” He explained it like a pitch, like he was shopping a screenplay to a seedy producer securing a movie deal. “The female admitting doctor responds with a public announcement, a warning about the brutality of the slayings.”

  “I don’t know, Louis. Believe me, there’s already a shitload of sympathy around the case. That girl lost her, well, let’s just say, she’s virtually without any female sexual organs. Besides, the hospital crew’s close mouthed about it. The doctor was talking to Hammer on the ward floor when I left. I definitely did not want to have a run in with him.” Janice took another gulp of coffee wishing she had some Advil. Or TUMS for the heartburn she was surely going to get.

  “Try, won’t you?”

  Janice set the cup down on his desk. “Thanks for the mud.”

  Louis watched as she walked to the door. “You did a great job, Mouth. I just want you to know… I’m proud of you.”

  “What is it? You’re the second person that’s said that today. Everybody’s proud of me and it’s not even noon yet.”

  “Take it as a compliment. I would.”

  “That’s the difference between you and me. I’m great at giving. It’s the
receiving I have a hard time with.” The frosted glass door rattled as Janice exited. Similar to her life lately. A lot of skeletons chasing after her.

  Friday

  11:32 AM

  17

  Dan took a much needed break from violence and autopsies and drove to the Isle of Palms. Even without sleep, he needed to see his daughter. Connect with her innocence. Some sanity.

  Like a gunshot, he sped south on I-26 toward Charleston. Far from Goose Creek, track housing, mini malls and George Madden. More in miles than memory. George was a funny guy. Funny peculiar, as his grandmother used to say. George seemed less interested in sharing information about his heroic adventure than his wife. On the other hand, Edna, well, let’s just say, she seemed genuinely curious about the whole ordeal. Dan kept getting the feeling Edna knew more than she was letting on.

  Edna greeted Dan warmly and ushered him into their home. A rotund woman who occupied a generous portion of their cramped living space, she promptly excused herself into the kitchen. She returned carrying a serving tray stacked with miniature toast points and marmalade. Very hospitable. Dan noticed Edna had difficulty navigating her terrain comfortably. Her shoes appeared far too small for her swollen feet, cutting off valuable circulation. The floral housedress she wore was large and blowzy. It had that faded, about to be retired look. Dan couldn’t help but notice the fleshy folds of fat hanging from her upper arms.

  “Coffee, Detective?” She asked, positioning the tray on the wooden table.

  “Great.” Dan checked out the living room. The house had that warm, musty, lived-in kind of smell. A Bible sat next to the tray. A painted picture of the Lord Jesus hung like a Christmas ornament on the wall, the back of His head illuminated by a low-watt pink light bulb. Dan kept waiting for the damn thing to begin blinking. Weirder, still, he kept wondering why he felt so comfortable.

  Funny peculiar…

  George sat quietly on the sofa. It was large and ugly and beige in color. Most of the living room was taken up by it. Dan sat opposite George in a beat-up leather recliner. Dishtowels were placed on the used armrests to protect the raveling fabric. Dan stopped rocking by leaning forward into the table.

  “There’s a big handle, right there on the side, if you’d like to recline.” George reached over and pointed out the wooden lever.

  Dan stopped him at the pass. “This is fine.” George resumed his standard position, at ease, awaiting further instructions from Edna, his live in female drill sergeant. She waddled back into the room. A matching sugar bowl and creamer teetered clumsily in the palm of her chubby hand.

  “Sugar?”

  “Yes, dear.” George replied, in monotone.

  “I’m talking to the nice Detective, George. He was the one kind enough to follow you all the way back here. Besides, your hands aren’t broken.” Pause. “Not yet, anyway.” A sarcastic smile, a slight snort and then three teaspoons of sugar dumped in steady succession into her tiny teacup. Fat fingers daintily stirred the concoction. Edna hoisted it up to her mouth, tasted the coffee, pinkie finger extended, and then proceeded to add another spoonful. Clearing her throat, she looked up at Dan and winked. Her watery eyes appeared to twinkle.

  At that point, Dan knew more about Edna and George’s marriage than he cared to. Even so, she continued to illuminate him. Besides, the coffee was excellent and he was exhausted. He needed the caffeine. Edna proceeded to tell Dan how she used the sofa as a bed whenever her sister, Luella came to visit from Savannah. How it unfolded out into a Queen sized bed. Dan nodded and sipped. Nodded and sipped. George remained perfectly quiet. Dan felt sorry for George. But then again, Dan was beginning to feel sorry for most men over the age of twenty-five!

  Dan made an exaggerated motion to check the time. “Wow. Time flies.” He thanked Edna for her kindness, her hospitality and her coffee before excusing himself. He had taken about as much information from George Madden as he was ever going to need, but he passed his card over to him just the same. As a courtesy. Dan gave the customary detective rap, “give me a call if you remember anything…” as Edna hobbled along beside him to the front door. At one point, she reached over and steadied herself on Dan’s arm. He allowed her the moment.

  “You’re welcome to stay for lunch, if you like, Detective.” She brushed gray hair from off her forehead with the back of her thick wrist. It was a difficult move to complete, dexterity not being one of Edna’s better attributes. At one time, Edna might have been beautiful. Dan got the feeling she was actually flirting with him.

  Of course, Dan refused the offer.

  The screen door banged shut. Dan ambled down the few broken concrete steps to his car. Edna stood behind the ripped screen. She waved goodbye. Dan couldn’t see George standing behind her. He must have already disappeared into his life.

  And, Dan was ready to withdraw into a lost part of his. Alexandra. The only fragment that still made any sense.

  Gina hated it when Dan showed up unexpectedly. Her excuse was that Alexandra became too excited after spending any time with him. It made it difficult for Gina to start their day with any sort of regularity. Dan said, “fuck that.” Alexandra was his daughter, too, for Christ’s sake.

  The worst of the morning traffic had ceased as he crossed over the new Cooper River Bridge. What remained on the road belonged to families, vacationers, or young kids, teenagers skipping class and heading to the beach. Piled high in the backseats were blankets, towels, coolers and volleyballs. Beach gear. Dan used to keep theirs in the backseat, too. When Gina, Alexandra and he were together. When they were a family. Now, Dan tossed everything into the trunk.

  He used it for emergencies…

  The Isle of Palms. What a perfect place to visit. Or live. Seven sundrenched miles of wide, clean beaches. The Atlantic Ocean at your doorstep and warm, inviting South Carolina sun on your face. Dan could almost smell Summer simmering. That blend of coconut oil and Hawaiian Tropic smoldering in the air. Fruit drinks, frosty Corona Beer and margaritas. Dan’s personal favorite tequila was Don Julio, Silver.

  He avoided the line of cars entering The Visitor Center and passed through Mount Pleasant. He drove the few miles of two lane traffic, past strip malls and fast food chains. How many times had they made a pit stop at the Dairy Queen? Quenching their thirst with ginger ale served over crushed ice or an ice cream cone after a relaxing day at the beach. Or feasted on their fantastic Sloppy Joes, sauce dripping carelessly onto their tanned, brown skin.

  A young girl in her teens, blonde hair and very shapely ran from a convertible. She wore nothing more than a neon orange thong bikini. She giggled as she entered, pulling the Dairy Queen door open and vanishing into the air conditioning. Her boyfriend waited outside, bare-chested. He listened to the radio. The volume was pumped up so loud, the bass track reverberated. He moved his head to the beat. Do these kids have any idea a maniac’s loose and causing havoc on young women? Probably at this very moment, picking his next victim. Sorting through the wide assortment of tourists, choosing the next trophy for his curious collection. An ideal situation for a killer.

  Dan drove bumper to bumper, waiting for the congestion to ease. With so much additional tourist traffic, you would think the City of Mount Pleasant would increase their two lane highway to at least a four-way. He followed the steady procession across the connector bridge. It passed over the Intracoastal Waterway. Murky, green water traveled uninterrupted to the Atlantic and to the Charleston Harbor. Luckily, no boats were crossing. Otherwise, he would have to sit and wait while the drawbridge rose. He passed by unscathed. Fishermen lined the side of the road. Their poles dangled sunlight into the stream. A constant parade of cyclists, kids on rollerblades, long boarders, and joggers traveled the long stretch of miles in stride.

  A rustic sign welcomed Dan to the Isle of Palms. Finally. It seemed to be the only thing constant year after year. That old wooden logo. Dan knew the road. He’d driven it a thousand times. Palms Boulevard. He followed it until he got to Forty First Street and ma
de a left hand turn. At the end of the block was a pair of well-maintained tennis courts and a recreational facility. He used to play tennis there, back when he was younger. Back when he was trying to impress Gina. Now, the most exercise he got was… not much.

  He leisurely drove past Gina’s small beach house. Their house. He turned around in the parking lot at the end of the street. Gravel crunched as he made the u-turn and parked in a vacant space two houses before theirs. He turned off the ignition and watched, spying on his own home, his own child. How crazy was that?

  He looked in the rearview mirror. His image caught him off guard. He looked like shit. Without sleep and a shave, he was beginning to resemble a serial killer himself. He was in desperate need of a kind word, a gentle touch, a cold shower. He rubbed his eyes, cleared his throat and spit out the window. Dan never considered himself a handsome man, but he knew he had something. There was something special about him. A sparkle. Some magic. Maybe it was his eyes. His build. His Mom used to tell him it was his eyes. “You’ve got your Father’s eyes,” she’d say. That was all right. He’d seen photos of his Dad. His eyes seemed attractive enough. For a guy, anyway. When Dan was younger, he did work out at the gym. A lot. It was the thing to do. Push the weights, get the girls. Not that it did much good. Look where it got him. He got the girl, but then what happened?