Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1)

by Douglas Wickard

  The drone of her tiny voice and the constant attack of monitors beeping beside the patient’s head made Dr. Garrison long for a cup of coffee. Black and hot with lots of sugar. She suppressed a yawn, and moved her head every so often to show her attention wasn’t wavering, even though it was. She glanced out at the reception area by the elevators. Freedom.

  What?

  She couldn’t believe her eyes. That damn reporter was back. Like a bad head cold.

  She interrupted the presentation. “Excuse me for one moment.”

  Dr. Kendleson repositioned his glasses. He glared at her through bifocal lenses. “Where are you going?” His voice groaned like Darth Vader from Star Wars.

  “There’s a situation I need to clear up. I won’t be long. I apologize for interrupting your presentation, Dr. Kim.”

  Dr. Garrison gathered angry momentum as she pushed through the glass enclosure separating the Unit from the hallway. The residents watched on as she exited.

  Dr. Kendleson, upset that Dr. Garrison had stolen his thunder, clapped his hands together several times and said, “Let’s go, Dr. Kim! We don’t have all day.”

  “What are you doing here?” Dr. Garrison asked, approaching the reporter, contempt burning in her eyes. What was her name? Janine, Jasmine..?

  She extended her hand as if the Doctor might actually make an attempt to shake it.

  Dr. Garrison walked right past her, eager to take advantage of this opportunity to fetch some coffee.

  “Janice Porter, from the…”

  “I know who you are.”

  “We never actually got a formal opportunity to chat yesterday, with the fire and all…”

  Dr. Garrison turned around and addressed her. “I’ve told you, over and over again, I have nothing more to say about the Kessler girl. I feel very sorry for her family, particularly her Father. I wish it would have ended differently…”

  She’s a strange one, this one… bold. Fearless…

  Janice interrupted her. “But it didn’t. Angie Kessler died. Here. In this hospital, two floors up. I’m actually shocked. Everybody seems to be handling it so well today… considering…”

  “I was her physician.”

  “Somebody actually walked right into her private room and made her into a human torch.”

  “I saw the room. I was here. With you. Remember? What do you want from me? You seem to know more about the girl than I do.”

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you the one who coined the phrase, The Mutilator? Well, aren’t you? If I’m not mistaken, that was your face plastered all over the front page of the paper, wasn’t it?”

  Janice took a step back. She blushed, catching herself in a priceless moment of personal recognition. It smacked her square in the face. A sucker punch. She felt embarrassed, shy, but proud. Proud. PROUD, “Ah, most of that information came from the gentleman who found her.”

  Dr. Garrison craved coffee. And, a Valium. She pressed the elevator button. “I don’t know what else you could possibly want from me. I feel as if you’re harassing me.”

  “Harassing you?” Janice chuckled, completely taken aback.

  “That’s what it’s beginning to feel like. Showing up at my home. Following me around like…”

  Hurry up, elevator. C’mon.

  “Honestly, that’s not my intention, Dr. Garrison. Truly. I’m only trying to do my job. Trying to get to the bottom of this very ugly story, hoping maybe you might be willing to put a more personal spin on it…”

  The elevator opened. Thank God. Dr. Garrison hurried in, hoping the reporter wouldn’t follow.

  Janice stood stationary, a cement statue holding guard while Dr. Garrison took cover in the back corner. She reached out for the Lobby button and pulled her scrub coat tight around her body for comfort. The faint ding of the elevator closing and the reporter’s nauseating voice was the last thing she heard.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, Dr. Garrison, and I say this with all due respect, I just wouldn’t expect a physician, like yourself, to be so aggressively uncooperative. That’s what puzzles me the most…”

  10:27 AM

  Lockwood Precinct

  Conference Room

  35

  Harry was losing his voice.

  He downed the last tepid swig of strong, burnt coffee from an oversized mug that read: NUMBER ONE DAD. He swallowed quickly in order not to taste the mud. Police precincts weren’t respected for their coffee, but perhaps in the South, they were renowned for their fathering. Harry looked over at Detective Hammer. “Could I please have a glass of water?”

  Hammer jumped up. He walked to the side room and disappeared. The faint sound of suction releasing as the refrigerator opened.

  “There are three distinct questions we need to ask ourselves in order to apprehend the perpetrator.” He glanced around the room. “Can anybody tell me the first?” A slight pause. He waited for some enthusiasm, some excitement. Nobody responded. “Okay, the first question we ask is what took place? This includes anything that might be behaviorally significant about the crime.”

  Hammer returned to the desk. He placed the glass of cold water in front of him.

  “Thank you.” Harry ingested a large amount before setting the glass down. He felt the coldness soothe his throat and travel to his stomach. “That’s better. Secondly, we need to know why? Why did the crime happen the way it did? Remember, behavior reflects personality. Why was nothing of value taken? Was the mutilation done after death? Was the victim sexually assaulted? What are the underlying reasons for each behaviorally significant factor relating to this crime? And then, of course, this leads us to…who?”

  A rapid succession of knocks at the door interrupted the question.

  “Come in.”

  Silence.

  Faint voices echoed from the hallway. Upheaval was growing outside.

  “What is it? Come in please.”

  A police officer with carrot-colored hair poked his head around the door. “Police Chief Abrams, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we have an all alert out. Another girl is missing.”

  Abrams repositioned himself in his chair. He assimilated the information. He pulled a crinkled handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his forehead. “Shit. Since when?”

  “Just called in, sir. By the girl’s Mother. The girl’s name is Jennifer Stattler.”

  Police Chief Abrams stood up. He tucked his shirt into his pants. He organized some papers on the desk in front of him and slipped them back into a folder.

  “What’s the address?” Harry asked.

  “High Battery. The harbor.”

  Harry glanced over at Police Chief Abrams, then to Detective Hammer. “Let’s go, Detective. I’ll let you drive.”

  36

  Little puffs of breath.

  In and out.

  That’s all Jenn could do. Like sucking air through a cramped plastic straw. A colorful snorkel. Like being underwater.

  Imagine yourself underwater, Jenn.

  But I can’t get enough air.

  I’m running out of oxygen.

  Is this what it feels like to drown?

  If she were underwater right now, she would go for it. She would take in a big breath. Just inhale a huge gulp of liquid coolness. Green and blue and clear. She would let it ripple and spin throughout her, swirl around inside her lungs, expand and push further, past boundaries, past her limit. That’s what she would do. If she were underwater. If she were to kill herself.

  I think I would rather be dead than here.

  But, she wasn’t underwater.

  Dammit!

  Motherfucker!

  Drained. And exhausted. And the heat was stifling. Her pleated white shirt was wet and sticky and glued to her back. Her hands and feet were soaked with perspiration. It was so fucking hot. Like a sauna. She wanted air, Dammit. She needed some fresh air!

  Whoever you are? Keeping me a prisoner in here, I want some air.

  And water. Somebody. Pl
ease, please help me.

  She kicked at the inside of the trunk. Somebody might hear. Maybe somebody was walking around outside. Somebody might actually hear her kicking.

  Stop!

  She couldn’t afford to get overly excited. It made her sweat more. Breathe faster. She had to be calm. Relax. And breathe. Little puffs of air, in and out through her nose.

  “Puff the magic dragon…

  Lives by the sea.

  And frolics in the autumn mist…”

  It didn’t help.

  Nothing helped.

  Nobody will help her. Nobody will save her.

  Her shoulders were killing her. Aching. Especially her right side. She’d been lying on it for hours. She needed to move it. Reposition.

  Little puffs of breath.

  In and out.

  Her right shoulder had fallen asleep. It felt like dead meat beneath her. Numb and dry and prickly. She tried rounding her shoulders. She imagined herself at the gym working out with free weights. She counted down the sets slowly. Pins and needles jabbed at her arm, tingling sensations. Finally, she was able to move, just a bit. Back and forth. Rocking. She didn’t want to overexert. She kept reminding herself to stay calm. Relax. And breathe.

  She felt something hard and cool behind her. If she stretched the tips of her fingers, she could feel it. Sweet Jesus, thank you. She strained again. The ends of her fingers reached and extended. What was it? A jack? The car jack? It projected up and against the back of the trunk through a thin piece of carpeting.

  She inched her body backwards. Toward the metal. Toward the jack. It wasn’t a large trunk. Not like her Mommy’s. Not like the Lexus. This trunk was smaller. Much smaller. Medium-sized. Moving her body took the precision of all of her parts. All of her strength. Like a caterpillar, she would breathe and scoot. Breathe and scoot. If her timing was off, not even an inch of progress.

  A strand of loose, wet hair tickled at her nose. She couldn’t reach it. She couldn’t get to it. She couldn’t even use her tongue. She tried shaking her head to remove it. She was afraid the harder she shook, more of her hair would fall. She tried forgetting about it. The annoyance. The irritation. She tried concentrating on the jack. Her escape.

  Her fingers didn’t have so far to stretch now. She could feel the metal edges pressing up against her. It wasn’t too sharp. Not sharp enough to cut, but maybe, if she rubbed the tape up against it, back and forth, several times, it would loosen. Like on TV. Maybe she could even cut through it.

  Then what? What would she do then? Wait? Obviously, somebody was coming back for her. Somebody must want to hurt her to do all this.

  Kill me?

  She positioned herself firmly against the metal jack. The end jabbed at her butt. She didn’t care. It was a shot. A chance. It was now or never.

  I’ll show you.

  Don’t fuck with me.

  Remember Jenn…

  Little puffs of breath.

  Little puffs of breath…

  In and out…

  And, up and down…

  11:02 AM

  37

  Hammer led Harry Wright through a maze of eggshell colored hallways. Numb and fatigued, Harry followed blindly down an ancient, smelly stairwell to the front of the Precinct. A pleasant looking female officer with baby blue fingernail polish handed Hammer an envelope.

  “Photographs,” she said, matter-of-factly. “From the Lab.”

  Hammer took the folder, said a quick “thanks” and handed it off to Wright, as if they were part of one elaborate relay team racing for the Gold.

  Palm trees outlined the parking lot. What heralded Harry’s arrival earlier this morning was a reality. He really was in the South. Those tall, billowing stalks, were in fact, real live palm trees. Dan pushed the glass and steel doors open. Warm, humid air mixed with exhaust fumes greeted them. On Lockwood Avenue, cars sped past at lightning speeds hoping to beat the upcoming string of traffic lights.

  Hammer looked vaguely familiar to Harry. Did he know him from somewhere? Where?

  Meanwhile, Hammer continued to address Harry with an apprehensive look that said, “Stay tuned.” Like he was anticipating, waiting for something. Expectant. A tinge of recognition? A pat on the back. A bone.

  Unfortunately, Detective Hammer, Harry Wright’s tuning fork was sadly off-kilter now. Maybe tomorrow he’d have more to offer in that department. After some sleep. A little rest. That’s what Harry needed right now. He thought about going back to that cheap hotel, taking a long, hot shower (hopefully there was hot water) followed by a quick power nap. The side effects from driving all night had finally taken its toll. Harry felt sluggish. His throat was scratchy. He was not as young as he used to be. Not as young as Detective Hammer.

  “I had a difficult time earlier.” Harry cleared his throat, wishing he had a Hall’s mentholated throat lozenge. “Talking, that is. It’s uncharacteristic of me. I pride myself on my training. My presentations.”

  “You sounded fine to me.” Hammer pulled sunglasses from out of his navy blue pinstriped blazer and adjusted them onto his face.

  Harry followed silently behind Dan. It was obvious Charleston was not accustomed to violent crimes. Not in the way Harry was. Not in the way anybody should be.

  “If you want, I can take you back to your hotel first.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Hammer crossed in front of Harry. He escorted him to his vehicle, an antique Plymouth. And very well kept. Clean on the inside and out. And dark. The color of cranberries, deep red and purple. It made Harry thirsty. Perhaps they might stop for some lunch later.

  “Where are you staying?” Dan asked, grateful he’d run his car through the car wash earlier that morning. Always the good boy. Always scouring for a crumb of approval.

  “Not far from here.” Harry pointed in some direction, which could have been wrong. “Howard Johnson’s, I think. The Riverfront.”

  Unlocking his door first, Hammer jumped in. He leaned over and unlocked the passenger side. The pas de deux continued. Harry slid in. He smelled the clean scent of a non smoker. Thank God. He buckled his seat belt. The shoulder strap needed immediate adjusting. Was he gaining more weight? He pulled and tugged and finally allowed another inch of freedom across his chest. He opened the envelope and pulled out the crime scene photos.

  “To the Battery.” Harry said, knowing he had a rogue student in his presence. “There’s much to teach you.”

  Hammer turned to Harry and smiled. He had a nice smile, friendly and engaging. Harry was reminded of himself at Hammer’s age. Self-confident. Edgy. That dangerous mix of arrogance and cocksureness. It was exhilarating to meet somebody with those attributes. Also exhausting. Was he ever that young? That age? He didn’t think so. Perhaps a thousand years ago. Or more. He leaned back into the worn folds of the hot vinyl seat and surrendered the driving to Hammer. And to remember. Oh, yes, he definitely could remember.

  “So…” Hammer said, turning right onto Lockwood Boulevard and interfering with Harry’s private thoughts, “How’s the family?”

  Harry glanced out his window, the powder blue skies, the towering naked palm trees. How lazily they swayed in the humid, stiff breeze as if bowing to one another in slow motion. Hot air pumped out onto Harry’s knees from the car’s air conditioner, warming up to hopefully cool down.

  Harry remembered, sometimes to forget.

  11:00 AM

  38

  Jake was much happier to see Janice than Dr. Garrison was. Happy might not be the appropriate word. Pissed off would probably be a better choice to describe Jake’s personality once Janice finally walked through the front door. Relieved, also.

  After the initial, “I missed you so much” attack, Jake galloped to the wall, jumped up, grabbed his leash, ran back and dropped it in front of her. And before she had a chance to turn around and shut the door, he was already outside. Scrambling down the paver stones, claws clicking on the pavement, hoisting his leg up on the first available shrub he could
find, grateful and thankful and happily unburdened. Janice felt miserable. She did a quick spot check around the apartment to make sure everything was intact. No shredded shoes. No tattered newspapers. (Jake knew better than that) No evidence of an accident. Not even Jake’s trusty green plastic dinosaur. Poor Jake. What a good boy. She parted the sheer curtains of the kitchen window. Jake chased after a Blue Jay, totally in his element. Jumping and barking and scurrying around the back courtyard.