Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1)

by Douglas Wickard

  “Where was Porter’s car parked?”

  “We passed it.”

  “And the dog?”

  “Contained.”

  “Let’s talk with the Officer.”

  10:34 PM

  55

  “Our time is the very shadow that passeth away…”

  With the aid of a mild sedative, Alexandra continues to sleep. Night owls hoot around us. Swirling, diving sonar bats circle and silhouette the night sky.

  Alexandra’s awakening to me at her bedside was welcome and unquestioning. I offered her a glass of apple juice, the small blue tablet already dissolved in it.

  I will save her the pain I went through.

  She asked to use the bathroom, which I attentively provided. I accompanied her as she went.

  After all, I am her guardian.

  Escorting Alexandra back into the bedroom, she never mentioned her Father or her Mother. I noticed the sedative affecting her coordination as she climbed back into the bed with my help. She smiled sweetly, thanked me, grabbed at her blankets and comforters and snuggled back into them. She drifted to sleep, unaware of her pivotal role in my release.

  I carried her from the apartment wrapped in one of the blankets from the bed. I deposited her in the front passenger seat. Nobody noticed. The neighborhood was dead. The apartment complex quiet. The streets were empty as we drove over Folly Bridge to the original clearing.

  My instruments waited for me in the backseat. Ready to save her. Me.

  My small sacrifice…

  At Old Towne Road, I was surprised to find the Police barriers still present, the area under quarantine. My sacred alter. I parked my car far from the main road and walked through the field carrying Alexandra to our final destination. My body had lost all sense of feeling. The wooden stakes were still present, evident of my precise dedication to perfection.

  I positioned Alexandra down upon the damp earth and used the two stakes at the bottom of the triangle to secure her legs. Then I secured her hands. She was oblivious as I covered her up with the blanket. The temperature outside was cold.

  “Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds, before they be withered…”

  I have prepared for her. It is so uncomplicated with the sedative.

  “I bless you, I become you, I am you…”

  I take my ritual place between her young legs.

  Remember Mother. Remember… the heat, how hot it was that day. Scorching. I was so thirsty. They wouldn’t allow us water. Not until afterward… not until… afterward...

  Now, all I must do is wait. The sign will arrive. It always does.

  Shadows dance like ghosts…

  I know the end is near.

  Soon, I shall meet Mother as I promised I would.

  My Mother’s keeper.

  I shall soar high above the Southern oaks surrounding us, my mission complete. For now, I must wait. For Father. He will come and save me. Save us both. I know he will. For the instructions made it perfectly clear.

  I am ready for my return, Mother…

  10:01 PM

  56

  Police Officer Reardon was more than willing to recount his arrival to the apartment complex. He went into specific details on how he unlocked the car door and followed the dog to the body. Dan was impressed. The Officer made frequent glances to his spiral notebook, reading from legible notes scribbled in man-scratch writing. Reardon explained the peculiar way in which the dog bolted from the car and hightailed it directly to Apartment 427. How the canine had made wild, crazy circles, sniffing around the base of the door before taking off down the back corridor stairwell and across the grounds of the complex.

  Surrounding neighbors heard or saw nothing. They stated that “the lady” who lived in the apartment was quiet and seemed to work a lot. She didn’t get involved in neighborly functions, festive barbeques, potlucks; she was not overly friendly and stayed pretty much to herself. One neighbor thought she worked at a hospital, but nobody was sure. The apartment manager was unavailable for questioning. He lived nearby on East Ashley Avenue.

  Wright and Hammer approached the Apartment with casual interest. It seemed suspicious that a dog would respond so inquisitively to a stranger’s apartment and was definitely worth investigating. The threshold lacked personal touches. Neighboring tenants had gone mad, it seemed, decorating their front areas with plants, tables, beach towels strewn over railings and sandals parked outside their doors laden with fine layers of sand. The overly stark quality in front of 427 was definitely noticeable.

  Dan observed a tiny drop of smeared red paint about two inches away from the doorway. He bent down to take a closer look.

  “What do you think?” Wright’s voice boomed over him.

  “Paint maybe, possibly blood… I’ll be right back.” Dan left Wright at the doorway and went to his car. He opened the trunk and pulled out his Homicide Kit, compact but useful. Crowds of onlookers were kept at bay behind newly errected police barricades. News traveled fast. Voices carried as he walked up the pathway and rejoined Wright. “What happened? Where’s the body? What’s going on here?” Dan noticed the dog sitting in the driver’s seat awaiting his master’s arrival, lowering his head, close to the steering wheel, never losing focus on the door at the top of the landing. Dan felt sorry for him. Poor thing. Even though Janice Porter wasn’t one of his favorite people; it was horrible she met her untimely end in this way. Evans was so shook up after seeing the body they had to transport him directly to the ER. He began hyperventilating, couldn’t catch his breath, had some type an anxiety attack. His entire body began contorting in spasms from lack of oxygen to his muscles. Dan often wondered about those two. Where there was Evans, Porter was never far behind.

  Dan pulled his digital camera out. He took several shots of the area. A long-range view to show relationship of the smear to its surrounding area and a short range shot to show the actual item being collected. He retrieved a razor blade from the kit and scraped a sample into a sterile container. He labeled the specimen with time and date and logged it into his notebook with corresponding information. He detailed the original position and location, sealed up the sample and sent it with an Officer back to the lab for examination. A nearby laboratory would perform the procedure necessary to obtain a blood type. If the specimen was blood, they would see if the type matched Porter. Evidence was crucial in building a case for trial. Every detail entered correctly. Dan had to be perfectly honest. He was showing off. Let the Wright observe the Hammerhead in action. His mind flashed to Sydia. How comfortable she looked, wine glass in her hand. Like she belonged there, with him.

  Wright sneezed three times, each one accelerating in intensity. “Excuse me. Damn.”

  “God Bless you.”

  Wright wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He reached into his coat pocket for a handkerchief. Dan’s father used cloth handkerchiefs. A vivid image of his Mother, dropping each of them, one by one, into the washing machine. Interesting what comes to mind…

  Dan noticed a short, stocky gentleman moving with discomfort up the stairway. A set of keys dangled from his hip. His appearance was unkempt and tousled. He was badly in need of a shave. His pants were brown polyester and he wore a Hawaiian shirt too small to cover his protruding stomach. A cigarette hung from the side of his mouth. Puffs of smoke escaped as he lumbered up the stairs assisted by the metal banister.

  “What’s all the racket about? Mind telling me?”

  “I’m Detective Hammer from the Charleston Police and this is FBI Agent Harry Wright.” Dan showed him his badge. Wright was nonplussed by the sight.

  “Somebody said there was a murder here? You aren’t safe anywhere these days.”

  “I take it you’re the Manager?” The man reminded Dan of that character from the Batman series, the Penguin.

  “Thirteen years now. Live around the corner. Never seen so many people hanging around here in all my days.”

  “Would you mind giving us some information?”


  “I don’t want no trouble.” He dropped his cigarette to the cement floor, stepped on it, and then leaned down to pick it up. He deposited the butt back in his pants pocket. “Like what? What do you want to know?”

  “Who lives in this apartment?”

  He pulled the chain to the keys jangling on his hip. “I’ll do one better than that.” He sorted through several layers of keys before examining a number written on a specific one. “Here we go.” He fit the key into the lock and turned, flipping the doorknob open. “It’s in my lease. I can enter a tenant’s apartment at will.” The door opened, exposing a dark interior. Cool air escaped into the hallway. No lights. No sound. Empty.

  Wright spoke first. “We don’t have a search warrant, but with your permission, Sir, may we enter and take a look around?” They waited in anticipation for a dismissal. The chain of events that occurred daily in a police officer’s life were rarely, if ever, simple. The legal limitations in a criminal investigation concerning suspicion, sufficient probable cause, the filling out of affidavits to obtain a judge’s signature for a warrant, particularly in the dead of night, could be a test of patience and strength. This was a lucky break. Even if it led to nothing.

  “Follow me.” The stubby man led the way. As they passed into the entryway foyer, he turned on the lights.

  Dan looked down at his feet. “Jesus fucking Christ.” A puddle of blood, circling a six foot wide circumference surrounded them. At first sight, Dan jumped up to avoid stepping into it. Seconds later, Wright and the Manager witnessed the grisly sight and both followed. They stepped immediately back out into the hallway. Out of breath and gagging, the Manager sprinted to the terrace railing. His face turned white.

  By accident, Wright and Hammer had discovered the original crime scene. The grounds located behind the building were used only as a dumping ground. Nothing had been touched. There wasn’t even an attempt to clean up the mess. The slaughter had taken place in the doorway. The body had been dismembered with the use of a handheld hacksaw. Residual tissue, bones and body parts littered the entry. The bloody instrument lay strewn on the floor. The remains had been discarded into black plastic bags, toted to the perimeter of the complex and thrown away, like trash, into and around, a shallow grave.

  “Somebody was sure in a hurry.” Wright said, as he lunged over the bloodbath and into the apartment. Dan was surprised at his flexibility and followed after him. Outside he noticed the Manager using his cell phone.

  Wright and Hammer cased the apartment. Dan pulled out his revolver, concurring with Wright each room’s safety. Property secured, Wright entered into the kitchen while Dan went into the bedroom. A feeling of pending doom lodged in the pit of his stomach. The bed was made. The closet doors were shut. The telephone answering machine was blinking, sporadic red blips. Dan looked in the closet mirror as he pressed PLAY.

  “This is Detective Hammer. I… Dan that is. I got your message.” A chuckle. “Actually, I found the matches. Very good. I liked that…”

  Dan pressed STOP.

  He turned around.

  Where am I? Who lives here?

  His mind began scaling hurdles. Emotional balance was lost as he scaled dangerous perimeters on overload. Nerve impulses missed appropriate connectors. Much needed information jumbled. Medical reference books lined the desk…

  …a Doctor?

  Oh, dear God! A melting occurred in his stomach. Bile rose to his throat. A force so strong, so savage rose from deep within him, one he could not possibly contain, one originating from past regrets, past pain, and rage. Wright ran to the door as Dan landed on his knees, put his hands to his face and screamed.

  “What? Dan, what’s going on?”

  Dan rocked back and forth. He looked over at Wright, who was now kneeling down beside him. He held onto Wright’s shoulder. Outside the Manager yelled into the apartment.

  “A Ms. Garrison. Sydia. The woman who lives in this apartment is Dr. Sydia Garrison.” He pronounced Sydia wrong.

  Dan rose from the floor. “Sydia Garrison HAS MY BABY!”

  10:08 PM

  57

  By the time you read this, Alexandra and I will be at our destination. Together, we wait for an omen. A sign to continue the sacred practice we have so joyously been brought together to perform. To celebrate! And finally complete. And you are a part of the practice. You will save me, Dan, and, in the process, save your daughter.

  You almost discovered me. My scar… the ugly blemish I’ve physically worn since I too, was not quite six years old… for my sins, in memory of my dear Mother, and in combination with my beloved Father. Traditionally, when a child is born into the world, it bonds with the family. Unfortunately, my birth only caused separation, abandonment and ultimately… death.

  My death, Dan.

  But that is all behind me now… behind us…

  As God, I have chosen to force my will, my life and my tradition upon Alexandra. The heavens have agreed. They have approved of my final sacred choice. Unlike the others, those silly cunts that paid for their sins with death, Alexandra shall live. She will be saved, as my Father saved me years ago. I will allow Alexandra to continue her life, so she, too, can carry the awful memory I have lived with, along with all those who have come before me, and all those who will endure the painful act after me. Alexandra will mature into womanhood with full knowledge that her temple has been destroyed, her feminine gift, her womanly power denied and the source of her pleasure forever engraved and carved out. It its place, an embarrassing hollow shell.

  Alexandra will live, Dan, but she, too, will die. From the deprivation of Spirit I have learned to call home.

  We wait for you…

  Far from the hectic pace of the City…

  In a sacred clearing prepared for the others before her.

  Hurry…

  God.

  11:17 PM

  58

  As a cop, Dan took his work seriously. To a fault, some people might think. As a Detective, Dan had earned the respect and admiration of his colleagues and peers. There were times he considered his reputation at the Precinct to be more important than life itself. And yes, he tended to be rough around the edges, outspoken and, often, downright rude.

  But as a Father, Dan took his role over the top. Being an absentee Dad didn’t help. It made him all the more protective. Nightly hugs before bedtime, colored pages hung up and bragged about on his refrigerator, bedtime stories before lights out; all gave a rare insight into a life he rarely got to experience, excluding, of course, the out of the ordinary emergencies that popped up from time to time. Or the mandatory, court-ordered, every other weekend visitation. Animal instincts came out to play. Dangerous and paternal impulses arose, not easily monitored on the Richter scale of acceptable human behavior when something or somebody jeopardized his Alexandra.

  He realized all of that when Wright helped him up from off the floor and escorted him back to his car.

  “You want company?”

  Dan unlocked the driver’s side. His legs felt like Jell-O. He dropped the keys into a puddle of dark water. He was in shock. His body felt numb, cold, and detached as he leaned over to scoop them up. “No.”

  “I’ll send reinforcement to your apartment. You might need it.” Wright reached out to stable Dan, but he had already left, leaving Wright abandoned on the boardwalk.

  Dan sped back to North Charleston, consumed with self-guilt and self-hate. He wanted to kick himself in the ass for allowing Sydia to manipulate him the way she had. His character was flawed, pathetic and desperate – a stupid male creature led solely around by his dick. Meanwhile, Sydia’s intentions were probably in place from the very beginning. Right from the start. He caught his reflection in the window. He looked shrunken and small. A beaten man.

  He arrived back at the apartment to find the front door wide open. Dominoes began falling. “Sydia!” He yelled into the dark, empty rooms. He pushed open the door with his foot. Nothing. “SYDIA!” Just the monotonous changing o
f the streetlight outside. On the coffee table, he discovered the note. The wine glass had been broken and lay shattered on the floor. As he read, he began to cry. Again. The idea of Alexandra being tortured was more than he could stand. Her slight body tied down with ligatures. Her little girl legs separated, open and vulnerable like the others…

  Old Towne Road…

  In a sacred clearing prepared for the others who came before her…

  The apartment complex was quiet outside as he leaped down the stairwell. Normal people were sleeping, unaware of the horror he was about to witness. In the distance, a serenade of sirens shattered the stillness, careening toward his location.

  He lunged into his car. He was on a mission. His purpose was intact. Save his baby. He revved the engine and peeled out from the parking lot. He turned right at the first traffic light onto Cosgrove Avenue, aware that he sped through a red light. The first of many as he raced past closed businesses and strip malls lit up with impersonal neon.