Burnside's Killer_Extended Version

by Timothy Ellis

  "Listen up, zipper heads," I growled. "You think this whole thing is a laugh? That it's not serious when someone slices a guy's penis off while they're still awake to see it?"

  They gave each other an embarrassed glance, but said nothing.

  "Tell me it'd be funny if it had been his eyelids that were taken, or his fingers, or his ears. Go on, tell me."

  They stared at the floor in silence.

  "As for Ms. Katz being the suspect, she was known to be in the area, and had opportunity. That's more than your imaginary suspect. And how did this mythical boyfriend manage to subdue Patterson, a professional fucking athlete, and sever his penis without leaving a single mark on the body? And a first-year beat cop should be smart enough to know that taking a body part as a trophy is a classic sign of a serial killer. The fact that the penis wasn't lying on the floor beside the body confirms that this wasn't a crime of passion, it was cold-blooded murder."

  "Look," Ed protested, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

  "What gets up my nose the most about clowns like you, is you make up your mind, and then try to get the evidence to suit your theory. You waste precious time chasing down the wrong leads while the real culprit gets away without a trace. If it weren't for the goddamn bounty hunters, there wouldn't be any killers facing justice anywhere in the fucking galaxy!"

  I could hear the blood coursing through my ears by that point, so I took a deep breath to calm myself down. Part of me knew I was also yelling at myself. A dozen men had died because I hadn't been able to track down this killer. But I wasn't going to tell them that.

  "I'm out of here," I said with a tight grin. "You can close down your crime scene now. Thanks for your cooperation. I'm sure the media will be all over your boyfriend story, so by all means, leak it to them."

  With that I spun on my heels, and strode towards the kitchen, but I stopped suddenly, and turned back to face them.

  "One more thing," I said. "It wasn't some philosopher named Occam.' It was a Franciscan monk named William of Okham. And it's not the simplest solution that's usually right, it's the one which makes you ask the fewest questions. There's a difference, especially when you don't even bother asking the questions to begin with."

  With that, I stalked my way through the kitchen, and out the back door. The forensics tech quickly looked away as I passed him in the front, and headed for the transport which had dropped me off. I plopped down in the back, and told the driver to get me back to the spaceport as fast as he could.

  As the car shot forward, I sank into the seat, and folded my arms over my chest. Even though I had some of the answers I'd been hoping for, they'd prompted a whole mess of new questions, and I had a lot of work ahead of me.

  First, I had to learn everything I could about the Midnight System, and a place called Hunter's Redoubt.

  Then I had to figure out the best way to warn Admiral Jonathon Hunter, the hero of the Midgard War, that he really needed to keep an eye on his dick.

  Seventeen

  You always hear people talk about the moment which changed the course of their lives, and the one thing most of them have in common is, they didn't realize it at the time. I didn't know it as I reached the spaceport and nodded goodbye to my driver, but my career was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

  I called up the info I needed on my PC, as I meandered my way through the crowds in the terminal building. My ship was docked on the far side of the port.

  Time was definitely of the essence as I pulsed the code at the airlock door, and walked straight through into the cockpit. I dropped into the pilot's seat, and called up the flight systems immediately, pinging the flight controller for a priority lift-off. Five minutes later, I was in the sky, and boosting for the Orbital stations.

  The ship broke through the sooty atmosphere, and entered the blackness of space, but I barely noticed. My thoughts were on what I'd discovered on Patterson's computer, and what it might mean. Someone had run a search for charts on the Midnight System, and followed that up with a hunt for information on Hunter's Redoubt, the private Battlestation John Slice had told me was owned by Jonathon Hunter himself.

  He'd said anyone who targeted Hunter was basically signing their own death warrant, but it occurred to me now that it would only stop someone who knew the man personally. If all they had to go by was his reputation, they might think differently, especially if they already had a dozen kills under their belt.

  Hunter had managed to become a legend in a matter of months, in a time when legends were hard to come by. The kid, he was only eighteen for crying out loud, had gone from obscurity to hero status almost immediately, after a series of astounding victories, first against some of the deadliest pirates in the galaxy, then as the hero of the Midgard War, and later the British Coup. The bounties on the pirates had made him rich, and his military prowess had earned him an admiralty. And everyone knew who he was. As the old flat-screen movies I loved used to say, men wanted to be him, and women wanted to be with him.

  And now, I suspected, someone wanted to kill him, and take his penis as a prize.

  Not that I knew for sure at that point, it was just a hunch, but it was a good one. Up until my discovery at Patterson's, I hadn't been able to discern a solid pattern to the killer's victims. There were commonalities, sure, each of them had money, and a lot of them had varying degrees of character flaws.

  But that's where the similarities ended, or so I'd thought. A few, like Patterson, had been attractive physical specimens, but others, like Arnem Heissman, had been plain, even ugly. Marital status didn't seem to make a difference, since some were single, and some weren't. Some were well known, some weren't.

  But now, after learning who the next potential target might be, I was beginning to see things I hadn't before. Not all of them had been famous, but, outside of Patton Joyner on Apricot, each victim had been powerful in their own way. Patterson, of course, was a highly influential celebrity, who made even more from endorsements than he did from playing Cornerball. His name and face were on everything from drinks, to clothes, to space cruisers. Heissman had been an industrialist with a reputation for angering his unions. Erasmus Livingstone was suspected of being a pirate and smuggler, though no one could ever prove it.

  The more I thought about it, the more it dawned on me they all had one thing in common, outside of the notable exception of Joyner, they were all the kind of men who could inspire either hatred or jealousy. Whether because of their success, or their business, or just their sheer assholery, they were polarizing figures. It didn't take a leap to believe the killer saw herself an avenging angel of some sort. Someone who was taking up the fight for her entire gender, righting wrongs for all the women who'd been hurt, or cheated on, or had their jobs taken away, or been victimized in any way, by a man.

  That would fit with Dr. Pritchett's profile, as well. The pieces kept falling into place.

  Seeing the information on Hunter had also led me to realize the killer had chosen more famous victims each time. Howard, for example, had been very vocal about the Midgard War. It made sense the next one on the list might possibly be the most notorious man alive. His phallus would be the ultimate prize for someone whose self-worth was tied up in symbolic trophies.

  The only one who didn't fit was Joyner, but I had to let that go for now. I could think about it more when I was closer to my goal, but at that point, anything which derailed my train of thought was off limits.

  I broke out of my reverie, and opened a vid to Flint. He needed to know what I'd discovered, and what it might mean. If I was right, this wasn't just about catching a killer anymore, it was about saving an icon. I gave him my report on what I'd discovered on Patterson, and the theory I'd developed with John Slice's help. At the very least, I figured it would get him off my back until I could bring the killer in.

  When I got his message back ten minutes later, he sounded beside himself.

  "Burnside," he grunted. "If you're right, this is big. We need to keep this
completely quiet. You know who your next call needs to be to. Neither of our careers will be worth a pinch of shit if we don't pass this along ASAP." He paused for several moments before adding, almost reluctantly, "Good work, Detective. Keep it up."

  Praise from Flint, I thought. Be still my heart.

  I opened a channel to the Military Orbital. Hunter had been Sci-Fi military for a while, so I figured they would have his contact information. A comms person who sounded half-asleep answered the call, and I identified myself as ESPD. When I asked about Hunter's contact information, I was immediately told to wait, and put on hold.

  Finally, several minutes later, a man's voice came on.

  "This is General Price, SFSF commander," it said. "Identify yourself, please."

  My heart skipped a beat. What the hell was a general doing answering my request for contact info?

  "Uh, Special Detective Richard Burnside," I replied. "Earth System PD."

  "And why are you requesting information about Admiral Hunter, Detective?"

  "It's a long story, General, but I have reason to believe his life is in danger."

  There was a momentary pause.

  "You'll have to be a little more specific, son. Saying Admiral Hunter's life is in danger is like saying water is wet."

  The man actually chuckled. But the impatience also in his tone brought my hackles up. I spent four years in the service as a young man, and what my time there had taught me most, was I really, really, didn't like authority. Flint had learned that early on.

  "With all due respect, general, this is a very serious matter," I said. "I've just discovered evidence a serial killer may already be on their way to find the admiral. We don't have ID on the killer, simply information which suggests Hunter is the next target."

  Another brief pause.

  "Very well, Detective. Dock at the Military Orbital, and meet me in my office as soon as possible."

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. This wasn't getting me anywhere, and apparently I wasn't impressing on him how urgent my request was.

  "General, time is of the essence here," I said tersely. "I've been tracking this killer for almost two years, and I'm closer now than I've ever been. If I lose the trail because someone needs a bunch of paperwork filled out, the best thing that will happen is I get fired. The worst is Admiral Hunter will be killed. And believe me, you do not want to know how that would happen."

  "I'm hearing you, Detective," he said. "I'm not looking for chapter and verse. I think we can help you in your mission. Trust me, it will be worth the delay."

  I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice, but it's probably a good thing he couldn't see my face.

  "And the admiral's safety?" I snipped.

  I could almost hear the grin in his voice.

  "I'm willing to take my chances on that," he said. "See you soon, Detective."

  Eighteen

  When I walked into General Price's office, I wasn't exactly in the most receptive of moods.

  It didn't help matters I was running on very little sleep, and hadn't eaten since before I visited Patterson's crime scene. But the moment I laid eyes on the general, I could tell he wasn't the sort of stuffed shirt I'd associated with military brass all those years ago.

  He was almost as tall as me, and even without the four stars on his uniform's shoulders, he gave off an aura of command. He made no move to stand from behind his desk when I entered, and his expression told me zero shit would be tolerated during this meeting.

  Price may have been unappealing, but the office's other occupant was the exact opposite. A woman in her early twenties, wearing a skin-tight scarlet ship-suit which accentuated her curves in a way which made my neck tingle. Her hair was dark and short, and her eyes were a shade of deep blue, bordering on turquoise. They seemed to lock onto me like a grav beam, as she stood at ease next to Price's desk.

  The general motioned me towards a chair opposite him.

  "Have a seat, Detective. I'm General Price. This is Captain Jane."

  I almost saluted by reflex, before forgetting I'd mustered out some twenty years earlier. Jane tilted her head in acknowledgment as I nodded to her. The four stripes on her shoulders looked out of place.

  "You don't see many senior trader captains your age," I said as I sat down. "I don't know of anyone who ever made the rank before forty. Then again, it's been a few years since I wore a uniform."

  "More than a few," she said with a smile, as she took the seat next to me. "By the way, I like your hat."

  There was something about her body language which just seemed off to me as she moved. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it made my brain itch nonetheless. And, of course, I had no idea why she was in on this meeting. I just wanted to get the information I needed and get the hell off this Orbital before the killer got any farther ahead of me than she already was. I removed my hat, and dropped it in my lap, while I studied her.

  The general seemed to read my mind, and leaned forward on his desk, forcing me to pay attention to him instead.

  "Give me the condensed version of what you're doing here, Detective," he said. "I'm not trying to keep you."

  I brought him up to speed on the situation, in much the same way I had earlier with Flint. My boss had the benefit of prior experience, of course, but Price seemed to catch on quickly.

  "So you actually have two objectives," he said with a nod. "You need to warn Admiral Hunter, and you need to get there before the killer."

  I blinked a couple of times.

  "In a nutshell, yes," I said. "But it won't be possible to get there before the killer. There is already too much of a head start. The best I can hope for is to make sure the admiral knows to be on the lookout, then continue my hunt once I can meet up with him."

  Captain Jane smiled at me. It was an oddly nonchalant gesture, as if she was striking up idle small talk.

  "You want to catch your killer, I assume?"

  "Of course. That's the whole reason I'm here."

  "Did you have a plan for that, once you got there?"

  I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again. I was doing this on the fly, and I hadn't given much thought to how I could go about continuing the chase once I found Hunter.

  "Obviously the first priority was warning the admiral," I said. "I was hoping you people could give me enough specifics about Hunter's Redoubt, that I could formulate a strategy on the way there."

  Jane's smile widened.

  "Your first priority has been achieved. Jon Hunter has already been notified. It would be better if you had more information about your killer, of course."

  "As I said, I don't know much for sure, but all signs point to it being a woman, and that she's hunting for trophies from alpha males, who have given her reason to be angry with them. I don't think she actually knew them personally, but she must have known of them, and what they were like. Enough to judge them, anyway."

  "I see." She nodded thoughtfully, then turned to Price. "General, if I may?"

  He tilted his head in agreement.

  "Detective, I believe Captain Jane could be of considerable help to you. She has keen analytical abilities."

  I looked from him to her, and back to him again. Was he suggesting what I thought he was suggesting?

  "You mean help me with the case?" I asked.

  "Yes," said Jane. "If you could pulse me all of your files, I can give the data a quick analysis. Perhaps I'll catch something you've missed."

  I gaped at her.

  "Let me get this straight, lady. You're offering to review my case files? On a dozen murders?"

  She smiled sweetly.

  "Yes."

  I held up both hands, palms forward, and shook my head. General or no general, this was getting out of hand.

  "Hold on, here," I said. "Back up a few steps. First, I've already told you I'm too far behind the killer as it is. I don't have time for one case review, let alone a dozen. Second, pardon me balking at having some kid with no policing experien
ce double-check my work for me. I don't care how many stripes are on your shoulders, lady, you're not a detective."

  I'd let my temper get the best of me, and I knew it. I was fully expecting Price to pull rank on me, and order me off the station. So imagine my surprise when he started chuckling.

  "Just pulse her the data, son," he sighed. "I promise you it won't be a waste of time."

  I gaped at the two of them again for a moment, before finally gritting my teeth, and doing as she asked. I called up the info, and sent it across to her. All three thousand pages of it.

  "There you go," I said with mock enthusiasm. "See you in a month."

  "Thank you, Detective."

  The politeness in her voice put my teeth on edge. She sat back in her chair, and took on the typical glazed look of someone scanning data on a PC. But again, something was off about her physical movements. She was so still as to be almost inanimate, as if she'd been switched off, or something.

  I sat with my arms folded over my chest for five full minutes, as she sat motionless, and Price flipped through the tablet on his desk. I was almost ready to throw my hands in the air and storm out, when she finally came out of her trance.

  "I agree with you on several points, Detective," she said. "Your killer is definitely a female. And your assessment of the commonalities of the victims is also very likely."

  I stared at her for several seconds before responding.

  "You read all those files? In five minutes?"

  She smiled.

  "It's a gift. Now back to your victims. They had more in common than just having their penises severed from their bodies."

  That got Price's attention, his eyebrows jumped, and his pupils dilated.

  "Bloody hell," he breathed. "Hunter better keep his fly closed."

  "I know that," I said, ignoring him. "They had a lot of things in common. Womanizing, money, less-than-stellar reputations. But that doesn't describe all of them."

  This whole meeting was starting to seem like a farce, and Captain Jane was reminding me of the two geniuses at Patterson's crime scene.