Mark glanced back over at the third victim.
Whoever you are, John Doe, you must’ve spooked these guys.
If they could get an ID on this new guy and backtrack who he associated with and why he was here, maybe they could catch a break.
The agent looked over his shoulder and saw his partner in the next room, the kitchen. Although his words were too quiet to say, Mark could tell by the look on his face that Angelo was having a heated conversation with the local detective in charge, the usual flap when the feds stepped into a murder scene and claimed jurisdiction.
Leaving his partner to it, Mark went back over to the new wrinkle in their case and knelt beside him once again.
As Mark examined the body more closely, he noticed something odd, something he had missed upon his first cursory examination: three long wounds on his side, halfway up his ribcage. With his gloved fingers, he explored each groove, finding a slight flap of skin over each scar. He may’ve dismissed them as additional injuries, except as he explored them, he could see that they were clean and free of blood or inflammation of any kind.
Whatever these demarcations were, they weren’t fresh injuries, even if they were open.
Angelo took that moment to return to his partner’s side and exclaimed, “We’re good to go. Reluctantly, but still good to go.”
“What do you think of these, Angelo?” Fitzsimmons looked up and asked his partner. He spread the slit apart, showing him the soft, fresh pink inside.
“I don’t know, amigo.” He admitted, crouching down to get a better look. “They almost look surgical. No jagged edges. No discolorations. There’s no blood so I would say they were older than the beating this guy got. Still, if they were much older, the wounds would be closed by now, or at least inflamed with infection.”
“Could it be some sort of ritual scarring? Like a gang symbol?”
“Anything’s possible, I suppose.” Angelo trailed off for a moment. “There are some groups that might scar members, but I don’t think that’s it.”
Angelo’s own gloved hands felt around the body. “Look. There’s three more on this side.” With a deft finger, he traced one of the skin flaps. “I’ll bet you a donut that all of these are the same length. Almost like they’re natural. Like birth defects.”
“That makes no sense at all.” Despite the note of disbelief in his voice, something in Mark’s head clicked.
“All of our victims had tubes sticking out of cuts just like these. Three on each side, just like this guy. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he has the same scarring in the same place that our bodies have fresh wounds.”
“I don’t think so either. But, there is a difference. Our victims on the wall, all twelve of them, those wounds were man-made. You can tell. They were made by a knife or scalpel and none of them were as uniform or perfect as these.”
“Dammit. This case sucks.” Mark grumbled angrily, more to himself, but his partner could hear him.
Angelo nodded his agreement of the assessment. “Maybe the doc will be able to tell us more.”
Mark’s analytical mind whirred with possibilities as it attempted to come up with plausible theories to this massacre. But, as it had encountered at the previous sites, there was just too much missing information to formulate or discard any theory. Thirteen people were now dead and they were still on square one, mopping up the aftermath.
“Well, tell the authorities here to bag and tag everything and I’ll call it in. Make sure every scrap of evidence is taken and everyone signs a confidentiality agreement. I don’t want any leaks to the press. Maybe someone at the Warehouse will be able to make sense of this mess.”
As Angelo shuffled off with his cell to his ear, Mark stood up slowly, tore off the blue latex gloves with a snap and tossed them into an empty corner. Speed dialing the office from his cell, he ordered an extraction team and spoke to the regional bureau director to give him an update.
Mark made his way out of the house. Everyone was in play now. This was officially the sixth crime scene in their investigation and by early afternoon, the extraction team would be on site. By evening, every bit of evidence, including photographs and statements, would be confiscated. The bodies would be put on ice and in transit for the federal coroner to examine as soon as they arrived at the Warehouse near Melbourne. There, they would join the other victims and the path of destruction that these mystery killers had left in their wake.
Mark began to feel the mild pounding of a stress migraine coming on as he stepped out into the hot June morning. He palmed a small bottle of ibuprofen from his jacket pocket and dry-swallowed two of the tiny white pills, hoping they would be enough to stave off a full-fledged headache.
What am I missing? What is here that I’m not seeing?
Before he crossed under the yellow tape, he stopped and turned, looking back at what the locals would probably start calling ‘the murder house’. He stared at the innocuous house longingly as if one last glare would peel back its siding like the skin of an onion and reveal its secrets. Anything to answer one of the many stultifying questions that surrounded this damned investigation.
But all he saw was a house.
He did notice that the mob had grown considerably as news of the macabre killing hit the internet and airwaves. The gawkers had come out in force.
“Damn vultures.” He muttered and ducked underneath the flimsy barricade.
What he didn’t notice were the pair of thickly muscled men dressed in dark track suits that were pushing their way towards the back of the mob. Their stern expressions and sheer bulk moved people out of their way as much as their arms did. In any other venue, their passing wouldn’t have gone unnoticed, but the excitement of a triple murder on their small street had rendered them forgettable.
The pair slunk away, escaping detection.
Chapter 2 – Stranger in a Strange Land
The young man who walked down the rounded curve of the sidewalk was unassuming, ordinary, plain even. The tails of his loose fitting Oxford shirt hung over the waist of his cargo shorts. Strands of unruly light brown hair stuck out from underneath the worn ball cap on his head and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of convenience store sunglasses. Over one shoulder, a faded knapsack was slung, bouncing lightly with each step he took. There was nothing about him that screamed unusual, nothing distinctive or atypical that would hazard any interest. Nothing made him any different than the scores of prospective students or summer undergraduates that roamed the campus.
Yet he was different, very different. He knew it and the rest of them didn’t. He wanted to keep it that way.
Before he and his chaperones had left home six weeks ago on this grand college tour, his father had drilled into him that his anonymity was his greatest strength in this strange place. The people he met here may champion the cause of difference, even rally to the defense of an individual’s right to be uncommon, yet, deep down, those same people flinched in alarm when confronted by strangeness. That alarm could easily become fear. And, as his father had warned him, fear breeds violence. So he had to be careful, had to be on guard at all times, especially out on his own.
Personally, he thought his father was being overprotective and excessively cautious, but he also understood the reason why. Ever since his older brother had disappeared a year ago, both of his parents had begun to cling just a bit tighter to him and his siblings. Even arranging this college tour, which was a family tradition since before his father had attended SUNY and his brother had started Oxford, was jeopardized by his father’s reluctance to send another son away. Thankfully, his mother had intervened on his behalf. He had no idea what she had said to his father, but it had worked.
Of course, there were strings attached to this little vacation. He’d been saddled with three bodyguards (advisors? handlers? chaperones? babysitters?), instead of one. He, and they, had been firmly instructed that he was not allowed to go anywhere without one of them present. And they had adhered strictly to that rule w
hen he had visited SUNY, Duke, Harvard, the University of Miami and all the other schools he was considering.
His freedom today had been a fluke of circumstance. One of his bodyguards, Arden, had missed several check-ins.
Arden was his father’s chief investigator, closest advisor and oldest friend. He was also a stickler for the rules and a well-known buzzkill. It had been a bit of a surprise when he’d been included in this little soiree and he had dreaded the man’s inclusion. Fortunately, he’d discovered that the venerable counselor had been tasked with looking into some supposed incursion here from one of his countrymen. He hadn’t been given the particulars and he hadn’t really cared. All he knew was that Arden had left to follow some lead two days ago and he had yet to check in.
His other bodyguards, Marcus and Brutus, were more than a little worried about Arden’s absence. They had left this morning to follow his footsteps and see if they could find out where he had gone. With their concern for Arden foremost on their minds, it had been child’s play to manipulate them into letting him come here by himself.
He supposed he should feel guilty for doing that. Marcus and Brutus were more like uncles or older brothers than they were bodyguards. True, they were high ranking members of the Royal Guard and their primary duty was his protection, but he’d also grown up with them. When he was younger, they had played with him, teaching him things that young boys needed to learn. As he neared adolescence, they had trained him how to fight and think like the warriors they were. Neither of them were quite the ever watchful babysitter that Arden had been. They knew him and understood what it meant to be a young man away from home for the first time. They got him.
Still, the three of them were going to catch hell when Arden returned and found out that the young prince had wandered off on his own without protection.
Whatever. I’ll handle that when it needs handled. He thought to himself. He wasn’t going to let Arden suck the fun out of today and he wasn’t going to worry about the man’s absence. He could take care of himself and had probably just gotten so wrapped up in whatever he was doing that he’d forgotten to check in. It wasn’t like him to be negligent, yet he could think of a dozen reasons for Arden to go black.
He shrugged to himself. Whatever reason Arden had for not checking in would be a matter for later. For now, he had this campus to explore without anyone looking over his shoulder. And, he had to admit, this taste of freedom and independence felt good.
Across the street on his left were huge monoliths of brick and mortar. Each building had thick white letters on the top floor. He had already passed PARKING GARAGE F and CLASSROOM 2. Ahead of him lay HEALTH AND HUMAN SERVICES and ENGINEERING 1. The light poles had banners waving from them, some with a stylized winged horse, others with a golden knight emblazoned on them.
Each building had large swaths of open areas between them. Students milled around, playing Frisbee, tossing a football, studying at the tables that dotted the landscape. It all seemed so easy and laid back. It reminded him of home, at least outside the city walls. The other schools he had visited so far had seemed cramped and stuffy, but, this University of Central Florida, he liked what he had seen. He might even be able to fit into a normal life here. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he liked it so much, especially since he knew his father would never in a million years agree to him attending here.
“It’s too far from the sea, son.” would be his excuse.
Naturally, his father would be right. It was an irritating habit he had, always being right. The Atlantic was almost an hour from campus and that was just too far from the water. If there was an emergency of any kind, he might not be able to reach the water’s safety. Then, the chance of discovery would be that much greater. His own life and the lives of his countrymen would be in grave jeopardy.
Still, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t look around.
The road beside him curved a little more sharply and he rounded a bend to find himself at the end of the road and in a cluster of buildings. There were more people here, each of them hustling and bustling about, yet none of them spared him a second look as he joined the current of moving bodies.
He stopped at an oval map of the college grounds to gather his bearings. As he studied the multi-colored squares and circles, a sudden wave of dizziness swept over him. The world spun out of control and his hands shot out to seize the sides of the hard laminate. The thin material crumpled in his grip like it was paper and not a durable plastic resin.
Damn. Damn. Double Damn.
The nausea subsided for a moment and he released his hold to dig through his backpack. His fingers found the water bottle he had stashed in there and pulled it out.
Empty! Damn!
He’d been so distracted by his freedom that he hadn’t kept it filled nor had he brought his pills from the rental car.
I need to eat.
He focused as best he could on the map and located the YOU ARE HERE tag and the location of the Student Union. He remembered reading through a list of restaurants inside and knew he could find what he needed there.
Even though the Union was relatively close, it still took him twenty minutes to make his unsteady way there and enter into the cool air conditioning of the building. Without dawdling, he moved through the foyer and into the food court.
Another five minutes and he had ordered three large fries and water, carrying the tray over to a secluded booth near the windows. He gobbled down the fries ravenously, licking the salt off of his fingers. By the time he had finished the three containers, the nausea had passed and he felt more like himself.
I have to be more careful.
He settled back against the vinyl of the booth and took a deep breath. Hoping he hadn’t been noticed in his fevered rush, he looked over the almost deserted dining room. The few students here were so occupied with their laptops and tablets that he was relatively certain that he could have walked in here naked without raising an eyebrow.
With no one around to see, he popped the lid off of his water and twisted the cap from the salt shaker on the table. He emptied the contents into his water and stirred the murky liquid with his straw. The salt hadn’t even completely dissolved before he lifted it to his lips and gulped it down greedily.
Ah, that hit the spot.
His body felt rejuvenated and strong again, growing even stronger as the saline saturated his cells. He’d been away from the water for too long and the glaring Florida sun had only dehydrated him that much quicker. He’d just lost track of time, that was all, but that oversight, that little mistake, could have cost him dearly. He could have been discovered.
Suddenly his newfound independence didn’t seem quite so palatable or exciting anymore.
His disappointment left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth as he walked out into the heat of the afternoon. He crossed the courtyard with a heavy tread and walked under the long colonnade that housed the university book store, a coffee shop, a barber shop and various other little sundries geared towards the modern student. Without much interest, he passed all these, the wind out of his sails, and emerged on the other side next to the campus library.
The grassy quad located between the library and administration buildings was dominated by a large circular fountain and dotted with scores of students. Girls were sunning themselves. Guys were busy ogling the girls. Study groups congregated in the shade of the trees, readying themselves for exams. Someone out of view was playing a guitar and singing badly. Students bustled back and forth on the walkways and he made his way through them until he came to the fringe of the loose crowd.
In the distance, he could see the glint of cars in the parking lot. He gravitated towards the bright sparkles of metal in the hot sun and where his rental car was parked. Lost in thought and the lingering effects in his stomach, he wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on around him, until, from the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of motion.
With uncanny reflexes and inhuman speed, he turned, a
ssessed the threat and expertly pulled the spiraling football out of the air. He bent his knees in a partial crouch and readied himself for an attack. He’d acted out of pure instinct and training, but as soon as the cool leather pigskin was in his grip, he realized what he’d done. He steeled himself for the worst reaction possible and glanced around him, yet the only people that seemed to notice what he had done were the two guys running his way.
“Dude! Oh dude, I’m so sorry. I suck at playing quarterback.” The figure that rushed towards him exclaimed. The guy was a taut wire of muscle, wearing no shirt and shorts hanging low on his hips. The apologetic smile on his lips had no threat behind it and he eased his defensive posture considerably.
“It’s all right. No harm, no foul.” He replied and tossed the ball back as a second guy ran up and joined them.
“That was f’n awesome! The way you grabbed that out of the air. OMG.” The panting newcomer slapped him on the shoulder in a hearty congratulation. “How the hell did you do that? You play football? Here? If you don’t, you should. Damn!”
“Dennis, shut up!” The not really a quarterback said, seeing the blank look of confusion on the new guy’s face. He backhanded Dennis in the chest to emphasize his point and then held it out. “My name’s Michael. This is Dennis. Sorry about him. He’s a bit of a steamhead. You a new student?”
He gripped the offered hand firmly and answered, “Just checking out campus. Haven’t decided where I’m going yet.”
“That’s cool. This is a good school. Lots of girls, lots of parties, man.”
“Nice. Both of you are from here?”
“Well, Blabbermouth here is from Orlando. I’m from a little town about two hours from here. Inlet Cove. Nice beach town, away from the tourist traps. You should check it out sometime.”
From the Blue Page 2
