Serial Intent

by Steve Bradshaw

  “You saw Wolfe’s hand at the CCLR meeting the day after Frank Peters was found dead. The edge of his fist was bruised. He acted like he did not know how it happened.”

  “Maybe he did not know. Maybe he fell on the ice, caught himself, and forgot about the whole experience. Everything you have can be explained. Let me remind you that Aaron Wolfe has been the top homicide detective in Chicago for more than a decade—I know him well. And you know him well. People do not suddenly turn into serial killers with super strengths.”

  “I hear ya,” Crowley muttered.

  Landers took a drink of ice water and set the cup down with his eyes locked on Crowley. “You’re my senior guy. I got a bullet in my head and you’re under a lot of pressure to run things. I will give you some valuable advice—slow down. Open your mind to all the evidence and go back to the basics. Investigate. Your frustration and worries have you fixated on Wolfe and pissed off at Hutson, the two most important guys on your team. Look, I’m gonna be tied up in here a while. I need you to keep your head screwed on right, Crowley. If Wolfe is in this, all the evidence will point his way, not just some.”

  Crowley nodded. He knew his suspicions were thin. It was mostly gut.

  “I wanna talk about the CCLR conference,” Landers said. “The shooting. When I got to that stage, I saw Margaret Sorensen’s head disappear into the curtains. I do not know what she was doin’ back there, but we need to find out. The death of Dr. Jacques Sorensen, the bizarre incident at the brownstone with Hutson, the doctor’s diary, the snipers, the skull-crushing monster, and the CCLR are connected. I think Margaret Sorensen is in the middle of it.”

  “Great minds think alike,” Crowley said. “Dr. Provost saw the same connections, but took it a step farther. He thinks the skull-crusher is hunting members of a vigilante group that has a mission to terminate released killers. He believes the snipers worked for the vigilante group and the skull-crusher is their nemesis.”

  “Go to Hutson’s place. Get him back to work. Put calls out to Wolfe. You three need to get together and get on the same page. Ask Wolfe the question. He will be short with you, but I suspect he will tell you everything you want to know.”

  The phone rang next to the bed. Landers nodded for Crowley to pick up.

  “We were just talkin’ about you, Detective Wolfe. Yeah, the boss is awake and giving me orders now. Yeah, here he is.” Crowley passed the phone rolling his eyes.

  “Detective. Thanks. Yes, I am fine. What’s going on out there? I get a bullet in the head and people start dropping faster than usual in my city.”

  “I’m returning from Detroit,” Wolfe said. “The Detroit Bloods are not real happy with their business arrangement in Chicago. They were eager to talk to me off the record.”

  “Let me put you on speaker. Crowley needs to hear this.”

  Crowley closed the door. “The Detroit Bloods have learned several of their people are in the Cook County morgue,” Wolfe said.

  “When did they hear?” Crowley asked.

  “They got the call at 3:00 a.m. CST. The person said not to mess with the Dario Group anymore or they would be coming to Detroit for a bloody visit.”

  “The Dario Group exists,” Crowley muttered.

  “The Bloods were motivated to share what they knew. Obviously, they would deny any knowledge in a courtroom, and they do not intend on visiting Chicago for a while.”

  “Continue Wolfe. What did you get on The Dario Group?”

  “They have been around a long time—several decades. Only in the last year did they enter into an agreement with the Detroit Bloods. Prior to snipers, the Dario Group used local felons to terminate their targets. The Bloods had a very lucrative contract, $100,000 a hit. They were not pleased when they lost one of their assets, and then learned they had just lost a second. They sent their people to Chicago to collect money and disengage.”

  “Looks like the Dario Group did the disengaging,” Crowley muttered.

  “Were we right on the Dario Group targets?” Landers asked.

  “Yes. Serial killers,” Wolfe said. “The worst of the worst. According to the Bloods, the Dario Group targets people with a long history of offenses against humanity—rape, assault, and murder, and released from jail in less than six years.”

  “That fits the CCLR mission—the injustices of the criminal justice system. They are focused on the same monsters,” Landers said.

  “Crowley here. Did they say how this guy Dario is connected to the Dario Group?”

  “They don’t know about Dario, just the group.”

  “Who’s running the Dario Group? Do we know where they are meeting in the city?”

  “Hold on,” Wolfe said. “I gotta take this call.” He disconnected Landers and Crowley. The other line said Lindsey Fetter. “Yes,” he said.

  “We have Miss Fetter. This is what you’re going to do.”

  * * *

  Eldon Babcock left his father’s funeral and sent his family home. He needed to be alone to think. Why would someone kill his father? Jennings Babcock was old and dying from prostate cancer. Anyone who looked at him knew he had only a couple months to live. Why kill a dying man? What possibly could Jennings Babcock do in sixty days that warranted such an action?

  He didn’t realize it until he turned the key in the deadbolt. Eldon had not been in his father’s house for five years. There was never a reason to go. Jennings had servants and caretakers seeing to his every personal need, and Eldon saw his father at the office almost every day. The old man would wheel into meetings sipping his coffee and looking out the window. He never interrupted his son’s work or took part in the discussions. Old man Jennings just sat in his wheelchair and watched his son, the man he adored.

  On this cold day, Eldon sat alone in his father’s home office. Everything was neatly arranged and recently dusted. Eldon opened a desk drawer and fiddled with the pens and pile of paperclips. He remembered the days when he ran around the house without a care in the world. Now everything was different. Now his father and mother were dead, he was a terrible lawyer, and someone was hunting him. Running BB&B no longer meant everything. Making money no longer meant everything. He was more alone than ever before.

  When he pulled his hand from the drawer, his little finger snagged something sharp. Eldon sucked the blood looking for the culprit. He saw the little nail, but it was in a place that made no sense. He leaned closer and saw it was connected to a sheet of wood matching the bottom of the drawer. He pulled and the sheet of wood lifted. He removed the wood panel and opened the drawer to its fullest extent.

  I’ll be damned—the old man had a secret compartment. Eldon leaned closer. What’s this? He removed an aged coffee-stained vellum envelope. It was fat with folded papers inside. On the front in bold ornate font it said—DARIO GROUP CHARTER. The words sucked the air from the room. Eldon carefully opened the unsealed brittle flap; he had to see the papers inside. He unfolded the stiff parchment. There were four pages and a cover sheet.

  At the top of the cover page he read—DARIO GROUP CHARTER. Below the header he read—formation: July 4, 1986. Centered below that were five names and positions:

  * * *

  Chairman of the Board

  Jacques Sorensen, M.D.

  Director and Chief Operating Officer

  Margaret Sorensen, M.D.

  Director and Board Council

  Jennings Babcock, J.D.

  Director

  Joseph H. Sorensen, Jr.

  Director

  W William T. Marcantonio

  * * *

  Staring, Eldon pulled out his cell phone, scrolled, and tapped Wolfe.

  “Chicago Police Department, Homicide, how may I direct your call?”

  “Yes. This is Eldon Babcock. I need to talk to Detective Wolfe, immediately.”

  “I’m sorry, Detective Wolfe is unavailable. May I take a message?”

  “No. This is an emergency. Well, not a 911 emergency. No one is dying at the moment. This is a
bout a homicide case Detective Wolfe is investigating. I have just come across some significant information. He will want to know about it immediately. I cannot leave this information on a voice mail, it is too delicate. Mr. Wolfe must call me, Eldon Babcock. He has my cell number.”

  “Can Detective Crowley help you, Mr. Babcock? He is the acting head of the department. I can connect you to him now.”

  “No. I prefer to speak to Detective Wolfe.”

  “I can locate Homicide Detective Joe Hutson. He was working cases with Detective Wolfe. He was on temporary leave. I believe he is taking calls now, Mr. Babcock.”

  “I don’t know Detective Hutson. I want to talk to Wolfe, only Wolfe. Please tell him I’m at my father’s house. I found something he must see.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Babcock. I will pass this information to Detective Wolfe immediately.” Babcock leaned back in the desk chair and flipped the cover sheet. He started to read. My God. You were killing people most of your life . . .

  * * *

  Mission—We THE DARIO GROUP exist to remove the serial predator (murder of human) from society regardless of past/present/future American (and/or other) established and accepted criminal justice system ruling, action, intention, goal, objective, explanation, rationalization, excuse, or perceived limit. We THE DARIO GROUP exist to accomplish what established criminal justice systems fail (or are unable or unwilling) to accomplish on behalf of the society they were created to serve. We THE DARIO GROUP exist to eliminate without malice all known serial monsters permitted to prey upon society. We THE DARIO GROUP will use all resources and knowledge and expertise to do proper investigation of serial monster life and activity prior to conclusion, processing, and the issuance of said termination order. We THE DARIO GROUP will access and utilize the most sophisticated execution methods and tactics to end the life of a serial monster and to protect the organization and its mission from discovery. No effort will be made to choose a method of execution to minimize pain born by a serial monster in the death process.

  Termination Factors—We THE DARIO GROUP opposes all forms of parole for convicted murderers. Provisional release of a prisoner who has taken a life is forbidden. Failure to complete maximum sentence is forbidden. We THE DARIO GROUP opposes probation for all convicted of murder in all degrees. Any court-ordered release of a criminal who has committed murder qualifies that killer for DARIO GROUP termination consideration. The only acceptable alternatives to incarceration of a serial monster are limited to death by hanging, lethal injection, electrocution, starvation, or any and all other forms of executing a painful death by the designated executioner . . .

  * * *

  Babcock leaned back in his father’s desk chair and looked around the dated study. He saw the polished leather spines of the law books no longer needed in a computerized world. He saw the awards and trinkets collected over the years. He saw the legal degrees and continued study suggesting an honorable commitment to the law. Eldon Babcock could still smell his father in the room, the place where the old man spent much of his life when at home.

  How do you justify the Dario Group? How could you abandon the law and your oath to obey the rules of law? What changed? What made you seek something other than to improve the criminal justice system we know?

  Or are you right? Is it possible you and others know the better way to protect society? Is your solution better? But you knew it could not be amended to the current legal system—it had to stand alone focused and free acting. It would only address the inexcusable sin, the release of known monsters back into society. You differentiate, there are killers and there are serial predators—the most hideous monsters, the wild animals who feed on society, their appetites never satiated.

  Eldon looked down at the next page. He did not need or want to read each paragraph under each heading. He knew the Dario Group saw each legal maneuver as an unacceptable trick designed to serve the criminal element disguised as the innocent until proven guilty. The Dario Group saw all legal maneuvers as the root cause to the larger problem. A procedure that allows tossing out evidence or minimizing eyewitness accounts or moves charges for a heinous crime to something less do not serve the silent people, the victims, the too soon forgotten. The victim is not in the courtrooms of America, not enough. They are in the courtroom of the Dario Group.

  * * *

  Double jeopardy, the exclusionary rule, fruit of the poisonous tree, violation of search and seizure, rogue jurors, hung juries, mistrials, elimination of the death penalty, minimizing the eyewitness, failure to inform accused of rights . . .

  * * *

  Eldon closed his eyes and leaned back to stretch his sore neck. He tried to justify his father’s actions. If I understand your thinking, the only justified homicide is self-defense or the execution of a known killer regardless of the legal process or rulings of a court.

  When he opened his eyes the last time, he had read everything on the four parchments. More than an hour had passed and Wolfe had still not called. Eldon had digested each line in the Dario Group Charter and was tired of waiting. He had to take the document to Detective Wolfe tonight. He had to put it in the man’s hands.

  Margaret Sorensen is alive. You have a son! Who is he? Did I ever know you had progeny? Damn, I just don’t pay attention to menial things. One or both of you are at the heart of the executions in the city—Ramsey, Pender, Pazrro, Newman, Bordon, and one of your directors, Marcantonio. And now I know why you killed my father.

  Eldon folded the papers and slid them into his coat’s breast pocket. He turned out the lamp on his father’s desk and realized it had turned into night. The cold house sat dark, but he knew every room. It was the place where he grew up. He knew the smells—the polish on the library paneling, and the dust embedded rugs and furniture. He remembered the tall windows that whistled on windy nights, and the doors that breathed. He remembered every creaking board and every whining rafter. Now, feeling his way down the dark hall, he thought about the nights he went drinking with friends. He remembered the whining boards to avoid.

  As he moved up the hall toward the front of the house, he heard a creaking sound in another room. Was that a floorboard inside, or was it the wind pushing through a new crack in an old window? Eldon took another step and the high-pitched whine seemed closer. He stopped and it stopped.

  “Hello?” He called out. His words echoed and died. “Is there anyone here?” He asked with a hard swallow, darting eyes, and a hand on his chest protecting the new found documents.

  Eldon Babcock froze. Through the archway ten feet ahead, the living room came into view. On the other side of the dark room, the curtain sheers waved on tall windows. There you are, he thought. Just the wind pushing on the old window—thank God.

  Eldon took another step and heard another whine. This time he saw the curtain sheer in the living room lift several feet into the air. This time he saw the center window wide open. What he thought was a large piece of furniture, moved. He froze.

  His phone vibrated. He pressed it to his ear. A towering shadow stopped in front of him.

  “Detective Wolfe, is that you?”

  Thirty-Two

  “This is gut-wrenching awful,” Crowley gasped with a hand over his mouth. Rookie Detective Zack Huntsman had already stepped outside twice to puke in the bushes. “You say you saw Aaron Wolfe’s car pull away when you rolled up?”

  Crowley didn’t wait for the answer. He turned away and pressed speed dial for Wolfe. He breathed through his mouth avoiding the smell of the bloody carnage. Come on . . . come on . . . answer damn it!

  Crowley saw the young detective in the bushes. He yelled, “Huntsman, get in here with Winston Foster, the medical examiner field agent. You can learn something.” He then watched the young detective climb the porch steps like he had just finished two marathons. His drawn face was white as snow, and the poor guy’s shirt was soaked—nervous sweat.

  Pick up, Wolfe. Shit! He lowered his cell and stared at the body—Okay. Do not jump to any conc
lusions. Pace yourself. Louie is right. Do not overreact. Damn, I’m paddlin’ like a duck in Grand Rapids, freaking big time—all this responsibility and the boss in ICU and me surrounded by dead bodies with zero damn answers.

  Did they say they actually saw Wolfe pull away? I don’t think he would have left. And all us detectives drive the same black unmarked cruisers.”

  “Officer Tully, come here a minute,” Crowley ordered.

  “Yes sir.” The well-built CPD officer got in Crowley’s face.

  He backed away. “Are you one-hundred percent positive you saw Detective Wolfe pull away from the curb when you guys rolled up?”

  “Only saw from behind. It looked like Wolfe to me. Could have been the other guy, the one who looks like Wolfe,” Tully said. “I’ve seen both around the city. Get ’em mixed up.”

  Couldn’t be Hutson. He’s on sick leave. “Okay, thanks Tully.” Crowley hit speed dial for Hutson. Still not picking up. I’m gonna go to your apartment and knock down your door. You better be in bed. If you’re at the movies, I’m killin’ ya.”

  “Detective Crowley, I think you need to come here,” Winston said pushing up his glasses and backing away from the body.

  The hallway was sprayed with blood and pieces of skull bone and oozing chunks of brain matter. The floor was streaked with clotted blood where most of the struggle had taken place after the victim was caught. Crowley approached like a ballerina at an overstocked buffet.

  “Watch out for the eyeball, detective,” Winston warned.

  Crowley froze and looked down with his penlight. The eyeball was perched at an angle looking at him. “What are the chances of that? Holy mother of God, this is terrible. How does an eyeball get this far from the body?”

  “Actually the other eyeball went farther. It was by the front door,” Winston said. “I almost stepped on it. I documented location and collected it in a forensic bag. I was concerned it would get crushed. It was so far outside the ground zero.”