“You’re not going to find any,” I quickly called back. “This killer is too meticulous to leave something like a print lying around.”
“We’ll check anyway, just to be sure,” Captain Bancroft replied defiantly.
“Bennett,” I said to myself. “Why does that name that sound familiar?”
“You don’t watch much sports, do ya, Jake,” the Captain replied.
“With three girls, not really,” I confessed. “I take it this Wally isn’t just your ordinary student, then?”
“Try the star quarterback,” the Captain answered. “The media is going to freak out when they find out who’s here.”
“You have no idea,” Flo chipped in. I was thinking the same thing but had restrained myself from voicing that opinion out loud.
“What is she talking about?” the Captain asked.
“You haven’t taken a look?” I asked, gesturing to the canvas.
“I haven’t,” the Captain replied. “How brutal was it?”
“Very,” Flo answered.
“On a scale of 1 to 10?” he asked.
“Spinal Tap,” I answered. It was not the answer he wanted to hear but it was my way of telling him that out of 10, this was an 11 on the gross-out meter.
“Shit,” he muttered as he took out a cigar and lit up. I grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the scene a bit to speak. “What the fuck happened?”
“Based on what I’ve seen, the victim was tazed and then dragged to this spot because it’s a blind spot to all the cameras,” I started.
“Fuck, then the killer knows this place,” the captain replied.
“It would suggest that,” I agreed, “but it could also suggest that the killer did some advanced scouting, which would suggest extreme premeditation. We can’t rule out either at this point.”
“How was he killed?”
“He was bound and gagged and then stabbed over twenty times.” I paused for a moment. “It looks like he was also sexually assaulted.”
“Jesus Christ,” Captain Bancroft said. He looked like he was going to vomit. “So what you’re telling me is that our star quarterback was bound, gagged, raped, and then stabbed to death?”
“That about sums it up.”
“Fuck me.”
“We’ll know more when we get the autopsy report.”
“This kid was guaranteed a spot in the NFL˗”
“It looks personal,” I interrupted, refusing to let that detail distract me. “Whoever did this wanted Bennett to suffer. The whole point of using the gag was to make sure he couldn’t make a sound when being raped. The killer wanted him awake, to feel everything.”
“Son of a bitch,” the Captain cussed again. This was the last thing he needed on his plate. He had gotten word that it was brutal, but he wasn’t prepared for it to be this bad.
“We need to start talking to his friends,” I suggested.
“Need to see if anyone was following him,” Flo added. “Or if anyone was sending threats to him by mail or email.”
“We’ll start rounding people up,” the Captain said, unable to take his eyes off the tarp. Underneath it was the worst media image he could ever imagine. Tabloids and news outlets were going to have a field day with this one. “How much of this can we keep under wraps?”
“I’m not sure,” I honestly replied. “There’s only so much we can hold back. The last thing we want to do is downplay it only to have another body turn up.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” the Captain replied.
“We have to prepare just in case.” I could tell just the thought of a serial killer was making the Captain very, very nervous. Before, when we’d had to deal with a serial killer in our city, the last guy in charge of homicide lost his job. Captain Bancroft was his replacement. Now it was his turn to be in the hot seat and he didn’t relish the thought of having to fight for his job. High profile cases tended to put the spotlight on the entire department, so he wasn’t the only one nervous about this.
“All right.” The Captain took one more deep puff and then put out his cigar before putting it back into his coat pocket. “I’ll take care of the media. You and Flo find this piece of shit and do it quickly.”
“What do we do now?” Flo asked as she walked over.
“We should let forensics do their thing and get the body the hell out of here as soon as possible.” I made a motion to one of the buildings. “We need to speak with the Dean as soon as possible, also.” As we left the crime scene for forensics to go over, I could see the flashes and questions being yelled at our Captain as he fielded questions from the media.
I could hear him making the usual statements: all measures were being used to find whoever did this and our best people were on the case. Thanks, Chief, no pressure. We crossed over to the administration building that was a short skip from the Arts building where the body had been found. It was around six in the morning, but a lot of people were in, thanks to the events going on outside. I slowly walked up to the main desk and flashed my badge. “Detective Walker to see the Dean.”
“Yes, sir,” the secretary said as she picked up a phone and made a call. A few seconds later, she put it down. “Both the Dean and the President of the University are waiting for you in his office.”
“Thank you,” I said as I walked away and down the hall. I had been here a few years ago when I’d registered Cassie. I also knew my way around because I’d graduated from this place before joining the force. I knocked on the door and was called to enter. “Gentlemen, I’m Detective Jake Walker, and this is Detective Florence Harris.”
“Pleased to meet you,” the Dean said as he stood up from his desk and shook our hands. “I’m Richard Jackson, Dean of Arts. This is Oswald Butler, the University’s President. We are deeply saddened by what is going on here.”
“Have you identified the body?” President Butler asked. It was clear he was concerned the victim might be a student, and was most likely hoping it was a homeless man that had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still bad for the image, but nothing compared to a student getting killed.
“We have,” I answered. “He’s a member of your student body.”
“Who is it?” Dean Jackson then asked.
“We need to speak with the football coach,” I stated.
“Shit,” President Butler said. A high profile student didn’t make this easier.
“He’s a member of the team,” I filled in. “It’s the quarterback. We need to know if anyone has been making any threats against any players on the team. I realize college sports can be competitive, but any threat sent in could be a clue that will lead us to a suspect.”
“What are you trying to find?” the Dean then asked.
“We need to make sure that no other players are at risk,” Flo replied. “We have to make sure that there isn’t someone out there who is gunning for the whole team, or to establish if he had a personal vendetta with the victim.”
“I’ll talk to the coach and our IT people. If anything was flagged by them, I’ll have them sent to your station,” President Butler answered. “We don’t want anyone else to get hurt, so we’ll get this taken care of as soon as possible.”
“I appreciate that,” I said as I fished a card out of my wallet and placed it on the Dean’s desk. “Call me if you guys find anything. We’ll be in touch.”
As we left the office, I had a feeling this was going to be more political than anything else. I’d been playing dumb with the Captain back at the scene when talking about football. My brother was a die-hard college football fan and I remembered a lot of things he’d told me about this upcoming season.
Wally was a candidate for the college player of the year. If he even lived up to half the hype going into this season, he was going to be a top 10 pick at next year’s draft. A promising career had been brutally cut short by someone who didn’t like him very much. The murder was too vicious to be someone from a rival team. Whoever committed th
is heinous act clearly hated Wally a great deal, to the point where he’d tortured the poor boy for at least a half hour before finally putting him out of his misery. “We need to speak with the victim’s family. See if they were getting any threats, as well.”
“Think this one is personal, Jake?” Flo called back from a few stairs behind.
“It sure looks like it,” I answered, but as I said that to her, I noticed something out of place. One of our people from forensics was in the lobby. They were looking for me, and I knew exactly what that meant: they’d already found something.
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**********
Running Stupid
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Matthew clambered out of the vehicle, slammed the door shut and nodded a goodbye to Charles.
The Limo had reversed out of the driveway by the time Matthew stuck his key in the lock.
“What the fuck!” he shouted an angry gesture to himself. His hand, trembling slightly, held the key in the lock, but he couldn’t turn it.
It took him a moment to realise the door was still unlocked, just like he had left it in the morning. Jennifer was waiting for him after all, he reasoned. He grinned, feeling a little better. He stepped across the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him.
Passing through the living room, he quickly checked the kitchen, the dining room and the games room. Jennifer was in neither of them. Taking a left out of the kitchen, past the entrance to the living room, he crossed though a clear, glass panelled door and walked into the conservatory. From there he could see the luscious garden and the beautiful scenery beyond. Jennifer loved to sit and stare at the view. She would spend hours at a time just admiring the landscaped garden and the world beyond.
His eyes scanned around the fish pond; across the pebbled walkway leading to the rose beds; past the floral archway and the trimmed rows of hedges; past the small marble fountain, thrusting jets of clear blue water into the air. He checked the pine picnic bench, underneath a low hanging elm tree; he scanned the stone blocks near the fish pond, on which she liked to sit as she listened to the fish scuttling through the water.
She wasn’t in the garden. If she was, she was hiding and hiding well.
Turning, Jester made his way upstairs. His tired legs made hard work of the entwining staircase. When he finished ascending he was out of breath, red faced and beginning to wish he had installed a lift. He paused to regain his breath when he reached the top, sucking in deep lungfuls of air whilst holding on to the banister.
When he regained his composure and his breath, he straightened himself and turned towards the bedroom. He noticed an odd smell lingering in the air as he advanced. A distinctive smell, a smell that shouldn’t be in his house. He paused, halting his movement, trying to pinpoint the stench.
“Nasty,” he said after much deliberation and no conclusion.
He continued on his journey. He walked into the bedroom and instantly heard the noise of a running shower from the en-suite. He put his ear to the door and heard the distinctive sound of rushing water hitting flesh.
“Jennifer!” he shouted, tapping lightly on the door.
The shower continued to run, but she didn’t answer.
He shouted again, louder this time. His voice was tired.
Still his girlfriend didn’t answer him.
“Fuck it,” Matthew snapped. He opened the door to the en-suite and stormed in.
He stopped in his tracks just as he reached the shower. The curtain had been drawn, the jets were raining down, and the human silhouette was lying down.
He quickly skipped forward and yanked the shower curtain opened. The smell from within hit him like a fist; what was an annoying twinge in his nose before, now exploded in his senses. He jumped back and retched, suppressing the urge to vomit, but only for a moment.
When he saw the body of his girlfriend, mangled, twisted, naked and cold; lying, covered in blood, cuts and bruises, he lost his ability to suppress the purge. He turned his head away from the carnage and unleashed a barrage of vomit onto the bathroom floor. It splattered across the blue tiles, splashing onto Matthew’s feet and on the bathmat.
“Holy shit,” he spat with globs of saliva dripping from his chin. He staggered over the bath tub, and lost the ability to walk. His legs turned to jelly and he fell. His right knee collided with the tile and a white-hot pain screeched through his leg, but he was oblivious to it.
“Holy shit,” he repeated. “Jennifer.” His voice was breaking, tears formed in his eyes. “What the fuck happened … ”
Slowly, he reached out his hand. He turned over her arm, bright red welts wrapped around her wrists like masochistic bracelets. The same marks appeared on her neck. He touched them gently. They were rough, cold. He stroked her on the cheek. Her face was cold as ice.
He ran his eyes over the other marks, the decisive marks; three deep stab wounds. One through her abdomen – deep and wide – another through her chest, even larger, shattering her ribs and taking a chunk out of her left breast. The final one was in her leg, through the back of her thigh.
He turned his attention back to her face. He studied her dead, cold eyes. “Who did this to you?” he asked, his voice breaking at every syllable. He stroked her hair, it was frayed and matted with blood. Chunks of the jet black locks had been ripped from her scalp, but the wounds on her head looked older than the ones on her body. He was no expert, but Matthew knew that the wound on her leg was also older than the ones on her chest. It was darker, drier.
Matthew knew that her killer had toyed with her. The thought of it made him retch again. He cleared his stomach in three waves and continued to dry heave. Nothing but saliva came out of his mouth but that didn’t stop his stomach from trying.
When he finished and straightened himself up, he returned to his dead girlfriend. He stroked her wounds and gave her a kiss goodbye.
He summoned the strength to stand and walked into the bedroom, his head held low. He was making a beeline for the phone. Jennifer was dead, there was nothing anyone could do now, but the police needed informing. Before he could even pick up the phone, he heard the unmistakeable sounds of police sirens in the distance.
He dialled nevertheless, giving them the details in a robotic tone before hanging up. The police sirens grew louder and louder, closer and closer, and then Matthew recognised a familiar sound; tyres crunching the gravel on his driveway.
He looked out the window and saw two police panda cars screeching to a stop in front of his house, kicking up chunks of gravel and firing them at the building.
***
Far away in sweltering desert heat, a solitary figure lay by a pool that was brimming with luscious blue water. No harsh wind disturbed the surroundings, no rain clattered the ground, no birds sang, no insects chirped. Everything was serene, peaceful, the way the man resting on the sun-recliner demanded it to be.
Turning his back to the sun he exposed his tanned flesh, supple and plentiful; coating at least seventeen stone of fat, muscle and bone. He wore swimming trunks, tight and black, and when he stood or sat, his belly flopped over them. The backs of his legs, covered in jet back hair, were also getting their fair share of ultra violet rays.
His skin was coloured with a middle-eastern flavour, naturally tanned. Specks of greasy oil on the surface on his skin reflected spots of sunlight, creating colourful pools of oil on his leathered hide. He moved, the squeaking sound of oiled skin against upholstery was slight but unmistakeable in the silent surroundings.
He reached out a wrinkled arm and took a tall glass from the marbled patio beneath him. He brought the glass to his lips – making sure to carefully part the umbrella – and sucked satisfyingly on a purple swirl-straw.
“Sir,” someone behind him spoke, his tone formal, his American accent prominent.
The tanned man, shocked at the sudden voice, turned his head and sat upright. “I told you not to creep up on me like that,”
he spat.
“I am sorry,” the man apologised. “I know you don’t like to be disturbed at this time but ... it’s about the English man.”
The leather man smiled and took another sip from his cocktail. “I hope everything went to plan.”
“CNN has broadcasted the news. People are getting very angry; nothing serious of course, but … ” he allowed his sentence to trail off.
The leather man smiled. “And the girl?”
The man nodded. “She has been taken care of. The plans have been set in motion.”
Lying back on his recliner, Ahmad Fadel stretched satisfyingly, clasped his hands together behind his head and then closed his eyes. “So it has begun,” he said, a sly smile on his lips. “Let the games begin.”
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**********
On the Inside
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A welcoming blast of warm air greeted her as she entered the building. The hallways were flooded with golden light from the numerous wall sconces, reflecting brilliantly against the gorgeous tile floors. The main lobby boasted a multi-tiered crystal chandelier and each wall was adorned with expensive paintings in even more expensive frames. Carefully tended orchids were placed on stands throughout the hall, each one unique to the next, and the subtle scent of cinnamon and vanilla permeated the entire building. She may not have approved of her father, but she was glad she and Morgan had decided to accept the gift. Despite the over-the-top opulence, the decorators had somehow managed to retain an inviting, even homey feel, and she always felt at home when she came through the front doors.
Of course no matter what your zip code, something can always go wrong. Less than a year earlier there’d been a break-in. At the time Morgan had been living there alone, and her father immediately ordered a security system for the apartment. He’d also demanded improved security from the property owner, and got it. The fact that the owner’s son, Logan Peters, was dating Morgan gave him added incentive to ensure the property was well-secured, and within forty-eight hours he’d made sure that no one could access the building without the security code.
Mystery: Family Ties: Mystery and Suspense Page 16
