Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series)

by Arnold, Carolyn

  “Church goers?” Zachery came up from a tunnel.

  “Well, ah, I wouldn’t necessarily say that. There’s probably about thirty churches or so throughout the county, and right here in Salt Lick there’s three.”

  “That’s quite a few considering the population here.”

  “S’pose so.”

  “Sheriff.” A deputy came up to the group of them and pulled up on his pants.

  “Yes, White.”

  The deputy’s face was the shade of his name. “The in-investigators found somethin’ you should see.” He passed glances among all of us.

  Jack held out a hand as if to say, by all means.

  We followed the deputy up the ramp that led to the cellar. With each step taking me closer to the surface, my chest expanded allowing for more satisfying breaths. Jack glanced over at me. I guessed he was wondering if I was going to make it.

  “Tis’ way, sir.”

  I could hear the deputy speaking from the front of the line, as he kept moving. His boots hit the wooden stairs that led above ground from the cellar.

  I took a deep inhale as I came through the opening into the confined space Bingham had at one time called home. Sunlight made its way through tattered sheets that served as curtains even though the time of day was now seven, and the sun would be sinking in the sky.

  The deputy led us to Bingham’s bedroom where there were two CSIs. I heard footsteps behind me. Paige. She smiled at me, but it quickly faded.

  “They found it in the closet,” the deputy said, pointing our focus in its direction.

  The investigators moved aside, exposing an empty space. A shelf that ran the width of the closet sat perched on a forty-five degree angle. The inside had been painted white at one time but now resembled an antiqued paint pattern the modern age went for. It was what I saw when my eyes followed the walls to the floor that held more interest.

  Jack stepped in front of me; Zachery came up behind him and gave me a look that said, pull up the rear Pending.

  “We found it when we noticed the loose floorboard,” one of the CSIs said. He held a clipboard wedged between an arm and his chest. The other hand held a pen, which he clicked the top of repeatedly. Jack looked at it, and the man stopped. “Really it’s what’s inside that’s, well, what nightmares are made of.”

  I didn’t know the man. In fact, I never saw him before, but the reflection in his eyes told me he had witnessed something that even paled the gruesome find in the bunkers.

  “You first, Kid.” Jack stepped back.

  Floorboards were hinged back and exposed a hole about two and a half feet square. My stomach tossed thinking of the CSI’s words, what nightmares are made of.

  “Come on, Brandon. I’ll follow behind you.” Paige’s soft voice of encouragement was followed by a strategically placed hand on my right shoulder.

  I glanced over at her. I could do this. God, I hated small spaces. But I had wanted to be an FBI Special Agent and, well, that wish had been granted. Maybe the saying held merit, be careful what you wish for, it might come true.

  I hunched over and looked into the hole. A wooden ladder went down at least twenty feet. The space below was lit.

  Maybe if I just took it one step at a time.

  “What are you waiting for, Pending?” Zachery taunted me. I didn’t look at him but picked up on the amusement in his voice.

  I took a deep breath and lowered myself down. My feet got a firm hold on the ladder rung and I worked on getting my torso the rest of the way into the space.

  Jack never said a word, but I could feel his energy. He didn’t think I was ready for this, but I would prove him wrong—somehow. The claustrophobia I had experienced in the underground passageways was nothing compared to the anxiety easing in on my chest now. At least the tunnels were the width of three feet. Here four sides of packed earth hugged me. It felt as if a solid inhale would expand me to the confines of the space.

  “I’m coming.” Again, Paige’s soft voice had a way of soothing me despite the tight quarters threatening to take my last breath and smother me alive.

  I looked up. Paige’s face filled the aperture, and her red wavy hair framed her face. It was replaced by the bottom of her shoes.

  I kept moving, one rung at a time, slowly, methodically. I tried to place myself somewhere else but no images came despite my best efforts to conjure them. And what did I have waiting for me at the bottom? Only what nightmares are made of.

  Minutes passed before my shoes reached the soil. I took a deep breath and looked around. The confines on my chest eased as I realized the height down here was about seven feet. The room was about five by five, and there was a doorway at the backside.

  One pigtail fixture with a light bulb dangled from an electrical wire. It must have fed to the same circuit as the underground passageways and been connected to the power generator as it cast dim light, creating darkened shadows in the corners.

  I looked up the ladder. Paige was about halfway down. There was movement beyond her, and it was likely Jack and Zachery following behind her.

  “You’re almost there,” I coached them.

  By the time the rest of the team made it to the bottom, and the deputy along with a CSI, I had caught my breath.

  Paige was the first to head around the bend in the wall.

  “The Sheriff is going to stay up there an’ take care of things.” The deputy pointed in the direction Paige went. “What they found is in here.”

  Jack and Zachery had already headed around the bend. I followed behind.

  Inside the room Paige’s hand was raised over her mouth. It dropped when she noticed us.

  A stainless steel table about the length of ten feet and three feet wide was placed against the back wall. A commercial meat grinder sat on the table. Everything was pristine and light from a bulb refracted off the surfaces.

  To the left of the table was a freezer, plain white, one owned by the average consumer. I had one similar, but it was the smaller version because it was only Deb and me.

  My stomach tossed thinking about the contents of this one. Paige’s feet were planted to where she first entered the room. Zachery’s eyes fixed on Jack who moved toward the freezer and with a gloved hand opened the lid.

  Paige gasped, and Jack turned to face her. Disappointment was manifested in the way his eyes narrowed. “It’s empty.” Jack padded his shirt pocket again.

  “If you’re thinking we found people’s remains in there, we haven’t,” the CSI said. “But tests have shown positive for human blood.”

  “So he chopped up his victim’s intestines? Put them in the freezer? But where are they?” Paige wrapped her arms around her torso and bent over to look into the opening of the grinder.

  “There are many cultures, The Korowai tribe of Papua New Guinea for example, who have been reported to practice cannibalism even in this modern day,” Zachery said. “It can also be involved in religious rituals.”

  Maybe my eyes should have been fixed on the freezer, on the horror that transpired underground in Salt Lick of Bath County, Kentucky. Instead I found my training allowing me to focus, analyze, and be objective. In order to benefit the investigation it would demand these three things, and I wouldn’t disappoint. My attention was on the size of the table, the size of the meat grinder, and the size of the freezer. “Anyone think to ask how this all got down here in the first place?”

  All five of them faced me.

  “The opening down here is only, what, two feet square at the most? Now maybe the meat grinder would fit down, hoisted on a rope, but the table and the freezer? No way.”

  “What are you saying, Slingshot?”

  My eyes darted to Jack’s. “I’m saying there has to be another way in.” I addressed the CSI, “Did you look for any other hidden passageways? I mean the guy obviously had a thing for them.”

  “We didn’t find anything.”

  “Well, that doesn’t make sense. Where are the burial sites in relation to here?”r />
  “It would be that way.” Zachery pointed towards the freezer.

  We matched eyes, and both of us moved towards it. It slid easily. As we shoved it to the side, it revealed an opening behind it. I looked down into it. Another light bulb spawned eerie shadows. I rose to full height. This find should at least garner some praise from Jack Harper.

  “Nothing like Hogan’s Alley is it, Kid?”

  CHAPTER 3

  Hogan’s Alley originally named after a comic strip from the late 1800’s is a mock town used by the FBI in Quantico, Virginia as a training ground for future special agents. Placed on ten plus acres, the government built it with the aid of Hollywood set designers. The fact that Jack mentioned it by comparison rendered me silent.

  I latched eyes with him before studying the size of the hole. It was just large enough to fit the freezer through if turned and taken in lengthwise.

  “This guy did a lot of planning,” Paige said. She moved closer to the tunnel entrance. “He definitely didn’t want to get caught and probably never thought he would. That could be the elevated thinking of a narcissist.”

  Jack watched her speak, and something about the way his eyes fell, tracing to her lips, made me wonder about the nature of their relationship.

  “Well, I’d definitely peg him as a psychotic too. Narcissists usually only kill if it’s the result of a personal affront. But this man gutted his victims and grinded their intestines. Who knows if he ate them?” An obvious shiver ran through Paige, and for some reason gauging her reaction intensified the severity of the situation.

  For the last while, the training had taken over. I had catalogued the victims as fictional, not once living and breathing individuals. With the snap-back to reality, I became aware of the presence of death and the way it hung in the air as a suffocating blanket. My stomach tightened and I felt sick.

  “Question is did these people threaten him in some way? Were they random? Or were these planned kills? The patience he seemed to execute with the cutting and burial indicates he was very organized. I’d almost lean to believe that they were planned, not random,” Zachery said.

  “It could be they reminded him of one person who wronged him. That’s not uncommon,” Paige offered.

  I was frozen in place, unable to move and incapable of thinking clearly.

  The CSI hunched over and shone a flashlight into the opening. “It spreads out after a few feet. It almost looks as high as it does in here.”

  “I want to know what happened to the intestines.” Jack made the blank statement. “Slingshot, any ideas?”

  “The guy knew he was going to prison and had them cleaned up?”

  “But why?”

  I wanted to say, what do you mean why? I thought the answer was obvious, the question rhetorical. But I reasoned on the two words Jack spoke. There was very little risk that this room would be discovered even if the bodies were. And if the bodies were, what was a little ground-up human intestine? Another toss of my stomach brought bile into the back of my throat. “I’m not sure.”

  An ominous silence enveloped the room as if we were all absorbed in contemplating our mortality. The human reaction to death and uncertainty, of wanting to know but not wanting the answers, of sympathy for those lost yet relief that it wasn’t us.

  The CSI made his way through the opening. His flashlight cast more light in the dimly lit space. I followed and heard the rest of them shuffle in behind me.

  After a few feet, I was able to stand to full height.

  The CSI looked up at the lit bulb. “The guy thought of everything.”

  The electricity that had been run down here was basic and minimum. A band of wire ran from the meat room to here. But it wasn’t so much the electrical that garnered my attention.

  To the side of the room there was a stretcher with metal straps and stirrups. Beside it was a stainless steel tray with a single knife lying on it. Just like the table and meat grinder, light refracted off it. A tube of plastic sheeting stood vertically beside the bed.

  “This just keeps getting creepier.” Paige took up position beside me.

  “Say that again,” Deputy White said. “’Cuse me.” A hand snapped up to cover his mouth.

  Jack was the last to come through the tunnel. I swear even he paused when his eyes settled on the items in the room. “What do you make of it, Kid?”

  I put both hands on my hips. The one near the gun wanted to pull it on the man, but my control won out. Why was it only me who needed to provide the answers?

  “He killed them here.” I pointed back to where we came from. “Ground up their intestines in there.” I felt sick.

  “Whoa nicely put, Pending,” Zachery said.

  “And how did he get them down here?”

  “Well, there’s got to be another way in. The freezer alone discloses that, and I mean obviously he wouldn’t be able to make the victims go down the ladder, past the meat grinder.” I took a deep breath. Tell me this is the worst we will ever have to deal with. I wanted to say the words audibly but knew it would be construed as a weakness. “There has to be another way in here, a passageway that connects to the burial sites.”

  Paige said, “Bingham—”

  “You assume,” Jack corrected her. “Maybe he worked with someone from the start. They picked the victims and brought them here.”

  She disregarded him. “Bingham brought them down through the passageway that comes off the cellar. Maybe he drugged them or held them at gun point—”

  “Or knife point.”

  Paige rolled her eyes.

  I looked forward to the day I could express myself in that manner to the Supervisory Special Agent.

  “Whatever. The point is he had a system worked out. Bring them down, bring them in here, cut them, kill them, gut them—”

  “You’re assuming he didn’t gut them while alive.”

  The deputy tightened the placement of his hand over his mouth, and swiveled his hips to the right.

  “You said kill them, and then gut them?” Jack asked.

  “Either way.” A large exhale moved her hair briefly upward. “Gut them to kill them. There you happy? He’s one sick son of a bitch either way.”

  “And he just went away on a fluke charge, killing cows and assaulting a neighbor.” I knew once the words came out I should have thought them through. Deputy White looked capable of hauling me to the field and flogging me.

  “Cattle are a v-very important investment ’round here. Farmin’ is what we people do. It’s to be respected an’ so is the livestock.”

  The hint of a smirk dusted Jack’s lips. My discomfort brought him happiness. I felt my earlobes heat with anger.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Then what did you mean?” Both the Kentucky-bred deputy and the local CSI kept their eyes on me.

  “He has ten bodies buried underneath his property. Ten human bodies. There’s a freezer which seems to have been used to hold the unspeakable.” My arms pointed in both directions. “Numerous passageways, all the secrecy. Who was this guy really? And don’t say a killer. Because I think he was more than that.”

  “What are you saying, Slingshot?”

  “He didn’t kill them like this for no reason.” I gestured towards Zachery. “Maybe it’s something to do with that coinherence symbol of his, or maybe it has something to do with the health profession, but whatever it is, it was for a reason. This guy had something to say.”

  Zachery stepped toward me. I moved back. He said, “The killers always have something to say.”

  “Well, I believe this one has more to say than most.” All of them watched me as if I were about to shed light on the case. I wish I was.

  CHAPTER 4

  They say when you’ve seen as much as Jack nothing surprises you anymore. The cruelty and evil of the world holds no impact, but I swear even if it was just a glimmer in his eyes this case affected the man.

  The rumor was Jack came to the FBI as a former Sergeant Majo
r of the 7th Special Forces Group. In the 1980s, he had played a critical advisory role in the training of the Salvadoran military to deal with counter-insurgency. His last deployment had been Operation Just Cause, also known as the Invasion of Panama in ’89. When he retired from the military the following year and came to the FBI, he was given a pass straight to Supervisory Special Agent.

  “So the guy gets his victims down here, but how? I mean there has to be a connection between this room and the burial sites,” the CSI said.

  Jack fished out a cigarette. “That’s an obvious observation.”

  The CSI held up a hand, pointed at the cigarette. “Not down here please.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed, and he perched it unlit in his lips. “Well, I suggest you and your CSI buddies get on finding the connection between the rooms. It’s got to be a large enough opening that the freezer could fit through it—”

  “Could it be this easy?” I left the group, following the wiring on the ceiling and rounded a bend to the left.

  “Slightshot, don’t go wandering off—” Jack came up behind me, his words drying on his tongue as looked on what I had found.

  Smoothed concrete filled a space in the wall the size of a doorway.

  “This location would line up perfectly with the tunnel that seemed to lead nowhere,” Zachery said.

  Did I actually sense excitement in his voice? My chest tightened and my next breath stalled. I needed out of this place. I needed above ground.

  “This would make sense,” the CSI said. “In the tunnel that’s a dead end, the wire disappears up into the dirt.”

  “Hmm.” Jack glared at the investigator. “The killer knew we’d catch on to what he had going. If the last murder was done after Bingham was in prison, his apprentice—” Jack glanced at me, and Zachery smirked. “—He came back to clean up the mess. He knew that Bingham’s sister died and the property would be reclaimed.”

  “But why not close off access to everything?” I asked the question. “Why not cover over the empty grave? Why not block off the entrance from the cellar?”