“Well, the way I see it, Ian, you know how to dig around to find clues. Ones that others might have overlooked. Maybe my department as well. I’m sure you got questions about what all’s been going on, especially regarding that group of whackos who’ve set up camp in my town. I tell ya, Ian, that guy Salizzar … if he and his attorneys keep spreading money around as thick and deep as they’ve been, I’m afraid he’s gonna have the mayor, and the entire city council for that matter, turning a blind eye on that shithole of his and the human refuse that’s coming to our town because of it. I’m gonna get you hooked up with an officer I’ve got in mind who can help steer you on track. One that you can report any findings to. He’s second in charge around here. You can ask him all the questions you got and are gonna have. I’ll let him know if we can help you, we will. By golly, ya know, this just might work. You’re not known in the area. It’s a lot easier for an unknown to go undercover as it were. But if my suspicion of that guy and his freak show is right on any level, you best be careful. I know you’ve got a piece and a license to carry it.”
Ian was stunned and unnerved at hearing that as he mused, How the hell could he know about Ole Caretaker? the name Ian had long ago given to his .32 Berretta. When he’d purchased it, it came with an ankle holster and was at this very moment stowed away under his driver’s seat.
“Don’t sweat it, Ian. Sheriff Redtail told me. Nothing illegal about the right of a private citizen to bear arms. Anyway, Sheriff Redtail told me how he temporarily deputized you, and your typical daily-weekly pay grade too for that matter. Anyway, he said how you helped him in a big way, bringing down that Gevaudan fella. So I trust you’re responsible enough. Now mind you, I won’t tolerate any sort of vigilante bullshit! You keep your head low and your weapon concealed and saddled. I don’t want to end up having to arrest you.”
Ian nodded. “Yes sir, I’m no hero, nor am I any sort of glory hound. Rest assured, I’ll report anything that I might find that is even remotely related or relevant to this terrible string of ...” Chief Mooney abruptly held his hand up, palm forward, to stop Ian from saying anything more.
“Listen, McDermott. What you did for the people of Harmony Falls, again, speaks volumes. You, sir, are a hero. But I don’t want you to end up a dead one. Let me cut to the chase. I’ve got access to a little fund that we keep in reserve for what we call ‘black-ops’, for lack of a better name. I know, that makes it sound pretty ominous. Really, it’s just a relatively small cash reserve. A fund we keep for paying informants and other similar things, well, like this. Things that are better kept off the books, if you get my drift. So I’m gonna see to it that you’re paid for your trouble, your customary wage. That is, should you, after you hear and see all the facts, still want to go through with investigating this. The victims were totally drained of blood. No easy task, naturally or otherwise. That’s why I think the victims fell prey to some sort of Satanic cult or something. Murders committed by or directed by that guy Salizzar. I don’t like anything about him or any of those freak-show clubbers that go to his place on a regular basis. I tell ya, Ian, it’s like the goddamn Manson Family’s moved into my town. Anyway, nobody, least of all me, is gonna blame ya if ya don’t want to go through with any of this. ‘Cause if you do choose to go forward, you’ll have to go undercover and somewhat change your appearance. I don’t know where you’re staying. Better that nobody in the station does. But my strong advice is to stay somewhere off the beaten path. Not here in town. I can’t do what the little town of Harmony Falls did. That is, make you any sort of official temporary lawman or anything. So you’ve got to play mostly by the rules of law … mostly. I’m sure you’ve already heard or read about Salizzar’s nightclub down on the waterfront. It’s called The Morgue, of all things. You’re gonna need to get inside there and do some snooping. Problem is, you don’t look much like … well forget about your age for a minute. There’s no doubt plenty of middle-aged freaks. It’s just, you don’t look like what my teenage kids call Emo or Gothic or some such crap. You know the look. Like some deeply-disturbed heroin addict with jet-black hair and Johnny Cash clothes. And one of those long, black trench coats like you see in movies. That stereotype seems to hold more true than not with the freaks I’ve seen hanging around that place. When Salizzar first filed for all the required licenses to open his den of sin, church groups, the city council, and the mayor’s office all initially did everything within the law to try and keep them out of our town. But I’ll say this much for the freak; apparently, he’s got pockets as deep as the ocean and big city attorneys in his corner to boot. He hides behind the Constitution like he was around when it was written. Or he buys whoever he feels is necessary to have on payroll, if you follow my meaning.”
Ian shook his head back and forth, a small scowl on his face like he knew the type.
Chief Mooney continued, “The guy’s gone so far as to purchase one of our oldest historic houses, a museum no less, from the local historical society for his personal use. His home. Oh, I’m told at first the historical society kept telling his attorney they wouldn’t sell. But the son-of-a-bitch kept upping the ante till they would have been crazy to turn it down. That’s pretty much how he bought that old waterfront warehouse that’s now his nightclub too. That’s how he does everything. He just keeps throwing money until someone catches it and puts it in their pocket. Before he even came to town, he donated a ton of dough to Mayor Marco’s re-election campaign last year, and it at least helped Marco get re-elected. Don’t get me wrong, Marco’s a good man. It’s just I don’t like the idea of this element getting into anyone’s pocket, least of all the mayor’s.”
Once again, Ian just sat there nodding in agreement with the chief as he thought to himself, Unfortunately, money generally does more than talk. It screams.
“Well, Ian, that’s all I got. Let me connect you with my guy, who, once you two are away from the station, will give you some pay to get ya started.” Ian was greatly relieved how the money issue took care of itself without him having to ask or even having to have said a word.
Chief Mooney dialed “9” for the front desk. After a couple of buzzes, the front desk officer answered. The chief spoke in a commanding voice, “Have Officer Ned Parker report to my office at once.”
Immediately after arriving at Chief Mooney’s office, Officer Parker was introduced to Ian. Moments later, Officer Parker and Ian left the office and stood, idly chatting for a few moments in the hallway just outside of the chief’s office. But then Officer Parker’s tone and mannerism suddenly changed. He became very serious. Ian noticed that Officer Parker also seemed to fidget just a bit and grow silent each time anyone, mainly police officers, walked by them. He then spoke in a rather stern tone, “Say, Ian, I don’t know how much the chief told you about this recent series of deaths, primarily of young women; the fact is that at this time we only have our somewhat prejudicially-jaded suspicions regarding who the UNSUB or UNSUBs are.” Ian knew that UNSUB was law enforcement’s acronym for UNKNOWN SUBJECT, though to his understanding it was more frequently used by the FBI profilers than local law enforcement. Ian silently pondered to himself a moment on the thought of whether that meant something or not. Perhaps the Feds are already involved?
Officer Parker continued, “But if you really want to stick your nose in, you’ll potentially be putting your neck out on this. And I mean from every direction. Especially with the kind of money this guy Salizzar’s been spreading all around town, maybe inside these very walls. Neither the chief nor I am convinced that these walls don’t have ears, ‘cause the guy always seems to be at least three steps ahead of us. I hear Salizzar even recently donated a bunch of money to our local library, then turned around and donated even more money to our local cemetery and crematorium. And he did so in a way that was anything but anonymous. Strange fuck. Between you and me, if this shit continues, this town’s either gonna lynch the guy or elect him for mayor.”
Ian began panning his eyes up and down the hallway. He
then looked directly into Officer Parker’s eyes as he spoke. “I believe I understand the potential risks involved.”
Officer Parker stared intensely at Ian for a long couple of seconds. “Okay then. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Listen Ian, we need to talk away from here.” Ian nodded, indicating that he understood and agreed.
Officer Parker continued, “Do you know where the Astoria Column is located? I’m sure you’ve seen it. It’s visible from most parts of town and from the bridge for certain.”
Ian smiled as he replied, “You mean that tall needle-style tower that you can see way up on the hillside above the town?”
Officer Parker grinned, “That’d be it. Anyway, to get up there’s a piece of cake. Just follow about any road in town that heads up the hill. You’ll see signs directing you once you’ve headed uphill a ways. It ain’t far. Fact is, besides the Column, you should take a glance at where our suspect resides. Just follow the one-way road in front of the station here and take the second right. Follow that for about four blocks, and you can’t miss it. Salizzar’s house still has a sign out front that says the ‘Flavel House Museum.’ It’s been weeks since he moved in, and the son-of-a-bitch still hasn’t taken down the sign. Between you and me, I think it’s just another way he’s sticking his middle finger out at this entire town.”
Officer Parker walked with Ian towards the front entry of the station. “I’d show you out, but I don’t want us to look too warm and fuzzy. You head up to the Column. Climb up to the top if you want. It’s a hell of a nice view. I’ll be up there in maybe an hour. I’ll be in my own personal vehicle. It’s a light gray Toyota Camry. I know what you drive. That Wagoneer.” Ian was astonished by that declaration. What he heard next dispelled his astonishment. Officer Parker smiled and laughed, “No. I’m not psychic. And no, you haven’t been under surveillance. I was near the front door when you got here. Just by coincidence, I saw you park your rig and cross the street. And jay-walk across the street, I might add.”
CHAPTER 3
One Way Up. One Way Down.
At first, Ian figured that he probably had time to visit a liquor store to pick up a new bottle of liquid courage, but he changed his mind. “It’s about time I start giving my liver a vacation.” Ever since the vehicular tragedy that took from him the loves of his life, his wife and daughter – all Ian had cared about in the world besides his work – he hadn’t thought there would ever be a time that he would muster the strength required to climb out of the bottle and stay out. He wasn’t sure this was that time either. One foot in front of the other. One step, and one day, at a time. Ian thought about that phrase. It had seemed no more than a ridiculous twist on an old cliché to him at the time.
One foot in front of the other. One step, and one day, at a time, had been spoken time and again by a Catholic priest. One who counseled the twelve steps to a sobriety group that Ian had once sat begrudgingly through in a half-assed attempt at getting people, mostly relatives that he didn’t even really know, off his back about his drinking. Back then, Ian wouldn’t have taken advice from the Pope himself. What seemed to Ian to be fairly obvious, but nobody else seemed to grasp, was that it wasn’t so much that he was addicted to alcohol, Jack Daniels old number “7” in particular, as he was addicted to his long-term depression. And especially back then, no amount of counseling or prescription anti-depressants, all too often chased with booze, helped in any way beyond putting him momentarily in a state of comfortable numbness followed by passing into peaceful darkness that unfortunately sooner or later became painfully illuminated once again.
Then and now no treatment worked, other than what Ian himself very recently discovered: delving back into work was his only possible salvation. That in itself kept him too busy to sink back into his potentially suicidal depression. And now, even more important to Ian’s reclamation than delving into the deep end of his newly reinvented work, was his new companion, Scout. Besides companionship, Scout gave Ian something that he hadn’t even realized was missing in his life. Someone, or something, besides himself that he was responsible for taking care of every day, even when he might not care to take care of himself.
“Okay boy, I’ve got a good idea. Let’s drive through that McDonald’s that I spotted when we first drove through town. We can eat our grub on the way up to that tower.” Scout, seeming to understand, stood up from his usual seated posture just for a moment, wagged his tail, and then settled back to his seated head-tall position in the passenger seat.
Ian pulled up to the menu and microphone. A pre-recorded message came blaring at him with a clearer tone than most order-board speakers. “Hi, welcome to McDonald’s. Would you like to try our new limited-time, seasonal pumpkin McFlurry with your order today? Go ahead and order when you’re ready!” Those pre-recorded messages ending with, “go ahead and order when you’re ready,” always threw Ian. He never felt like there was a human standing by actually ready to take his order.
“Uh … yeah, anyone there? Are you ready for my order?” Ian asked in a slow clear voice.
“Yes sir. Go ahead and order when you’re ready.” Ian heard clearly the polite voice of an obviously young, female order taker.
“Okay, hi … um … I’ll have a number three quarter pounder with cheese value meal with a medium orange High-C for the drink. Oh, and give me an extra quarter pounder with my order. Thanks.”
After paying for and receiving his order, then subsequently leaving the McDonald’s parking lot, Ian reached into his bag of fast food and unwrapped a quarter pounder and handed it to Scout, who wolfed it down in about three seconds. “Wow, you were hungry, huh, boy.” After having taken care of Scout, Ian began eating his meal while driving. He kept his eyes peeled, looking for a sign. “There it is, boy. ‘To the Astoria Column.’ All right, here we go. Just like Officer Parker said. This is a piece of cake.”
Upon arriving to the Astoria Column, that was located at the very top of the highest hill that overlooked all of Astoria. Ian instantly began marveling at the artwork that was etched and painted on the sides of the column. Which depicted aspects of the Lewis and Clark expedition.
“It ended up near here, boy. Lewis and Clark, they finally made it to the Pacific Ocean just beyond Astoria. Just a short distance from here; I believe they built Fort Clatsop near the mouth of the Columbia on this side of the river near where it dumps into the ocean. This entire area’s riddled with the history of Lewis and Clark as well as World War I and II fortifications on each side of the mouth of the Columbia. Forts that housed enormous gun batteries built to protect the mouth of the Columbia against any enemy ships or submarines that might attempt to come up river and attack or even try and invade strategic deep water ports along the river like Astoria, Longview, and especially Portland. I think I read that the fort on the Washington side is Fort Columbia, and the one on the Oregon side of the river is Fort Stevens, which also has right there on the beach the remains of an old shipwreck, the Peter Iredale, I think it’s called. Nearby, there’s the Battery Russell, a famous old gun emplacement. Just some fun facts. Do you like history as much as me, boy?”
Scout barked twice and began happily panting. Ian affectionately petted Scout from the top of his head, down his back with his right hand. There were only a few cars in the parking lot. None of them were gray Toyota Camrys. Ian decided to park his Jeep and take Officer Parker’s suggestion to climb to the top of the column.
“Well, boy, now that you’ve had your history and geography lesson for the day, I think I’ll climb that sucker and take a good look around.”
Ian, being one who by nature paid attention to most every little detail, decided upon entering the tower to count how many steps it took to reach the top of the column.
Less than a month ago, if Ian had attempted the same climb, he would have been severely winded. But all the hill climbing and spelunking that he’d done recently back around Harmony Falls had him in pretty good cardiovascular condition. Even so, after Ian had been climbing for a f
ew minutes, he began to get a little disoriented, almost motion sick, from the round and round, up and up you go, dimly lit, somewhat dank, massive spiral staircase that resounded with incessant reverberating echoes created from other climbers, whose chatting and clamoring feet on the metal staircase were only slightly less than thunderous to his ears. After another minute of climbing, Ian could see the top of the stairs. He was rapidly closing in on reaching the top of his climb.
One hundred sixty-two … one hundred sixty-three … one hundred sixty-four. “Piece of cake.” Ian smiled and proudly proclaimed out loud as he opened the door and crossed the threshold to the outside world. He was a little out of breath but not too bad, and he was very glad to get out into the light and the fresh air.
“Fantastic!” Ian said in a feeble attempt to proclaim out loud the fabulous, panoramic view that the climb to the top of the Astoria Column afforded him. He then began walking around the tower’s wrap-around viewing platform, taking in all that he could see, and he could see for miles.
From below in the parking lot looking up at the height of the column, he’d figured he’d get a good view from up above. But he never would have guessed that on such a cloudy day he would be able to see so very far in every direction. Ian especially noted that off to his left from where he stood was Saddle Mountain. He’d noted that it was a particular place of interest from his brochures and that it had a popular hiking trail that went from a parking lot below all the way up to its summit. Ian then gazed ahead towards the mouth of the Columbia and the ocean beyond.
Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2) Page 4
