Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix

by phill syron-jones

  SEVENTEEN

  The morning brought rain. Not a heavy downpour, but the slight drizzle that soaked you in seconds. However, the sky was blue with a few patches of the rain-bearing clouds. The English detective walked into the police precinct, and he was greeted with the sort of stares that burnt straight through you.

  “Morning,” he greeted the desk sergeant but did not expect a response. “Friendly bunch,” he said under his breath.

  As he left the elevator, the mood was chilling. Everyone stared at Steel as though he had just murdered a cop, not saved one. He made his way to the coffee room, where two female officers stood talking.

  “Morning,” he said, raising his hand as a greeting wave. But the officers just gave him a dirty look and left by the other door. “OK, I can see is going to be a fun-packed day,” he thought to himself. Making McCall and himself a coffee, he brought the cups to her desk, but she was in the Captain’s office, obviously giving a de-briefing on last night.

  The door opened to the Captain’s office and McCall, Tooms and Tony came out looking flustered and red-faced. But when they saw Steel, they gave a collective scowl.

  “Has Mr Steel decided to grace us with his presence yet?” The Captain looked over to see Steel standing there holding two coffee mugs in his hands and with a surprised look on his face.

  “Steel, get your ass in my office now.” Steel put down the cups and headed for the Captain’s room and its angry looking occupant. On the way Tooms made a point of bumping shoulders with the English guy and staring him in the eye.

  John entered the office and shut the door, taking a place in front of the large desk. He stood with his hands behind his back and his feet shoulder-width apart, preparing himself for the ripping of his life.

  “Steel, I have no idea what the powers that be see in you,” the Captain began.

  “I was told that you were this hot-shot detective but so far I haven’t seen diddly squat. And now I hear you let one of my detectives enter a building alone without backup with God knows how many dangerous Russian criminals in there.”

  The Captain leant forward, his knuckles resting on the desktop, his face bursting with rage.

  “Son, I don’t know who you are and I don’t trust you. And believe me, I don’t like things I don’t know or trust, they make me nervous. So far you have given me no reason to trust you. Now if you so much as fuck up one more time I don’t care who you know, you are gone. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal, sir.” Steel stood motionless.

  “Now get the hell out of my office and aim to do some police work without trying to get my people killed.”

  Steel left the office and made straight for the elevator. On seeing this the Captain shot out of his office.

  “And where the hell do you think you are going?” the senior officer demanded.

  “To find something that will make you trust me.” And with that John Steel departed, leaving the Captain seething with rage, and the rest of the people in the room shaking their heads.

  Later that night Captain Alan Brant sat down to a fabulous meal with his wife and kids, and they all laughed and joked. This was a good-hearted family, and the Captain was a good man and a fine cop. With the meal finished and the dishes done, Alan retired to his study to catch up on things. The room was dark but he knew it like the back of his hand. Sitting down at his desk he reached over and pulled the chain switch on his old-style desk lamp. After a click the desk was illuminated. And so was the figure sitting in the chair opposite.

  He gasped to find Steel sitting there as though nothing was amiss with the situation; the Captain reached for the revolver in his desk drawer and pointed it at the other man.

  “Now, Detective, if you would like to explain what the hell you are doing here before I paint my walls with you, I would grateful.” The Captain seemed both furious and somewhat nervous.

  “Well, I’m sorry to come here like this, but I didn’t want anyone to see me enter and as for shooting, I fear it wouldn’t do much good,” he said, leaning forwards and putting the bullets from Alan’s gun on to the table.

  “What do you want, Steel?” Alan put the revolver back into the drawer. Steel produced a bottle of Scottish whisky that had been brewed in 1800s.

  “I think you may need this,” said Steel as Alan accepted the bottle. His eyes opened wide when he saw the date on the label.

  “What’s the occasion? Are you finally leaving?”

  “No, but what you are about to see can’t be disclosed to anyone, no matter what. Do I have your word?” Steel was insistent.

  “I must have your word on this, Captain.”

  “Yes, yes, whatever.” Alan just wanted him out of his house and out of his precinct.

  Steel passed him a folder that was at least two inches thick.

  “Goddamn, that’s heavy,” said the Captain.

  “So is my past.” The Captain looked up at Steel and for the first time, met his eyes without their usual covering of sunglass lenses. He trembled.

  The next morning the entire homicide department were sitting awaiting a briefing from the Captain.

  “As you know, for the past week someone has been chopping people up and leaving us with a host of nameless corpses,” Alan began.

  “Now we have to find this guy before he strikes again.” McCall stood up and addressed the audience of cops:

  “We know he has a fondness for blondes and he knows their blood group, so we are looking for someone who has studied these women. We know that even though they are found naked there is no sexual abuse; he has a comprehensive knowledge of surgical techniques, so we may be looking for a surgeon. He doesn’t choose them at random, he researches them. Unfortunately we have no clue to these women’s identities, so we can’t make a connection. We need to go through every database and find past crimes that have a similar MO.” McCall concluded, sitting down.

  “Now we have brought in an expert in psychological profiling, Dr Davidson.” The Captain introduced the doctor, asking him to stand. “He is the best in his field, so with his help we are going to catch this guy.”

  Davidson stood up and gave a slight wave, then quickly sat down.

  “OK, people, we got a job to do,” the Captain said finally.

  “So let’s get to it.” The crowd dispersed and detectives started phoning and keying into their computers. McCall spotted the doctor and moved over to him, noticing that he looked lost and out of place.

  “Doctor, hi, I’m Detective McCall,” she introduced herself, noticing how he looked up with a start, as if she’d broken into his thoughts. “Would you like a coffee or anything?”

  He shook his head and just looked round him, as if he was a child lost in the school playground.

  “Sir, if you would follow me we have set aside a room for you to work in,” she explained.

  He followed and once inside the room his jaw dropped.

  “I hope this is OK, it’s all we have at the moment,” she apologized, but it seemed as if this was unnecessary. He was in awe of the facilities.

  “On the contrary, this is perfect,” he said looking round, his face resembling that of a child in a candy store.

  There was a large work desk that was packed with files on the case, crime scene photos neatly stacked up next to them, and along a far wall stood a large whiteboard that he could use to construct his own personal murder-board. He walked round the room, eyes wide with excitement.

  “So, Doctor, I will leave you to it then. If you need anything Officer Thompson has been assigned to you.”

  “What? Oh thank you, Detective,” Davidson replied, still overwhelmed by everything.

  “You know this is a very interesting case,” he said, looking at the notes and photos in front of him.

  Sam was already on her way out, but she stopped and turned.

  “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

  “Well, most of those we call ‘collectors’ take a finger or locks of hair. I remember one
man kept eyes in a pickle jar” He smiled softly to himself as he remembered the grisly details. The expression on his face made her skin crawl.

  “But this man,” he continued, standing up and placing pictures of the victims on his board in the order they were found, “He picks certain parts of the body. I find that odd, intriguing, but nevertheless odd.”

  As McCall left the room, watching him staring at the photos on the board, she shivered.

  She made her way towards Tooms, whom she found at his desk; McCall sat on the edge of it and looked around to make sure nobody was watching.

  “Did you find anything on Steel?” she asked, making sure not to look down at her seated colleague.

  “Well, your boy don’t exist,” Tooms replied.

  “I spoke to just about everyone and information about Steel came up blank. Either he don’t want to be found or he’s off the reservation and people don’t want us knowing him.”

  This time she looked down at him with a surprised look.

  “Oh great, so you’re telling me he is a ghost?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make some calls, we will find out who he is. But the question is, do we want to find out who he is?”

  She looked blankly at him.

  “What’s on your mind?” she asked, worried by his weird remarks.

  “I mean, somebody who goes to this much trouble not to be found, I guess they just don’t want to be found.”

  “Well I want to know all about our guy. So make the call.” She stood up and walked towards the coffee area: she needed caffeine—badly.

  McCall poured the coffee and sat at the table and sipped the hot dark coloured brew. The powerful aroma filled her nostrils as she breathed it in, taking a long drawn out breath, that was like pure heaven to her. Suddenly Tony’s head appeared round the corner of the door. He was waving a piece of paper, and his urgency made her sit up and take notice.

  “What’s up?” she inquired, watching him enter.

  “I think we got something on the CCTV footage from the pier.”

  She got up quickly and they both went to the monitor room.

  “OK,” she said when they were settled there. “What am I looking at?”

  The frame had been paused at 0200hrs.

  “Just watch,” said Tony as he pressed play. The footage rolled on and at first there was nothing. Then she saw what appeared to be two homeless guys carrying a large object in a shopping cart. They also had what appeared to be some rope, and as they disappeared round the corner she noticed the counter clock had moved forward fifteen minutes, then they returned.

  “Stop it there,” she told him. “Can you enhance the faces?”

  Tony used the mouse to create a digital square round the men’s heads and after another click of the mouse, the image was further enhanced.

  “OK, make copies,” she said. “I want that picture circulated to every shelter, church and hostel, because we have got to find these men.”

  At last it looked as if they’d got a break. She just hoped that it would lead somewhere.

  Once they were back in the main office Tooms’s phone burst to life, and reaching over he grabbed the receiver.

  “Detective Tooms, homicide, can I help you?” It was the ME’s office, telling him that they had something.

  “That was the ME’s office,” he told McCall and Tony as he hung up the phone.

  “They got a hit on the last vic: she was a Miss Marie-Ann Talbot from Manhattan.”

  Walking over to the board, he rubbed out the name Jane Doe and write in its place Marie-Ann Talbot.

  “We got an address yet?” McCall asked, as she sat at her desk, pleased that things were starting to come together, even if it was a slow process. Tony was busy checking on his computer for any data on Marie-Ann. With a bleep her picture came up on his screen, along with other information, including her date of birth and address.

  “We got her,” said Tony, giddy with excitement.

  “OK,” McCall told him “I will meet you guys downstairs. I’ll phone CSU and get them down there to check the place.”

  They both took off as she had the receiver in her hand ready to dial. McCall made the call, then standing up, she grabbed her coat. McCall headed for the elevator but on the way she knocked on the room allocated to Doctor Davidson, then she stuck her head round the door when he did not reply.

  “Hey, Doc, we have an address on the last victim,” she said. “I wonder if you wanted to come with us?” Deep down she prayed he would say no.

  “What? Oh, I’m sorry no, no, you go ahead I’m just catching up,” he said, delving through the photos.

  “Sure, I’ll leave you to it then.” And with that she quietly shut the door and ran before he could change his mind.

  EIGHTEEN

  Samuel lay in his hospital bed. Almost every part of his body was enclosed in a plaster cast. However, even if he’d been fighting fit he wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere anyway: the two large police officers at the door would make sure he stayed put.

  The man was conscious but unable to move. The TV in front of him was there merely for background noise, no one was watching it. He heard the door open, then soft footsteps tapped on the floor as somebody came into the room.

  “Hey, Doc, is that you?” Samuel cried out, but got no answer.

  “Who is there? Answer me!” Still there was no reply. But there was some kind of noise. What was, it he wondered, breathing faster. He strained his ears, trying to make out what the sound reminded him of. That sound, there it was again! Then, there came another noise! Was it music? Yes, it was music, from somewhere in the room. He could just make out a faint chime from a musical box or maybe a pocket watch.

  “Please, who is there?” he called out plaintively. Then he felt the presence of someone in the room, and if it had not been for the sedative medication he was on, a shiver would have danced up and down his spine.

  “Interesting,” said a sickly eerie voice. Samuel was unable to move his neck because of the neck brace.

  “Who is there? Show yourself you bastard!”

  “You do realize that because of you I have to reschedule my plans?” the person said to him. “And that will not do, I’m afraid.”

  Samuel could feel the man’s breath in his ear, as he went on speaking ever so softly and calmly. That was the most disquieting thing: the man was deadly calm.

  “Oh goodie.” The position of the voice had moved to somewhere above him. He managed to make out a brief silhouette on the ceiling: it was thin and the arms seemed too long, out of proportion to his body somehow, and then the image was gone.

  “They have you on morphine,” the man said next.

  “Well you don’t mind if I put up the dosage, do you?”

  Samuel seemed puzzled. Why would he increase the dosage?

  “What for, Doc?” the petrified Russian asked.

  “So that you don’t feel any pain and pass out of course, you silly boy.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  Now Samuel was really panicking. He attempted to call out for help, but found a sock was being shoved into his mouth. What was this madman going to do? He struggled but in vain as his casts held him tightly immobile. And all the while he could hear this maddening laughter.

  A blur shot from the dark as the increased dose of morphine was kicking in. His heart froze as a face came into view, but all he could make out were massive blue eyes that held the look of a madman, and large shining white teeth surrounded by a grotesque smiling mouth.

  “Oh I hope you stay awake for this,” said his tormentor

  “You wouldn’t want you to miss it for the world.” Then as Samuel stared up he caught a glimpse of something held in a hand, something that shone in the light reflected from the TV screen. Then, to his horror, he thought he could see a bone saw. And then the madman was gone from view.

  A terrifying silence filled his ears. Could it be a joke, he wondered? Maybe it was a trick? Either way he would eventua
lly find this man and makes him pay for what he was doing. He felt a twinge in his shoulder and then a strange dampness on his back. The musical chimes were the last thing he heard before the dark took him.

  NINETEEN

  The apartment belonging to Marie-Ann Talbot was quite large, with wooden floor tiles and white walls that seemed to make the rooms seem bigger than they were. The three detectives walked in and found themselves directly in the sitting area, and the view from the large windows was breathtaking. It was obvious that Marie-Ann had a well remunerated job, considering where the apartment’s expensive location and her opulent taste in furnishings. They had been let in by the caretaker, who was an elderly gentleman in his late sixties, but seemed still quite active for his age. The team split up, searching room by room, but found nothing relevant to the case. They were searching for any clue as to what sort of person the lady was and what contact she had with others, but there was nothing to help them.

  “OK, people keeping things private I can understand,” said Tooms, coming out of the bedroom with a disgruntled expression. “But this ain’t right. There are no pictures of family, or of friends, there’s nothing. I mean she doesn’t even have a naughty drawer.”

  McCall looked up. “So? Your point is?”

  “Nah, nothing, just blowing off steam I guess, in all the victims’ apartments things seem the same. It’s more than just being super clean and having no pictures on display. If you ask me, it sure seems weird.” He went back into the bedroom to continue his search.

  McCall shook her head and smiled. She felt his anguish, they all did, but she had faith something would come up: it had to.

  The phone in her pocket buzzed and vibrated, and as she reached in and took it out, the blue screen lit up the words: ‘caller withheld’. She looked at it for a moment then pressed the accept button.

  “Hi, it’s Steel,” stated the caller.

  She took the cell phone away from her head quickly and looked at it in surprise.