by John Stone
“No, not scarecrows,” Silverstone said, straightening his tie. “The modus operandi doesn't seem to be so apparent or set in stone...though there are some patterns in the deaths. For example, sons of fishermen were harpooned or dropped in a shark infested tank; sons and daughters of chemists or with parents in the medical field were poisoned with a nerve agent. And now...sons of farmers being impaled by pitchforks and strung up like scarecrows. They seem to enjoy connecting the deaths to the legacy of the parents--”
“Maybe it stems from a trauma the perpetrators experienced as children,” Hunter interjected. “A hostility toward the parents. It's not enough to just kill the competition...they need to send a clear message to the victims' parents.”
Damianos felt sick at just the thought of it. If his colleagues' theories were right, these men weren't just killing for revenge or some visceral need to cause harm. They were robbing parents of their children just because their child was intelligent. They were all so young, had so much promise...and they were killed because of that potential.
**
It took a few days for the FBI to determine the location of the two men but when they did, Damianos got the call he had been waiting for. Finally he could stop the sadists from inflicting anymore pain on anyone else. It had been one of the more disturbing cases he had been a part of and he honestly couldn't wait to put it to an end.
When they were ready to go make the arrest, Special Agent Silverstone invited Damianos and John to fly to Oregon and accompany the Feds during the arrest. Despite it being out of San Diego, Damianos appreciated being allowed the opportunity to be a part of bringing the sickos down.
It was an hour later on the private plane that Silverstone told them the plan of attack.
“The two suspects, Daniel Anders and Frank Capelins, have been living together in a home in Portland. They work together as well. Just a couple of best friends for life, those two. We've figured out their location and their work hours...so when they get home to rest up after a long day of work and murder, we'll be waiting for them.”
“Sounds easy enough to me.” Damianos said, clenching his fist with anticipation.
“We're kind of assuming a lot, though, aren't we?” John asked to raised brows. “I just mean that we're not even one hundred percent sure that the suspects are responsible yet we're going at them full throttle.”
“I'm not sure how you guys do it back in San Diego but if my team gets even the slightest whiff of a threat we're going to neutralize immediately. Once we have it under control, then we can start making sure we had any reason to. Hesitation could just lead to more problems.” Silverstone explained.
“As much as I'd hate to admit it, the Feds have the right idea, John. In cases like this, it has to be shoot first, ask later.” Damianos said from beside John.
Damianos looked out the window at the clear blue sky. It had been a long time since he had flown on a plane. He had forgotten how much it shifted his perspective, as if it forced him to pull away from the rest of the world, to float among the clouds. It was surprisingly effective in soothing his thoughts.
The problem seemed so far below—so far away—that he could look at it clearly.
However, with each passing moment, the plane grew closer to its destination and Damianos was looking forward to seeing the killers brought to justice.
**
The house that the two alleged killers—business partners—lived in together looked normal enough. It was a two-floored condominium with Daniel Anders and Frank Capelins each living on one side of the house. Damianos listened patiently while Special Agent Silverstone briefed his team on the specifics of the house; two windows on other side of the two front doors and one wider one above it, two back doors, and eight other windows spread across the upstairs and downstairs...there weren't many places for Anders and Capelins to escape to—and that was a great feeling.
John Avers approached, wearing an FBI Kevlar vest over his usual dress shirt and tie. He looked stone-faced, as he always did when he was about to dive into danger. John's ability to completely focus and devote himself to a task was one of his greatest strengths.
“Here,” John said, handing over Dominos’ vest. “It might be best for you to wear this, Andre.”
Damianos rolled his eyes and grudgingly took the vest and put it on. He hated how overly cautious the FBI was. There were always hoops to jump through...unnecessary ones. After all, if their recent killings were anything to go by, they should have been protecting themselves from pitchforks instead of bullets.
Some of the FBI were specially trained for siege situations, wearing full body armor and large assault rifles, while others were agents with minimal vests and jackets over their bodies. It kind of sickened Damianos to be looking so much like a federal agent. It was something he would never want to happen in normal circumstances. It just didn't feel right.
“Everybody in the vans! We move out in five!” Silverstone said loudly.
The platoon of Federal agents—and Damianos and John—broke out and began piling into the assault vans that were parked nearby. They were a few blocks down from the killers' condo and would be there in a matter of minutes. Damianos piled into the back of Silverstone's van with John, readying their weapons in case they'd have to use them.
Special Agent Silverstone suddenly cranked up the radio in the van, allowing heavy metal rock music to practically shake the windows apart.
“Buckle up, fellas,” Silverstone said from the driver's passenger seat. “The moment we get to their house, we're breaching. We don't give them a chance to run, hell, we don't even give them a chance to wet themselves.”
From behind his large sunglasses, the FBI agent who was driving the van laughed at Silverstone's remark. Damianos and John weren't quite as amused. Damianos would admit that he liked moments of levity to help them get through their dark days but the Feds had a whole other level of detachment—of arrogance about them. Instead of carefully working their way through a case, the FBI often preferred just smashing it through it without thinking of consequences. All they cared about was getting it done as quickly as possible—and not thinking anything in the world could stop them.
Damianos could feel his adrenaline and excitement kicking in while the line of vans stormed down the streets.
“These two have been lying low!” Silverstone shouted over the music. “Not much activity around the house lately! They're probably sitting nice and comfy right about now. And remember, boys, you only get to handle the killings they did around San Diego! Rest of their crimes are ours to bring down! Now let's give these guys a wakeup call!”
Damianos didn't like the sound of that. It sounded way too easy for perps who had gotten away with so many killings. If Silverstone and his men weren't so into their own egos, maybe they'd realize that they weren't dealing with anyone sloppy.
The house was in sight and it was just as the Feds had described...right down to how many steps were on the entrance stoop. Damianos looked to John beside him, who looked just as concerned with Silverstone's attitude.
There was an unnerving feeling in the pit of his stomach. It felt rushed—half-baked.
The vans pulled up to the home and Damianos could no longer spend time thinking about the plan...it was in full swing.
Damianos opened his car door and ran onto the yard along with the converging FBI agents. The two front doors, each to a side of the condo, were growing closer and closer while they swiftly moved across the green grass. He and John were part of the third line inside behind the more fully armored strike team and some other FBI agents. They divided as they grew closer, one half entering Anders' side and one entering Capelins'.
Upon entering Anders' side of the house, Damianos kept his gun at the ready and was met by a chorus of calls through the house—the agents yelling “clear”.
The team moved through both parts of the condominium simultaneously, always at the ready for any possible ambush or surprise assaults. They were clearing rooms so
quickly that Damianos barely had a chance to get a good look at the house but what did see was interesting. On Anders' fridge in his kitchen, there was a list of groceries for the month.
Pitchforks was written near the bottom of the list, inserted casually between the usual fruits and veggies.
**
After an initial sweep that lasted mere minutes, a final “clear!” sounded.
The members of the team all lowered their weapons, some peering out windows as they slowly walked around the house.
There was no sign of either of the men.
“What the hell happened?” Silverstone steamed, his confidence radically different than minutes before. “They were supposed to be here! Randall! You told me you had eyes on them twenty-four seven!”
Damianos had yet to see this sign of Silverstone and it was jarring. Usually he was so put together and organized, carrying himself with pride. Now, he was screaming at his agents like a child who couldn't find his favorite toy.
“Well this a mess.” John said from beside him.
“That's the Federal Bureau of Investigation for you,” Damianos said sarcastically. “Investigation all they care about.”
John Avers gave a thin smile but Damianos knew his partner was trying hard not to laugh. Silverstone walked up to them, his face red after barking commands at his agents.
“It appears we've been duped,” Silverstone seethed. “They seem to be a lot more capable than we thought they were.”
“You guys seeming incompetent doesn't help much either.” Damianos said.
“I'm sorry, detective, do you have a better idea?” Silverstone scoffed. “You wouldn't even be here if we didn't invite you. You're a little out of your jurisdiction.”
Damianos wanted to bring up that the Feds wouldn't even care about the killings if he hadn't brought it to their attention but he bit his tongue. Their actions had embarrassed them plenty. There was, however, a point he wanted to get across.
“You asked if I had a better idea. Here's one...make sure you know where they are before sending an army at them...you guys like to throw around the federal bureau part of your name a lot, display how much better you are than everyone else—but how about the investigation part? The most important part? Maybe you guys should try focusing on that a bit more.”
“Detective--” Silverstone begin, his face red with anger.
“Agent!” Damianos cut him off. “You have more resources than most law enforcement. That's why I asked for your assistance. Your assistance in a case we've actually been investigating. Next time we make a move, I call the shots.”
Silverstone opened his mouth to speak but Damianos was already walking out of the house with John closely following behind.
“Do I need to remind you that that was a special agent you just chewed out?” John asked.
“I don't see what's so special about him,” Damianos said as they walked back to the van. “Doesn't seem any different than the countless idiots who think they're know what they're doing but don't.”
**
During the next week, the FBI worked tirelessly on making up for their blunder until eventually locating the suspects in Nevada. They had supposedly been there on a “work conference” but it was just a cover up for whatever twisted machinations they were planning to soon commit. They had rented hotel rooms and had new clothing tailored to their needs. They thought they were so much smarter than anyone, even the police.
That was their undoing. Like Silverstone had a week before, Anders and Capelins let their confidence in their own intelligence get the better of them. They didn't remain hidden like they should have. Instead, they practically shined a spotlight on themselves.
Rather than be invited, Damianos demanded that he and John be allowed to assist again, much to Silverstone's annoyance.
Luckily, it wasn't as overblown as the first time, probably so the Feds could save themselves from more potential embarrassment and waste their extensive resources on nothing. There were no armored vans or strike teams. There was no body armor and no assault rifles. It was a small team—just Damianos, John, Silverstone and two other agents crammed into an unmarked truck.
Instead of charging at their enemies like they tried before, the smaller team waited in the truck while it was parked alongside the sidewalk, waiting for the killers to come to them. After finding them, Damianos made sure that the Feds kept constant watch on them so they couldn't slip by them again.
It was a long wait but after a few hours of sitting in the truck—there they were.
Coming toward them down the sidewalk was Daniel Anders and Frank Capelins. Both of them were exceptionally well dressed, in business suits and slick ties; with extravagant watches wrapped around their wrists. All of their expensive attire couldn't hide their age, though. Daniel Anders had unnaturally jet black hair...perhaps a sign of trying to hide strands of grey. And Frank Capelins had hair that was in the midst of receding from his forehead and was trying to cover it up with a floppy hairstyle.
If Damianos had to describe them, the first word he would think of would be “artificial.” This just didn't look real. In fact, they looked like they were just two overly normal people coming home from the office after a hard day of work—not having committed so many murders. He'd often heard the expression of a 'wolf in sheep's clothing' and for possibly the first time in his career, he saw just that. There was a danger in the way they walked, as if each step they took, they were stepping on the remains of those they had butchered.
“Ready...?” Silverstone asked quietly.
“Not yet,” Damianos said, slightly raising his hand. “Don't give them an opportunity to run. We have to be right on top of them.”
The two men were chatting amongst themselves, boisterously chuckling as they strode down the sidewalk. They were growing closer and closer with each step and every moment that passed, Damianos felt more anxious.
Ten yards away.
It was time to finally end it—to stop the psychopaths who thought they were so smart.
Five yards away.
Damianos tightened his grip on his pistol. He couldn't be too careful for people who had orchestrated so many deaths and done so in such a brutal manner. He wasn't expecting pitchforks but would be stupid not to at least be careful of them possibly having knives...or even guns.
Two yards away.
Daniel Anders's gaze fell on the vehicle as they started to walk by. He was still smiling from whatever conversation they were having when he saw the five men huddled into the truck. In that moment, his eyes grew wide and his smile left his face. Daniel turned his body and grabbed Frank's arm, and the surprise that was plastered onto Daniel's face transferred to Frank's, who had also now noticed them. They turned to make a run for it.
“Now!” Damianos yelled.
Damianos, John, Silverstone, and one of the agents leaped out of the truck while the remaining agent revved the engine up to pursue in the vehicle if he had to. Damianos and John were at the head of the pack, sprinting ahead of the Feds—which gave them a bit of a pride—and were right on the two killers' heels.
“Freeze!” John shouted.
Anders and Capelins were fast and had no intention of turning back. Damianos had his gun drawn but there were people all over the street. Discharging a gunshot in such a crowded area was a huge risk and it wasn't one that Damianos was going to take. He knew John was thinking the exact same thing but he couldn't be sure of the Feds following behind. All he could do was hope Silverstone was a little bit smarter than he had seemed.
Damianos could feel sweat perspiring on his head and glanced over to see that his partner was in a lot better of shape than him. He'd have to try and fix that...or at least make up for it.
Damianos used all of the energy he could muster to throw himself forward, his body colliding with Daniel Anders's back, wrapping his arms around his mid-section. The two went sprawling onto the ground in a heap, causing Capelins to stop and turn back, trying to help his partner in cri
me. John had pulled out his gun and aimed it at Capelins. Silverstone and his agent encircled Capelins and Anders while Damianos climbed back to his feet.
They had finally cornered them like the rats they were.
“Nowhere to go,” Damianos said. “So any last words before you never seen the sun again?”
“What's the meaning of this?” Capelins exclaimed so anyone on the street could hear him. “We have done nothing wrong and you come chasing after us!?”
Daniel Anders flashed a smile that was just as greasy as his jet black hair while Capelins continued his dramatic shouts.
“This is abuse of power! Excessive force!”
“Shut up,” Damianos said. “You two have had your fun but we're bringing you in.”
“For what?” Daniel Anders asked with his slimy smirk. “For walking down a sidewalk minding our own business?”
“Seriously?” Damianos couldn't help but chuckle. “Is this your big plan? Aren't you two all about intelligence? Last thing I would think you would do is play dumb.”
John Avers stepped forward, his weapon still raised.
“Daniel Anders. Frank Capelins. You're under arrest for murder.”
“...and now resisting arrest.” Damianos added.
“Murder!?” Capelins thundered. “Who would ever do such a thing!?”
Damianos turned to his comrades and they all looked just as annoyed as he did.
“You guys think you're so smart. You really do.” Damianos laughed, taking a few steps closer to them. “I mean, you didn't just kill people you didn't like and be done with it. You took the time to display their bodies for everyone to see and not just simply show them off...you had to do in an ironic way. Sons of farmers being hung up like scarecrows...so smart.” Damianos chuckled, though his expression was far from amused.
“Maybe if the Wizard had given those scarecrows some brains.”
Daniel Anders's words barely left his mouth when Damianos lunged for him, ready to beat the smug smirk off of his face. He wanted to smash his head against the concrete of the ground, to wipe his stain off the face of the Earth.
