“Clearly not impossible. You seem to have done a pretty efficient job getting rid of helpless old men. Does it make you feel tough, hurting your elders? Make you feel young and strong, Albright?”
“NOT ALBRIGHT! GIBSON!”
Damianos stood tall, above the pudgy and sweaty James Gibson.
“You killed all of those men.”
James smiled wickedly, sweat dripping from his chubby face.
“...they were too old to live anyway.”
Damianos looked over at the mirror where he knew his partner was watching from the other side and gave a nod. He made for the door, having gotten what he needed from James but stopped when he was about to step out. Turning around, he saw the serial killer gasping for breath.
“You're right. Someday, you are going to be old. But while you could've been enjoying your golden years in the comforts of say, a retirement home...you're going to be doing nothing but rotting away sitting in a prison cell. Enjoy.”
With that, Damianos left the interview room with that wild animal finally in a cage.
**
Several weeks had passed before they were able to even begin to determine how many people James Gibson had killed over the years. Though, out of all of the serial killers in history, he would go down as one of the vilest.
Damianos read over analytical report that psychologist's gave his profile.
It was an interesting read, much of is he had determined for himself through the interrogation he had given but some things jumped out at him as just horrifying.
According to the report, James Gibson needed to return those men to the dirt, like the waste he believed them to be, burying them in shame as if they had never existed at all. He didn't think the old should take up any more space than they already did, even a grave in a cemetery. They were nothing but garbage to him.
The reports came to some of the same conclusions as Damianos had. Gibson's methods and pattern of killing, for one thing. The need for it to be a refurbished home due to his father and the rats being a totem and symbol for his views toward the old. Nothing but pests that burrow inside of a life and eat away at the soul.
However, just when James Gibson's demented mind seemed to reach its pinnacle, something else would come up.
The anthropologist on the case, having examined the deceased very thoroughly, had come to a discovery that would no doubt haunt Damianos's dreams in some form or another.
Most of the victims, if not all, had been conscious during the rats' feast. They had all been eaten alive—and had died in great pain.
It was terrible for someone who had lived through so many years to not be allowed to just fall into a well-deserved sleep. That had been taken from them.
It made Damianos sick.
Damianos looked forward to the hopefully long life he had ahead of him: to growing old with Annie beside him, being able to enjoy the last years of life with no other cares in the world; no criminals to tame.
Though, Damianos knew that no matter how many years passed, no matter how old he got, he would always get a small shiver up his spine when he'd hear something scratching in the walls of his home.
Book 6: Feet
CHAPTER ONE
There were twelve—twelve squirming bodies, twelve twitching hands, twelve writhing feet, twelve voices screaming.
The dozen figures all lie face down on the concrete floor, white robes draped around their bodies. Six men and six women; all with terror filling their eyes. A chain connected them all together, all united in their fate. Their yells and pleas for help couldn't be heard through the gags stuffed into their mouths. Many looked up, as if looking for answers from above but it seemed God couldn't hear them.
There was a thirteenth—also draped in white, though a unique red cloak was draped over his shoulders. Unlike the others, he stood tall and mighty, and was not connected by chain to any of those that lay beneath him. He seemed to stand on a precipice all his own, too divine to be touched by those writhing at his feet.
A whip was dangling from his right hand.
There was a crack and the dozens' muffled screams of horror were then laced with pain as man above them began whipping them without remorse.
At the end of the line of twelve was another man, one without any white robes, wore a plastic apron over his body and held a portable circular saw in his hand. Like a surgeon performing an operation, he examined the foot of the robed woman closest to him.
While the first man whipped each of the chained victims, the circular saw came to life with a hiss. Slowly, the man with the apron brought the saw to woman's ankle. The spinning blade's silver hue became engrossed in red.
The whipping and sawing continued until the twelve screams fell silent.
**
Damianos—“the tamer” in Ancient Greek—was a nickname Detective Andre Russell had been given long ago for his determination and resourcefulness in fighting crime. It was a name he had earned and been happy to accept. Some in his precinct didn't even know his real name, since his nickname was used so often. Usually, he'd be off tracking down the scum of San Diego, keeping it the quiet and tranquil city it was known as—usually.
Instead, Damianos found himself off his feet.
His captain had relegated him to desk duty for the next couple of days. He had had a minor operation on his right foot. He had assured his fellow law enforcers that it wasn't a big deal and wouldn't impede his “taming” but the captain, in particular, wouldn't hear it, especially when he had come in with a cane. It was just a precaution but Captain Wallace saw it as a crippling disorder and immediately assigned him to a desk.
So now he had to endure with his colleagues' jabs and taunts.
“The tamer's been tamed!” One said as he passed by.
Others would walk by him and making whipping motions with their hands. They seemed to think they were exceptionally clever. Damianos thought otherwise and it just fueled his vehement protests to be allowed back in the field but to no avail.
His partner, John Avers, was usually known for being reserved and not one to make jokes but even he got a laugh out of Dominos’ predicament.
After two days of restlessly looking over paperwork, Damianos was surprisingly finally getting used to having his feet up. John was doing all of the field work in the meantime while Damianos spent his desk days gathering intel on their cases, hoping to make himself useful. At least he could feel like he was contributing, even if it wasn't directly.
Maybe pushing pencils isn't so bad... He thought too himself at the end of the third day.
His girlfriend, Annie, had been very vocal in her preference for him being at his desk rather than chasing down killers and psychopaths. He at least partially agreed with her on that point. He sure felt much safer at his desk surrounded by police—but he did miss the excitement that came with the danger.
His phone startled him with a sudden ring. He let it go for a moment, allowing two more rings. He didn't know why, but he had tingling sensation running up his leg, almost like it knew it would finally be getting some use. He slowly picked up the phone.
Dominos’ leg had been right—it was time to get back on his feet.
**
John Avers was ready to call it a day. It hadn't been easy filling in for his partner, when it came to chasing down leads all by himself. Usually, he and Damianos could divide the work amongst themselves...but the past few days, he had been forced to pick up his partner's share of the weight.
He was in the middle of putting his coat on when Damianos limped over.
“What's the hurry, Johnny?” Damianos asked with a sly smirk.
John was more than used to that look; it always meant Damianos had found trouble to get into. John couldn't help but roll his eyes, knowing that his long day was about to get much, much longer.
His wife was expecting him for dinner...she already didn't like Damianos much. He was just giving her another reason to add to her gro
wing list.
“What is it?” He finally asked.
“We've got to take a little field trip. See a guy about a foot.” Damianos said.
“...your foot?” John asked, glancing down at Dominos’ feet. “You're really having me take you to a doctor right now? Is it serious?”
“No, not my foot!” Damianos said, hitting his partner on the shoulder. “Come on.”
The car ride had been pretty quiet, despite his attempts to ask Damianos to clear up what he meant about the foot but his partner would just shake his head in the passenger seat and say “we'll see”. John never liked vagueness or ambiguity...things being clear and to the point was how he liked his life. The sooner they got to their destination, the happier he'd be.
“Pull over up ahead. We're close.” Damianos said.
**
Damianos waited while John came around the car to help him out. He hated not even being able to get out of a car but he appreciated his partner's assistance. John had left his headlights on to illuminate the surrounding area. It was a seedy part of town and the decrepit buildings complimented that fact. Damianos used his cane to help him limp along beside John, going around the car and into an alleyway.
A shabby looking man stood waiting for them. Short, thin, and wearing a long coat that clearly didn't belong to him, the man ran to them with wide eyes.
“Finally!” He shouted with a particularly hoarse voice.
John gave a small cough, clearing his throat. He was clearly a bit put off by the man's appearance...or maybe his horrible stench...but Damianos didn't really care about the man. It was what he was holding that caught his attention.
It was a shoe—with what looked like a foot still inside of it, a bloody ankle peeking out of the top.
It was something Damianos could safely say he'd never seen before. An amputated foot with seemingly no body in sight or blood trail to follow. Hard to imagine someone could get very far hopping along on one foot.
“...where did you find that?” Damianos asked.
The shabby man mumbled something incoherent and pointed to the garbage bin beside him. Damianos glanced at John who gave a slight nod, slipping on a pair of latex gloves from his pockets. One of the perks of officially being on desk duty...Damianos didn't have to get his hands duty because he had someone to do that for him.
After a final nod, John slowly lifted up the lid of the garbage bin. His expression that followed was all Damianos needed to take a few steps forward and look down into it. What he saw sent a shiver of worry down his spine—a neat pile of shoe boxes was inside.
One of the boxes was open with one shoe inside.
“You find that shoe in a box?” He called to the man behind him.
“Yes, yes.” the man said. “I was looking for some new sneakers...mine are fallin' apart.” He pointed toward his shoes and sure enough, they were being held together by duct tape. “I thought these ones were going to fit me, but then I saw the foot inside! Guess they were already taken!” He laughed nervously.
“John, you mind checking another one of those boxes?” Damianos asked.
John diligently reached into the trash bin and pulled out one of the many closed shoe boxes. He held it tight in his hands while he casually flipped the cardboard box open. There was another pair of shoes inside, and by the looks of the bloody ankles—another pair of amputated feet.
Damianos groaned and took a few shaky steps away from the bin, leaning on his cane a little more than usual. It wasn't hard to guess what was in the remaining shoe boxes...and that was troubling, to say the least. Finding a bunch of severed shod feet wasn't exactly his idea of a good night.
If the dozen or so boxes are all filled with feet and no bodies to go with them, this bad night was going to become a very bad week.
CHAPTER TWO
John Avers pulled each and every shoe box out of the garbage bin, handling them with care. He opened each one once they were out of the bin and they all had a pair of shod feet inside. It was one of the most disturbing things he'd ever seen but he had to push through that.
“You have a name?” Damianos asked the shabby man, clearly needing a distraction.
“Carlo.” He said, glancing nervously at John as he pulled more shoe boxes out of the bin.
There were twelve shoe boxes total; twelve pairs of feet.
John was the type who needed answers. He asked Carlo for the shoe he was holding and then put it in the box where it was missing.
“What time did you find the boxes?” John asked.
“Not long before I called ya.” Carlo said, looking around nervously.
“And did you notice anything else unusual in the alley? A person or a vehicle that usually isn't here?”
Carlo shook his head.
“Did you notice the shoe boxes any other days before today?”
Carlo shook his head again.
“I don't know, sir.” He said. “See, I come down here only after the weekend. There's plenty of stuff then that I can get together and bring to the depot. Cans and bottles after the weekend get me a few meals at least.”
Damianos limped back to the car while John continued asking Carlo questions that could bring up any useful information. Carlo, however, seemed to bringing nothing helpful to the investigation outside of his initial discovery. After a few more minutes of questions, John walked back to the car and joined his partner in the car.
**
Damianos called up one of his friends, Alan Davros, the Crime Lab Chief Examiner. Alan had proven himself to be a valuable asset in many investigations. It was important to get him to the scene as soon as possible so he could work his magic and sniff out clues that were too hidden for Damianos and John to find for themselves. Damianos gave him the address of the alley.
“Aren't you supposed to be sitting at a desk right now?” Alan's voice laughed.
“Change of plans, stumbled on something rather messy down here.” Damianos said.
“Great...more than one body?” Alan asked.
Damianos couldn't help but smile a little at the question. That's what he always loved about working with Alan. They always managed to find some uncomfortable laughs in the situations they were put in. John was professional and to the point; Alan didn't mind cracking a few jokes to make the job a bit less difficult.
“No bodies...but plenty of feet.” Damianos said. “Twelve, to be exact—in shoe boxes.”
There was an eerie silence on the other end of the line. It was especially unusual coming from Alan. The guy always seemed to have something to say, even when he probably shouldn't. It seemed Alan Davros was left speechless for the first time in his career.
“Seems like all we'll need is some evidence boxes large enough to fit the shoe boxes in. If we find a body—or twelve—in the meantime, I'll call the doc.”
**
After all the shoe boxes were removed from the garbage bin, Damianos called up the sanitation department, making sure that they were aware of the incident. It would be a pretty big screw up if they empties or removed the bin from the alley. He had to protect any and all possible evidence or clues.
With that, Damianos and John went back to the precinct. It was a quiet ride in the passenger seat, neither of them wanting to even think about the horrifying discovery they had made. They had both seen their fair share of disturbing crime scenes, but most of those crime scenes had at least had a body to inspect. A shiver went up Dominos’ spine as he thought about where the bodies those feet belonged to could be.
If the victims of the amputations were still alive, they probably weren't able to get very far—helpless, unable to run.
Damianos glanced down at his injured foot but had to look away. His injury seemed like a breeze now. At least he still had a foot to walk on.
As soon as they had arrived back at the station, Damianos was immediately met with his captain's anger.
“Russell! What about the words 'desk duty' did yo
u not understand?”
“While I would have loved to keep my feet up all day...there was a bit of an emergency.”
“I'm aware. Just got off the phone with Alan Davros. He brought me up to speed and from what I heard, it was something Detective Avers could have handled on his own--”
“Sir, he didn't exactly do much,” John intervened, though his words slightly offended Damianos. “He sat in the car mostly. Just wanted to get out of the precinct for a little while...stretch his legs...so he accompanied me to the alleyway.”
“Not to mention that the vagrant who called, Carlo, asked specifically for me--” Damianos paused mid-sentence.
It hit him like a freight train—the call had specifically been for him. Carlo had asked for Detective Russell, not any of the other detectives or officers in the precinct.
How had he not seen that before?
“He asked for me directly.” Damianos explained.
“Why would he do that?” John asked.
“That's what I'd like to know.”
Before Damianos even realized what was happening, the captain was already on the phone.
“I don't care if it's not your usual beat, go back to that alley and find a man named Carlo. Bring him here, on the double.”
The phone slammed onto the receiver loudly.
**
Carlo wasn't a suspect; Damianos knew that much. Even when all of his colleagues threw around the idea, it didn't make sense. He looked into the man's eyes while finding the feet and he saw only terror and disgust. He'd have to be a very talented actor to pull that off. Still, why would he call him personally?
Whether Carlo was implicated in the murders wasn't important. The real important part was finding out all they could about the victims and find the rest of their bodies as soon as possible. There was only one man who could maybe help with that part—medical examiner Dr. James Darby.
The Untimely Death Box Set Page 38
