The Untimely Death Box Set

by James Kipling

  “We'll provide you any of the information you need,” Special Agent Silverstone said. “As long as you do not butt in when it comes to serving warrants on the suspects for the other crimes that may have been committed outside of San Diego. Everything that's been going on there—like you made so very clear—is your case. What happened outside of your turf, isn't. Sounds fair, right?”

  Damianos contemplated the proposal. He knew it was about as close to a fair compromise he was going to get from the Feds. They'd never give him all the credit for bringing down the killers, after all—but that didn't really matter to him.

  All that mattered was bringing down the two sadists...any semantics could wait.

  “Sounds fair, agent,” Damianos finally said. “First thing's first, we need to identify these guys.”

  “Hm,” Silverstone said. “We'll send over a profiler who might be able to help with that...”

  “Good,” Damianos threw a thumbs up to John and Sheriff Anderson. “We could use any help we can get. Thank you for your assistance, agent.”

  **

  Speaking to Peter Barrow's parents was a much different experience the second time around. The first time, they had been concerned for their missing son but there was certainly still hope in their eyes—now there was nothing but tears. Damianos tried his best to keep them composed long enough to be able to ask them some more questions.

  “Did you see anything out of the ordinary recently, before all of this happened?” Damianos asked.

  Mrs. Barrow was too inconsolable to speak so her husband did in her stead.

  “Peter talked to a couple of fellows about the aviary he was wanted to build out in the back of the property. There were two of them.” Mr. Barrow said.

  Mrs. Barrow's attention perked up from where she sobbed on the couch and she looked at Damianos with utter devastation.

  “I saw them too,” she said through sobs. “Maybe once or twice...but I could describe them...I know I could.”

  “We'll bring in a sketch artist, then,” Damianos nodded assuredly. “While you wait, just try to remember everything you can about what they looked like. Any little detail could be very helpful. Thank you and I'm so very sorry for your loss.”

  **

  When Damianos and John Avers returned to the precinct, they were met by another pair of grieving parents—Eric, the second victim's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bosch. They looked just as heartbroken and the Barrows had.

  “I'm sorry for not being able to pay you a visit earlier,” Damianos said. “It's been a rather difficult few days, as you know, and I'm more than happy to be able to talk to you now.”

  The conversation was filled with hysteric sadness and confusion, as expected, and then some interesting insight came forward a little while into it.

  “Eric was a born financier,” Mr. Bosch said. “He always watched the stock market, stock exchanges. He had big aspirations, detectives.”

  Damianos could see the pain and loss in the father's eyes, as his legacy had been taken from him in such a horrifying manner.

  “While I know this is hard, I can't actually imagine the pain you two must be feeling right now. This shouldn't have happened...it really shouldn't have. I can't bring back your son but I can try and stop this from happening to anyone else. I know it won't fix things but I hope it brings you even a little comfort know that we have some good leads from the FBI and are hoping to make an arrest very soon. Thank you for your time and, again, I'm very sorry for your loss.”

  Damianos hated only being able to give his condolences to victims' families. It felt like a much better gesture to bring their son's killers to justice—and that's exactly what he planned to do.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The FBI profiler who had been sent to assist them, Hunter Douglas, was a friendlier man than Damianos had expected from a Fed but he was happy to have him aboard. Their sketch artist, Cynthia Burne had also arrived and gotten a description from Mrs. Barrow of the two men she had seen. Working together, Hunter and Cynthia managed to come up with what were hopefully accurate depictions, appearance and personality-wise, of the killers.

  According to Hunter's observations, they were probably some of the best intellectuals in the country but if Cynthia's sketches were anything to go by, they were far from their prime of youth. It was Hunter's theory that they may be wanting to punish any exceedingly intelligent youths, to try and stop them from someday supplanting them with modern knowledge and technology. They would do anything to keep their place as intellectual minds by getting rid of any competition. In short, they didn't want to be made obsolete by young minds.

  It was Special Agent Silverstone, though, who provided even more essential information.

  “From the sketches your lovely Ms. Burne made, we have possibly found matches to their description—two industrialists living in Oregon—Daniel Anders and Frank Capelins.”

  “That's interesting...but is there anything that really points to them specifically?” Damianos asked.

  “We did some further digging to make sure the match wasn't skin-deep. There's been a strange bit of a coincidence around these gentlemen. It's almost as if death follows them wherever they go.”

  “That's beautiful poetry, agent.” Damianos said, folding his arms.

  “Well it writes itself,” Silverstone said. “After all, every time they've moved in the last ten years, there have been boys tortured and put to death in the area. I highly doubt that it's a coincidence, wouldn't you agree, detectives?”

  Damianos and John nodded in agreement. It was undeniably suspicious timing.

  “So scarecrows were found in those areas?” Damianos asked.

  “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 shoul
d 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.