“Rejection. Vic’s boss, Roy Barker, who first reported Freeburg missing when she didn’t show up to work on Monday morning, described three motorcycle gang members approaching Michelle Sunday night at the grocery store where she worked. He told the officer that he was worried the bikers had taken her. Mentioned the lead biker by name, saying he was standing near Freeburg when the biker told her his name was Mully, and Barker later overheard her rebuff Muldando’s advances.”
“Photo confirmation?” Streeter asked.
“Not yet,” Shankley said. “Prefer an actual lineup and have the vic’s boss pick him out. We have to go by the book on this one or he’ll slip away on a technicality.”
He pointed at the tattoo and added, “Mully’s a member of the Lucifer’s Lot, the only known outlaw motorcycle gang to have officially established a chapter in South Dakota. Keep in mind, Mully’s chapter is from Colorado and they only attend the rally each year to make some extra money, money which is likely coming out of the South Dakota chapter’s pockets. So we not only have a constant powder keg amongst the motorcycle clubs, we also have a situation brewing within the Lucifer’s Lot club between the local chapter and Mully. Immediately after the initial investigation of the dead body yesterday, Leonard, the Lawrence County Sheriff, who recognized the FTW as a Lucifer’s Lot pin, checked with other counties and learned about the death in Sturgis of a teenager yesterday, also a vic last seen with a Lucifer’s Lot prospect on Monday morning. The sheriff became concerned that this was an act of serial killing by the motorcycle gangs. Serials and gang activity both call for FBI jurisdiction. The rumor is that Mully’s Northern Colorado chapter has two prospective members riding with them during this rally.
“Prospects generally have to commit heinous crimes in order to be accepted into an outlaw motorcycle club. Therefore, it’s logical to conclude that Mully or the Lucifer’s Lot prospects are primary suspects in the murder of Michelle Freeburg and the Jane Doe teenager at Sturgis.”
Streeter asked, “How does Sheriff Leonard know so much about this Muldando character?”
Even in the darkened room, Shankley’s frown was unmistakably one of irritation. “Sheriff Leonard has been keeping a close eye on this thug for years, watches his gang daily during the rally since they set up camp just a few miles from the sheriff’s house. He drives by their camp each day on his way to his Deadwood office. The campground is adjacent to Broken Peaks, where Freeburg’s body was found. He’s been dreading the day that something like this might happen but couldn’t do anything about it since Mully and his gang are on their best behavior each year at the campground.”
“Regular altar boys,” someone growled. The room filled with snickers.
Streeter heard a low growl from the man sitting next to him.
Shankley added, “As I mentioned, the campground is a stone’s throw from Broken Peaks property. Once Leonard was notified that Ernif Hanson’s body had been found Monday on his ranch, also with a blunt force trauma injury to the back of the skull, just as the previous Crooked Man murder victims had, he called us in on it. Plus, as I mentioned, a Jane Doe was killed in Sturgis, which the Sturgis Police Department reported, also indicating a connection with the Lucifer’s Lot. All three discovered dead on Monday. Killed.”
The SAC flashed a picture of a large man lying face down on some jutting rocks on a hillside, the back of his skull bloodied and mangled. Streeter had seen the picture last night on Calvin’s computer and had reviewed the electronic files on the Crooked Man case. But he had never seen the second picture Shank was showing, the young teenager in the red bikini heaped on the asphalt. He leaned forward, studying the details from his back row vantage point.
“Killed? All three confirmed?” Streeter had irritated Shankley once again.
“Autopsies aren’t done on any of the three yet. But considering they speculate the female vic’s a teenager, I highly doubt she died of natural causes. These guys are tough bastards. By merely insinuating that one of them is suspected in a murder investigation, you may as well get your affairs in order, because the next death certificate signed may be your own. Which is why I asked our Denver Bureau to send us one of their best. Someone who knows this area, has worked this area, was initially involved in the Crooked Man case, and has worked the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally many times. Maybe some of you have heard of Special Agent Streeter Pierce.”
Streeter sat uncomfortably erect in his chair as all eyes turned toward him in the dark.
Someone asked, “Didn’t you nab a top tenner?”
Another said, “The best field agent in the country.”
“A legend,” a third one announced. “All those high-profile cases.”
Streeter didn’t respond to any of them. The scruffy man with the long hair and beard sitting next to him sat up in his chair and gave Streeter the once-over.
Shankley cleared his throat.
These men had done their homework on Streeter Pierce. He had indeed been responsible for arresting a Top Ten fugitive, a “top tenner,” an achievement the bureau recognizes as one of the highest honors an agent can receive. But he knew they were warming him up for something.
“Pierce will be the agent in charge on this case,” Shankley announced. “Any and all files that we have received over the last twenty-one hours on all three murders from the Lawrence County and Meade County authorities will be turned over to him immediately. I have told him you will all be at his disposal if he needs your help. The rally started yesterday, four days ago unofficially, and will start winding down this weekend. It’s Tuesday, so we don’t have a lot of time. Mully’s pattern is for his gang to pull up stakes on Sunday morning and head south, but they’ve been known to pull out much sooner.”
“Why don’t they stay at the Lucifer’s Lot hideout on the east side of Rapid?” someone in the front row asked.
The man sitting next to Streeter answered, “They just might, but Mully’s chapter would have to kill every one of the local chapter members, first. Didn’t you hear, boss man? The two chapters’ leaders aren’t so fond of one another.”
Shank grimaced. “Don’t call me boss man. It’s Special Agent in Charge Shankley, to you.” He cleared his throat and continued, “As usual, we’ve got agents who flew in from all over the country, each one eager to work that circus for top tenners. Pierce will focus on Mully, the Lucifer’s Lot biker suspected of killing Hanson early Sunday night, the Freeburg young woman sometime late Sunday night or early Monday morning, and the unidentified teenager yesterday just after noon. The ambulance driver and EMT saw the Lucifer’s Lot bikers drive away as they arrived to attend our female vic in Sturgis, one identifying Mully from photos. Pierce, during investigations, you will be accompanied by me.”
Bingo, Streeter thought.
CALVIN HAD BEEN SPOT ON.
Shank was imposing himself on Streeter as a partner to keep tabs on him. He’d be standing in the wings in case there were bows to be taken or in the event a body—namely Streeter—needed to be thrown under the bus if everything fell apart. It had to be one or the other. At least Shank had publicly named Streeter agent in charge, which meant he could find ways to direct Shank’s activities elsewhere.
“During the undercover work, Streeter, you will be assisted by Special Agent Stewart Blysdorf,” Shankley said as the meeting wound down.
“Our expert on outlaw motorcycle gangs? I’ve heard of him.”
Shank flicked the lights on and everyone’s eyes blinked in adjustment to the change. “Good. Now you know him.”
The hirsute man sitting next to Streeter extended his hand. “I’m Bly. Nice to meet you.”
Streeter noted Bly’s piercing steel-gray eyes as he shook his hand in greeting. “Streeter. Pleasure meeting you, partner.”
Bly reached up and apologetically rubbed the hair on his chin. “My cover. The Sturgis Motorcycle Rally started over a month ago for me, and I have to look and live the part if I’m going to get any intelligence.”
“Do
you own a Harley?”
Bly nodded with pride.
“Sweet.”
Shankley ended the meeting. “Pierce and Blysdorf, in my office for the rest of the debriefing.”
The two men followed Shankley’s broad shoulders and even broader girth to his office. Though a few years younger than Streeter, Bob Shankley looked older. Fifty at least. Before the agents had a chance to sit down, Shank ordered Bly to get coffee. Streeter knew it was because Shank wanted a few moments alone.
As the door closed behind Bly, Shank stuck a large finger accusingly at Streeter and growled, “Look, Pierce. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I don’t need you fucking it up for me, you understand? I’ve got these guys’ attention and that matters when you’re in charge. Don’t start any stories circulating about me or, damn you, I will breathe life into the old rumors about Paula so fast your head will be spinning.”
Streeter winced at the mention of his late wife’s name.
He felt more anger and hatred than he had felt in years. And he didn’t like what it was doing to him. He managed to stay calm, however, despite being unnerved by Shank’s emotional and unexpected assault, and to answer, “I have no intention of saying anything about you, Shank. Not good or bad. I came up here because I have a job to do. Because you asked for me. I’m not any happier to have to come back here than you are to have me. But we’re stuck with each other because of the Crooked Man.”
Shank’s beady eyes leveled on Streeter’s, and moisture was gathering on his upper lip.
It was Streeter’s turn to threaten. In a harsh whisper he added, “And my wife is off limits to you or anyone else involved in this investigation. No one mentions her name. You understand me?”
Shank shrank back in his chair. “Just wanted to make sure we were clear on these things.”
“We’re clear,” Streeter replied in a cool, low voice.
“Good, because I’m going to be your fucking shadow for the next week, watching every fucking move you make in these interviews,” Shank spat as he spoke. “And you sure as hell better not fuck up, Pierce.”
Bly returned with three cups of coffee, two precariously balanced in his right hand. Streeter took both cups and handed one to Shank with a warning stare to back off. Shank’s glare was equally threatening, and the two settled into the business at hand under a forced truce.
“Blysdorf and I interviewed Tom Jasper yesterday afternoon and Helma Hanson, widow of Ernif, last evening,” Shank began. He pushed two thick files toward Bly and spoke to no one in particular when he said, “It’s all in there. Plus what we have from the Lawrence County Sheriff’s department and the scant information we have from the Sturgis Police Department, because they’re just too busy to do much at all for us on Jane Doe. Sheriff Leonard only worked the Freeburg case for a couple of hours, but they’ve had years to gather surveillance on these thugs. The minute the sheriff saw the FTW pin stuck in the vic’s palm, he knew the trail led straight to Mully or one of his gang, and he quickly called us.”
“What’s everyone got against this guy Mully?” Streeter asked looking at the pictures in the file that Bly had handed him.
“What we’ve got is the fact that Carl Muldando is a murderous bastard who likes messing around with young girls.”
“Allegedly or factually?” Streeter pressed.
Shank ignored him. “And he’s from your neck of the woods.”
“Denver?”
“North of there. Longmont area,” Bly corrected. “Colorado has some established branches of the Lucifer’s Lot as well as Serpents and Renegades. We don’t see much of the Renegades up here. Occasionally we’ve had some visits by Serpents, but we don’t get much in the way of many gangs anymore. The Inferno Force guys see to that.”
“I thought you said in your debriefing that the Lucifer’s Lot were still the only known outlaw gang with an official presence in South Dakota.”
“I did,” Shank said, running his fat fingers through his slick, thinning red hair. “But the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally in large part is primarily run and policed by the Inferno Force, many of whom are from San Bernardino, California. At least the traditional places at the rally like the Chopper Campground and the beer tents at the Cattle Jump Campground. They don’t mind other gangs attending the rally, but they won’t tolerate any fights or trouble of any kind that would draw the police. A couple of bikers were knifed outside of the Full Throttle last year in a fight, and the Inferno Force allegedly told that group they couldn’t return this year.”
Streeter whistled. “Is Cattle Jump Campground still the place to be for rally goers? If I remember correctly, they always had live bands, big names, lots of beer, and plenty of adult entertainment.”
“You remember exactly right,” Bly answered. “Miss Cattle Jump won last year in nothing but white boots. If you call that adult … entertainment.”
Streeter sensed Shank’s irritation with Bly and instantly liked the man.
Shank frowned. “Christ, Blysdorf. And we pay you for this? If it wasn’t for the information you seem to extract from that trash, I’d have half a mind to send your sorry ass to the reservation this year.”
“Why Mully?” Streeter asked again, holding up the photo of the man from the file. “I’ve studied the reports, Shank, and with all due respect, I see no connection between this guy and the Crooked Man cases. None.”
“Other than the fact that the three cases you were investigating, plus the two I have since added to the file, all involved people having their heads bashed in and that all five murders occurred during or around the time of the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally,” Shank countered.
“I’ll concede on those points,” Streeter admitted. “And I’ll even go so far as admitting that this Mully character appears to be a prime suspect for the Freeburg murder and potentially even with Jane Doe’s death. But what I don’t see is the connection of the Freeburg murder with Hanson and the Crooked Man cases. First and foremost, Freeburg was naked. And a woman. The five earlier Crooked Man cases were men and none of them were undressed. Plus, as you said, Freeburg had a motorcycle gang’s pin stuck in her palm. None of the others offered up any such evidence.”
“And there’s no way any legitimate member of a one-percent motorcycle gang would be so hubristic as to declare their guilt by leaving a gang pin in a vic’s hand,” Bly added, picking at his teeth.
Streeter gawked at Bly. “Hubristic?”
Bly gave him a wink, still picking at his teeth.
Staying focused on Streeter, Shank coaxed, “But Hanson appears to be a victim of the Crooked Man, in your estimation?”
Streeter answered honestly, having studied the scant information about Ernif Hanson’s murder and related the facts to the Crooked Man cases. “Strong possibility.”
“Maybe the Crooked Man is slipping, by leaving evidence behind. Maybe he’s bored with killing men.” Shank waved his thoughts aside and added, “Then let’s focus on the Freeburg murder, flush it out first and see what comes of the evidence. If we nail Mully on the Freeburg case, possibly even the unidentified female in Sturgis, maybe he’ll be willing to plea bargain with information about the Crooked Man cases for a reduced sentence on Freeburg and Jane Doe.”
“Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves,” Streeter warned. “Back to Mully and the Freeburg murder—don’t most of the gang members have the FTW pin? Couldn’t any one of them have lost it?”
“That’s what you’re going to have to find out. Go to the rally, find Mully and his gang, confirm they have the new wings, and bring him in here for questioning and a lineup for Roy Barker. Pronto, before someone else gets killed. Any interviews you conduct, I want to be there with you. Starting with Lawrence County Sheriff Leonard Leonard, who happens to be waiting for us in the next room. And understand, Pierce, the sole purpose of these interviews is to confirm what we already know, got it?”
“What is it that we know?” Streeter challenged.
“That the Lucifer’s Lot is behin
d these murders. At the very least, Freeburg and Jane Doe. That Carl Muldando is responsible.” Shank leaned back in his chair. Streeter observed his oddly anchored stubbornness on this yet unproven allegation. “Even if Mully himself is not directly behind these murders, all signs point to one of those dirty bastards murdering those poor women just to earn their wings.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that during the briefing. Which wings are the Lucifer’s Lot bikers supposedly wearing now? And remind me again the color scheme for the wings?”
Shank nodded at Bly to answer.
“You probably remember that wings are bragging rights for performing oral sex on women. Black wings for a black woman. White wings, white woman. Yellow wings, Asian woman. They even have color variations for their wing patches indicating if the woman was menstruating during the event. Black on red to indicate … well, you get the picture. Green wings if the woman had a venereal disease. There are even wings for performing cunnilingus on a female infant.”
“Infants? It’s just gotten worse,” was all Streeter could manage.
“These people are sick,” Bly confirmed.
Shank added, “And even sicker when you think about the fact that all wings must be earned with witnesses present.”
“What wings are you speculating Mully or someone from his chapter to be wearing? White?” Streeter asked.
Bly and Shank exchanged a wary glance.
Bly shook his head. “Purple.”
Bly stared directly into Streeter’s questioning eyes and answered, “A dead woman.”
“THANK YOU FOR COMING back, Liv,” Clint said as he rushed toward me. He offered me a hand as I stepped down from Jens’s truck, which was something he’d never done before yesterday, and the gesture made me feel more fragile than I was.
I just couldn’t imagine that this man would ever strike a woman, the whole idea of him being involved in Michelle’s death, insane, even if he was seen lingering near the big rock yesterday morning.
“No problem,” I said, glancing around at the growing number of people in the field nearby and the handful of tents that had been erected since last night. “You mentioned yesterday that you sent your crew to Rapid City, and I thought you might need a hand again today.”
Lot’s return to Sodom Page 8
