Evil Like Me

by Steve Bradshaw

  “What in the hell does that mean?” Baily asked.

  “Hunter’s abilities seem absurd and false, but they are rational and true.”

  “You know he could be dangerous, Bone. There’s a very good chance he’s gone well beyond you now.”

  “He told me some time ago that all the government contracted RVs were going to die. He said their direct descendants were going to die, too.” Bone sank. “When he told me the close friends of RVs were at risk, it never hit me that he was also talking about us.”

  Baily leaned closer. “But you honestly do not know if Hunter Keller was telling you then that he was going to make it happen. You assumed it was someone else.”

  “I do not believe he is a monster. It never crossed my mind because Hunter would never do that.”

  Baily jumped to his feet and went to the front door waving his hand for quiet. He slid the burlap curtain to the side and put his eye to the dark edge of the window pane.

  “You hear something?” Bond asked.

  “Get your rifle ready. We’ve got company …”

  Eleven

  “The devil doesn’t know how to sing, only how to howl.”

  Francis Thompson

  *

  Memphis, Tennessee

  *

  Ben Nutley became a human doorstop. The other corpse in the Zegna suit and muddy alligator shoes was slumped over Nutley’s head.

  “This changes my vow of secrecy,” Petty said staring at the fresh kills pulling on gloves.

  Wilcox stepped over the bodies and reached in the back pocket of the expensive suit. “You know these people?”

  Petty knelt over Green as Wilcox rifled through the alligator wallet. “I know one.”

  A dozen squad cars, two ambulances, and a fire truck surrounded the Super 8 on West Illinois. The two dead were found by Memphis Waste Management on their 5:30 a.m. pickup. The bodies were on the dock by the dumpster. There was no effort to hide the carnage. Like a fat line of red army ants marching, the blood streamed twenty-feet down the steps and across the driveway to the drain.

  Petty pronounced both dead at 6:02 a.m. and estimated TOD at 3:40 a.m. She and Wilcox standing on the stained cement stage backed away so Brimley could take pictures. A covey of Memphis police waited next to the dumpster for instructions.

  She pointed to the suit. “Dr. Jacob Green.”

  Tony pulled the ID from the wallet. “And we have a winner—Jacob Green, MD. Did you kill this man, Dr. Petty?”

  “Yes. And my plan is to take you out next.” She rolled her eyes and flipped her long, blond hair over her shoulder. Brimley lowered the camera as she returned to the bodies. “Mr. Brimley, you can move Green off the other body now. I’d like some shots of the knife wound.”

  Wilcox hovered.

  “This is an aggressive cut,” she said. “Green’s abdominal entry wound is followed by an abrupt upward movement bisecting sternum cartilage and clipping the aorta. Our killer is strong and efficient. I need to check, but I’ve seen this technique before.”

  “And how do you know Dr. Green?” Wilcox asked, knowing the answer.

  “He’s from Bethesda Research, one of three doctors in town. I met them three days ago. They’ve been coming to the morgue every day since.”

  “Bethesda Research? You’ve had my test results three days and did not tell me?” Wilcox fumed as Petty avoided eye contact.

  “I wouldn’t say that. No. Not really.” She checked for defensive wounds and spoke into her recorder. “No bruising, cuts, or lacerations to the hands or forearms. No signs of a struggle.”

  “So you do not have my test results, is that what you are saying?”

  “Deceased number one—Dr. Green—was surprised or he knew his killer. That would make him an unsuspecting victim.” She turned off the recorder. “I don’t have test results to share, Wilcox.”

  “You say Green is one of three? I need names, now.”

  “Dr. Swenson and Dr. Blanchard,” Petty said. “Although this hotel is not the place I would have expected them to stay, it is highly possible the other two are here. They traveled together.”

  Wilcox turned to the police. “Find me Sergeant Tucker. We need to locate Dr. Green’s associates. Petty thinks they’re at this hotel. Look for Dr. Swenson and Dr. Blanchard. Move with extreme caution, gentlemen.”

  He swung back to Petty. “If no test results, what the hell are they doing in Memphis?”

  “They have an interest in our unsolved homicides.”

  “Oh really.”

  “They also have questions about a natural death I handled when I first got here.”

  “And you didn’t feel it important enough to share with me because why?”

  “Their presence was proprietary. They believe the Memphis cases could be part of a national killing spree.”

  Wilcox popped on gloves. “Get lost Brimley. I’ll help her hold shit.” Petty nodded her approval and Brimley disappeared into the hotel.

  “What the do you think you’re doing?” Wilcox seethed. “I don’t know how they do things in Dallas, but the medical examiner and homicide work together in Memphis. I could run your pretty, little ass in for willful obstruction and tampering in four active homicide investigations. M.E. or not, you could find yourself in jail for this shit.”

  With bloody gloves and a smile she said, “Are you trying to impress me?” She leaned back into Green’s gut wound with a penlight. “You’re not going to do anything about this. May I call you Anthony, or do you prefer Tony?”

  “You call me Detective Wilcox, goddamn it.”

  “I’ve heard you called Tee. I like Tony. I think I’ll call you Tony.”

  “Stop Petty,” he huffed.

  She looked up, inches from his face. “Memphis is a part of some kind of national crisis—allegedly. Until Dr. Green, Dr. Blanchard, and Dr. Swenson completed their cursory review, I was bound to secrecy. It was a national security matter. I’m sorry if you do not understand that.”

  “Who the hell binds a county medical examiner to secrecy?”

  “The United States Attorney General.”

  “The U.S. Attorney General is sticking his fat nose into my cases without my involvement or approval? I don’t think so, Petty.”

  “Your cases?” she sighed. “You’re not the least impressed are you?”

  “I know the damn law, Petty. I know my powers, and they are many. I do not trust the government or any federal agency sneaking around my world. I own homicides in Memphis, Tennessee. On my watch, they’re my business unless the President of the United States gets nailed here. Even then, after screwing up the Kennedy assassination, we got laws to keep the feds out of our hair. The fuckers are incompetent and up to their asses in hidden agendas.”

  “I lost count of the bad words, Tony. It is very distracting and unprofessional.” She looked into Green’s mouth. “But, I agree with most everything said. I suggest you start trusting me.”

  Wilcox rocked back on his heels. He never won a verbal exchange that he knew about. Brimley poked his head out the door more to rescue Petty than to offer assistance.

  “What the hell does your leprechaun want?” Wilcox barked.

  Brimley smiled at his new boss. “Do you need me, for anything?”

  “No. But I am done with Dr. Green. I need to examine the next body.”

  “Benjamin Nutley, the night manager,” Wilcox said.

  “I’ve seen more knives in backs in the last three months than five years in Dallas.”

  “We like knives here,” Wilcox grumbled.

  Petty smiled but didn’t look up. She let him stew.

  “Nutley was leaning out the door when he got stuck in the back,” Wilcox said as he scanned the dock chewing on the Bethesda revelations and frustration with his new ME.

  It was the second crime scene together. Petty had to find out for herself—was Wilcox as good as his reputation. So far the double homicide held few if any clues.

  “What do you thin
k happened here?” she asked as she busied herself over the body.

  He took his time lighting a cigarette. “Green’s clandestine phone conversation was interrupted. Nutley was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Clandestine phone conversation … really?” Petty scoffed.

  “Yeah, really. Probably in a cluster of trees by the river,” Wilcox said pocketing his lighter.

  “How did you reach your conclusions?”

  “Simple logic, Petty.” He blew smoke at the dumpster looking toward the Mississippi.

  “Humor me.”

  “Oh. You want information from me, like we’re a team?” He turned his back. “Here’s a crumb. I bet your Dr. Green’s room is bugged.”

  “Seriously! Bugged? And his body’s a long way from trees and Mississippi River. You’re reaching, Tony.” She lifted Nutley’s shirt and leaned into his bloody wound with her light.

  “Why leave the comfort of your room in the middle of the night? If it were me, I would only leave to meet or talk to someone on the phone. His room was not secure. He couldn’t talk on the phone there. Green left the hotel for the woods to not be seen on his cell. I’d choose trees on the other side of the empty parking lot. Not too far. There’s enough moonlight to cross the field without stepping on a damn snake or in a mud puddle with my damn expensive shoes. Nobody can see or hear me in those trees.”

  “Are you serious with this elaborate theory?”

  “Green has river mud on his shoes.” Wilcox pulled a leaf from Green’s pant cuff. “I think you will find this to be river birch. They are by the river, not the hotel.”

  “And how’d he get on the loading dock?”

  “Something went awry in the trees by the river. Green bumped into his killer, dropped his phone and ran like hell.”

  “You know all this from looking at Dr. Green lying on the loading dock?”

  “I’ve done this a few times. I’m not new like you.”

  “Come on detective, you have no idea if Dr. Green was talking on his phone, or he was running from the river chased by his killer. You’re rambling. You’re trying to impress me.”

  “People like Green always have their phone on them. His is missing.”

  “People like Green? You don’t know anything about Dr. Green.”

  “He’s wearing a $4,000.00 outfit. He’s got styled hair, a manicure, and probably a pedicure. His teeth are capped. He plucks his eyebrows, nose, and ears. People like Green never misplace or forget their keys, wallets, or phones. Something bad would have to happen for him to leave his phone behind.”

  “You said he was running for his life, how do you know? Maybe he couldn’t sleep and went for a walk. Maybe he was not running from anything.”

  “Listen and learn, Petty. Green’s polished and buffed shoes are scuffed on the toes from the ragged asphalt parking lot he tripped across—the guy’s no athlete. His white, starched shirt is untucked on both sides but not front and back. His arms were pumping like hell. And it was a short run, no sweat. We’re gonna find his shoe impressions in the field, long strides, and a bee line to the hotel. The orange peel stuck on his heel came from behind the dumpster.”

  “What’s he doing at the back of the hotel, Sherlock?”

  “Sherlock—cute. Easy. He ran along the side of the hotel so he could hide from the guy he knew would kill him.”

  “Why go to the back of the hotel? Why not go in the front door and back to your room to call the police.”

  “No police, Petty. Dr. Green’s entangled in something clandestine. He knows his killer. He thinks there are more bad guys waiting for him in the lobby or his room. No. It would be best for him to disappear for a while.”

  “If any of this is true, you’re more amazing than your reputation and bloated ego.”

  “I don’t carry around a crystal ball, and I’m no psychic. I have hunches. My hunch is Green chose the shadows of the building, thick shrubs, and a dark hiding place behind the dumpster so he could wait things out. He had every intention of staying in his hiding place all night. If I was hunted, I’d wait for daylight and a crowd.”

  “But, something changed his mind.”

  “Right. Mr. Nutley opened the back door. Green saw an opportunity and took it.”

  “I think that scenario is too risky,” Petty said.

  “Green is a city boy sitting in the dark behind a dumpster scared shitless. He got sick of breathing garbage, swatting mosquitos, and scaring off rats. Nutley was Green’s gift from heaven. He opened the back door to toss a bag of trash. Nutley was enough of a crowd for Green to escape his little slice of hell.”

  Petty dropped her gloves on the bloody back. “Mr. Nutley was an unsuspecting victim.”

  “Mr. Nutley got it in the back and fell past Green.”

  “Then Green saw his killer,” Petty surmised.

  “And he had no time to react. Green gets filleted and bleeds all over his expensive threads.”

  Sergeant Tucker poked his head out the back door. “Excuse me Detective Wilcox. We have a development. We found Dr. Blanchard.”

  “Oh good. I need to talk with him,” Petty said.

  Wilcox shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible. Go ahead Tucker.”

  “He’s dead, Dr. Petty. We found him in room 301.” He turned back to Wilcox. “One of the magnetic cards was still in the door. We’re waiting for CSI. Appears the doctor was sleeping when he was attacked. Stabbed through the blanket, sheet, and pajamas. He didn’t move.”

  “What about Swenson?” Wilcox asked.

  “The doctor checked out last night at seven o’clock.”

  Petty held up her hand. “Wait. They were scheduled to be at the morgue two more days. The Pella exhumation and autopsy is what they’ve been waiting for.”

  “Where’s Pella’s body now?” Wilcox asked.

  “The morgue. He was exhumed yesterday afternoon. Delivered last evening.”

  “Maybe Swenson got a private look at the body. Maybe he already has all the information he needs.”

  The morning sun pushed the river mist off the field, but not from the stand of trees west of the Super 8. Wilcox and Tucker followed Green’s tracks along the side of the hotel and into the field. In the shadows of the cluster of trees Dr. Swenson backed away from the bobbing heads coming his way. He moved through the river birch like a cat and slid down the bank onto the weed infested cobblestone road. Swenson’s small motorboat was waiting at the water’s edge.

  Unlike Dr. Green, he had packed a change of clothes. Swenson was organized to a fault. Before Wilcox and Tucker reached the trees, he was afloat wearing an old fishing hat and weather-worn, Tigers windbreaker. He pushed the throttle and watched the east bank slide by as the bobbing heads stopped on the edge of the bluff. The fishing poles propped at the stern bent with the waves of the majestic river—a nice added touch.

  When Wilcox and Tucker disappeared back into the stand of river birch trees, Swenson tossed Dr. Green’s cell phone into the swirling currents under the Harahan Bridge.

  Twelve

  “Never open the door to a lesser evil, for others invariably slink in after it.”

  Baltasar Gracian

  *

  Henryetta, Oklahoma

  *

  “I’m here for Hunter Keller.”

  Elda Middleton yanked the tattered belt of her terrycloth robe looking through the old screen at the imposing silhouette. He wore a long, black coat and flat-brimmed hat. A late model, dark sedan sat in the shadows under her oak tree, and someone was up against the trunk out of the scattered patches of moonlight. Her eyes shot to the trampled garden and followed the dirt tracks up her front steps to the muddy boots on her porch. Her eyes narrowed even more in the dark.

  He leaned in like a crow landing on a post. A sliver of moonlight traced his edgy face and found a thin smile. “Can you hear me?” he boomed at the old lady.

  Elda looked dead—like she climbed out of a casket instead of a bed
. Her sparse, white hair laid flat on the side that left her pillow. Sagging skin, etched lines, blotches, and moles had taken over long ago, but like a dormant rose in a winter snow there was still a hint of lingering beauty and tenderness.

  “I hear ya,” Elda carped. “It’s three in the mornin’. Who are ya and what’re ya doin’ knockin’ on my door at this hour?”

  She flipped the switch. The porch light stayed out. She toggled it. Still nothing. Was workin’ this evenin’, she thought as she checked the latch with a casual finger and caught the man’s darting eye in the band of moonlight. A child could pull the latch-screw from the doorstop. Elda checked more out of habit than purpose, but that changed when the man straightened.

  “Sorry about the hour, ma’am,” he said. “I’m Major T.L. Cankor with DIA.” He looked up the empty road like he expected someone, and turned back to the old lady with more purpose in his voice. “I’m here on a matter of upmost importance.” When he looked the other way, Elda saw the forced smile was now a flat line.

  “What’s a DIA?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

  “Defense Intelligence Agency—U.S. Government.” They stared in the dark.

  “Government? All I know is you’re standin’ on my porch in the middle of the night with muddy boots makin’ a big mess for me, mister.” I knew you people would come …

  Major Cankor looked at his boots and cleared his throat. “Hunter Keller, we know he’s here. He’s staying at your boarding house. I need to see him, now.”

  “Who said the man’s stayin’ here?”

  “We don’t have time. Failure to cooperate has consequences.” He reached for the door.”

  Her eyes followed the gnarled fingers on the muscular hand. “You got some piece of paper says ya can come in my house?” Now I remember you—been forty years.

  He pulled back, looked over his shoulder, and nodded to the man by the tree. This time his coat fell open blocking Elda’s view—but it didn’t matter, she knew.

  Major Cankor leaned his nose to the screen. His anger leaked out his exploding whisper, “I don’t need a piece of paper.”