by Robin Mahle
Gibbons stepped aside. “Must be difficult,” he began. “My wife couldn’t possibly handle knowing what I have to deal with on a daily basis.”
Katie moved past him. “You might be surprised what she could handle. Good night and good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” His voice traveled down the hall, reaching Katie before she turned the corner and disappeared.
Katie had her coat draped over her arm and stood in the doorway of Marshall’s office. “Hey, you ready to get out of here? Thought we could pick a nice spot in the Gaslamp, have a quiet meal?”
Marshall turned away from his computer, looking at her slender frame that was partially obscured behind the coat she held in front of her. “You look a little tired; you still feel like going out?”
“I think both of us could use a break, don’t you?” She ambled her way inside and sat down. “You still working on the Guzman case? I thought it was sent to Homicide?”
“It was. And, no I’m not working on it right now.” Marshall rubbed the top of his head. That was his tell. Something was on his mind.
“What is it then?” she pressed on.
“I was looking into a few things. Shalot and Hudson. Both of these guys have clean records, well, except for Shalot’s recent restraining order, but otherwise, they’re squeaky clean. Both grew up in relatively normal families and middle-class neighborhoods.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t quite seeing his path on this one and waited for him to continue.
“Look, I’m certainly no expert on the occult, but these types of things usually attract outsiders, you know? People who are maybe a little on the socially awkward side, maybe withdrawn. Bullied in school. People looking for acceptance. People looking to belong somewhere. Neither of these guys seem to fit that profile.”
“Well,” Katie started, “Edward doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends.”
“No. But he did back home, before he moved here last year. At least, from what I read in the fed’s background investigation.”
“He moved here last year? When and from where?”
Marshall clicked the mouse a couple of times, studying the computer screen. “Colorado. A place called Greenley, around mid-December last year.”
His words sent an immediate chill down her spine. “Gibbons mentioned that he and Scarborough were going to talk to Branson tomorrow. He moved to Oceanside last year. From what I gathered, Myers discovered that Branson had lived in Colorado and served time in Englewood for an assault charge.” Katie recalled the interview with Shalot earlier and began shaking her head. “Edward made it appear as though he knew of Branson only as the organizer of the meetings. I’m starting to believe he wasn’t being completely honest as to the nature of their relationship. I just don’t know why.”
Marshall seemed to understand exactly what she was getting at. “I don’t know if Myers made the connection yet or not, but I’d bet the farm that’s where he met Branson.”
Katie inhaled a deep breath. “So, how about we call out for some pizza? I have a feeling we’ll be having dinner here tonight. Should probably ask Gibbons to join us too.”
Her hands were bound tightly around the pipe. Sweat dripped from her head, stinging her eyes as the drops continued down. Trisha had lost all track of time down here in the darkness. She didn’t know how long she’d been here. Alone, afraid, Trisha thought for sure she would die in this place.
A small shaft of light emerged as the door opened. Trisha’s eyes widened as she waited to see who was entering. It took her a moment to adjust to the figure that was approaching, but she suspected she already knew its identity.
“I see you haven’t eaten anything, Trisha.” The voice was that of a man’s, gravelly and deep in tone.
She recognized it immediately. “Pretty hard to eat with my hands tied. Besides, I’m not hungry.”
“You know, I’d have thought you’d be just a little bit more appreciative. After all, if it weren’t for me, I doubt you’d still be here. You’d be like the others, tossed alongside some secluded highway, carved up and ready to be eaten by the animals.”
Trisha would have preferred this to be over and so the thought of her lifeless body didn’t seem so bad, considering the alternative.
“Well, as it turns out, you’ll get a few days reprieve from the inevitable.” The man hunched over and walked further inside the room until he was no longer cloaked in shadow.
Trisha took in his lanky frame and shoulder-length dark hair that he wore straight and parted down the middle, with a narrow face and a fading tan. Finally, his eyes came into view as he came closer. They were dark and void of all feeling, except lust.
Yes, Trisha would have preferred death to what awaited her in this moment. All she could do was detach her mind from what was about to happen to her and distance herself from her physical being.
She had once thought of Lewis Branson as a brilliant man. Had even at times desired to be with him when she would witness him address the masses. But all of that had changed when she said she was leaving the group, that it was time for her to move on, since she felt as though she had learned all she could.
Really, she had grown tired of the “shared sexual experiences.” They were nothing more than meaningless encounters. The last one resulted in an unwanted pregnancy that she felt compelled to end. It was then she realized that there was more to her life than this place and these people who worshiped chaos. What did any of it mean? Nothing. Not to her. Not anymore.
But when she began speaking of her intent to leave, reasoning with some in the group that there must be more than this, well, Lewis Branson felt as though she’d betrayed him.
Trisha began to feel that maybe there was something to the rumors she’d heard over the past several weeks, that a new faction had emerged and Branson was taking a turn toward a darker, more extreme side to their beliefs.
Word had gotten out of her intent. That was last week, after the death of a woman in Colorado. She wasn’t sure it was Branson, but if not him, then most certainly someone who was a part of this new idea he had been spreading. Turning the world back to chaos so that true order could once again be restored.
How this was to be accomplished through the murder of innocent people escaped Trisha. So now, she found herself here, tossed into what could only be described as a dungeon and inside that dungeon was a smaller room. That was where he was keeping her until she came back around to his way of thinking.
She had been down there before, in the dungeon, only in a much different capacity, as a willing participant. Now she was here not of her own free will, but at the will of Lewis and he was about to make her see the error of her ways. Again and again, he would make her see his point of view, as she once had.
Trisha closed her eyes, a tear falling as she thought of her parents, regretting having ever come into contact with Lewis Branson.
Marshall grabbed the last slice of pizza and held it up. “Mind if I take it?”
“I’m stuffed. You go ahead,” Katie replied.
The back of the station, where most of the offices were located, had grown quiet. Up front, of course, would still be busy with cops bringing in the riff raff, booking them, tossing drunks into the tank. All of the things that police officers were faced with on a daily basis.
But things were different in detective work. Lonely. Quiet. Even Gibbons had already left, claiming he needed to see his kids to sleep. Most of them worked ungodly hours and for not really much pay. They did all right, but they were still public servants, and were paid as such.
Marshall spotted an incoming email as he took a bite. “This is what I was waiting for. I asked Agent Jameson to send me some additional information on Shalot and Hudson; employment history and such.” He downloaded the files, his eyes darting back and forth at the screen.
“Anything interesting?” Katie asked.
Marshall turned his monitor so that they could both see what Jameson had turned up. “According to Shalot’s employment history
, he worked at a place called Milgard Plastics in Greenley. No record of Shaun Hudson working there, though.”
“Wait, hold on,” Katie began. “What’s this?” She pointed to a line item on the screen. “Whoa, am I reading this right? He was fired for sexual harassment?”
“Looks like it,” Marshall replied. “This guy’s a real piece of work.”
“What I want to know is why the hell he moved here in the first place,” Katie said. “It had to have something to do with Branson.”
“Or you. How did he end up in a graduate class? Your graduate class? This is a middle class kid with no high level skills. He worked on the line at a plastics company.” Marshall continued to review the files, pulling up Shalot’s school records. “If you look at what Jameson found, he never lived in Connecticut and, by the looks of this, never attended the University of Connecticut as it states on his UCSD records. It’s been fabricated, Kate. Someone made up his credentials.”
“Who has the ability to do that?” Katie asked, already knowing the answer. “I wonder if someone who worked in Records could create a false transcript.” She didn’t like what was coming to the surface, that it seemed Shalot had been placed deliberately in one of her classes. “Marshall, I think Edward Shalot is here because of me and I think Branson helped him to get here, indirectly, at least. The guy picks up and leaves a year ago? Right around the time we were all over the news. Then he ends up in one of my classes?”
“Shit. There’s more to this than we know and my guess is that Scarborough and his team aren’t looking too hard into anything as it relates to Shalot right now. They’ve already got him in custody and are dealing with too many other victims. They’re going to be focusing in on Lewis Branson.” Marshall looked at the time on his phone. “I think we got enough to bring Hudson in. I’ll call Scarborough and give him a heads up.”
“What about Lewis Branson? If we bring Shaun Hudson here, and they all know this guy, word could get back to him, and he might just take off if he sees the need. Right now, we don’t know if he’s a suspect,” Katie said.
“Then we’ll have to make the timing work. They’re all going to Oceanside to talk with Branson in the morning. We’ll bring Shaun in at the same time.”
The key lodged for a moment inside the lock, as it often did when the air was particularly damp as it was today, but Marshall persisted until finally the dead bolt retreated. He held the door open for Katie. She dragged herself inside the dark apartment, running her hand along the wall until she found the switch.
“We’ve got to get some rest. There’s not much more we can do tonight.” Marshall removed his coat and tossed it over the back of the couch.
“So much for a quiet dinner out,” Katie started. She knew what they were facing, but didn’t want to think about it any longer. She had been a target yet again and, by some miracle, someone made sure Shalot took the fall for Lindsay Brown, but neither knew for sure if Katie was truly safe. There could be others.
The two climbed into their bed and Marshall turned on his side to face her. “I’m so sorry.”
Katie placed her hand over his cheek. “For what?”
“For letting this happen again. I thought we were through with this sort of thing. I thought you were out of danger. And now here we are again, wondering who might want to harm you.”
“Marshall, you can’t control the actions of others. My story was out there for all to see.” She paused for a moment because, of course, this had gotten to her as well. Just when she believed they could live a normal life, away from the morbid interests that had fallen on her, this discovery was frightening and brought back memories she would have preferred to keep buried. “Shalot’s in custody. Shaun Hudson is some scared kid who may be involved in this cult, but I don’t believe for one minute he is anything more threatening than a pawn in someone’s game. And you’re here. I always feel safe with you beside me.” She leaned in to kiss his lips.
“What do you think about Montana?” Marshall started. “Seems like a nice, quiet place.”
Katie parted her lips into a smile. “Sounds good to me.”
18
DETECTIVE GIBBONS APPEARED stunned by the news as he listened to Marshall and Katie fill him in on what they had discovered after he left late last night. “Scarborough’s gonna be here in ten minutes. It should take us about an hour to get to Branson’s place of employment. Have you heard anything from his team as it relates to Shalot?”
Katie pushed back a few loose strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear. It was her own tell that Marshall knew all too well. A nervous habit that meant she was about to put on the front, disguising her true fears. She knew better than to let anyone else see what it was really doing to her. “They know he never attended U-Conn, confirmed it with the university already. In fact, he never finished a four-year college at all. Shalot moved to Colorado five years ago. He had to have hooked up with Branson around that time. Probably met through one of the community websites, which essentially served as recruiting grounds for Branson.”
“But these murders committed by the Highway Hunter, do they think Branson did it?” Gibbons asked.
“No idea,” Marshall replied. “My guess is your little visit with him later this morning should shed some light on that question.”
“Right. I heard that Jameson had stayed in Phoenix a while longer because they thought they’d had a DNA match in their database. I think they’re still waiting on it, but if that’s true, this could all start coming together very quickly.” Gibbons swallowed the last of his coffee and tossed the paper cup into the trash can.
“Agent Scarborough is letting us borrow Jameson today actually, while you and Myers go with him to Oceanside,” Katie said.
“Morning.” Scarborough appeared in the doorway of Marshall’s office. “I see we’re all getting an early start today.”
Katie looked to Agent Scarborough and couldn’t help but smile. It seemed that no matter the situation, there was a common thread among the people in this room. They weren’t cops on patrol who were perhaps faced with more imminent threats every time they pulled someone over for a simple traffic violation. But they still dealt with murderers, abusers, and people who were the embodiment of evil itself. And yet, they came in to work every day as if they were tasked only with crunching numbers or making sales. How they separated their lives from the nefarious minds of those with whom they came in contact remained a mystery. “No rest for the wicked,” Katie replied.
“You ready to go, detective?” Scarborough rested a hand on Gibbons’ shoulder. “Agent Myers is waiting. We’d better get a move on.” He looked to Katie. “Jameson is heading your way now. He knows the drill. Get what you can on Hudson and let’s bring him in. I’ll touch base with you after we’ve had a talk with Branson.”
The I-5 was still seeing the effects of the morning rush hour traffic. Nick continued northbound at a much slower pace than he would have preferred. Gibbons, who had obviously become accustomed to the snail’s pace of California commutes, seemed unaffected.
“I don’t know how you people put up with this.” Nick cast a disapproving glance to Gibbons through the rear view mirror. “I thought traffic in Virginia was bad.”
“You work at Quantico?” Gibbons asked.
“Mostly. There and D.C. I live in Woodbridge, which is pretty much in the middle, although it doesn’t seem like I’m home often enough.”
“So you married? Got kids?” Gibbons continued, clearly making an effort to pass the time.
“Nope. Neither,” Scarborough replied, shifting a quick glance to Myers, who was in the passenger seat.
Gibbons seemed to pick up on the exchange and didn’t inquire further. “Me? I got a wife and two boys. Ten and Twelve. They’re a handful.”
“I’ll bet,” Myers replied.
Nick wasn’t particularly good at the small talk. Not that he didn’t like Detective Gibbons. He seemed all right. It was just that he preferred not to get too cl
ose to people. The more he knew about them and vice versa, the more potential danger there could be. He wasn’t a paranoid kind of guy; it was just reality. “I think that’s it up ahead.” Nick pointed to a large commercial complex.
“You think this guy is going to talk to us?” Gibbons asked.
“I’m sure he already knows we’ve got Shalot in custody and when he finds out about Hudson, I think he’ll be concerned about his two lemmings, or rather what they might say.” Nick pulled into the parking lot in his silver rental sedan and killed the engine. He turned back to Gibbons, who had one foot out the door. “I think our best approach is to make him aware that we are only interested in Shalot and Hudson. That he’s not the one we’re after. My guess is that he’ll be reluctant to say much in front of his employer. If he’s willing, let’s try to get him outside.” Nick opened the driver’s side door and stepped into the chilly morning air.
Myers stepped out, placing her conservative black-heeled shoe onto the asphalt. As she emerged from the car, she smoothed back her red hair, which she wore in her typical bun, appearing a little apprehensive.
Nick knew this was outside her wheelhouse. She didn’t often interview suspects or persons of interest, as Lewis Branson had been designated at this point in time. Analysis, psychoanalysis, social analysis; these were her specialties. But Jameson, who was well versed in this sort of thing, was needed back at the precinct. So he would have to rely on Gibbons, a homicide cop who was a little rough around the edges, but who could clearly handle himself.
There was a growing concern Nick had for Katie after learning that Shalot worked very hard to get close to her. Up until this point, he hadn’t realized just to what lengths the man had gone to be near her. As far as he was concerned, Shalot wasn’t a threat anymore and, he hadn’t put much thought into anything other than finding the killers who they were sure would take another life and soon.
Marshall, however, had seen it differently. His concern was that there could be someone else, maybe even Branson himself who was looking to get at her. Nick had no basis to argue against him, even if he believed Marshall was just being himself where Katie was concerned.
