by Robin Mahle
“Hey! Avery, back the fuck up. What the hell is wrong with you, man?”
“Someone directed this guy to create a false identity for Shalot.” Marshall tugged on his jacket, realizing he had lost his temper. “I want to know who. Is Lewis Branson after Katie Reid?”
“You better talk, man. I can only do so much,” Jameson warned.
Hudson straightened his shirt, his hands still trembling. “I started visiting this online chat room. I was just curious; experimenting, you know? I’m a history major and, at the time, we were studying the founder of the Illuminati.
“Anyway, I was just playing around on the internet and came across this off-shoot of the Illuminati’s ‘New World Order,’ called Discordianism. I thought it was kind of cool; the whole chaos and theory of how everything occurs in fives and shit. So I found this chat room where the members hung out. I got to know some of them.
“About a year or so ago, I went to one of their meetings. It was more like a rally. That’s where I first met Shalot and Lewis Branson. He was kind of like the leader, only there really is no leader. It’s complicated.”
Marshall was ready to punch the kid, but continued to wait for him to reveal something that might actually be of use.
“I was just hired on at the school Admin office and was getting ready to start my second year. I was blown away by the things Branson was talking about. The order of chaos and the Greek goddess Eris. The whole Law of Fives, where everything is related to five. It’ll blow your mind.”
This time, it was Agent Jameson who appeared to be losing his patience. “Look, you better start telling us something that has to do with why you made up those records and started handing stuff off to that reporter. Did Branson pay you to do it? Give you a little seed money for poker?”
“Branson knew I liked to gamble. He also knew that I was having some recent financial troubles as a result. I like to play poker with the guys once in a while and sometimes the cards go against me.” Hudson looked to the men, who appeared to be at the end of their rope. “I knew of Edward Shalot from the rally and Branson asked that I help him get into this school a while back. I didn’t ask why. I just took the money. He offered me five grand to enter fake transcripts into the school’s system. I mean, I didn’t know the guy had a thing for that chick who had been all over the news last year.”
Jameson cast a look to Marshall, as if ensuring he wasn’t about to lunge at the kid.
“I just took the money and did what I was told. Then, just before Lindsay Brown died, Branson asked me to help him out on some other stuff and said he would make it worth my while. Like making sure you all found out that Shalot wasn’t a stand-up guy. That he liked to hurt women.” Hudson shook his head. “Look, am I going to jail for this?”
“Did you two hang out with other people who followed Branson?” Marshall asked.
“Sometimes. Yeah. But it’s not like it was my whole life or something. Shalot was more into it than I was. He would try to drag me to swingers clubs, strip clubs, whatever, to try and find women who were interested in the lifestyle. But me? Look, I’m not gonna lie. The parties they threw were pretty freakin’ awesome. But, it was just a side thing for me. That’s all. Shalot took personal offense to anyone who wasn’t into it.”
“Offense enough that he might kill for it?” Marshall asked.
Hudson cast his eyes upwards toward the men hovering over him. “I guess.”
Agent Scarborough pulled up to Lewis Branson’s home that he was renting from a retired couple who now lived in Florida, according to Myers’ information.
“This is it.” Nick cut the engine. “Let’s have a look around.”
They stepped out of the car, approaching the front of the house in a casual, non-threatening manner, although no one appeared to be out and about that might take any notice. It was midday on a Wednesday and this was clearly a working-class area. Most would likely be at work right about now.
Nick cupped his hands over the front window and leaned in. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
“No car in the driveway either,” Myers said. “I’m assuming he lives alone.”
Detective Gibbons was the first to try the front door. “Locked.” Without waiting for further direction, he took to moving around the side of the house toward the gate. He stood on his tip toes to peer over it and spotted a padlock on the other side. No way in there either.
As he stepped back, Gibbons landed on a large stone, causing his ankle to twist. “Son of a bitch!” He knelt down to rub the pain away. That was when he noticed the narrow window covered in what looked like black fabric. The outside of the window was covered in filth and partially obscured by the dirt and grass from the side yard. “Hey!” he shouted.
Nick and Agent Myers appeared from the front of the home; both jogged to meet him.
“You all right?” Myers asked.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just twisted my ankle.” He pointed to the window. “This place has a basement.”
Nick squatted down to get a better look. “It’s blacked out.” He reached out and pushed on it, but the window didn’t budge. He looked back to Gibbons and knew what he had to do next.
Nick got on both knees, ignoring the dirt and grass that would stain his otherwise perfectly pressed black pants. Using both hands, he pulled on the window frame. It was an old style aluminum frame that had a crank on the inside to open it and it had clearly been neglected over the years. The frame shifted inside the concrete that surrounded it. Nick turned to Gibbons and smiled. “The owner should really get this fixed.” He pulled on it a little more, careful not to shatter the glass, and the frame slowly edged out of its opening.
Myers lowered a hand and helped Gibbons back to his feet. “Don’t think that I’m even remotely small enough to slip through that space.”
“Come on. You can squeeze through that, no problem,” Gibbons said jokingly.
“No one’s going in. I just want to get a look inside.” Nick bent down further, leaning his head in as far as it would go, which wasn’t far. The window opening wasn’t more than eight inches tall, at best. The house had been built before current laws dictated that basements have a window well with a ladder for emergency escape. This window probably did nothing more than allow the basement to flood after a good rain on occasion.
“Holy shit.” Nick pulled his head out. “We need to call for backup now!”
“What? What is it?” Myers asked.
“Screw backup. Knock the damn door down!” Gibbons said. “What the hell’s in there?” He hobbled back to the front entrance, Scarborough and Myers following behind.
“What are you doing?” Myers asked. “I’m gonna call Oceanside PD now.”
“Just hold up.” Gibbons turned to Nick. “What exactly did you see in there? A dead body?”
“No. The place is covered in red paint. Go have a look for yourself.” Nick turned to Myers. “That symbol is all over the walls.”
“What symbol?” Gibbons asked.
“The V that’s been carved on all the victims’ bodies. Same one that was carved into Lindsay Brown.”
“Jesus!” Gibbons picked up a planter that had been placed on the porch and tossed it through the front window.
“What the hell are you doing?” Meyers said. “We need to let the local authorities know we’re here.”
Gibbons looked around. “Oh, I’m sure one of the neighbors will call after hearing that.” He pulled his sleeve over his hand and cleared the glass in order to step over the frame. Once inside, he opened the front door. “Let’s go have a look inside that basement.”
“You’re bat-shit crazy, you know that?” Myers walked through the door.
“Maybe. But this is a hell of a lot faster than waiting for PD to get here. You both said yourselves that we were running out of time before another murder happens. Maybe we just prevented that.”
The basement door in the kitchen was bolted shut. “Someone doesn’t want anyone down there,” Scarbo
rough said. “Or they don’t want anyone down there to get out.”
In that moment, a faint, but noticeable scream drifted from beyond the door.
“Did you hear that?” Scarborough used the butt of his gun to break the lock and unlatch the bolt. He led the way down the dark staircase.
Myers found the switch, but Nick had already reached the bottom. The room illuminated in an instant.
“What the fuck?” Gibbons hopped down the steps on one leg as the room revealed itself to him.
The walls were covered with symbols. Pentagons with images and more symbols inside them. They had seen these before. And the V was everywhere, spray painted in blood-red.
“The photograph of Branson at the rally; the background looked almost the same,” Myers said.
“Hello? Is there anyone in here?” Nick yelled. It looked as though there was just the one room, but where had the voice come from?
There it was again.
“Over here.” Myers ran to the wall on the right side. “There has to be an opening here somewhere.”
Scarborough and Gibbons joined her.
The voice continued. It belonged to a woman, one who was clearly terrified.
“Nick, over here,” Myers said. “This door—she’s inside.”
The small door where Myers stood could only house something along the lines of a sump pump system or maybe a small storage area.
“It’s locked.” Myers turned the handle. “This is the FBI. Are you okay?” she shouted through the door.
“Get me out of here!” the woman yelled.
Nick again worked to break the lock. This one proved easier than the door at the top of the stairs. He proceeded to open the door with caution, unsure of what he would find behind it.
Inside was a woman, her hands bound to a pipe that disappeared into the concrete floor.
“You’re okay. I’m with the FBI. You’re going to be fine.” Nick moved in toward her and examined the cuffs. “Gibbons, call for backup. Tell them to bring bolt cutters.”
20
THE CONFIRMATION THAT Shaun Hudson had been Aguilar’s source was enough for them to arrest him. He’d withheld information pertinent to an investigation. They placed him in the back of Marshall’s car and headed to the station. Neither had believed Hudson’s assertion that he hadn’t known Shalot killed Lindsay Brown. It would be priority to question Hudson further so that he might implicate Branson or others in the Highway Hunter killings and Marshall and Jameson were confident the kid had that information.
Upon their arrival, the two hadn’t yet known that the others were in Branson’s home, trying to free a woman he’d held captive.
Katie waited for Marshall outside the interrogation room where they had just left Hudson. “They found a woman in Branson’s home. She was in bad shape, Marshall.”
“Scarborough called you?”
“Gibbons did,” she replied. “This woman they found had a lot of information to share about Lewis Branson. He went on to tell me that Branson had wanted Edward Shalot out of the way. According to what this woman said, Shalot had become too volatile and couldn’t be counted on any longer. That his obsession with me had gotten out of control and he risked exposing Branson.”
Marshall gently took Katie by the arm and led her out of the hallway. “Let’s go to my office. Jameson can handle this.”
Marshall closed the door to his office as Katie took a seat.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were already going after Hudson this morning? I would’ve liked to have been there with you.” She began.
“Because I needed to be sure you weren’t around if things went south. We had originally gone to see him based on what you and I had discovered last night, but when you called about the phone records, it was enough to arrest him. Look, Kate, you’re not a trained officer. There are some things that I have to handle on my own. I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the reality of the situation. I can’t always be worried about your safety.”
“Then stop worrying about it.” She quickly lowered her tone, realizing her frustration had taken over. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this directly impacts me and you know it. You’re right. I don’t carry a gun, but damn it, since when are we not a team?”
Marshall fell into his chair. “We are a team, Kate. But there are still people out there who, given your very public story, have a morbid interest in you. Shalot is one of those people. He and Hudson are involved in some bizarre shit that honestly scares the hell out of me.” He paused for a moment to regain control of the conversation. “So what do we know about this woman they found?”
“She was handcuffed to a sump pump pipe in his basement. You remember that photograph posted online with Branson speaking at a gathering?”
Marshall nodded.
“The basement was covered in those same symbols. And, the V. Lots of them. From what that woman stated, she was trying to leave him, but he wouldn’t let her. She’d heard that Branson had encouraged a few of the members to show the world that chaos would reign. That it was necessary to restore order. My guess is that Shalot was one of them.”
“For God’s sake.” Marshall shook his head. “But Gibbons also mentioned that Branson wanted Shalot out of the way?”
“According to the woman, Branson was grooming him. He wanted him to be ‘second in command,’ so to speak.”
“Okay, Shalot’s in custody and people are still dying. So, there are others out there ‘restoring order’?” Marshall asked.
“It got back to Branson that Shalot thought he could go it alone. That he was building his own following. Only Shalot had taken it a step further than Branson intended, insisting that his followers leave their mark and make themselves known as the ‘Brotherhood of the Five.’ These were only rumblings she had come across, but all of it scared her enough that she wanted to leave.
“I don’t blame her.” Marshall leaned in, his face masked in anger. “Are they after you?”
“No,” Katie said. “Not that Gibbons mentioned.”
Marshall leaned back in his chair and turned toward the window, peering out in silence. “That doesn’t explain why Shalot’s been insisting to you that he’s innocent. We’ve got his damn DNA on the victim. What did he hope to gain by this?”
“I don’t know yet. But, I think Branson wanted to put a stop to him. He seemed to know that Shalot had gone way off the rails and risked exposing all of them. We’ll know more when they get back from Oceanside, but I think that was why he used Shaun Hudson to feed information to Marc. The authorities discovering that woman locked up in his basement probably wasn’t part of the plan, though.”
“Did she believe Lewis Branson would kill her?” Marshall asked. “Son of a bitch sounds just as crazy as Shalot.”
“Gibbons said she was pretty shaken up. Branson did a number on her.” Katie witnessed the shift in Marshall’s demeanor. It wasn’t fear and it wasn’t anger. It was rage she saw behind his eyes.
Agent Jameson was standing outside the interrogation room when Marshall approached. “Have you spoken to Hudson? Is his attorney here yet?”
“I think they’re bringing him down now. He just arrived. Did you hear what they found in Oceanside?”
“I did. We’re getting close now, we have to be.” Marshall leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “I’m sure they’re already on their way to arrest Branson.”
Katie caught up to them in the hall and soon spotted a young man wearing a suit rounding the corner. “That must be him.”
Marshall now stood at attention, waiting for the suit to introduce himself.
The young attorney, Katie believed, couldn’t have been more than twenty-four, maybe twenty-five, although he looked about fifteen. She would be turning thirty in just a few months, but felt much older.
“I’m Jackson Parrish. I’ll be representing Mr. Hudson. I understand you would like to interview him?” the lawyer said.
Marshall shook his hand. “Yes. I’m D
etective Avery. I’m working with FBI Agent Jameson on this investigation. This is Katie Reid. She will be accompanying us in the interview.”
“Nice to meet you all. Shall we go in?” Parrish asked.
Jameson held the door open. Inside, Shaun Hudson, even with his husky build, looked small and frail, like a frightened boy.
“Mr. Hudson, I’m Jackson Parrish, your court-appointed attorney. I’ll be representing you. This is Detective Avery, Agent Jameson and Katie Reid. They’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“I know who they are.” Hudson’s intonation suggested he might be reluctant to cooperate.
“I see. Well, shall we get started?” Parrish retrieved the digital recorder from his briefcase and placed it on the table.
“This is all being recorded anyway, Mr. Parrish.” Marshall pointed to the cameras mounted on the walls.
“Of course. I just prefer to have my own records.” Parrish gestured to Marshall. “Please, begin.”
Katie kept quiet for the moment, letting Jameson and Marshall take the lead. Marshall began to speak.
“Shaun, you and I met earlier today. Is that correct?”
He nodded.
“Mr. Hudson,” Parrish began, “you’ll need to speak so we can have it for the record.”
“Yes. I met Detective Avery earlier today, outside of my class.”
“Thank you.” Marshall continued. “The FBI will be taking Lewis Branson into custody in a short while. He apparently kidnapped and was holding a woman against her will. Do you know Mr. Branson?” Marshall needed verbal confirmation although he already knew the answer.
This appeared to be news to Hudson as his voice trembled in response. “Who—who is she?”
“That doesn’t matter right now,” Jameson started. “Do you know Lewis Branson?”
