The Bay Area Butcher: (Quint Adler Book 2)

by Brian O'Sullivan

  “Can you head out to San Francisco right now?” Lockett asked.

  “Yeah, we were planning on getting a hotel out there,” I said.

  “That can wait. Give me Brendan’s address and I’ll meet you there.”

  Cara quickly scrolled through her phone and read off the address we’d been at yesterday. “It’s 1584 Union Street.”

  “It’s the SFPD’s jurisdiction, so I can’t promise anything, but I wouldn’t mind another set of eyes who have already been there. Plus, as I’ve said many times, you guys have been a step ahead of everyone else. I like the idea of having you guys close.

  “Thanks,” I said. We’ll meet you there.”

  45.

  We arrived outside out of Brendan Cabela’s townhouse for the second day in a row. It was approaching 1:00 p.m.

  But we weren’t the first ones there.

  Five SFPD officers had already arrived. A few of them stood at the front door while one knocked.

  Once we got within about fifty feet, another officer stopped us from getting any closer. Captain Lockett saw us and walked over.

  “It’s okay, they’re with me.” He escorted us away from the officers. “We have to let them do their stuff. Even though we’re working together, I have no jurisdiction over here.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Will they raid the house if he doesn’t answer?” Cara asked.

  “I’m not sure. There would have to be a reason,” Lockett said.

  An idea had been percolating on our drive over, but I wasn’t sure if I should voice it. I decided this wasn’t the time to hold anything back.

  “Captain, what if the Butcher knew he had to move out of Avalon and had a backup plan? Somewhere else he knew of to go?”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “It may not be likely, but it’s certainly not impossible. How attentive has the Butcher been to every detail? I don’t think he just moved out of Avalon and started living on the street.”

  “Give me a second.”

  We watched as Captain Lockett approached the SFPD officers. At 6’5”, he was an intimidating presence, but he held himself as deferentially as possible. As he’d said, this was their jurisdiction.

  And if he was telling them what I thought he was, he’d better tread lightly.

  He returned to us a minute later.

  “I think I talked them into it,” he said.

  “Into what exactly?”

  “Going into the house.”

  A few minutes later, we heard a member of the SFPD yelling.

  “Mr. Cabela, this is your last chance. We are coming in.”

  Thirty impossibly tense seconds passed. And then they broke down the door. It involved some sort of ram-like instrument that I couldn’t make out from our distance.

  The next few minutes took forever. It was probably the most nervous I had been since this whole thing had started. I couldn't say exactly why, but I knew something wasn’t right.

  An SFPD officer came outside and approached one of his fellow officers standing out by us. He spoke in a whisper, trying to keep us from hearing, but we stood too close not to.

  “Miller, call the coroner.”

  Our jaws dropped.

  “Officer,” Captain Lockett said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Captain Miles Lockett with the OPD. I’m going to assume Brendan Cabela is deceased?”

  “Hard to tell who it is. The body is in five parts.”

  Cara turned away.

  It was just another shock in what had been six weeks full of them. But this one really hit home, considering we’d been knocking on that door less than twenty-four hours ago.

  “Do you think it was the Butcher that you heard inside?” Cara asked me quietly.

  “Probably,” I admitted.

  The other officers heard us.

  Captain Lockett pointed at me. “This is Quint. He…”

  “I know who he is,” the SFPD officer said.

  “Well, Quint and Cara have been highly instrumental in identifying the Butcher. In fact, they were outside this residence yesterday, trying to talk to Brendan Cabela. They’ve been a step ahead of us at the OPD, I have to admit it. And I’d like to ask for a favor.”

  “What is it?”

  The officer didn’t look like he was the type to grant many favors.

  “Before the coroner gets here, can they do a quick five-minute walkthrough of the place? They seem to know more about the Butcher than anyone. Something might jump out. They will put on shoe covers, stay out of your way, and not get close to the body. I don’t even have to come in. But please, I’m begging you, give them a few minutes.”

  It was a monumental ask by Captain Lockett. And it meant more to me than he’d ever know.

  I saw the officer mulling it over.

  Lockett spoke again. “If what we’re really trying to do is catch the Butcher, you’ll grant me this favor.”

  The officer motioned in our direction. “Alright, you’ve got five minutes. I’ll give you some shoe covers. Stay out of the officers’ way and don’t get near the body.”

  “Thank you, officer,” I said. “I don’t need to see the body.”

  In fact, I didn’t want to.

  “Alright, let’s do this quick. When the coroner gets here, you guys are out.”

  “That’s fine. Thank you for allowing this.”

  Cara and I took off our shoes and put on a plastic covering over our socks. We also wore the masks and gloves they gave us.

  On entering the townhouse, we were immediately struck by the smell. It was foul in a way I’d never experienced before. It had to be the dead body.

  But Cara and I couldn’t concentrate on that. We only had five minutes to gather any information.

  An officer tailed us, but he allowed us basically to roam free.

  You entered the townhouse in what was almost like a middle level, but it was too small to even call it that. You either went down a set of stairs to the bottom floor or walked up the five or six steps to the top floor.

  The bottom level of the apartment held what looked to be two bedrooms and a bathroom. I couldn’t tell for sure. Officers’ voices rose from down there, and I assumed it was where they had found the body.

  “Can’t let you down there,” the officer said.

  So we walked up the tiny set of stairs to the top level.

  The living room took up the majority of the space. It held a few couches and a T.V., and through the door I saw a kitchen space.

  The townhouse seemed stale. It didn’t feel lived in, although obviously it had been. Figurines sat on several small little tables scattered throughout the room. They looked to be clowns. Too many ottomans littered the room. Lamps as well.

  A bathroom was on the left of the living room and two closets to the right. I made my way to the closets.

  “Are these alright to open?” I asked the officer.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied.

  I opened the first one. It was filled with five or six trench coats. I know San Francisco could get cold, but it seemed like a bit much. I slid the coats to the far left of the rack to see if anything had been hidden behind them. There hadn’t been.

  I shut the door and moved on to the next closet.

  I was startled when I opened it. Not that it was anything too crazy, I just wasn’t expecting what I saw. Hanging on the rack were several full-length Sesame Street costumes.

  Big Bird. Snuffleupagus. Bert and Ernie. And a few I didn’t recognize.

  “Weird,” I said.

  “This guy must really love Halloween,” Cara remarked, standing beside me.

  “Not anymore,” the officer said.

  It was a completely unnecessary thing to say, and I didn’t give him the satisfaction of answering.

  “Seems a bit odd to have that many Sesame Street outfits,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Cara said. “But does it mean anything?”

&nb
sp; “Probably not,” I admitted.

  Since the kitchen door lay close to the closets, I headed its way.

  I looked in, but it wasn’t what I saw. I smelled something.

  “Do you smell that?” I said to Cara.

  The officer interjected.

  “I do,” he said. “Brownies?”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “It’s definitely brownies,” Cara said.

  I turned to the officer. “Can we open the oven?”

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “It’s still a bit warm.”

  Just then, the officer who had permitted us to enter the house made his way up the stairs.

  “The coroner is here. I’m sorry you didn’t get your full five minutes, but I have to ask you to exit the townhouse.”

  We started to leave.

  The officer who’d opened the oven spoke up, “Officer Vernon, I think the killer may have just left.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come here.” He led Officer Vernon into the kitchen. He opened the oven door.

  “Jesus Fucking Christ,” Vernon said. “We might have just missed him. I’ll put out an APB right now.”

  We were quickly escorted downstairs and out of the townhouse.

  Lockett walked over.

  “What happened?”

  “He may have just left,” I said. “The oven was still warm. It smelled like he was baking brownies.”

  “What an odd thing to be doing,” Lockett said.

  And then it hit me.

  “Maybe not,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He killed a bunch of people with poisoned cookies. Would brownies be that different?”

  Officer Lockett clearly wanted to say something, but he couldn’t get anything out.

  Within minutes, at least thirty police officers had gathered outside of Brendan Cabela’s place. We were pushed well back as they installed yellow tape around the townhouse.

  Not long after, the first member of the media arrived. I knew if I hung around, I was going to get mobbed.

  I could already see the questions coming.

  “Quint, what are you doing around another crime scene? Are you following the Butcher? Does this have something to do with him?”

  “I think it’s time to go,” I told Cara.

  “Agreed. But where should we go?”

  Assuming the Butcher had just left Cabela’s apartment, it seemed foolish for us to go check into a hotel. Things might be coming to a head sooner rather than later.

  I looked at Captain Lockett and secretly hoped he might ask us to join him. But as generous as he had been with his access, I knew this would be a bridge too far.

  He seemed to have read my mind.

  “Quint, I have to go. I’m going to be canvassing this area for the Butcher. They’ve got this crime scene under control. My phone is on for you at all times. If you think of anything, please, please call. We’ve got officers all over the city. If you have any suspicions, I’ll send some of them wherever you want.”

  “Thanks, Captain. I’ll be in touch.”

  We watched as Lockett got in his police car and sped off.

  “Let’s walk toward our car before the media makes out who I am,” I said to Cara.

  We headed past the townhouse, keeping our faces averted from the cameras.

  It had to have been the Butcher who’d made the noise from inside yesterday. Why hadn't I called the police right then?

  Obviously, I’d had no reason to suspect anything yet. But maybe I should have been more suspicious.

  Cara snapped me out of my thoughts.

  “Stop daydreaming! The next few minutes are of massive importance. If he recently left that townhouse, he may be heading out for his final set of murders right now.”

  “You’re right. But what can we do?”

  “You know his face better than anyone. I think we should drive around ourselves. Maybe we’ll find a needle in a haystack and see him. His car has been found. Unless he stole Cabela’s, he could be out there on foot.”

  “That’s a good point,” I said.

  “Thanks.”

  We arrived at the car.

  “I’ll drive,” I said. I handed her my phone. “Scroll to Captain Lockett. Text him and ask him if he can find out if Cabela’s car has been stolen. And if so, what make and model?”

  “I will.”

  We climbed in the car and shut the doors. Cara pulled out her phone. I did a three-point turn, not wanting to head in the direction of the townhouse, which was now swarming with media and police.

  My mind went over our brief time in Cabela’s townhouse. Something clicked.

  After driving only a few blocks, I abruptly pulled over.

  “What is it?” Cara asked.

  “Do you remember the two closets?”

  “Of course. What about them?”

  “Think back,” I said. “What did that first closet look like?”

  “I don’t know. A bunch of trench coats next to each other.”

  “And you’d say they were about equidistant apart, right?”

  “Yeah. It was pretty uniform, I guess. Hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “How about the second closet?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Time was important, so I had to push her in the right direction.

  “Was it as clean?” I asked.

  “No, it was more disheveled. Some were scrunched together. It was anything but uniform.”

  “Exactly!”

  “Are you saying what you think I’m saying?”

  “I think the Butcher grabbed one of the Sesame Street costumes.”

  “My God!” Cara exclaimed.

  “You have his co-worker Lu’s phone number. Call her right now.”

  She did and handed me the phone. I put it on speaker so Cara could hear the conversation.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice said.

  “Is this Lu?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Lu, this is Quint. I’m sitting with Cara. Can you answer a few questions?”

  “Sure,” she said, but sounded nervous.

  It was unlikely Cabela’s death had already made the news, but you never know. Of course, just the fact that her ex-coworker turned out to be a killer on the loose could be reason enough to make her worried.

  “This may sound weird, but did Brendan Cabela like dressing up?”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “In like, children’s outfits. Sesame Street stuff. Big Bird. Bert and Ernie, etc.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, Brendan is still a kid at heart. Probably because he isn’t the most popular adult. Anyway, he sometimes performs at children’s birthday parties as Sesame Street characters. He’d occasionally tell us at Caltenics about it.”

  I looked at Cara. A pit opened up in my stomach. Her expression told me she felt the same.

  “You have no idea if he had a party coming up, do you?”

  “No, how could I? I haven’t talked to him since he got fired.”

  “We never asked you. Why was he fired?”

  “He stole petty cash.”

  I doubted it. I thought the Butcher might have had this all planned out from the beginning.

  “Lu, this is Cara. Do you know which characters he went as?”

  “Hmmm, let me think. Like you said, there was Big Bird. Bert and Ernie. He mentioned Snuffleupagus a few times. Elmo. I know he wore that one a lot. He said kids loved Elmo.”

  “Thanks for the info, Lu! Keep your phone close, I may have some other questions.”

  I hung up before she could ask any questions of her own.

  “There was no Elmo in that closet,” I said.

  “I’m scared, Quint.”

  “Me too.”

  “This should be laughable. An Elmo costume? I mean, are you kidding me?”

  “I know what you mean. This feels surreal. But we have to consider that the Butcher m
ight be out there attempting to kill in an Elmo costume.”

  “This is a fucking nightmare.”

  For someone who rarely swore, Cara’s statement was alarming. But she was right. This was a fucking nightmare.

  And then something else hit me.

  “In his email, he said this would be his most famous killing yet, but he also said it would be smaller in scale.”

  “You think he was referring to kids, don’t you?”

  “I do now.”

  “And he may well be taking some poisonous brownies with him.”

  Cara and I looked at each other once again. Sick terror passed between our eyes.

  46.

  THE KILLER

  My sinking feeling of the previous few days had never left me.

  I started to feel the walls closing in on me. Was it possible I wasn’t going to finish my final set of murders?

  My narcissism hadn’t let me entertain that possibility, but it was becoming impossible to ignore.

  After Quint and Cara came to the door on Wednesday, I knew I was living on borrowed time. At least as long as I stayed at Brendan’s apartment. If Quint found out that Brendan hadn’t talked to the police, they’d surely want to have a word with him. And they’d show up at the townhouse.

  But since it was all coming to a head on Thursday anyway, I thought I could get one last day out of the place.

  Late Wednesday night, I grabbed Brendan’s keys and moved his car a block away, where I parked it on a side street.

  There was a door in the kitchen that appeared to open to the back of the townhouse. When I returned from parking the car, I made sure the door allowed me to leave through the back. It did.

  If there was a knock at the front door, I’d be ready.

  And leaving out the back.

  Thursday came.

  And that morning, I saw Quint’s email from the day before. Against all better judgement, I wrote and sent a reply. I felt compelled to. This had been a mano y mano battle from the beginning and the machismo of his email compelled me to respond.

  I regretted it almost immediately.

  But it was too late. Maybe destiny ordained that we had to meet up at some point.

  The morning dragged on until I decided I couldn’t stay in Brendan’s apartment any longer. I just felt like the vice was closing in.