All In A Day's Work

by Gary Resnikoff

  George poked his head in the door.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked timidly.

  “No, it is not,” Jackson said emphatically. “They are shutting down the show.”

  “Just temporarily, George. I’m sure you can understand the wisdom of that, considering all that is going on.”

  “Uh. I don’t know.”

  Jackson stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

  “George, it’s just a short hiatus. We will bring you guys back when it’s safe. We have to do this. Legal recommended it—almost demanded it. But, I think it’s the wisest thing to do right now. We just can’t take the chance that things could escalate even further.”

  ****

  The detectives left the radio station and raced to the latest crime scene. When they arrived, they were greeted once again by the customary yellow tape cordoning off the house from the press and onlookers—including Justin from the Tribune. Stein spotted him and was amazed at how quickly Justin was getting to the crime scenes. He looked away, trying not make eye contact as he entered the home with Detective Baird.

  Upon entering the home, they were immediately greeted by a cop in uniform who led them to the master bedroom, where they saw Dave LaFarge nailed to a cross. LaFarge was naked, except for the note nailed to his chest. The sight of dozens of nails protruding from LaFarge’s eyes, chest, and genitals was a level of mutilation that Jake had never seen before. Was it the result of immense anger? Or was something else going on with the killers? He noted that they were evolving, but not in a good way. Neither he nor Detective Baird spoke as they took in the scene.

  Gregg Abbot, the ME, was looking at the body and hadn’t seen the detectives enter the room. When he looked up and saw them, he greeted them with a nod.

  “If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure he was already dead when they went wild with the nail gun. That’s why you see so little blood. The blood you see by the door was from the initial attack. I’m guessing he came out of the bathroom wrapped in that towel. As he entered the room, they hit him with a baseball bat or some other round, wooden post, and he fell down right there. We haven’t found the murder weapon. They must have taken it with them. At that point, it looks like they probably lifted him onto the bed and did their carpentry work on him. The nail gun is sitting on the bed. It likely belonged to LaFarge, since we found extra cartridges for the gun in the garage.”

  Stein listened and nodded as Abbot spoke, while Baird took notes in a small notepad.

  “No sign of a struggle,” Abbot continued. “He probably never saw it coming and was dead by the time he hit the floor.”

  Then why the mutilation? Why the cross? Jake stepped closer, so he could read the note that was still nailed to the dead mans’ chest:

  We’re sick and tired of scum like him. We will rid the world of his ilk. Worthless bile. No one will mourn his death. Once again, we are warning all the other shitbags like LaFarge: Either clean up your act or crawl away like the cockroaches you are, or you will experience the same fate.

  And this is to the police: Since you chose not to share our warnings with the public in our own words, we will be sending copies of these notes directly to the press.

  The Revengers

  “What do you make of this?” asked Stein.

  “Our killers seem to be getting angrier. They don’t seem pleased that we aren’t sharing the notes with the press,” said Baird.

  Stein held in his anger. If the killers started sending notes to the press, his job would get even more difficult. But there could be a silver lining if they did.

  “At this point, there’s not much I can do about that, but if they do, maybe we will get the break we need. The more they do, the higher chance they’ll make a mistake. They seem to be getting more emotional, and in my book, that means careless mistakes will follow.” He turned to Abbot. “Have the guys checked for prints on the nail gun?”

  “They dusted just about everything here.”

  “How did they enter the home?”

  “Back door. It was still open when we got here, but it wasn’t jimmied. It was probably unlocked, or they used a device to open it. Can’t say for sure. There are some prints on the knob, but I’m doubtful they are from the Revengers. We have some footprints from the blood, but they are probably from paper booties, just like all the others. They lead from here out the kitchen door. Two sets of prints, just like the others. One big and one small.”

  “Who discovered the body?” asked Stein.

  “His girlfriend is in the kitchen.”

  “Okay. We’ll go talk to her. Do you have a rough time of death?”

  “Probably about ten, twelve hours ago,” said Abbot. “I’ll confirm that later, but I think you can figure around ten or twelve last night for now.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Stein left Abbot and worked his way toward the kitchen, careful not to step on any of the bloody footprints in the hallway. Baird followed closely behind.

  In the kitchen, sitting at small dining table with a uniformed cop, was a pretty woman in jeans and a loose top. Her eyes were red and blotchy from crying, but she seemed relatively calm now.

  “Can I ask her a few questions?” Stein asked the officer.

  “Sure, Jake. This is Maria. She’s LaFarge’s girlfriend. She discovered him around noon today. I’ll let you have some space,” said the officer as he got out of his chair and went toward the bedroom.

  Stein sat down in the vacated chair. “Hi, Maria. I’m Detective Jake Stein, and this is Detective Chris Baird,” he said, nodding toward Baird. “I’m very sorry for your loss and that you had to be the one to discover him like this.”

  She nodded and dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex.

  “When was the last time you spoke with him?”

  “It was around ten or eleven last night. I don’t remember exactly. He was upset about work. We talked about having a late dinner, but I think he was too tired. He told me to come over today to meet him for lunch. That’s when I found him like that.” She started sobbing.

  Stein gave her a minute to compose herself before continuing. “You said he was having some trouble at work. Do you know anything about that? Did he ever mention anyone threatening him?”

  “No.” She paused to think. “Things weren’t going well with his business, but he never told me why, and he never said anyone wanted to hurt him.”

  “Do you know if he had any encounters with the Consumer Champion radio show?” asked Baird.

  “He did mention they were hounding him about one of his jobs that had problems,” she managed to say. “And I never pressed him on it. He didn’t like the people on that show, but I never actually listened to it, so I don’t know the details.”

  “Are you sure he never talked about any of his customers threatening to harm him in any way?”

  “Dave was a tough guy. Even if someone threatened him, he wouldn’t be scared, and he probably wouldn’t tell me.”

  Stein looked around the room and saw a box full of kitchen utensils on the counter.

  “Was Dave going somewhere?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “It looks like he was packing his things.”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me he was going anywhere. He told me to come over today. Why would he be packing?”

  Was it possible that LaFarge had been threatened and was going to leave town without telling his girlfriend?

  “How long were you two dating?”

  “Maybe six months.”

  “Did he ever talk about leaving town?”

  “No. He told me that business was good. He was making lots of money. Why would he leave?”

  “Okay. That’s all, then. Maria, I’m really sorry. Here’s my card, if you think of anything else.” Stein handed her a card and motioned for Baird to follow him. He signaled for a paramedic to sit with Maria.

  “The note sounds just like how Bob talks,” said Baird with confidence. “I think we should br
ing Bob in and question him again. It might rattle him into divulging something. I bet you anything he doesn’t have an alibi for last night.”

  “Let’s get the results on the notes first.”

  “I’ll lay odds they match.”

  The veteran detective looked at Baird and bit his lip. The rookie was pushing him to make a move he might regret but was he right? Was Stein moving too slowly? Baird was probably right that the printer used by the Revengers was the same as those in the studio. From what he was told, the odds were high, but it meant nothing. Except in Stein’s head, it actually worked against Baird’s theory linking Jackson to the murders. The killers had proven they were smart and knew how to keep a crime scene clean. Why would smart people like that make a bonehead mistake and use printers from their own office that might implicate them? A smart person would use a printer at a public location, like a library or internet café. Even though Baird kept making arguments to prove it was Jackson, Stein was unconvinced.

  Stein started to wonder if someone was framing Jackson. He would certainly be an easy person to frame, and as unlikely as that sounded, Stein kept coming back to that theory. So, who would benefit from framing Jackson? Possibly one of the customers who had been ripped off by a contractor decided to get even, but to cover his tracks, he had to kill a few others, and to further obfuscate matters, he would only kill people that Jackson had attacked on the air. Sounded like a movie plot, but it was as plausible as any other explanation at this point. Jackson was almost like a caricature of himself, using language and a tone that would be easy enough to copy. The printers, paper, Trazadone… all clues that were easy to use, and all pointing to Jackson.

  Even though he didn’t need to provide Baird any justification for hesitating, he still wanted to keep the rookie in the loop. After a few moments, he answered. “I’m still not convinced.”

  “What if he has no alibis for any of the murders, including last night?”

  “Granted, it would look bad.” For some reason, he kept his theory that someone might be framing Bob to himself. “No doubt about it. But, I still need more physical evidence to book him.”

  “It’s him, Jake. I just know it,” said Baird with conviction. “There’s something not right about him.”

  Stein stared at Baird. Rookies always jumped to conclusions. He was the same way when he was still green, but he didn’t like the fact that Baird wouldn’t let it go. He walked away, leaving the rookie to stew. Stein headed toward a uniformed cop who had been interviewing neighbors, looking for leads.

  “Have you interviewed all the neighbors?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll give you that, but you might want to talk to those kids first. They were out last night and might have seen the killers.”

  “Seriously?” Stein said, obviously excited. “Who?”

  The officer pointed to another officer standing near the house with a young boy and girl who appeared to be in their late teens. He wondered if this was the mistake he hoped the killers would eventually make. At each murder up until this point, no one had seen or heard the Revengers coming or going from a crime scene. But with each murder, the odds that they would make a mistake went up. Stein hesitated but finally signaled for Baird to join him.

  “Those kids said they saw something last night,” Stein told Baird. Together, they walked over to the teenagers.

  “Hi, guys. I’m Detective Stein, and this is Detective Baird. We understand you might have seen something. Can you tell us what you saw?”

  The boy was the first to speak up. “Yes, Sir. We saw two people all dressed in black get out of a dark car.” The boy pointed down the street. “They parked over there, and it seemed like they were arguing.”

  “What makes you think they were arguing?” asked Stein.

  “Well, the girl seemed upset and started walking away from the man,” said the girl. “But, he called her back, and they talked for a few minutes.”

  “Did you hear them argue?”

  “No, Sir, but I could tell she wasn’t happy,” replied the girl.

  “How can you know if you didn’t hear them?

  “A girl knows.”

  “Okay,” replied Stein, holding back a smile.

  “How did you know it was a girl?” asked Baird.

  “She was wearing tight clothes. I know a girl when I see one,” the boy answered sheepishly.

  “But it was dark,” continued Baird. “You could barely see anything.”

  “See that streetlamp across the street? It made a real good silhouette of them.”

  “Could you hear them talking?” asked Stein.

  “No, Sir. The man opened the trunk of the car, took out a duffle bag, and handed her some stuff, and then, they separated,” the boy answered.

  “What time was that?” asked Baird.

  “Maybe eleven or twelve,” said the girl.

  “How old are you two?” Baird asked accusingly.

  The boy turned a little red and said, “I’m sixteen, and Denise is fifteen.”

  “What were you doing out at that time of night?”

  “We weren’t doing anything wrong,” the boy said defensively. “We were just messing around in the bushes. No law against that.”

  “Do your parents know you were out messing around in the bushes?” said Baird sternly.

  “It’s okay, detective,” said Stein. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Did you see their faces, license plate, make of the car? Anything?”

  “I’m sorry, Sir, but it was too dark, and I really don’t know cars that well,” said the boy. “We left after we saw them separate, and we went home. When we got up this morning, their car was gone. When we saw all the police cars here, we decided we needed to tell someone what we saw.”

  “You did the right thing, son. If you think of anything else, please give me a call.” He handed them each one of his business cards. “Write your names and numbers here, in case I need to call you again.” Stein handed them a small notepad and a pen.

  “Was it the Revengers?” asked the boy as he handed the pad back to Stein.

  “We can’t say for sure right now, but you two would do well to stay home at night for a while.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the two said in unison and ran off.

  Stein and Baird walked back to the first officer they had spoken to. “You said you interviewed most of the neighbors. Anybody have anything worthwhile?”

  “Most of them were asleep and didn’t hear or see anything. No one really knew LaFarge, and no one seemed to interact with him. He’d only been renting the house for about a year. The next-door neighbor, however, said he heard what he thought was a nail gun or some pneumatic tool around midnight. It went on for a few minutes and then stopped, and he didn’t hear anything else.”

  “He didn’t look outside to see what the noise was?”

  “He was going to, but then it abruptly stopped, and he didn’t bother to get out of bed.”

  “Thanks,” said Stein. “Oh, why did he think it was a nail gun and not a car or possibly a revolver?”

  “He said he has a nail gun and is very familiar with the sound.”

  As Stein finished up with the officer outside, he accidently made eye contact with Justin from the Tribune. Justin was on the other side of the makeshift barricade, trying to get Stein’s attention. He could hardly pretend not to have seen him jumping up and down like a kid trying to get an autograph from a rock star. With nothing to offer the press at this time—and not wanting to get inundated with questions he couldn’t or wouldn’t answer—he just shrugged and turned away, then stepped back into the house, where crime scene investigators were moving around, taking samples and pictures. If he didn’t know better, it would appear to be chaotic. Stein stood in a corner out of everyone’s way and waited, contemplating his next move.

  The killing frequency had seemed to escalate, and the brutality had reached a new level. Why? The city was already at a heightened level of fear—which was what the killers seemed to want—b
ut was there a reason the murders were happening faster now? What did the Revengers really want? The mayor and chief were breathing down his throat, demanding results and expressing displeasure that there were none. With each call and meeting, their anxiety grew, as Stein told them that he had nothing concrete to go on. He wasn’t the only one dodging the press. The mayor wanted something tangible to tell the press and wasn’t accepting that there was no headway in the case. This latest murder would give the press red meat for their next edition. Visions of headlines detailing the roofer nailed to a cross like Christ gave him chills. The armchair experts and internet crazies would be calling this an attack on Christianity. And what were the police doing to stop it?

  And if pressure from city officials and community activists wasn’t enough, now the President of the Chamber of Commerce was weighing in. It didn’t matter that the victims weren’t even members of the chamber; as far as the president was concerned, this was an attack on small businessmen, and his members were calling for action. The mayor understood the message: Protect our businessmen or feel the heat at election time. Nothing Jake could say to the chief would mollify him.

  “Everybody in business has unhappy customers from time to time,” was the chief’s reply. “No one is safe. Find the killers and do it quick.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “If you want an audience, start a fight.”

  —Irish Proverb

  Furious and mumbling to himself, Jackson left the station without so much as a word or a nod to the receptionist. She could tell he was angry, and with all the chatter about him and the show, she wasn’t surprised. But it was a side of Jackson she had never seen before. Had the door not been automatic, Jackson would have slammed it behind him as he exited onto the street.

  How could this be happening? It was his show and always had been. Now, Jay and the owner wanted him out. Over the years, Jackson had made them mountains of money, even though they had been reluctant to give him a show in the first place. He had convinced them he would make it a success, and he had. Now, they were ungrateful and running for the hills at the first sign of trouble. In all the years he had hosted the show, this was the first real controversy he had ever been involved in. And they dumped him. Was this really temporary, as Jay had suggested? And, even more importantly, would Jackson agree to come back if they asked him to? In his heightened level of resentment and hurt, the answer was no.