First Circle Club

by Alex Siegel

  "Mammon!" he said. "Sir! Can you hear me?"

  The reflection darkened, and the mirror became a window into Hell. Instead of fire, Virgil saw a violent snowstorm. Jagged shards of black ice rained down with the snow. Winds whipped the snow and ice into crazy corkscrews. He pitied any souls doomed to an eternity in that maelstrom.

  Mammon's face appeared in the mirror. The demon's sagging jowls wobbled back and forth. Disgusting bits of rotting food were stuck to its triple chin.

  Haymaker gasped.

  Mammon's eyes widened. "Is Thomas Haymaker hiding back there?"

  "Yes, sir," Virgil said in an apologetic tone. "He's part of the team."

  "I don't like to be seen by mortals."

  "Sorry, sir, but he should hear this. You promised us an interview with Matt Shipman."

  "Indeed," Mammon said. "Is the medium there yet?"

  "Medium?"

  "Damn it! These spiritual types are such flakes. She should arrive shortly."

  "Why do we need a medium?" Virgil said. "We can talk to you directly without any difficulty."

  "I'm a demon lord. I go where I please and talk to whomever I wish. Matt Shipman is a condemned soul, stuck in one spot for all eternity. He is forbidden from setting eyes on Earth ever again."

  "Then how does a medium work?"

  "That peculiar exception was written into the Contract during the rule of King Philip II," Mammon said. "A small number of designated humans have the ability to connect with the dead. I voiced my objections at the time, but I'm not a member of the Permanent Standing Committee on Regulatory Reform. I'm merely on the Subcommittee for Procedural Specification Review. Regardless, the medium will do the job. She is one of the rare few with genuine talent, unlike the countless pretenders and charlatans. I'll vouch for her. Follow her instructions."

  The mirror reverted to its normal appearance.

  Haymaker cautiously approached the mirror with wide eyes. "Was that really a demon?"

  "Yes," Virgil said. "The Demon of Greed."

  "Wow."

  "Just pray you don't meet him down below."

  The sound of footsteps coming down the exterior staircase caught Virgil's attention. A moment later, a woman opened the basement door.

  "Is this the right place?" she asked.

  She was wearing a golden necklace made of coins, a matching headband, gigantic golden earrings, and gold lipstick. Her brown shirt also had vertical gold stripes. Aside from the ridiculous costume, she was a reasonably attractive woman with hazel eyes. Virgil was expecting the medium to be an old crone, but this one wasn't any older than thirty.

  "Are you a medium?" he said.

  She nodded. "Madame Medea. I charge two hundred dollars an hour, minimum two hours. Palm readings are fifty dollars more apiece."

  Virgil glanced at the bag of cash and gold on a shelf. "Sure. What's the procedure?"

  "Tell me a little about the soul you want to speak with."

  "Matt Shipman. Father of Daniel and Patricia. Baptist minister in life, but now his soul resides in Hell."

  Medea drew back. "That's not a nice thing to say."

  "It's a statement of fact. By the way, how did you know to come here?"

  "The spirits commanded me. That's how I get my best gigs. OK, I think I have enough to start with." She sat on a chair and settled down. "Form a circle around me and hold hands."

  "Why?" Virgil said.

  "To create a spiritual shield. Just do it."

  Virgil, Sara, Lisa, Alfred, and Haymaker held hands in a circle around the medium.

  She closed her eyes and began to murmur in a rhythmic pattern. Haymaker had an incredulous expression.

  After a few minutes, Medea spoke in a deeper voice, "I am Matt Shipman. Who calls to me through the Veil of Death?"

  "Are you really him?" Haymaker said.

  "Yes. I am the father of Daniel and Patricia."

  He rolled his eyes. "We just told you that."

  "Calm down," Virgil said. "Give her a chance. Talk about Daniel, please."

  Medea paused. "The greatest disappointment of my life. When I heard about the murders, it felt like I had died myself."

  Virgil raised his eyebrows and stared at Haymaker. The detective looked down.

  "What else?" Alfred said.

  "I raised him with good Christian values," Medea said. "He studied the Bible often. He attended every one of my sermons until he left home. He was even kind to his sister. I still have a hard time believing he did those horrible things."

  "Talk about his childhood."

  "He was a very quiet boy. I don't think he ever recovered from the death of his mother. He mentioned her often for as long as I knew him."

  "You told him she went to Heaven?" Alfred said.

  "Of course. All good souls go to Heaven, and the bad ones suffer everlasting torment in Hell. She was a very good soul."

  "But you're in Hell, so you must be a bad one."

  Medea paused for a while. She worked her jaw as if in pain. "I talked too much and listened too little," she said finally. "I believed I knew better than anybody else. When others questioned my moral authority, I became angry. I saw the sins in others clearly, but I failed to recognize the pride and wrath in myself."

  Her voice conveyed profound regret, but the lesson had been learned too late to do Matt Shipman any good. His punishment would continue forever. As before, the infinitely sadistic nature of Hell struck Virgil.

  "Let's get back to Daniel," Alfred said. "Could you describe his personal philosophy?"

  "Sadly, I cannot," Medea said. "I never cared to hear what my son had to say. I was too busy telling him what to believe. I knew he did... unpleasant things to small animals."

  "That didn't bother you?"

  "I hoped he would grow out of it. I never dreamed he would do the same to people."

  "I suspect the dead mother is the key figure," Alfred said. "Patricia mentioned a picture of her hung in the trailer."

  "I did everything possible to keep the memory of my wife alive," Medea said. "We even made a place for her at the dining table. When my children were bad, I told them their mother was looking down from Heaven with disapproval."

  "You invoked the specter of a dead parent to frighten your own children?"

  "It was effective."

  Alfred made a face. "Can you tell us anything else about Daniel?"

  "Why does it matter? He's dead."

  "Just answer the question."

  Medea paused. "He was a creature of habits and rituals. Extremely methodical. He couldn't eat until he washed his hands three times. When he attended services, he sat in exactly the same spot. He always read the Bible from front to back, never skipping a word. His obsessive nature could be exasperating."

  "Typical for a serial killer." Alfred nodded. "I don't have any more questions."

  He looked around, but nobody else asked anything.

  "Medea," Virgil said. "We're done."

  Medea shook herself and opened her eyes. "Did it work?"

  "You don't remember?"

  "No."

  "It worked," Virgil said. "I guess we owe you some money."

  "Do you want your palm read?"

  "No, thanks. We don't need anything else."

  He took four hundred dollars from the bag of cash and gave it to Medea. She smiled politely and left the basement.

  After she was gone, Virgil said, "That was somewhat useful."

  "I agree." Alfred nodded. "I think we gained valuable insights. I'm still holding onto my theory about Daniel's motivation. He wants to send good souls to Heaven where they belong."

  "Medea's performance was compelling," Haymaker said, "but I still can't take it too seriously. We don't know how much of that was real. It's time to move on to the next witness: Franklin Mackay. He lives in Wheaton, so we have a long drive ahead of us."

  "Then let's go," Virgil said.

  * * *

  The drive to Wheaton was long indeed. It was past noon by the
time the team arrived at their destination. Alfred rode with Haymaker in the detective's car. Virgil, Sara, and Lisa drove in their own car.

  The two-car caravan parked in the parking lot of a tiny children's zoo called "Wally's Wild World." Virgil stepped out of the car and could see most of the zoo from where he stood. A pen with a white fence held sheep and goats. A big red barn with white trim stood in the center. A Ferris wheel was just the right size for small children. A train ran around the circumference of the zoo.

  The team gathered together.

  "Franklin Mackay works here as a groundskeeper," Haymaker said. "There are lots of kids in the zoo, so let's not make a scene during the interview."

  Everybody else nodded.

  They used their badges to get through the front gate without paying. After wandering around and asking for help from the zoo staff, they located Mackay in a goose pen. He was sweeping up small, green turds while ten geese ignored him.

  Mackay was a big man but not in a flattering way. His rotund belly hung over his belt, and more fat below his belt pushed out his pants. Sweat dripped from his flushed face even though he wasn't working very hard. He was wearing a tan uniform with lots of pockets. Brown hair was cropped close to his big, round head.

  Wire netting covered the pen so the geese couldn't fly away. The birds had black heads and necks. The rest of their feathers were a mixture of white and brown. The team stood outside the netting.

  Haymaker showed his police badge. "Mr. Mackay? We have a few questions. Do you have some time now?"

  Mackey stopped sweeping and walked over, but he remained inside the pen.

  "What do you need?" he said in a surprisingly squeaky voice.

  Virgil looked around surreptitiously. A spy could've been watching Mackay just like the one at Patricia's house. Virgil saw only families with young kids. No suspicious men were lurking in the shadows as far as he could see.

  "A long time ago," Haymaker said, "you knew a killer named Daniel Shipman. I'm sure your memory has faded, but anything you could recall might be helpful."

  "Oh." Mackey's eyes widened. "This is about those kids who were murdered recently."

  "How did you know?"

  "I recognized Daniel's style."

  Haymaker nodded. "What in particular did you recognize?"

  "He chose young victims, usually teenagers. He made sure they hadn't committed any crimes or gotten into trouble. He wanted clean, innocent souls. He stabbed them in the carotid artery. It was a quick, easy death."

  "That's right, but why did the souls have to be clean?"

  "So they would go straight to Heaven," Mackey said. "He was releasing them before they had a chance to be stained by sin. He wanted his mother to have more company."

  Virgil glanced at Alfred. The psychologist was smiling triumphantly.

  "What if they didn't want to be 'released'?" Lisa said. "Did he ask permission before he killed?"

  "Daniel's victims never wanted to die," Mackey said in a patronizing tone. "That would be suicide which is a mortal sin. He committed murder so they wouldn't suffer the burden of choosing. The death had to be involuntary."

  "That's crazy."

  He shrugged. "It made sense to Daniel."

  "Did it make sense to you?" Virgil said in an accusing tone.

  "My relationship with Daniel was... complicated," Mackey said. "It was a bad time in my life. I let him do his thing and didn't get too involved."

  "It seems a copycat killer is on the loose," Haymaker said. "If we knew more about the original, it might help us find the new edition."

  "That was forty years ago, and I was just a teenager. I testified in court. Maybe you can find the transcript."

  "We have a copy. Is there anything important you didn't mention during the trial?"

  Mackey furrowed his brow. "Let me think."

  Virgil stepped forward. "I have another quick question," he said. "Did you get into trouble for spending time with Daniel? You knew about the murders but didn't report them to the authorities."

  "I was busted for being an accomplice even though I never actually witnessed anything. All I heard were stories after the fact." Mackey sounded bitter. "Three years in juvenile hall and three more years in grown-up prison. And that was after I testified against Daniel. I'm still working at places like this because I'm a felon." He kicked a goose turd.

  "Did Daniel have special rituals?" Alfred said.

  Mackey turned to the psychologist. "Sure. Everything was a ritual with him. Once he figured out what he liked, he never changed. His habits drove me crazy sometimes."

  "What about rituals specific to the killings?"

  "He went through a whole purification ceremony before each one. Afterwards, he performed atonement." Mackey shuddered. "That could get nasty."

  "Could you be more specific, please?"

  "I can't remember... hold on. I think I have a scrapbook from those days. It might describe a ceremony."

  "You do?" Haymaker said. "You never mentioned it during your testimony."

  "I didn't tell everything in court," Mackey said. "The scrapbook might be at my house, if I still have it."

  "Can we go look right now?"

  "Sure. Stopping a serial killer is more important than cleaning up goose poop."

  * * *

  Virgil stepped out of his car. He was in a trailer park in Wheaton, although the mobile homes were nicer than the ones he remembered from his day. Some were as big as regular houses. Grass, hedges, and gardens softened their appearance. One home was even two stories tall, and it had been constructed by stacking one double-wide trailer on top of another.

  Mackey's trailer was more typical of a mobile home in terms of size. It had pale yellow siding and brown trim. A wooden porch had been separately constructed and attached. A big bay window extended from the end of the home.

  Mackey had driven his own pickup truck to his home. Haymaker's car and the team car were parked behind the truck in a short driveway. Everybody walked over to the front door, and Mackey let the team inside.

  The interior of the mobile home was small but clean and well organized. Brown wood-like paneling covered storage cabinets hung from the ceiling. Built-in couches and chairs had matching brown pillows. Gauzy curtains hung over the windows provided some privacy.

  "Wait here," Mackey said.

  He went into the back of the trailer. Virgil heard things being moved around, and he presumed Mackey was searching for the scrapbook.

  "This investigation is taking a long time," Lisa whispered. "All this driving back and forth and talking to people is wearing my ass out."

  "We've been at it for less than two days," Virgil said. "Tracking down a serial killer normally takes months if not years."

  "Daniel could be killing another kid right now." She clenched her fists angrily.

  "I think we're making excellent progress," Alfred said. "We know who the killer is. We have deep insight into his background and motivation. We know exactly what kind of victims he chooses and why. It seems like we've already overcome the biggest hurdles."

  "Yes," Sara said. "I've worked on cases that took ten years to solve. Every investigation progresses at its own pace. One must be patient. At least we don't have to bother with a trial this time."

  Virgil nodded. "We just have to find Daniel and blow him away."

  He thought about Furies' Bane which was packed in the trunk of his car. It was wrapped in towels so it wouldn't slide around and get damaged. He wished he could test fire the weapon to see how it worked, but it only had one bullet. That single shot would have to count.

  "And then we go back to Hell," Lisa said somberly.

  "Maybe we'll get extra credit for being good soldiers," Virgil said. "They might move us to a nicer part of Limbo."

  "Are there nice parts?"

  "A demon told me about some pagans who have it pretty easy. Their religion kept them out of Heaven, but they're good people otherwise. They have their own kingdom in Limbo. They throw part
ies and everything."

  Lisa smiled slightly. "I guess that wouldn't be too bad. I can deal with pagans."

  Mackey came out with a notebook. Purple velvet had been glued onto the cover, but the velvet had worn off in spots.

  "I can't believe I still have this," he said. "It's amazing it didn't get lost."

  "May I?" Alfred held out his hand.

  Mackey gave him the notebook. Alfred opened it and began to read eagerly.

  After a minute, Virgil said, "Well? What does it say?"

  "The material is intensely personal," Alfred said. "Most of it is none of your business."

  "But you get to read it?"

  "I'm a professional psychologist. I'm accustomed to dealing with very private matters."

  Virgil frowned.

  Alfred looked up at Mackey. "How would you describe your relationship with Daniel? Was it loving? Did he control you?"

  Lisa's eyes widened. "Wait, do you mean they, uh...?"

  "He was definitely in charge," Mackey said, "but I don't want you to think being a serial killer and being gay have anything to do with each other."

  "Of course not," Alfred said. "I've met serial killers of all persuasions, but in this particular case, the two characteristics are related. Daniel's father was a traditional preacher, and I'm sure he spoke about homosexuality in the harshest terms. No doubt the father's sermons filled Daniel with profound guilt when he was a young man. That exacerbated feelings of alienation and contributed to his pathology. It's a great pity the father wasn't a more loving and accepting parent. Many lives would've been saved." Alfred sighed.

  Nobody spoke for a moment.

  As a U.S. Marshal, Virgil had only dabbled in criminal psychology. His job had been to catch the bad guys, not understand them. He was gaining an uncomfortable amount of insight into Daniel's motivation. The killer thought he was a hero. He was taking on sin to help his victims get to Heaven quicker. If the goal of life was achieving the right kind of afterlife, then perhaps, Daniel truly was doing a good thing.

  That line of thinking put Virgil's mission in a different perspective. Heaven and Hell were competing for human souls. The battle between Good and Evil would ultimately be decided by the number each side collected. Daniel was tilting the game in Heaven's favor by removing opportunities for sin. The lords of Hell had very selfish reasons for wanting Daniel back.