by J. D. Martin
“Well, if the wife approves it, let’s hope it wasn’t like the last game we had. Simmons went on a hot streak and ran the table pretty quick. The night was over in less than two hours.”
“Simmons…he’s the older guy carrying a few extra pounds around, right?”
“Yeah, that’s him. He can be a card shark when he’s not distracted. I’ll write down my address when we get back and keep an extra seat saved for you.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “In the meantime, we have a witness over there that saw someone fleeing the scene early this morning.”
Falling in stride with my partner, we left the doorway of our victim to speak to a short elderly woman a few doors down. Her silver hair cut a few inches above the shoulder was bright against her coffee skin. It dangled just above the fluffed fabric of the auburn robe that covered most of her baby blue nightgown. On her feet were matching slippers that saved her from the cold tile floor of the hallway. She dabbed her face with a handkerchief that was wet with tears as we approached.
“Ma’am, my name is Alexander Saint and this is my partner Marcus Delgado; we’re the detectives working this case. It’s Ms. Saunders, is it?” She nodded in between sniffles. “I understand that you were the one that found the body?” She nodded again. “Can you tell me how well you knew the victim?”
“Well enough to know that whoever did this has got balls. That’s Danny King in there and he’s a big shot in this neighborhood.” Saying the victim’s name seemed to puff out the woman’s chest.
“You mean Big King?” I asked. “I’ve heard of him, he’s a dealer in this neighborhood.”
“That is police propaganda,” she said in defiance. “Danny assured me that you have never proven anything because there is nothing to prove. You were just attacking a good boy out of hatred.”
“Are you saying that you didn’t know about his drug dealing?” asked Marcus.
“Drug dealing?” she shouted, incredulous. “He was a good Christian boy that wasn’t involved in anything of the sort. Daniel was always incredibly nice to me and made sure the landlord took care of things whenever I had a problem.”
“So, you knew Mr. King well then?” Delgado asked.
“Well enough. He always told me that I reminded him of his Grandma.” She wiped another tear from her eye before continuing, “I’m up at 4am every morning to drop my trash by the door for the morning pickup. When I did it today, I saw a young man come running out of his apartment. Since the door was left open, I walked over to tell him that my heater was on the fritz again. I always told him because Mr. Grotter never listens to me.”
“Mr. Grotter?” I asked.
“He’s the super in the building. Daniel always made sure he took care of things for me. Before that poor boy came along, nothing ever got done around here.”
“Ms. Saunders, after you saw the boy running from the apartment, what happened?” I asked.
“Oh, well I looked in on him to get my heater fixed and found him tied to that chair covered in blood.” Reliving the events caused her eyes to flood over again. She whimpered as she wiped at her nose.
“Can you describe the man you saw coming out of King’s apartment?” asked Marcus.
“He was a white boy with dark hair. I don’t think he could have been older than sixteen. I didn’t see much of him when he ran out because my vision isn’t what it used to be. You understand.” I nodded.
“After I saw poor Danny there in all that blood, I called 911. Now you’re here asking me questions,” she said with anger growing in her voice. “How about you get to work and find the fucker who did this?” I stifled back a laugh. It wasn’t the place to find humor, but when a senior citizen started cursing it always caught me off guard. There is always this image in my head of the older generation being proper, but in reality, they are just as human as the rest of us.
Clearing my throat to hide my laughter, I pulled a card out of my pocket and handed it to her. “We’ll do everything we can, ma’am. But if you think of anything else about what you saw, please call me.” Taking the card, she nodded and went back in her apartment blowing her nose into the handkerchief.
“Hard to believe someone getting so worked up over a man like Danny King,” said Marcus. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.” Seeing Delgado’s eyes dart up, I turned to see that forensics had finished their work around King’s body. We could now begin working the room, so I chugged the rest of my coffee and gave the empty cup to a uniform and asked him to toss it in my car. I wouldn’t want my trash getting mixed up with anything found at the crime scene.
Marcus and I were each handed a pair of fresh gloves as we entered to make our first sweep of the scene. First thing I noticed was one of the lab techs working on a wall in the kitchen. Red streaks spelled out “Ex malo bonum”, which we already knew was Latin for Good out of Evil from all the previous crime scenes. If the killer held true to his history, we’d also find that it was written in the victim’s own blood.
“I’d say that Latin and sharp blades are our killers M.O.” said Marcus.
“Going on five years now,” I added.
“So, what exactly is the deal with all the Latin? We’ve never figured that part out.” I turned to see the question coming from Captain Hawthorne standing in the doorway.
Delgado was the first to chime in, “Well, what do most people think of when you bring up Latin? For me, it’s always the Catholic Church coming to mind.”
“Please don’t tell me your theory is that the church is behind these murders,” I laughed. “We’ll put an APB out on the pope as soon as we get back to the precinct. I’ll have Simmons put a call into the arch bishop to see what he knows.”
“What are you thinking Marcus?” asked Hawthorne.
“Well, captain, what I mean is that you don’t hear Latin in common practice very often. The first place that came to my mind was the Catholic Church. Don’t they still do service in Latin at some locations?”
“I believe so,” she said. “What’s your point?”
“Could it be a religious action on the part of our killer? Obviously not acting on behest of the actual church, so you can hold the APB on the Pope,” he said looking at me. “But maybe he thinks he’s doing something helpful. Is it possible that our killer thinks he is using the Judgment of God and acting as his hand in punishing these men?”
Picking up on what my partner was getting at, I chimed in with “Do you mean our killer thinks he is like the archangel Michael or something?”
“I hadn’t thought of it exactly like that, but perhaps. How else do you explain the Latin? He is marking the corrupt before offering up the ultimate judgment on their souls.”
The Captain looked a little puzzled, “You’ll have to help me since I’m not up to date on my Catholic Mythology.”
Helping her out, Marcus told her, “Michael is an archangel in the bible who was like a warrior of God. In the Book of Revelation, he led the armies of heaven against the Satan in a battle of good vs. evil. He helped cast Lucifer and anybody that followed him into hell. I know it’s a lot of faith-based ideas, but it fits what we know so far, doesn’t it? This modern-day archangel feels these men have committed evil acts in God’s eyes and he’s punishing them for it.”
“Lex talionis,” I said. Both Delgado and Stacey looked at me. “It means the law of retaliation; it’s like an eye for an eye.” The blank stares continued so I smiled and added, “After all these murders, I’ve learned some Latin as well.”
“Yeah, the law of retaliation; that sounds exactly like what could be going on here. They took a life so our killer is taking theirs,” said Marcus with enthusiasm.
“So, you think that our killer is doing this based on his religious beliefs? I’m not sure you have enough evidence to support that theory,” I stated. “Are there other reasons he could be using Latin?” Captain Hawthorne shot me a look.
“Yeah,” said Delgado. “I guess you’re right, but
it does fit.”
“Regardless,” Captain Hawthorne interjected, “follow whatever leads you think are sound and let me know what you find.”
“We’ll keep at it Captain and see what develops,” I said.
“Okay guys, keep me informed,” she said, leaving the apartment and heading back down the hall.
Once she was far enough down the hall I turned to Marcus, “So does that mean you’re going to start calling him the Catholic Avenger?”
“That sounds like it’d be catchy in a comic book, but I don’t want to paint this guy as a hero.”
Somewhat stunned, I looked back at my partner. “Are you saying you’ve decided you’re not a fan of our vigilante?” Before I could get a response, we were interrupted.
“I’ve got a partial over here!” exclaimed a tech who’d been working the blood stains on the kitchen wall. “It’s at the bottom of the X.”
Both of us rushed to his side and peered down at where he indicated. I was shocked because we’d never found a shred of evidence on our killer. The entire department had grown accustomed to playing janitor duty. We simply cleaned up the mess, but suddenly it seemed we had a legitimate clue. I told him to have the lab process it through the system immediately. If there was an actual lead on this murder, then there was work to do.
The rest of the scene was expected, so we left the apartment for the precinct. A few hours later, we received word there was a match on our partial. It pointed to a seventeen-year-old boy named Bradley Thompson who’d spent time in Juvenile Hall for possession. According to his file, he’d been working as one of Big King’s suspected mules for a few years, and had recently been released after another stint inside juvie to cover for Big King. It was yet another time that the employee took the heat for the employer. It was enough to aggravate anyone with a badge, but it’s possible that Thompson had served his last sentence for King.
Released two months ago, his counselor had had high hopes that Bradley would keep his nose clean. While his nose may be clean, it appeared that his hands weren’t. Pulling in front of the address that his parole officer had on file, Delgado and I exited my SUV to approach his doorstep.
The neighborhood was populated with single-floor, cookie-cutter homes on the west side of the street and various two-floored models on the east. Standing on Thompson’s front porch, I could see five other homes that had been boarded up when repossessed. It was a deterrent to squatters, but I could see two that I’m sure had already been infiltrated. The dilapidation of the neighborhood was depressing, but that wasn’t our reason for visiting.
Bradley’s home, being on the west side, didn’t have a driveway, so we had parked on the street. A long row of concrete steps led to the covered porch that had brick pillars on either side. The house had wood siding that had been painted white to contrast with the pillars. The porch was screened in to keep out bugs, but it was unsuccessful since the screen door was missing. The entrance had a plain white door with a half-moon window near the top. A black cast-iron security door was attached over it that was commonplace in the neighborhood.
Marcus rang the doorbell with no response. After the third ring, a woman finally answered, “What the hell do you want?”
“Ma’am, I am Detective Delgado and this is my partner Detective Saint. We’re looking for Bradley Thompson. Are you his mother?”
“Yeah, what are you people accusing him of now?”
“He is a person of interest in one of our investigations. Is he home?”
As Marcus focused on Ms. Thompson, I noticed a boy hiding behind a row of shrubs along the edge of the property. His eyes watched us unblinkingly. Glancing at the photo we had and back at the boy, I turned towards him. “Bradley Thompson?”
Without hesitation, Bradley turned and bolted away in full sprint. Delgado turned his head in time to see his back running away. “Damn it,” he said, “can’t anybody just cooperate instead of turning this into a marathon?”
“Everybody runs,” I said, bounding down the steps towards the sidewalk. Running to catch up, the two of us sprinted around the corner in pursuit of our suspect. He came back into view when we saw him hopping a fence into a backyard about five houses down. Getting to the chain link just in time to see the runner hop the back, privacy fence, we both followed after him. The fence at the rear of the property hadn’t been as easy to scale as it was over five feet high, but I had worked my way up and rolled over the top.
As I landed, I spotted Bradley trying to make it across a busy street in a personal game of Frogger. With Marcus not far behind me, I ran into the street to catch him just as a semi nearly smashed me as it rumbled by. The horn blared as it passed, causing Thompson to look back and see us still on his tail. He was already on the other side and took off down an alley. It took a moment, with vehicles passing us at over 40MPH, but we finally entered the alley where we lost sight of him.
At the other end, another street to cross that had slowed Bradley down. That is where I found him struggling to find a way to cross over. “Watch where you’re going, asshole,” someone yelled as their car passed him. Without slowing, we both exploded out of the alley just as Bradley threw a hail mary and ran full bore across the four lanes of traffic. With luck on his side, he made it across and disappeared over another privacy fence.
Pulling out my badge and holding it up as I stepped into traffic, I was able to get vehicles to come to a stop for us to cross. On the other side of the street, we scaled the fence where we’d last seen him and found two directions he could have gone. We stood in another alley that went straight through to a different row of houses, but halfway down was a left turn into the parking lot by the market.
With two choices, I ran towards the next neighborhood while Marcus went to the market. When I got to the row of houses, I looked in all directions and didn’t see any sign of Thompson. I strained my eyes trying to find the smallest bit of movement that I could attribute to a fleeing suspect. Taking a gamble, I turned left and continued up through the homes in hopes of getting lucky.
At the next cross street, I was joined by Delgado who had continued over from the marketplace. As he approached me trying to catch his breath, he shook his head. We stood there another few minutes looking around, but it was pointless. We lost him.
After exhausting our resources on finding Mr. Thompson, we released the information to the press to see if the Tips Hotline would be able to get us a lead on his location. Marcus and I sat with Captain Hawthorne and a few others at the precinct watching the evening news broadcast. We were waiting to see the story on Bradley so we could be ready if any calls came in immediately after the story ran. The plan was to give it an hour before we all went home.
While we waited, we had sandwiches delivered from the deli a few blocks down. Although we were all there to work, that didn’t mean we had to skip dinner. I hadn’t eaten much the entire day, so I was starving. The food arrived just before the TV went to commercial. “Our next story is about a man the police need your help in finding,” said the anchor. “Have you seen Bradley Thompson? We’ll have more on this after the break.”
During the commercials, Hawthorne dished out the sandwiches and I brought in some sodas from the break room fridge. I placed them all on my desk so everyone could grab what they wanted as I sat down and peeled the paper back on my sub. It was warm in my hands and the smell consumed me before I could finish opening it. Inside was parmesan chicken with marinara sauce, mozzarella, and oregano on wheat bread. I was like a ravenous animal as my teeth sank into the sandwich. The bite was getting washed down with a root beer when I heard the broadcast return with the story on Thompson.
“Police need your help in finding Bradley Thompson. He is a seventeen-year-old white male with shoulder length brown hair that escaped custody this afternoon. Mr. Thompson is a suspect in the death of Danny King who was found in his apartment early this morning suspected to have been murdered by the Blood Week killer.”
“Could Mr. Thompson be the man behi
nd these murders? That is what police need your help to find out. If you have seen Thompson please call the Tips Hotline at--” The anchor suddenly stopped talking to the camera as he listened to his earpiece.
“Wait...what?” he said, clearly trying to sort out new information coming to him. There was a short pause as the anchor listened further to the voice speaking through his ear bud.
“Uhh this just in, Bradley Thompson has just called into our station and would like to say something to the police. Bradley, you’re on live…” I nearly choked on my sandwich and coughed a few times to clear my throat. We all placed our food aside to catch every word of the broadcast.
“Yes, my name is Bradley Thompson. I want to say that I didn’t kill Big King, and I have nothing to do with the Blood Week stuff. I’ve never killed anybody.”
“Bradley, we’re told you ran from the police today. If you aren’t the killer, why did you run?”
“I ran because...well...it didn’t have anything to do with Big King. He was already dead when I found him. I didn’t kill him, but I saw the man who did.”
Chapter 11
“Call the news station now!” said Hawthorne. “Get the number for Bradley’s call so we can trace.” As one of the other detectives called the station to acquire the number, the rest of us continued watching.
The anchor continued, “Mr. Thompson, can you tell us who you saw?”
“Hell no! I’m not going to get myself killed by snitching. All I wanted to say was that I ain’t the one that did it.” There was sharp static that came over the line followed by silence.
“Mr. Thompson, are you still there?” The anchor asked again, but there was nobody on the line with him. “Ladies and gentlemen, it appears that Mr. Thompson is no longer on with us. As always, we bring you breaking news here first. We’ll have more after--” I turned away from the television and walked to the detective that had been on the phone with the network.
“Great, thanks,” he said as I came up next to her. She saw me approach as she hung up the phone, “Saint, we’ve got his number. It’s a cell phone.”
