by Lotta Smith
I stopped. I couldn’t continue my little speech. I didn’t have a heart to say she might be dead. A mere imagination of the worst case scenario scared the bejeezus out of me.
“Chill,” He said coolly. “Karen is a smart kid, maybe a bit too smart for her own good. I don’t think she’s in match of danger. Oh, and why don’t you go to the bathroom and wash your potty mouth before the British tabloids gets the wind of your latest rant and start having a field day?”
“Excuse me? When you’ve got an eight-year-old going MIA, it’s generally considered a helluva crisis. Has it ever occurred to you that she went to nail Eyeball Snatcher and…?”
“I get your point, but I’ve got some logical explaining to suspect that she has disappeared on her own will. For starter, she was desperate to avoid going to the summer camp. Secondly, Karen doesn’t fit the typical victims’ profile Eyeball Snatcher had picked up so far. None of her physical features including her age, body shape, build, hair color, eye color doesn’t go with the killer’s type. Also, the MO has gotten bloodier, violent and more dramatized as the killer’s obtained more experience in killing.
“Remember the latest murder of Dr. Stewart? The crime scene was gruesome, nothing short of a blood bath. There was no attempt to hide, conceal, or cover up the violent atrocity. These factors are strong indicators that now the killer’s ready to show off and newly killed corpse would be shown off to the public. It is broadly understood that most serial killers tend to seek more attention as the body count surges. So it’s good news that we have no news about Karen, if that makes difference.”
He shot the white ball with the pool stick. Colorful balls labeled with numbers ‘1’ to ‘15’ scattered and fell into the pockets on the table. Okay, I’m no expert of pool games. All those pool-related jargons are all Greek to me.
“Are you sure Karen’s safe?” I asked. “That’s why you’re toying with color balls in this game room instead of seriously solving Karen’s missing and serial murders in the office or the field?” So it’s a free country and Archangel has a game room adjacent to the office, he has every right to play pool, except it didn’t seem right.
“For your information, sometimes the best possible option is just to wait.”
“Wow, news flash.” I rolled my eyes.
For me, his reply sounded like a big ungrounded excuse. The more relaxed he seemed, the more jittering I had become. It felt as if he didn’t seem to care about Karen’s safety because there was not much he could do to save her at this moment.
He put the stick on the pool table and ambled into the office.
“In addition, here’s another someone who supports my point of view.” With a snap of a wrist, he switched on the flat screen TV with the remote and a recorded program started running. In the screen, a very old woman with Russian accent was talking to a middle-aged woman. With teary eyes and blotchy face, this middle-aged woman seemed hopelessly upset. The old woman was telling the agitated woman that her beloved daughter was alive and safe, and that she should not torment herself anymore.
“Dahling, I am sensing her vibe. Shee iiz unhurt.”
“It’s a psychic show,” I pointed out, “and it looks like one of the phony psychic shows.”
“It’s a psychic show, but not one of them phony or crappy stuffs. The old lady is Tasha the psychic and she’s talking with Karen’s mother. Rest assured, as this old lady’s saying, Karen’s safe.” My employer said proudly.
“Oh my God, you’re truly stressed out. Give me the phone number of your psychiatrist. I’m calling the doctor.”
“Forget it, Kelly. I’m one hundred percent sane and healthy. And don’t judge people solely based on their occupation. I know more than ninety-nine percent of so called psychics are fraud but then again, Tasha happens to be one of the real ones.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, since indeed, I was very unsure.
“Yeah. There were times I collaborated with her. Okay, so at first, I thought she was just a fraud when I met her in the past.” He said. “It’s hard to provide logical explanations about the legitimacy of psychic skills but everything she said turned out to be correct, and she wasn’t the one responsible for the crime. Some events do occur with no justifiable reasons.”
I was getting jittery. Eyeball Snatcher was yet to be captured, Karen’s whereabouts and whatever or whoever responsible for Karen’s AWOL remained unknown. I didn’t like the current situation that an eyeball-snatching freak was walking freely while an eight-year-old girl was missing.
Archangel returned the cue stick to the holder by the wall. “Feds and the local police are fully covering the candle gathering tonight. And we’ll be there.”
“Okay,” I gulped, and hoped that I didn’t make much of a big noise.
I knew Archangel wasn’t the kind of a person who attends the vigil just to be courteous, and pray that Karen is safe and returns unharmed. Not that he doesn’t care a missing girl’s well-being so much as bellybutton lint. It’s just that he’s super-practical and gets super-fast when seeing an opportunity to nail the killer and close the case, but refuses to take any action as twitching a muscle otherwise. It’s a mystery that a guy who goes to gym on a regular basis and conducts all sorts of physical exercises can be so lazy. The world is indeed full of mysteries.
Chapter 22
The assembly was held in a moderate sized church just three blocks away from Karen’s address. Several dozens of reporters were frocking at the entrance, asking questions to anyone with a pulse, trying to squeeze out quotes, probably they intended to use quotes for nine o’clock news.
I tried to observe those who attended the vigil with as much intensity as possible. Considering that Archangel was so eager to come to this gathering, something should be happening tonight, though I had no idea what that particular something was. Maybe there’s Eyeball Snatcher discreetly attending the vigil like an innocent well-wisher, secretly laughing at people pray for something they have no control.
Many people including the pastor of the church, the high school principal, teachers, and friends and classmates gave words to the crowd. I wished Karen was there and listened to their speeches so that she can be assured that everybody loves her and wants her back unharmed. Even though Karen never mentioned but I felt that she was seriously in need of assurance that she is beautiful and perfect as she was. I’m no genius like her, but I had my share of going through high school.
The highlight of the event was the speech by Karen’s mother. It was touching and many people including myself had to fish a hankie out of the purse. I know it’s highly unprofessional to get too emotional with a certain case. But I couldn’t help it. She even offered her daughter a whole summer trip to Disney World. When her husband tried to lighten up the mood by mentioning that his wife was trying to be funny, she literally smacked Karen’s father-in-law square in the jaw, knocking him out. Again, Karen should have been here.
Other than that, it seemed like nothing major or significant was happening. It was a night of prayers that peace, happiness and normal life be restored to Karen, her family, and the community.
At that moment, I didn’t know it was a fatal night that Frederick Reynolds, a.k.a. Yves the musician had was found dead at his music studio in Arlington, Virginia. He left a suicide note confessing he had murdered Leonie Ganong, Alice Sinclair, and Julia Stewart…
And Karen Andrews.
Chapter 23
Deceptively delicious was everything.
Everything went easily, so smoothly. No one casts doubt.
In retrospect, what happened so unexpectedly and inconvenient turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
No one, not even a soul questions the legitimacy of Yves’s suicide note confessing of quadruple murders. No one gives a damn about eyeballs poked out of the victims. When you’re caught red-handed and dead, it’s hard to argue against the accusation, how wrong and stupid it may be.
Now it is a solid fact that Frederick Reynolds a.k.a. Yves was
the serial killer with the notorious nickname ‘Eyeball Snatcher’ who had killed three women and a little girl who could have been a great asset to the entire world.
What a shame.
No one dares to argue with the “fact” that Reynolds is responsible for all the crimes.
His corpse was found in the basement music studio of the house in Arlington. He was found dead sitting at the mahogany bar. By the side of his corpse was a note about his fascination with the eyeballs, which ends with “can’t take it anymore” jotted down on crumpled paper. There was also a kids’ size sock soaked with blood of Karen Andrews and other incriminating evidence of murders, such as victim’s wedding ring. Also, an assortment of illicit drugs including but not limited to old fashioned cocaine, heroin, LSD, but newer stuffs like Bath-salt, Smile etc. were found by his corpse. Mixed overdose of chemicals was determined to be the cause of death.
It was crystal clear he had committed a suicide.
I couldn’t help laughing my head off when I heard about the police and the FBI intend to continue to investigate Reynolds’ motives for his crimes, but downsize the task force.
Investigate the motives? Huh. What the difference does that make? Could it resuscitate the dead women?
Anyway, everything is fine and dandy with me and my project.
I had finally found and identified her.
I knew it. I knew it was her who could save my loved one and myself.
She is my savior.
She is my Dragon.
More importantly, she is still alive.
She is so full of life.
Unbelievable…
I couldn’t believe it when I first learned about her past. The Bitch.
Initially, I just felt a vague familiarity from the way she gave a hard stare to the camera.
Indeed, it was a hard stare. I thought I saw a fire in her eyes.
A fire that screams of burning anger, dissatisfaction, and a desire…
A desire to correct wrong and make it right.
Now that I learned about her, I had to take her.
Whatever it takes, I have to get her.
And she is my Dragon Lady, a.k.a. Kelly Kinki.
Maybe I was in love with her.
Catching her is my game and mission.
You have to enjoy it when you play a game.
I haven’t yet come across the best method of obtaining her.
But, one thing was sure: WE ARE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER.
Seriously.
She is my destiny.
Chapter 24
Finally, the identity of Eyeball Snatcher was unveiled. After all, it was Frederick Reynolds, a.k.a. the musician known as Yves. Driver’s license of Leonie Ganong’s, Alice Sinclair’s notebook and wedding ring, and Julia Stewart’s wedding band were found by the side of his lifeless corpse. Along with those items, a large butcher knife with a trace of blood was found in the music studio where he was found dead. The knife was determined to be the murder weapon. The blood on the knife matched victims’ DNA.
The young and emerging musician had grabbed all headlines in the worst possible way. He had allegedly killed himself after all the nasty things he had allegedly committed without so much as an explanation.
So he left a suicide note but he didn’t even bother to confide in the whereabouts of the eyeballs poked out of the victims, or that about Karen. The SOB knows how to be offensive, or what?
All in all, things were not pretty. No, not pretty was an understatement.
Police and the FBI were taking full-blown criticism from all over the nation for failing to arrest Reynolds before he killed himself. Also, Michael Archangel couldn’t dodge his own share of being accused and ridiculed. On top of all that, his consulting contract with the FBI had been just revoked.
Bitchtricia Warshawsky the congresswoman was having a field day, appearing in every talk show to shame Archangel and the FBI publicly. She described Archangel as “a civilian who offers nothing but dressing up silly” and accused the FBI for wasting taxpayer’s hard-earned money on a skirt-wearing freak. One middle-aged talk show host with a giant beer-belly described Archangel as ‘That worthless creep who claims to be a great detective even though the best he can do is appearing like a pathetic faggot,’ and while attending this show, Bitchtricia gave a hearty laugh.
I was so infuriated with their nasty comments so I tried to call the show to make a point that I truly detested his toupee which he claims to be his own real hair. But unfortunately, the line was busy with other angry viewers defending LGBT rights and many individuals and groups of gentlemen expressing pride in their English and/or Scottish heritage, and/or the culture of wearing kilts, with/without makeup; that included but not limited to Axl Rose, who used to wear a quilt on Guns N’ Roses shows decades ago.
Archangel argued that Reynolds was just a convenient scapegoat; that the current turn of events was merely a little piece of a storyline plotted by the true culprit—the mastermind of the crime. There should be someone who framed Reynolds the puppet. Archangel’s theory was partly based on his analysis that whoever committed those horrible murders was a virtuoso of controlling and manipulating others. Considering Reynolds had allegedly been abusing recreational drugs with psychological effects, he was deemed to be a puppet.
He also appealed that the MO of the case involving Karen was completely different from others. Albeit Reynolds had scribbled that he’d done ‘a horrible thing’ to the girl, her body was not found. Besides that, the amount of her blood on the sock was so little. Those factors seemed like strong indicators that there should be someone who used Reynolds as a frame.
In my opinion, Archangel’s argument sounded plausible enough to warrant further investigation to nail the true culprit behind the killing spree. But this time, law enforcement didn’t fancy taking a risk to expose themselves to additional ridicules and accusations like they are wasting taxpayer’s money. So they took the most conservative next step; they declared dead Reynolds as the murderer of four women including Karen Andrew. As if the fact that Karen’s status still being missing in action wasn’t important.
Henderson mumbled that it was still possible that feds could re-launch further investigation if anything new that supported Archangel’s point of view came out. His words totally bewildered me. Hello, FBI, isn’t it the law enforcement folks who are supposed to find the evidence? Talk about an injustice. Still, it didn’t help that alleged murder weapon was covered with Reynolds’s finger prints all over.
This afternoon, Archangel was summoned to the FBI headquarters in the Capitol Hill. I had an eerie feeling for the meeting. When I saw Deputy Director Robert Barlow was with Henderson, I knew it wasn’t good. Barlow told Archangel that he was officially sidelined and after careful evaluation, the feds have reached a conclusion to cancel their contract with him.
Again, Bitchtricia Warshawsky proved her thick skin by crashing the meeting so that she could insult her ex-fiancé and discard Archangel’s opinion in person without even giving ears to him. The only upside of the event was that we’d managed to witness the congresswoman getting hit by raw eggs thrown by several onlookers camping outside of the FBI building. The egg-throwing guys wearing Lolita-inspired Betsy Johnson dresses were immediately apprehended on site, but they had done her a favor. Technically speaking, getting egg stain is not kind to the fabric, but an addition of a bright color (yellow, to be precise) practically perked up the otherwise boring and depressing Chanel suit in funeral black.
Later that day following a massive number of angry emails and calls, the office of Patricia Washawsky released a statement in which the congresswoman apologized for her inappropriate choice of words. In addition, she had expressed herself as an earnest advocate of people’s right to express themselves, regardless of gender, creed, or heritage.
Chapter 25
Archangel’s response to the suspension was subtle. As subtle as a slight raise of one-eyebrow. Still yet, it didn’t mean he was blasé with the turn of
the event.
Since returning to the office, he had been flat on the chaise longue for over two hours. With his arms and legs crossed, he was frowning at an imaginary dust on the ceiling. Did I mention that it was a record-breaking silence with him?
To be honest, I was not happy with the circumstances. Hell no, not at all.
I had to do something. I’d had my share of difference with Michael Archangel. He’s sarcastic. His sense of humor is often too wacked out to share a hearty laugh with, and he shows this bad tendency of treating me like a laughing stock now and then. (OK, that’s a lot of flaws, indeed.)
Still, he was never wrong when it comes to criminal investigation.
Besides that, I needed my current job as his personal assistant. Just because he’s wealthy didn’t mean that he would keep a personal assistant employed, especially when he didn’t need her anymore. Fortunately, his contracts with other domestic and foreign law enforcement were still active. Then again, his reputation needed a facelift in order to keep other contracts active.
As much as I hated to be unemployed, I was getting kind of like fond of my current job. I couldn’t just sit around seeing Michael Archangel’s reputation nosedive.
“How about some tea?” I brought in tea and assorted pastries on a tray, with a hint of lightheartedness (or at least, that’s the spirit I hoped for) in my voice. I might not be an expert in criminal investigation, but I knew one thing for sure: a hot and nice cup of tea helps you a lot when coping with difficulties and hardships life casts in your way. I had a tea when my ex left me for a new woman, when I encountered ill-mannered paparazzi, and when I obtained an inelegant nickname which was still sticking to me. Every time, tea and pastries somehow helped me cope with the situation.
