Blood Web: Caitlin Diggs Series #1

by Gary Starta

  The line where the flood victim ended and the crystal-quartz-enhanced man began was becoming less and less defined thanks to a local power source known as Ouachita Mountain. The range, located just west of Little Rock, is considered a mystical location among Native American tribes. Shamans have long traveled to power points on the mountain because they find the Earth’s energy to be the strongest there thanks to an abundance of pink quartz crystal. But Shenk did not have to stop here for the pendant to harness the mines’ power. The pendant acted as a remote control, nourishing itself with waves of invisible light cast from the stones, miles and miles away.

  The crystal had been fed. Now it was Shenk’s turn. It was part of the bargain, to keep man and crystal closely connected in a tapestry of neural networks and biochemical energy flow.

  Shenk took an exit at Augusta in search of a way to recharge his neurotransmitters. Here he found a Shop Easy supermarket. A sign in the store window proudly boasted they had the best deli west of the Mississippi River.

  No one paid Shenk much attention until he asked the deli clerk to slice him twenty pounds of turkey breast. Customers standing adjacent to Shenk craned their heads in wonder. The killer did not know if they were amazed by the quantity of his request or by his accent. Shenk had decided to hide his Texas drawl in the context of a German accent. His request for turkey sounded something like this: “und need sum sol-iced tear-key.”

  The counter man responded politely. “Sure thing, sir. I bet you’re having a party. What’s the occasion?”

  Shenk did not take kindly to the interrogation from the portly counter person who barely fit into his apron and red-checkered shirt. He stared in silence, fighting the urge to act like the old Shenk—the rebellious kid who would bite someone’s head off for asking the simplest question.

  In an attempt to ease the awkward situation, a second counter man wearing black-rimmed spectacles intervened.

  “Hey, I’ve got a fresh batch of sauerkraut for your party. I bet your guests would love some. Are they from Germany too?”

  The old Shenk was fighting to urge to tell the four-eyed man where he could shove the sour cabbage. A brief flash from the past tried to invade his cerebral cortex. But the crystal, acting like an anti-virus software program, blocked it. The image was his mother. She was putting a bowl of food on a picnic table adorned with a checkered tablecloth. The tabletop reminded Shenk of the counter man’s shirt. But the image along with his memory instantaneously vanished.

  Shenk answered the man somberly. “No, ve vill not be need-en dat, no more.”

  The crowd of customers as well as the store’s employees decided it was time to can the hospitality. The employee with the picnic table shirt jabbed his elbow into his colleague’s ribcage. “Why don’t we just leave the kid alone?” he whispered.

  The men packed the order in silence until the strange man with the shaved head and German accent had left the vicinity.

  “Well, don’t that beat all?” the fat man exclaimed.

  “Yeah, sure gives me another reason to keep the doors locked at night.”

  “Hey,” said the fat man. “Do ya think he’s the Arrowhead Killer?”

  “Nah,” said the optically challenged man. “What murderer goes around asking for twenty pounds of sliced turkey?”

  The portly gentleman nodded in agreement. After serving the last customer, he headed for the stockroom whistling the tune “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

  Shenk proceeded to the candy aisle to buy five two-pound boxes of assorted chocolates. The promise of seratonin and sugar comforted Shenk. He even smiled at the checkout clerk when she suggested he have a nice day.

  ***

  Gallagher’s was packed with men in Armani suits and woman in black dresses. The sounds of tinkling glass and loud conversation roared like thunder, catching Agent Rivers off guard. She had never experienced a restaurant quite like this back in Pittsburgh. But she yearned to. Her closet was full of upscale clothes she rarely ever wore. Back in Pennsylvania, most people dressed casually. Here in DC, Rivers observed people were dressed to impress. Rivers fantasized about wardrobe while drinking in the DC atmosphere.

  She was finally working in the nation’s capital, rubbing elbows with other professionals. Rivers surmised many of the men and women surrounding her were lawyers and executives. They all had an air of confidence. She could hear snippets of their conversations while seated at the bar. Men bragged about deals. The women made jokes about their bosses.

  Rivers found fifteen minutes had passed in seconds. Her observations had entertained her while she waited for Hoyt to arrive. He had made dinner reservations for them at seven o’clock; however, he was running late. Rivers informed the hostess that she was just meeting him here for a business dinner. Rivers did not want anybody to think she was out on a date. The very mention of the word sometimes made her skin crawl. Rivers’ mind began to fixate on etiquette and relationship protocol. She wondered how pricey the meals were here, because she had no intention of letting Hoyt treat her. Rivers did not want to give the pathologist any reason to believe their meeting was anything but professional. She now was quite aware of Hoyt’s intentions. She knew his interest in her went beyond a resemblance to Halle Berry.

  Rivers had casually dated during her tenure at the field office, but that all ended when she became promoted to special agent. Rivers daydreamed about meeting a special man. Yes, maybe when she was in her mid-thirties she would consider pairing with a partner. But for right now, Rivers did not need such distractions.

  Although her exterior portrayed a young woman brimming with confidence, her internal chemistry was another matter. She often found the presence of a handsome gentleman caused her body heat to rise. It also made her heart beat rapidly. She knew she couldn’t maintain a relationship and a high-demand job at the same time. While waiting for Hoyt, she reflected if the pathologist had ever caused her face to flush or her heart to skip faster. The answer was no. At least she knew she was safe. All she had to do was keep Hoyt in his place. Still, the agent had to admit that Hoyt was quite capable of picking a good eatery.

  Two minutes later, Rivers experienced a tap on her shoulder. It was Hoyt. He sure didn’t look like the man back in the FBI lab. He was wearing an avocado-colored, three-piece suit. His hair was slicked back. But most striking was the absence of his glasses. Rivers surmised he was wearing contacts. For a moment, Rivers thought her heart fluttered; however, her sensible side reasoned this was due to Hoyt sneaking up on her.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late. The traffic from Quantico was bumper to bumper.”

  The agent set a plan in motion. Get away from the bar, it makes you appear as if you’re a couple, a small voice told her.

  She briskly walked to their table, Hoyt hurried behind in pursuit. He almost missed the opportunity to pull her chair out for her.

  Rivers began talking before Hoyt could sit. “So what are your theories on the extreme seratonin levels?”

  Hoyt smoothed the wrinkles from his suit and ran his left hand along the back of his neck before responding.

  “I think we can rule out cancer. I know you theorized that was a possibility when we spoke on the phone.” Rivers sat there waiting for him to finish. She spread a napkin across her skirt.

  Hoyt made sure he validated Rivers’ assessment. He folded his hands before him and looked as if he was about to deliver the State of the Union address. “I am in strong agreement with you, Deondra.” He cupped his hand over his mouth to clear his throat. “And I want to say it’s so nice to work with an agent who knows what the Periodic Table of Elements is.”

  The small voice in Rivers’ head began to speak again. He does score some points for knowing what a lady likes to hear.

  Rivers couldn’t stand to see Hoyt in pain any longer. She spoke before he could. “If the levels aren’t being caused internally, maybe it’s external. Has your trace lab been able to find just what caused the brand marks?”

  Hoyt smiled uncomfor
tably. “I’m afraid our case load is too heavy right now. That analysis has been put on the back burner. But I don’t think the brand was caused by anything containing radiation if that’s what you mean Deondra—I mean Agent Rivers.”

  “You can call me Deondra,” Rivers responded. Her voice purred in a velvety tone, and her eyes sparkled in the restaurant’s dim lighting. The visual penetrated Hoyt’s occipital lobe. He wasn’t sure about the brand analysis, but he was sure he heard romantic interest in the agent’s response. But Hoyt couldn’t bet his life on it. Only the one who wore the crystal could be sure of people’s true intentions. Unfortunately for the restaurant patrons, Hoyt included, no such device was around to aid them.

  The folly of miscommunication and mixed signals thrived in a place like Gallagher’s. As the drink flowed, people’s perceptions of themselves and others became altered. Interpretations of what their partner wanted or needed was often flawed as evidenced by a couple sitting in the booth ahead of Hoyt and Rivers. “After ten years of marriage, you can’t remember I hate sea food?” The woman with the short-cropped brown hair challenged what appeared to be her forty-something-year-old husband. He sat there dumbfounded and embarrassed while the waitress tried to mediate the situation with a smile. “That’s alright,” the waitress continued, “the gentlemen in the corner keeps sending me free drinks every night even though he knows I can’t accept them while on duty.” She then bent closer to the angry couple as if her secret would transform their moods. “I wouldn’t shake his hand, never mind go out with him. But apparently, he thinks there’s some kind of vibe between us. Silly, isn’t it? We couldn’t read another person’s thoughts if our lives depended on it.”

  Rivers had involuntarily eavesdropped due to the proximity of the booth. Her mouth started to dry from anger. This wasn’t any kind of place to conduct an analysis. She would not tolerate outside distractions. She thought of getting up and leaving, but she was too committed to her case. The truth was, if she didn’t confer with Hoyt right here and now, she might never be able to correctly profile the killer from blood analysis.

  Her time at the lab was rushed for a reason she was yet to fathom. It wasn’t just because FBI heads wanted a quick answer to save face with the public. It was because certain people didn’t want Rivers to discover such an anomaly on her very first case as a special agent. Connah Hainsworth, on behalf of his friend, didn’t need Rivers to discover the paranormal capabilities of the crystal. All they needed was for Agent Diggs to follow the breadcrumb trail and allow Colonel Wolvington a chance to confiscate the crystal for reverse engineering.

  But they didn’t plan on Rivers’ tenacity. She lived to solve cases using biochemical analysis—even if people thought the worst: she was out on a date.

  Undaunted by the lab’s unwillingness to fully examine the findings, Rivers began to theorize. “Maybe the killer—or killers—are voluntarily ingesting a drug of some sort to continually restore their seratonin levels. They may very well suffer from Seratonin Deficiency Syndrome or “SDS.” If so, they may be overdosing on some type of a natural aid made from amino acids or possibly taking some kind of prescription antidepressant medication to boost the levels.”

  Hoyt tried to comfort himself by adjusting his glasses, but that crutch had been taken away in the name of vanity. Rivers almost spit out the swallow of mineral water in her mouth at his spastic grasp at thin air. Hoyt silently cursed himself for wearing the contacts. He attempted to drown his anger by taking a long sip of lager, but it only made him wince. He quickly engaged in conversation to deflect his awkwardness.

  “A person who has trouble producing seratonin is generally diagnosed as depressed or bipolar. It sure would fit the profile of a serial. However, if this person or persons were able to overcome this seratonin deficiency, wouldn’t they be the happiest person on the planet? It doesn’t make sense why they would kill.”

  “We don’t know the specifics of the motives right now. The first kill involved home invasion and theft, but it looks like the second kill may have more out of self-defense. The killer’s levels could have dropped below normal during either of those occasions that would result in violence.”

  “Even so, I have never measured levels so high,” Hoyt pointed out. “I’m sure you know that adequate seratonin levels can induce sleep, but at this rate, the subject would have to be sleepwalking to conduct even the most mundane tasks. He should be out cold 24/7 with that much seratonin surging through him.”

  Rivers thought to herself. Sleepwalking. Sleep waking. Does this explain how a seriously injured man may have survived several fatal stabbings?

  Rivers didn’t want to expound upon such unorthodox theories with Hoyt at this juncture. If she did, it might signal intimacy. And Hoyt did not need any encouragement there. Hoyt reminded Rivers of a cat who incessantly rubbed against your legs, because he craved your company. Yet, right now, the big cat was her best link to the pathology lab.

  “Ed, can you reexamine the blood for any trace of natural or artificial substances? Perhaps from there we can determine what catalyst is being used to produce the high seratonin.”

  “Normally it is only policy to conduct such an analysis on the deceased, but for you, I can make it happen.” Hoyt did his best to smile confidently. He knew he had just gone out on a limb and revealed his attraction to Rivers. He braced himself for her reaction. But there was none.

  The pair enjoyed their dinner, despite the nutritional confrontations. Hoyt noshed on steak with fries. Rivers ate wild salmon with asparagus. They discussed parasailing. Deondra recalled life as a student at Quantico. They even sometimes laughed. But was it a date? The analysis was not yet in. But in Hoyt’s mind it was. Rivers allowed him to pay the check. Hoyt proceeded to cancel his parasailing weekend to conduct the requested analysis. Hoyt liked how Rivers made his pulse quicken, deciding it was a much better feeling than soaring over ocean waves. Hoyt’s seratonin levels were on the rise.

  Chapter 17

  Anchor Suzie Cheng’s ratings were slipping. The lull between murders was upsetting to her. After all, the name of her show was American Murders, and since murder was a key component of the show, it sure would help to have another one committed. After the second murder, Suzie tried in vain to lure the mother of the latest Arrowhead victim to the program. “I don’t need the money that bad,” Beatrice Anne Hobson railed at Cheng. “Any son of mine who dies with a bandanna on his head can rot in hell for all I care.”

  Cheng agreed wholeheartedly. “Wouldn’t you love to tell America that? It would be great therapy?”

  Hobson’s response was a dial tone. She hadn’t even heard of Suzie Cheng before. Now, if it were Oprah calling, that would be a different story.

  Desperation is why Cheng ignored her gut instincts and accepted Jake Campbell’s request to come on her show. Cheng needed to fill time, and Jake was a volunteer, ready and willing.

  The old man, who identified himself as Lone Coyote, had a strange timbre in his voice. It was as if he were delusional or paranoid. Cheng liked it, because she thought America would. Suzie did not believe in fact checking to determine just why the public should listen to this Campbell. Cheng conducted the following conversation with her conscience as she looked at her reflection in her car’s rear view mirror on the drive to the studio. So what if he tells a story? It’ll be his reputation, not mine. All I need is one shred of truth in his ranting. That’ll be enough for journalistic credibility. Anyway, what are disclaimers for?

  Suzie did her best to convince her producers that America loves a good conspiracy story. “Look at JFK, Marilyn Monroe, John Lennon.”

  But the final decision came down to money. Campbell waived his right to be paid for the appearance. The producers really liked that one. “Now that’s a patriotic man,” producer Jim Braxton quipped to Cheng during pre-production.

  The producer and Cheng anxiously waited to meet the man behind the voice. “The weirder he looks, the better,” Cheng commented. “In fact, if h
e doesn’t look weird enough, I want a complete overhaul. Notify makeup they may have their work cut out for them.”

  Braxton snickered just as Jake entered the station’s reception area. He suppressed his smile and introduced Suzie. Campbell cupped both of his hands around Cheng’s setting off an internal alarm in the newswoman.

  “How was your trip to DC?” she asked as if she were the welcoming the ambassador for Native Americans.

  “My mind was on business I’m afraid,” Campbell answered pensively.

  “Oh, good. I think he only needs a little touch up,” Suzie whispered to Braxton behind Jake’s back. “He’s a natural paranoid schizophrenic if I ever saw one.” Suzie based her judgment by observing the countless worry lines on Campbell’s face. His unkempt, long, stark gray hair, disheveled clothing, and beaded red and blue necklace also scored points with Cheng.

  Braxton couldn’t help teasing Cheng about her professional assessment. “Oh, and how many paranoid schizophrenics have you been acquainted with Suzie?”

  Suzie was not laughing. Her mind whizzed with ideas. She ordered makeup to have Campbell untie his ponytail. Jake’s long mane of hair reminded her of a rock star from the ’70s.

  “Jake looks more wild that way, as if he’s out of control with his mind. But now that we have the look, we need the dialog to match. Have you gone over his answers to my questions, Jim?”

  Braxton’s face paled. “He refuses to be coached on his answers, Suzie. In fact, he believes any editorializing of his responses constitutes a conspiracy in itself.”

  Suzie dismissed the news, rushing away to find something red, white, and blue to wear.

  Moments later, the camera rolled. Suzie introduced Campbell as a concerned citizen and a psychic. “Mr. Campbell believes the crystal is guiding the Arrowhead Killer. He also believes we’re all in great danger, whether we come into contact with the murderer, or not. Can you please tell us why?”