Blood Web: Caitlin Diggs Series #1

by Gary Starta

  But the colonel would not waste anymore of his precious time interrogating Jake. He ordered another sleek and shiny black limo to take him to the airport. He had to get back east. Hopefully, other sources would be more cooperative.

  ***

  Caitlin Diggs flinched. Her haste had resulted in a burning eyeball. A small drop of shampoo temporarily and painfully blinded her. She had rushed to drive back to her Oklahoma hotel room, leaving Rivers to wait in the downstairs coffee shop while she showered. Her burning eye reminded her of Rivers’ comment concerning adverse chemical reactions, reanimating her fear of encountering Lukas Schenker. What if his blood is lethal?

  She hoped Dudek was getting a handle on the situation, because she had no more time to dwell on biochemistry. She had gotten the call from the Jackson Police Department on her cell a few hours earlier. The lull was officially over. A decapitated head was found on a shoulder of Interstate 40. Its forehead wore the familiar arrowhead branding. The local police had already bagged and tagged evidence samples, photographed the entire crime scene area, and hauled the remains of the victim to the local morgue.

  Diggs was one step away from hyperventilating. The murder had taken her off guard. Her investigation was failing. Determined to regain control of her emotions, she fought to recall her laundry list of things to do as she stepped from the shower stall, dripping wet. She wished Geoffrey were here to scold her for her forgetfulness and then to comfort her. Her naked body longed for it. But then her mind quickly switched gears, latching onto images of Ross Fisher.

  Maybe she could eventually turn to him for future solace. However, the sound of McAllister’s imaginary voice prevailed. It reminded her to empty the belongings from her room, check out, and join Rivers in their latest rental car journey. The clock was ticking. Evidence needed to be examined if there was any hope of preventing another death. Yet Diggs’ gut instinct told her evidence alone wouldn’t stop Schenker. But she hoped Eugene Campbell would.

  She would pick Campbell up on the way. And as crazy as it sounded, she would reserve a Tennessee hotel room for him to work his magic. But first she would meet with Jackson crime scene investigators. As Caitlin towel dried her hair, she wondered which news she would pose to the historian first. The fact that his father had been taken into protective custody, or that she now possessed a lock of hair he could use to physically track the killer.

  To complicate matters further, her partner was still hot and heavy to exclude him as a suspect. She knew Agent Rivers would not back down regarding the DNA sample. Caitlin laughed at the absurdity of the situation. She imagined Eugene sitting in the backseat of her car, sucking on a cotton swab while she pushed the car’s engine to its limits.

  ***

  By the time the agents and Eugene Campbell arrived in Jackson, reporter Ross Fisher’s story about the headless corpse had already graced the front pages of the Tulsa Current. Diggs spotted Fisher sitting in his car outside the city morgue as she pulled the road weary car into the parking lot. How he outpaced them and knew where the meeting would take place was anyone’s guess. But Caitlin did not have time to ponder another mystery. Diggs and Rivers were scheduled to meet with Jackson PD Captain Walt Gilchrist fifteen minutes ago to view what was left of the victim’s body.

  Eugene Campbell had voluntarily joined the investigation after learning that his father had been taken into protection during the interstate journey. Diggs did not push Eugene further concerning his ability to track Schenker—his willingness to assist was silently implied out of concern for his dad.

  Diggs also delayed her request for a DNA sample from Eugene. She already knew what the result would be—the Campbells were in no way a part of the killings. She only had to look into Eugene’s eyes to dispel any suspicions. The news about his father weighed heavily on him. He barely spoke during the ride and kept his head bowed nearly the entire time. Diggs surmised Eugene was reciting every prayer he knew in the hope that his father would be returned safe and sound.

  Caitlin navigated the rental car to Lawrence Evans’ final destination. She leaped out of the car, locking eyes with Fisher who remained seated in his Nissan Sentra. Staring about a millisecond too long, the agent nearly stumbled and fell over a piece of raised concrete of the parking curb. Fighting to regain her composure, Diggs didn’t know if she was mad or infatuated with the reporter—maybe both. Caitlin’s inner being realized most relationships possessed this duality. That her emotional response acted as a litmus test, if she felt this strongly about the man there must be a deeper connection. Unfortunately, there was no time to explore the issue. The agents accelerated their pace to reach the building. Eugene took a moment to reflect on the concrete slabs. They reminded him of headstones and the urgency to find his dad.

  Once inside the morgue, the agents found Captain Gilchrist staring vacantly at a door that led to the body storage lockers. He was bouncing back and forth on his feet, alternating his weight between his toes and heels. Sporting a full head of gray hair, the captain looked sharp for a man in his sixties. Except for laugh lines and crow’s feet, his face did not reflect a lifetime of law enforcement. Maybe that was because there was little crime in Jackson. Diggs took note of the man’s slightly protruding waistline, telling her Gilchrist had spent the better part of his captaincy behind a desk.

  He turned briskly to face them, pulling his hands out of his pant pockets to shake hands.

  “My, we don’t get many visits from the FBI in Jackson, and certainly not from such beautiful ladies.”

  Rivers cringed, focusing her eyes away from Gilchrist. However, Diggs maintained eye contact and smiled. Even a sexist comment was still a compliment when you are a woman nearing your late thirties.

  Gilchrist held the door for the ladies. They filed in with Eugene Campbell trailing behind them. A look of surprise washed over the captain’s face.

  Diggs quickly introduced her entourage. She explained Eugene was accompanying them as a historian, hoping to validate some of the media’s claims about the magic crystal.

  Gilchrist rubbed his nose nervously. Diggs could sense he was uncomfortable about showing the headless body to a pair of women.

  “It’s alright, Captain. Please go ahead and open the drawer.” Gilchirst nodded to Diggs and opened two storage lockers simultaneously. One held a body. The other held a head. “Agents, meet the remains of Mr. Lawrence J. Evans.”

  Rivers eagerly raced over to the head, ignoring the captain’s lame attempt at humor. She had to see the brand marks for herself. She and Hoyt were still baffled as to how the markings were generated. Viewing the sick artwork up close and personal did nothing more to lend any additional insights. Her stomach flipped as her eyes followed what was left of the man’s neckline. She did not recognize any slice or cut marks. Again she would be forced to consider the most implausible explanation: human hands tore off the head.

  “Yep, as you see for yourself, the son of a bitch plum tore his noggin clean off. Looks like he used some pretty wicked elbow grease…yes sir.”

  Diggs felt compelled to translate the captain’s southern jargon for her partner without asking Gilchrist to repeat his comment. “Captain Gilchrist, so you believe the killer was able to separate the victim’s head from the body using only his bare hands?”

  “I have to. The evidence doesn’t support a tool or weapon. Neither was found at the scene. And if this was Schenker, I don’t believe he cared a lick about covering his tracks. If you ask me, a man who leaves a brand mark on a corpse’s head doesn’t care about hiding weapons. He’s proud of his deranged work. Yep, I reckon he summoned his own evil strength to decapitate this man. Our crime lab did uncover some bloody handprints, along with someone’s lip prints, on our vic’s body. Of course, we will be more than happy to share these results with you. Anything to put a stop to this nightmare.”

  “Agreed sir,” Diggs replied. In fact the FBI is now in charge of the investigation. We’re going to need the body, crime scene evidence, and all photos shi
pped to our Quantico lab ASAP.”

  “Happy to comply. To be honest, I’ve got one year to go before retirement and I don’t want to end it with a bang. I’ve enjoyed thirty-five fairly peaceful years of law enforcement in Jackson, and I’d like to keep it that way. But I do have some questions.”

  Diggs cocked her head slightly to indicate she would entertain his queries. Rivers kept her focus on the body, bracing herself for whatever this man might say next.

  “How do you think he burns the crystal markings into their heads?”

  Eugene intervened to Diggs’ horror.

  “I don’t believe the killer is responsible for that. I think energy is cast forth from the crystal to brand the victims.”

  Rivers cleared her throat nervously while Diggs attempted to draw the captain’s attention away from Eugene. Even she was not prepared for such a candid response from the historian, a man who feared entertaining such myths only a week prior.

  “To be honest,” Diggs added, “we’re only running on theories at this juncture. I would request that you do not share these theories with the press. We don’t want to needlessly terrorize the public or tip the killer off regarding how much we know about him.”

  “I appreciate that discretion agent and I’ll respect your request. But aside from the branding, what’s more disturbing to me is the lip marks. Why drink another man’s blood in God’s name?”

  Rivers decided to throw caution to the wind. As long as everyone was theorizing, she would too. “I believe the killer is trying to replenish a chemical dependency. He doesn’t necessarily need the victim’s blood, but what it’s carrying. We found abnormally high levels of seratonin and melatonin in his blood, which we recovered at previous crime scenes. In other words, he’s a junky. Only difference, he can’t get what he needs from a crack pipe or a syringe.”

  “I see,” Gilchrist acknowledged. He thrust his hands back into his pockets and nervously resumed his rocking posture. “I just have one more question. How is he choosing his victims?”

  “We think it has to do with a vendetta concerning the massacring of Cheyenne Indians back in the 1860s.”

  “So this guy sees himself sort of like Charles Bronson in Death Wish?”

  “Yes, sir. Something like that,” Diggs answered Gilchrist.

  Rivers arched her eyebrows. “Death...what?”

  “Oh I apologize for my partner, Captain Gilchrist, a woman of her age obviously wouldn’t catch on to your analogy.” Diggs smiled coldly. She, who laughs last, lasts best.

  “So who does this Lawrence Evans represent? Is he a descendant of a cavalry man?”

  “I need to do some research on that...” Eugene interrupted Diggs in mid-sentence.

  “I can tell you that right now. He is a descendant of Colorado Governor John Evans. Many believe the governor ordered the killings.”

  Diggs proceeded to close the meeting, citing her need to find nearby lodging as an excuse. In reality, she didn’t think this small town captain could handle any more wild theories for one day.

  The agents and Campbell filed out of the storage room, oblivious to the fact that Ross Fisher had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Fisher raced to his car, beating a hasty retreat from the parking lot just seconds before the agents could emerge from the building.

  Captain Gilchrist left the morgue, feeling more perplexed than ever. He wondered how federal law enforcement officials could entertain such radical notions. In his eyes, Schenker was nothing more than a serial killer trying to find a new way to win notoriety. “Magic crystals and chemical dependency, my ass,” Gilchrist muttered to himself, appreciating his mundane tenure as captain on his drive back to the precinct.

  The agents rode in silence for about ten miles before Eugene Campbell spoke from the backseat. “Please get me to the nearest hotel. I must try to track your killer as soon as possible. My father is depending on me.”

  Diggs nodded her head, making eye contact with Eugene via the rear view mirror. She chose Knoxville as their new home base. The agents would share a room at the Econo-Lodge. Eugene Campbell would enjoy the privacy of an adjacent suite all on the FBI’s dime. Caitlin reasoned it was the least she could do to thank Campbell for his psychic assistance.

  As the agents checked in, Caitlin’s conscience continued to bother her on several fronts. She wondered if she wasn’t somehow responsible for Jake Campbell’s predicament. If she had caught the killer, Jake might never have felt the need to go to Washington. She also wondered why Ross Fisher had not been waiting for her outside the morgue. Why would he just bolt? She tried to find a logical reason but could not.

  Once inside the room, Diggs and Rivers took seats opposite each other on their queen size beds.

  “Are you sure this is the correct way to proceed?” Rivers asked.

  “Unless you can give me other options, yes, I think it is. A genealogy search of the Sand Creek soldiers could take months. We don’t have that luxury. And right now, we’re a few steps behind in our investigation, in case you haven’t noticed. We’re supposed to be catching Schenker, not playing connect the dots at cold crime scenes.”

  “Okay, okay,” Rivers, conceded. “You can drop my request to swab his mouth. Besides, the lab will have enough on their plates the next few days. But have you thought about Eugene’s welfare? What if this attempt to channel the killer results in damage to him, both mentally and physically? How will you justify it?”

  “Deondra, he’s determined to help his father. If Jake didn’t get himself wrapped up in this mess I might reexamine my motives. But Eugene needs to do this—now more than ever. The case has taken on a personal meaning. It’s as much about him saving his father as it is about us apprehending our suspect.”

  ***

  Dudek stepped off the plane and into a car. He was on his way to Quantico with a hair sample and a small hope that lab techs would find a way to protect his agents’ lives.

  A half an hour later he stepped into Hoyt’s office, dispensing with formal introductions.

  “I need to know why and how the killer’s blood is lethal,” Dudek demanded.

  “I’ve been working on that...” Hoyt’s voice trailed off. He waited to be reprimanded.

  “You have my permission to work on this matter 24-7 if that’s what it takes. Also, I do not want you to report any of your findings to anyone other than myself. Not even Director Hainsworth.”

  Hoyt swallowed hard. “Understood. However, theories and concrete evidence may not necessarily go hand in hand in this case.”

  Ed proceeded to note how electromagnetic waves might be penetrating Schenker’s body just like Jake Campbell predicted. However, Dudek countered Hoyt’s analysis.

  “From what Agent Rivers tells me, crystals do not conduct electricity. So how is this wave channeling possible?”

  “The crystal,” Hoyt explained, “is neither attracting nor repelling the waves. The crystal is acting like a filter. It’s allowing our killer’s body to absorb large amounts of radiation without becoming seriously ill. At this point, I don’t have concrete evidence to back up this claim or knowledge of how the body is attracting the electromagnetic energy. I think a radio biologist would be more qualified to explain.”

  Dudek ignored Hoyt’s recommendation. He wanted the pathologist to explain the anomalies. The assistant director painfully realized he could not afford to expose this knowledge to more FBI personnel than necessary, not with Hainsworth lurking around. “So if the crystal is filtering the radiation, then why is Schenker’s blood lethal?”

  “Gamma rays,” Hoyt answered. “When his blood is contained within his body, the harmful effects of radiation are minimized. But if he should suffer an open wound, there may be a window of time where his blood could possibly injure or kill anyone within close proximity.”

  “If that’s the case, why haven’t you suffered poisoning? You’ve worked with his blood samples.”

  “Because the radioactive isotopes enter a state of decay once they
’re outside his bloodstream. That’s why his blood is lethal for only a small segment of time.”

  “Can our agents fire weapons without becoming sick from these gamma rays?”

  Hoyt scratched his chin. “Only if they are far enough away from him.”

  “What about confiscating the crystal? What physical effects might the agents encounter?”

  “They could become fully exposed to the gamma rays if they make contact with Schenker’s dying body. Once he loses contact with the crystal, his body will no longer be able to filter the radiation. Schenker might very well glow like a rainbow, emitting every color of ultraviolet light in the spectrum. But again, this is all guesswork. There are no precedents for us to examine.”

  “Please keep working on a solution to protect the agents, Mr. Hoyt.”

  “Absolutely. Can you tell me how Agent Rivers if doing? Her assistance has been invaluable to my analysis.”

  “From what I hear,” Dudek answered, “your diligence is commendable. She has had nothing but good things to say about you. So keep up the good work. And to answer your question, she’s a professional Mr. Hoyt.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hoyt beamed. Deondra was still thinking about him—and in high regard.

  Dudek left the hair sample for analysis. He had little doubt the DNA recovered from Schenker’s skin sample would match positively. Without proof, Dudek believed Schenker had indeed visited Gayle Swenson’s residence.

  Hoyt continued to ride on cloud nine hours later. The thought of Rivers made the countless hours of lab analysis all worthwhile. At midnight, Hoyt decided to call it a day. He reasoned some rest would be in order if he were to continue to properly analyze the latest evidence.

  Dudek had filled him in about the decapitation in Jackson. The assistant director did not mince any words as he explained the brutality of the crime in full detail to the pathologist. The horror of the crime filled Hoyt’s head as he made his way to his car. For the past two weeks, the lovesick pathologist was the first to arrive and last to leave the Quantico crime lab. He did not expect to hear the sudden sound of footsteps coming from behind.