Sons of a Brutality

by Daniel Jeudy

  Jennifer believed everyone likely considered, at one time or another, the concept of dying under horrifying circumstances. When she was a girl, she would hold her breath until her lungs were about to burst, imagining drowning underwater. Jennifer also reflected on how it might feel to be shot and wondered what the pain was like for a person wasting away with terminal cancer. However, none of her conjecture had prepared her for the looming horror she’d witnessed in the outer room. Her body seemed to be undergoing a preternatural evolution as grisly images sparked a wildfire at the center of her consciousness.

  Katherine had died screaming under the weight of their captor’s malice, and soon, Jennifer would be departing similarly. The blare of Katherine’s screeching was the harshest sound Jennifer had ever heard. She would have done anything to tear it from her memory; however, the quiet inside the room intensified her understanding. Her dread was spinning on an unbreakable loop and moving with perpetual motion. She thought of random things while lying there in the darkness, such as debating her cousin about why Donald Trump would make a lousy president and feasting on peanut butter sandwiches with her brother at the lake house when they were kids. Jennifer considered whether her father might eventually find a way past her murder to continue buying a season ticket at the Staples Center. She remembered all the people she’d taken for granted. If only she were able to see her parents one final time, draw them close and tell them how much she loved them.

  Her body trembled in waves—her head throbbing with an ache that probed down the sides of her neck like poison ivy. Silence rested heavily within the room like a pool of water. The stillness was laced in anticipation to make her brain feel electrified and skittish. When a burst of light finally arrived to push back the darkness, she turned her head and saw the monster standing in the doorway—a rag dangling in his left hand.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” he said.

  A groan rolled up her throat in search of an exit. Jennifer’s stomach was a nest of vipers as he moved forward to slip an arm through the hole beside her head. She felt the cold dampness contained inside the cloth as it pressed against her face and struggled to turn away, but the force of his hand offered no course of action to her weakened body. Her brain glitched as streams of hot urine trickled down the inside of her thighs, and she recognized his disgusting, crooked smile before the chloroform kicked in to close her mind.

  Eleven

  Addison made his way up the staircase to the county coroner building in Boyle Heights while his partner stood near the entrance above smoking a cigarette.

  “Your joints playing up again?” Jed asked.

  “Yeah, and I don’t imagine they’ll be improving anytime soon either.”

  His bad knees were the result of two injuries he’d suffered while playing football for the Lone Star Rangers in high school. The issue hadn’t concerned him until he hit forty, and they’d been getting steadily worse every year since.

  “Have you had them seen lately?”

  “I went to a doctor last year, who wrote me up for some Vicodin, but it didn’t help much. Besides, I don’t want to go adding painkillers to the mounting list of vices in my life.”

  Jed took a drag on his Winston and wiped away the sweat from his forehead. “You ever thought of getting a cortisone injection?”

  Addison grimaced as he ascended the final few steps. “I’ve been tossing around whether to have them cleaned out for a while now. But maybe I should get an injection first. A needle is more appealing than going under the knife.”

  He would already be feeling uncomfortable if it were anybody else making such a fuss over his health. Addison was familiar with the way Jed could sometimes niggle over things like a woman. However, his partner’s heart was honorable, and his motives were genuine. The kid didn’t nurture an exaggerated ego or concern himself with gaining external recognition, and they had figured a way past every hurdle. Jed’s approach to life helped Addison gain a new perspective in areas outside the job. It’s why he hadn’t bothered revisiting the barroom situation from the previous day.

  His former partner had been as challenging to work alongside as any person could be. Daniel Redmond maintained an itchy trigger finger which brought an underlying sense of volatility to every situation. Redmond employed a kick-the-door-down-and-force-a-confession approach to complicate even the most straightforward investigation. It wasn’t at all surprising when internal affairs sent him into early retirement.

  Addison waded through the accumulation of turds left in his wake before eventually emerging out the other side with his boozy reputation intact.

  “The cortisone will make a massive difference,” Jed continued. “And you won’t think about chewing on that other crap when it’s done.”

  A lingering silence produced a moment of awkwardness.

  “You catch the news this morning?” Jed asked as he flicked his butt onto the road.

  “Yeah, I did, unfortunately.”

  The brutal nature of the crimes and the short time frame between each victim ensured the investigation was the biggest news story for two days. Still, a particularly shameless murder in Monterey Hills had snatched the headlines this morning.

  Addison waited for Jed to toss his cup into the trash before making his way inside. The corridors sparkled in perfect cleanliness, and he wasn’t keen on the synthetic freshness soaking the air. For some reason, it made him feel as if he needed to take another shower.

  There was a time when he would arrive here in eager anticipation. But like most other things in his life, the enthusiasm faded until it became just a part of the job. The detectives walked in silence, caught inside the myriad of thoughts running through their heads.

  Addison remained a short distance behind Jed as they rounded the final corner to the coroner’s office, watching while his partner knocked on Coniglio’s door with the back of his hand. It seemed a matter of seconds before she appeared all bright-eyed and ready for action.

  “Mowbray, Jed, how are you boys doing this morning?”

  They both responded how they were doing fine.

  “Well, don’t just stand there looking all serious, fellas, come on in.”

  Addison followed his partner into the room as Coniglio took up a position behind the desk to begin shuffling paperwork. Jed took a chair by the door as Addison sat beside him.

  The office was drenched in random color, and there wasn’t anything medically related on display. Band posters decorated the walls, while a bookshelf next to the detectives overflowed with a sea of paperback novels. A stereo on the floor balanced a crooked stack of CDs, and three small cactus plants encircled a water feature in the corner.

  Addison must have sat in this position on a hundred occasions and couldn’t believe how many things he’d missed. The examiner’s desk was perfectly ordered, which contradicted the abundant flow of creative clutter so prevalent throughout the room.

  When Addison returned his focus, Coniglio’s smile made him anxious.

  “Thanks for coming in,” she said. “And I have to say, you boys did some nice work in front of those cameras last night. You looked great up there, the both of you.”

  Neither of them reacted, though Addison took note of the fact she’d been watching.

  “What have you got for us?” he asked.

  “I have a few things, but don’t go getting excited, because it’s nothing that’s going to blow the case open. I can certify the primary crime scene is within a ninety-minute driving radius of Griffith Park. I can also confirm a few matters we already suspected to be true. Some new information has come to light, as well.”

  When Coniglio finished speaking, she pushed a transparent plastic pouch across her desk.

  Both detectives leaned in for a look.

  “What is it?” Jed asked.

  “A few strands of blond hair we lifted off the back of the victim’s shirt. The lab called this morning to confirm the hair belongs to our Jane Doe from the Bowl. Which tells us the perp is holding the vict
ims in a common area before he kills them.”

  “The lab isn’t wasting any time, then,” Addison mused.

  The county and LAPD laboratories shared the same building and always had a lengthy backlog of bodies that needed to be worked through. Waiting on results could often take longer than desired, particularly when a case wasn’t deemed to be a high priority. Addison had established a few decent connections inside both departments throughout his career and wasn’t afraid to use them if he needed something back ASAP.

  “This investigation is now the department’s number one priority,” Coniglio revealed. “So, you boys won’t be sitting around waiting on results.”

  Addison nodded to convey his curiosity had been satisfied.

  “Now, remember how we couldn’t make sense of why there was spaghetti in the first victim’s stomach?” Coniglio asked them.

  Addison leaned forward, anticipating what she was about to say.

  “The question has an answer of sorts, Mowbray, but it creates complications.”

  Addison raised his hand into the air to show he wasn’t getting carried away.

  “He must be offering the victims a meal while they are detained,” Coniglio continued. “What his reasons are for doing this is anybody’s guess. Perhaps it’s a way of dragging things out, or maybe it’s a ploy to hide his intentions. Anyhow, Jane Doe decided to consume a plateful, while Katherine Schneider ate a few mouthfuls. I’m presuming Jane was probably held captive longer, and hunger found a way through all the fear.”

  Addison reclined in his chair again.

  “The techs confirmed the same guy called them in. Were you aware of that?” he asked.

  “I suspected as much, but nobody confirmed it with me till now.”

  “When I listened to the recordings again the other night, this one thing jumped out at me. Maybe it was the tone of his voice or the fact he’s making the calls at all. But it comes across as he cares about them in some bizarre, contradictory way. What I know for sure is it doesn’t feel like a blatant flouting of the law.”

  They all reflected over what Addison said before Jed cut in with a question.

  “Did you find any trauma besides the brand and the removal of her hands?”

  Coniglio shook her head.

  “Nothing to indicate he willfully attempted to inflict a physical injury. There’s bruising on her right arm from a handcuff. It was harder to identify because he’d cut away her hands from below the wrist, but I managed to find chafing farther up the arm. There was also bruising near her ankles and a tear in her groin. It appears she was splayed in the same manner as the first victim. There are nasty rope burns on her lower legs, too.

  “Now, I understand how I’m not a detective, but the more time I get to spend on this, the more plausible it seems the perpetrator is attempting to perform a ritual killing. Whether or not he’s serious or just trying to throw you off course, I can’t say. Although he sure goes to a whole load of trouble in doing things the way he does.

  “We know he secures their limbs when he works on them, and he shackles their arms to something as a way of keeping them captive. The lab also discovered several polyester fibers in Katherine’s hair. They’re the kind used in the manufacturing of pillows, which fits with your line of thinking, Mowbray, about him having a twisted affection for them. I believe you might be on to something there; it’s certainly worth considering what his motivation could be for offering comfort.”

  Addison glanced at his partner, who was bouncing his legs with an expression of hatred on his face. “You okay?” he asked.

  Jed appeared embarrassed by the question and sat back to become rigid in his chair. “Yeah, of course, I’m all good.”

  Addison wasn’t buying it; however, he knew better than to press him.

  Jed deflected by clearing his throat.

  “What about the ketamine?” he asked.

  Coniglio referred to the papers on her desk. “There’s ketamine in her blood, but there’s also something else that came back which we didn’t pick up on in Jane’s system. There are high levels of chloroform in Katherine’s blood. It was administered only a matter of hours before we arrived at the reserve. I’d considered whether he might be using the ketamine to assist him in binding their arms and legs, but I now believe he uses the chloroform when he abducts them and then again when he secures their limbs. He must be injecting the ketamine before the killing starts. At least, that appears to be the situation with Katherine Schneider. Now, I have a theory on this, but I’d be interested to hear what your thoughts are.”

  The detectives remained deep in thought, and Coniglio began watching Mowbray.

  Addison uncrossed his legs to commence speaking his mind. “He’s knocking them out with the chloroform when he moves them, which makes a certain amount of sense if he’s preparing his bone saw. But why the hell does he even bother using the ketamine if they’re already out? Are you implying he’s jabbing them with the drug and then going to work?”

  Jed shook his head in disgust.

  “What?” Addison asked.

  “The sick asshole is putting them to sleep, and then he’s getting them high on drugs before he starts the process of cutting away his pieces.”

  Coniglio’s eyes expressed the revulsion she was feeling, and she unconsciously scrubbed her hand against her shirt as if she had encountered filth.

  “Yes, that is precisely what I presume he’s doing. Which means he has access to a supply of very decent ketamine. The drug in the victims’ blood is hospital grade, so it would definitely mask the pain and maybe even stop them from passing out.”

  Jed’s forehead compressed into a knot. “He might be getting the ketamine from a medical facility, but I don’t believe chloroform is even used in hospitals anymore, is it?”

  “No. Chloroform isn’t used medically, but it can still be found in most colleges around the country. More specifically, in their science departments. The only other place I can think of where he might be getting it is through the dark web.”

  Addison’s phone began vibrating in his coat pocket. “It’s headquarters. I’m going to have to take this,” he said, pressing CONNECT and putting the phone to his ear. “Mowbray.”

  “Hey, Ad, it’s Thompson. How are you doing?”

  “Well, I’m alive, Bill. I know that much.”

  There was a short pause before Thompson responded.

  “It appears another girl has been taken. She’s been missing since Tuesday after leaving for a yoga class on Sunset Boulevard. The girl’s name is Jennifer Hill, and her roommate’s been trying to reach her for a couple of days. She knew where her friend usually parks and decided to take a drive out there this morning. It turns out the car is still there. She got all hysterical and freaked out, so the attendant watched the security footage from the night in question. The abduction is all on tape, and physically, she’s remarkably similar to the other two.”

  “Been missing since Tuesday, you say.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Has the area been secured?”

  “No, the red flag came up just ten minutes ago. Everyone’s heading over there now.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “The parking station is at 3246 Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood.”

  “Right-o, we’re on it.”

  “Good luck, Mowbray.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Coniglio and Jed stared at him in dreadful anticipation. When a homicide detective landed on a crime scene, it usually meant it was already too late for the victim. It’s like installing security on a door after everything inside the house has been lifted. But for now, Jennifer Hill might still be breathing.

  “Seems our perp has gone and grabbed himself another girl,” Addison said.

  Coniglio released a faint whistle as Jed cursed beneath his breath, both aware how every second was now a matter of life and death.

  Twelve

  It was just a matter of fortune that the house happened to be situated
between an empty warehouse and a vacant lot at the end of the street. Watts could be a dangerous neighborhood and certainly not an area where Narek would choose to spend his night.

  Bedros appeared as if he felt unhinged by the drawn-out proceedings, which might prove hazardous for the young slut and her hog-tied fuck buddy on the floor.

  The girl gaped anxiously at Narek while he checked his gold Rolex and silently questioned why Davit had decided to go off-grid. He strode over to the window on heavy legs and peered outside through a small crack between two tattered curtains.

  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as the morning sun beat down onto the property. Narek mopped the sweat on his neck with a soggy napkin and thought about how much he wanted to be home right now, relaxing with a beer while the air conditioner blasted cold onto his face. How anyone managed to get by without HVAC was a mystery, yet the toasty conditions were the least of his concerns.

  The job was meant to be easy-fuckin’-peasy, like taking a dump in the morning after climbing out of bed. They were expecting to break a few of Dewayne Jordan’s ribs to ensure he never went near the girl again, then drive back to the club. Hayk Sargsyan paid for Davit’s help after hearing the stories of his daughter’s sexcapades circulating the hood. Narek understood why Hayk wanted this done and brought Bedros along to ensure he received value from his investment. They’d been looking forward to putting a boot into the bastard, but sure as fuck weren’t supposing on making him graveyard dead.

  The last fifteen hours had been draining, and fatigue now made everything more complicated. When Narek finished twisting his knife inside Callahan’s guts, the prick’s innards were dangling around his ankles as he squealed through bloodied lips. The Irishman pissed himself before his peepers went cockeyed and clouded over in death. His execution was performed over one exceptionally long minute. Then they torched the Chrysler in the Los Angeles River culvert and hung out at the club until it was time to head over to Watts.