Sons of a Brutality

by Daniel Jeudy

  Jed stopped for lunch at an old-school diner in San Fernando on the drive back from Simi Valley. They thought it might be a good idea to run through the details of Harry Bath’s testimony before meeting the lieutenant. Neither of them had eaten breakfast, and the roadside café seemed a popular spot judging by the number of cars parked outside. Addison’s cheeseburger came off the grill full of flavor, and the cherry pie had taken him back to Christmas dinner at his grandparents’ farmhouse. He even ordered a second cup of joe to wash the food down while they squared away Jed’s notes. When Addison arrived at his desk in the afternoon, he was confident their instincts had been right all along.

  It took five minutes to authenticate Harry Bath’s information when they ran the boys’ names through their system. Andrew King and Luke Green were both reported AWOL by their parole officers in 1994. Then after a quick-fire investigation, it was presumed they had either fallen victim to a shady past or just skipped town altogether. The recorded details were somewhat nebulous—probably because the investigating officers quickly lost interest in locating them and moved on to more critical cases.

  “We should probably go speak to the boss,” Addison suggested offhandedly.

  Jed jumped up out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box.

  “Are you feeling okay, kid?”

  “I don’t usually look forward to a meeting with Collins, but today is strangely different. For some reason, I find myself all fuzzy about being in the man’s presence.”

  Addison chuckled to himself while they began making their way across the room, ignoring a couple of detectives who attempted to wave them over. When they arrived at the lieutenant’s office, he knocked three times before walking through the door.

  Collins made it clear he was in no mood for shooting the shit, so Addison cut to the chase by providing a rundown of their meeting at Simi Valley. He included all the relevant details, except for the piece about the two missing youths. When he finished, Addison leaned back in his chair with a powerful sense of resolution.

  “This dark priest believes that your group exists then,” Collins conceded wearily. “And what did he say their name was again?”

  “In Paucis,” Jed replied. “It’s Latin and translates as The Few, but as Mowbray said already, Harry Bath also told us how they had changed their name at some point.”

  Collins massaged both his temples as color mounted on his forehead.

  “And he’s provided you the name of a woman whose cousin is supposed to know people on the inside?” he queried effusively.

  “Indeed, he did.”

  Addison decided to hold back the details of the two missing youths because he wanted to drop it into Collins’s lap at the ultimate moment. Too much initial information often complicated matters that should otherwise be straightforward. Part of him may have just been waiting for the man to suggest their evidence was circumspect.

  Collins drummed his fingers on the desk with an ornery expression.

  “How do you suggest I present this development to the captain?” he queried warily.

  It was the kind of response Addison had been sweating on.

  “I have some more information which you need to be made aware of. It relates to a couple of matters that Harry Bath claims occurred back in 1994.”

  “Well, go on, man, let’s hear it.”

  “There was a youngster named Andrew King who attended a group Bath was running from a house in Pasadena during that same year. The priest thinks these In Paucis people murdered Andrew and another kid, Luke Green.”

  “Should I inquire as to what this group was for, Mowbray?”

  “The group isn’t important.”

  “Tell me about these alleged victims, then.”

  Addison rehashed the details.

  “It sounds to me like Harry Bath has spent too much time watching fuckin’ horror movies on Netflix,” Collins said. “Initiation sacrifices and blood-drinking?”

  “There’s more, Lieutenant.”

  Collins exhaled impatiently, waving his hands about in the air.

  “Well, get on with it. I’m listening.”

  Addison paused briefly, enjoying the moment.

  “Andrew King believed he was in grave danger and that his friend Luke had already been murdered. Harry Bath didn’t give the story too much consideration until a few years later when he did some amateur snooping. Bath discovered both Andrew and Luke are listed on the missing person register. The first thing we did after arriving here this afternoon was putting their names into our system. It turns out they haven’t been sighted or heard from since the winter of 1994. The boys’ parole officers initially reported them after they failed to arrive at their appointments.”

  Addison felt confident these new facts were enough to revolutionize the investigation, so he remained silent while the lieutenant mulled over the details. When the quiet went longer than he anticipated, he decided to give Collins a not-so-subtle nudge.

  “If you were to go upstairs and relay what I’ve just told you to the brass, then I imagine they will probably start slapping you on the back with a happy stick. I mean, it’s not like you’d be approaching them on a hunch.”

  “I hear you, Mowbray. But put yourself in my shoes for a second. The captain has been camped under my ass all week, hollering about finding those damned drugs. He’s insisting we keep this thing on track, and he’s had a hard-on for the ketamine from the very beginning. There’s no denying this is the hottest lead we’ve acquired thus far; however, I still need to present him with facts as to why we should readjust our focus.

  “The department is reeling from a year of bad press, and this story has all the ingredients of a massive shit sandwich. Have you considered what it will be like if those cocksuckers at CNN get a hold of this info? They’d be climbing over the top of themselves to start throwing out stories about blood-drinking maniacs stalking the city. It’s my balls on the chopping block here, and the vultures are circling overhead.”

  Addison heard the brick wall quality of voice Collins got whenever things began moving in a direction he hadn’t intended upon heading. The captain’s fascination with finding the chemicals explained why the lieutenant had been so resistant to their proposed ideas, while the external curiosity was compounding the tension he was experiencing. One incorrect conclusion could lead to failure, and nonperformance was no light affair in the homicide division. A misguided inquiry usually resulted in devastating circumstances.

  “I completely understand where you’re coming from, no question. But are you implying that you don’t want us to investigate Bath’s info any further? As it stands, every available officer is either on those phones out there or knocking on doors, chasing up people who have given us nothing. Now, I’m sure as hell not certain this group is connected to our guy, but it’s just as relevant a lead as finding those drugs. We need to get as many irons in the fire as possible. Perhaps you should just keep your cards close for now and maybe fill the brass in after we’ve had a chance to run with this for a few days.”

  The lieutenant’s pained expression suggested he might be buying into the proposal, or at the very least, seriously considering their reasons. Collins looked across at Jed like he was about to ask what his opinion on matters might be before returning his attention to Addison.

  “Is Bath on record with these things he’s told you?”

  The priest made it clear he had no intention of being spoken to again, never mind going on record. He already believed he was taking a big gamble by talking with them; besides, they’d given their word, and Addison had no intention of breaking it.

  “He wasn’t prepared to make an official statement. We just turned up on his doorstep unannounced, and he could have sent us on our way. From where I’m standing, Bath gains nothing by telling us what he did, and maybe there’s something very substantial for him to lose. Regardless, he won’t be putting his name on anything.”

  Collins looked at Jed again.

  “Do you intend to cont
ribute something to this discussion, Perkins? Or you happy to continue staring up at the wall with that smug look on your face?”

  Jed appeared unaffected by the jibe.

  “I’m all for doing some serious detective work, sir. It’s why I drove down to Simi Valley with my partner on our morning off. As for my being soundless, I have complete confidence in my partner’s ability to articulate what it is we would like to do.”

  Collins smiled.

  “You know what, Mowbray?”

  “What’s that, boss?”

  “We may just make a detective out of this guy before we’re done.”

  Addison nodded his agreement.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  Collins’s clear brown eyes displayed an affection he usually kept hidden. “Okay, what’s next?”

  “The first thing we need to do is track down this Cross woman so we can try to discover who her cousin is. Then we’ll keep pressing her to see if there’s anything else she can reveal. In the meantime, we should probably pray that another body doesn’t turn up.

  Collins pursed his lips like he did whenever he was rationalizing.

  “You manage to get hold of your boy yet?”

  “I plan on calling his mother tonight, as a matter of fact.”

  Collins nodded.

  “Good to hear. What we do has a significant place, but family comes first. Nothing should ever be allowed to get in the way of our kin.”

  The man’s heartfelt avowal probably deserved a verbal response. Instead, Addison made a face. Like always, there were things he never felt comfortable discussing.

  “Now that the first victim has been identified as a medical student from London, you boys probably need to be preparing for the likelihood of the Feds becoming involved.”

  Addison had already considered this after learning about Emma Paul earlier on.

  “Any word on when her family will be arriving to formally ID the body?”

  Collins leaned back in his chair.

  “They’re expected to be flying in sometime tomorrow afternoon. So, have either of you got anything else for me, or are we done here?” he asked disingenuously. The man was renowned for bringing his meetings to an abrupt conclusion at times.

  “No, that’s all of it,” Addison confirmed.

  “All righty, then.”

  Both detectives nodded respectfully before moving out into the main office. They should have been feeling pleased by the idea that they may finally be on the killer’s trail, but Addison was hardly upbeat. He walked back to his desk, trying hard to ignore the apprehension in his gut about where this rabbit hole would eventually take them.

  Thirty

  The blistering heat of the past week had finally subsided, but the late afternoon sun was still toasty enough to keep Edward inside the house. He looked at the clouds through a window and saw how they were so scarlet it seemed the angels were bleeding down celestial tears. Edward had never embraced summertime—the darkness was delayed, and there were generally more people to contend with when he hunted for prey. He closed his eyes and caressed Katherine’s blackened hand, imagining that Linda was seated beside him. There’d been a period when he considered preserving their parts in formaldehyde but decided to allow corruption its course. After all, a piece of fruit was at its most fertile during decay.

  Meagan Banks had called him once her meeting with the Old Man concluded at the compound in Adelanto, reassuring him that everything appeared to be hunky-dory for now. The shameless slut was coming to meet with him later in the evening, and he was surprised to find himself counting down the hours until her arrival.

  They were going to weave themselves into an unholy trinity as they engaged in sex rituals and blood Magick, enticing Linda to enter their bodies so they could all experience another climax together. Each new sacrifice released a fresh burst of liveliness into the realm of the dead to increase his prospect of communicating with her ghost.

  The room darkened when the sun disappeared behind a mass of low-hanging clouds before a sudden gust of wind shrilled outside the door like a dying cat. Despite the steady progress he was making, a wrench of dissatisfaction stirred his spirit, poking the beast who desired to kill differently than he’d been doing of late. It required unnatural persuasion to remain confined within the guiding principles of his Aleister Crowley books.

  Edward loathed operating under such restraint. There had been moments he almost surrendered to the hunger while gaping down at the ladies inside the goat’s-head pentagram. He would have relished bringing a hammer down to penetrate their skulls, exploding with unchecked savagery until all that remained was red mush. Nothing compared to the thrill he received from severing tendons and pulverizing bone, which was why he’d spent half the night finding a faceless stranger. It had felt good inserting another carcass to his masterpiece beneath the shack, filling one more seat at the table of rot.

  He raised a silver goblet to his lips and tasted Emma’s blood, enjoying the deep coppery flavor as it soured his tongue. A tart clarity dominated the strong aftertaste of her plasma. The bitter zing wasn’t apparent in the other women, and Edward wondered why. He’d been expecting his moody disposition to improve upon drinking their fluids, yet his discontented attitude and desire for violence just refused to fade away. Maybe he needed to take a drive into the city when finished fucking Meagan and entice another vagabond to a flesh-splattered conclusion. It wasn’t like he’d be risking much. There were few perils to be mindful of when butchering the displaced. The good people of America only cared when the victims came from reputable suburbs and contained the potential to contribute to their society in traditional ways.

  The homeless man from last night arrived at the ranch with joy in his heart after being promised a warm bed and hot meal. Edward kept half the pledge by cooking the last supper, lingering expectantly while the stinking fleabag devoured every crumb. The vagrant thanked him through rotting teeth while he gorged upon his apple pie. Then after dessert, Edward retrieved a carving knife from the kitchen drawer and ran it across the bum’s face, slicing through his cheek until raw flesh flopped down onto his chin. It took a few seconds for the ridiculous smile of gratification to abandon the beggar’s lips, which made things slightly uncomfortable until he stopped thinking about the food inside his belly. Upon seeing the alarm reflected inside the wanderer’s eyes, Edward became unhinged, slashing ferociously until the hobo no longer resembled anything human.

  Whenever torturing mediocrity, he always attempted to picture each individual in a superior form. As a newborn wrapped with white linen or a beloved sibling opening their presents under the Christmas tree. The abstract thinking prevented any triviality from infecting his mind. They were more critter than a person at the end of it, and there wasn’t much glory to be gained by killing bugs. He considered himself a composer of human impermanence, and there was an orchestra of dead people ringing inside his ears.

  Edward continued sitting in pensive silence while he thought about how great it would be if Linda joined them later that night. Then after a brief period, he lifted himself off the couch and walked into the kitchen, where he returned Katherine’s spoiling hand to the center shelf. He needed to get moving with the business of finding another princess, and time had no intention of slowing down. Maybe a session on the DMT would relax him before tomorrow presented a new opportunity to hunt for his next lookalike.

  Thirty-One

  The day flashed by after the meeting with Collins concluded. Addison was now sitting inside his house, trying to come to grips with the likelihood he would be working with the FBI soon. He’d spent the past hour slumped on the couch, sipping Jack Daniel’s while thinking things through, still uncertain how he felt about the situation.

  When the lieutenant took the call from Special Agent Rick Sharp ten minutes before Emma Paul’s identity was released, he could barely contain his smile. Sharp quickly explained how they would be coming in to meet with them the following morni
ng before Collins’s grin spread to his face. The sudden appointment interrupted Addison’s plans to tidy up the house. Jed wouldn’t be thrilled about coming to work on Sunday either.

  Emma Paul had modified the entire playing field around the case. The FBI doesn’t usually stand by waiting for an invitation to impose upon local matters when an international tourist gets killed. Addison presumed the mayor might have facilitated proceedings by implying the city’s holiday appeal was being adversely impacted by the investigation. However, any such assertion was just applesauce. In all his years, Addison had never seen a case affect the number of people flooding into the region each day.

  The additional resources might prove helpful in locating Sarah Cross, but the special agent in charge could also apply constraints to the LAPD’s participation. From the brief discussion he’d had with Collins, it seemed likely that a joint task force was on the cusp of being formed, and their direction forward would depend on whether Rick Sharp opted to treat them as equals or errand boys with a badge.

  Addison spent the afternoon running Sarah Cross’s name through a range of databases, only to be left frustrated by a lack of success with his search. It was something of a commonplace identity, which required them to work through a considerable amount of irrelevant data for a negative result. At least no more women had been abducted at this point, as far as they could tell. But that situation might change throughout the night.

  He intended to have another generous glass of whiskey, then perhaps he’d swallow a couple of sleepers to cloud the pictures in his mind. It was strange how he could be a thousand miles from the event which plagued him, yet the horror was eternally present as it waited faithfully in the corridors of his next sleep. Night terrors, insights, dreams—Addison’s only ever came in the shape of flashbacks and allegations. He had resigned himself to the reality there was no way to avoid the enduring sadness inside his heart. Even though his father’s homicide might be considered the incident that shaped his emotions, the origin of his loneliness remained unclear. He’d spent most of his life aboard a carriage destined for solitude, and his pain tainted every relationship he’d been involved in. It wasn’t as if he’d never given things a red-hot go, but no matter how many occasions he attempted to go the journey, he always disembarked at the same location.