Speaking for the Dead

by Bill Craig

  “I want this guy,” Moseby said as they drove, the police radio turned down and the main noise, the thump of the windshield wiper blades and the hiss of the tires on the rain-swept road.

  “I do too, Garrett. He made it personal for me when he blew up my car. I still don’t know if the insurance is going to pay since it was bombed,” Lucy replied.

  “It became personal for me when we found the first body. Blowing up your car just made it more so,” Moseby replied.

  “Do you think we will get there in time?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Do you think one of these guys is the killer?” Vincent Morales asked as he drove.

  “I hope so, the Captain is getting a lot of heat from the Mayor. The whole serial killers affect tourist dollars line,” Mario Ramirez shook his head.

  “The mayor is right about that, but not the way he thinks. Folks hear there’s a serial killer, they flock to town to find out more about it, never thinking that they might turn up as one of his next victims,” Morales shrugged.

  “Yeah, Rebekah offered to volunteer to bait this guy.”

  “Your girlfriend? The private eye?”

  “The very one. I told her that wouldn’t be necessary because the Captain would never go for it because of their history. After she thought about that for a bit, she agreed with me.”

  “She’s got guts that one does.”

  “Sometimes I think too much so. But what can I say, she’s the woman I love,” Ramirez shrugged.

  “Good luck, with that Amigo,” Morales told him. The drivers of the unmarked cars were looking towards the warrant they were on their way to serve and didn’t notice that they had picked up a tail…

  Harry Dove did his best to keep the two unmarked cars in sight as he followed them in the rain. Nobody had noticed him sitting in the hallway back at the station and he had overheard them mention that they were headed to execute a search warrant in the Tampa Slasher case.

  So Harry had slipped out and got to his rental car so he could follow them once they pulled out of the parking garage. Nobody was going to scoop him on this story! Sure, he knew that Moseby and French were friendlier to the local papers, but Harry needed this one to make up for the ridicule that he had faced after exposing the Key West Slasher as a mad scientist monster. The story had been true, but nobody except those involved had wanted to believe it.

  He had been suspended for a month after that story. So he had been thrilled when he was sent to Tampa to cover this slasher. This one was clearly different in that the guy slashed the Achilles tendons to cripple them before raping and murdering them, but it still made for good copy and a few columns on the wire service!

  He had also managed to hear two names and two addresses. He planned to park close by the locations and see what he could get on film or video. If they caught the Tampa Slasher, Harry Dove wanted the exclusive! That’s why he had brought his tablet along. He could write up the story and send it in before the cops even knew that he had it!

  Moseby pulled up in front of Jason Burch’s place. He cut the lights and the wipers before killing the engine. He pulled his Colt Commander from its holster under his left arm and pulled back the slide to chamber the top round off the magazine. He slid it back into the holster. Lucy did the same with her Glock .40. They gave each other a look and Lucy pulled the correct Warrant out of her purse and handed it to Moseby. He slipped it into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and opened the door. They stepped out into the rain and headed for the house, Morales and Ramirez were right behind them

  The four of them climbed onto the porch out of the rain as lightning flashed blindingly bright and thunder shook the wooden frame house. Moseby stepped off to one side and rapped hard on the wooden door. None of them stood directly in front of the door. If Burch was their man he might chose to shoot through the door. Standing off to the side was a safety measure.

  Moseby rapped on the door again. More thunder rumbled overhead and the porch light turned on. Jason Burch opened the door.

  “We have a search warrant, Mr. Burch. I need you to step out here on the porch while we execute it,” Moseby told him.

  “This is about Carly and Tara, isn’t it? Something has happened to them,” Burch said, looking sad.

  “Please step outside,” Moseby repeated.

  “Sure,” Burch said and he stepped out. He was wearing a tank top and shorts, his feet bare. There was nowhere he could conceal a weapon.

  “Detective Ramirez, keep an eye on him while we check the place over,” Moseby commanded before going inside. French and Morales followed him in, leaving Ramirez alone with Burch on the porch.

  “What about it? Has something happened? Burch looked at him.

  “Carly Matthews turned up dead. Tara Sweet is still missing,” Ramirez told him.

  “Did they even question Doug Carrington? I told them earlier I thought that son of a bitch had something to do with it, that he was meeting them after work last night for a run,” Burch shook his head.

  “They were with him when Carly’s body turned up on his lawn. No way he could have arranged that,” Ramirez told him.

  “Well fuck,” Burch shook his head.

  It had been a long day, but he was okay with that. He put the laptop and the diary on the coffee table in his living room. He removed his ball cap and raincoat before stretching. It was time. He walked into the kitchen and got a beer out of the fridge. He twisted off the cap and chugged half the bottle. Then he opened the door that led down to the basement. It was time to have his fun with Tara, sweet, sweet, Tara. He smiled as he made his way down the wooden steps…

  Chapter Twenty

  Harry Dove watched through a pair of old binoculars as the cops got the owner of the house out onto the porch and then went inside. He lifted a digital recorder and started speaking into it, detailing everything from what he had overheard at the Police Station to the ride out to Jason Burch’s house. The place was out in the boonies for sure, bordering the Everglades. Was Jason Burch the Tampa Slasher? Or just a false lead? It was a good question to ask, one that would leave his readers wondering. Harry clicked off the recorder and returned to watching the house. He pulled out his tablet and did a Google search of the name Jason Burch.

  Garrett Moseby frowned. There wasn’t a damn thing in the house that would connect Jason Burch to the slasher. He looked at French. “Let’s go check the garage out back,” he said.

  “Okay,” Lucy agreed. They went out the back door that was located in the kitchen.

  They both used their small tactical flashlights to light the way as they walked across the rain swept lawn. Fat, pregnant drops of rain splashed down on them as they crossed to the garage. There was no lock on the door and Moseby shoved it open. They stepped inside.

  It felt good to be out of the rain. Moseby shined his light around and found a switch. He turned it on and overhead lights flashed into brilliance. The Garage was empty except for a work bench covered with oil cans and tools. There were no secret rooms. Jason Burch was not their man.

  “Well shit,” Lucy French said as she holstered her gun.

  “Let’s give it the once over to be sure,” Moseby told her. “Just to be on the safe side.” They could hear the rain pounding on the roof above. It didn’t take long to make sure there were no hidden rooms anywhere on the property. Moseby and French walked back to the house.

  “Sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Burch,” Moseby said.

  “I should have probably mentioned beforehand that I’m gay. That’s why Sunny never bothered hitting on me,” Burch shrugged.

  “It would have been helpful to know that,” Moseby agreed.

  “I hope you catch the son of a bitch. Sunny and Carly were good people. They didn’t deserve to die like they did.”

  “Nobody deserves to die like that, Mr. Burch.”

  “So what now?” Lucy asked as the four of them trudged back to their cars in the rain.

  “Now we go search Markland’s plac
e. If we get nothing there, then I just don’t know,” Moseby replied.

  Harry Dove started his car and pulled out as soon as he spotted the four cops leaving the house without anybody in handcuffs. He knew the next place that they were going and he planned on getting there first. If he could crack this case it might even get him back on the Miami Herald, which was a far cry over the Independent News Service!

  The thunder rumbled ominously outside the house, making all the windows vibrate. He smiled. None of them had suspected him. Sure the cops had been around, but they had left and were more focused on Burch. He grinned, wondering how they would react when they found out Jason was gay and another false lead?

  Ah, but he was leading them on a merry chase! And yet the cops were none the wiser. With his non-descript appearance, they really hadn’t paid much attention to him after he had helped point the finger at Burch and Carrington. Woody Markland stripped off his clothing and stood there, letting the air conditioning cool his skin for several long moments. Then he pulled the knit ski mask over his head. It would only allow Tara to see his eyes and mouth.

  But then that was all that she needed to see. He would have his fun with her and there was not a damn thing that she could do to prevent it! He stopped in the kitchen and opened the special drawer, drawing out a hunting knife just like the one that he had used on both Sunny and Carly and that fool, Tina. He ran his thumb along the edge of the blade. A thin line of blood appeared. It was certainly sharp.

  He smiled beneath the mask. Barefoot he padded towards the door that led down into the basement and the secret rooms. He had set it up two years before as two rooms. He had never taken multiples before, but he had liked it. It was something that he would do again if time allowed it.

  Markland opened the door and padded silently down to the basement. There were not many basements in Florida. But his house had one. His father had locked him down there before. He flipped the light switch as he moved down the stairs. He wanted Tara to know that he was coming for her at last!

  Harry Dove pulled to the curb two houses away from the address that he had for Richard Markland. The rain had slowed to a misty drizzle. The car was in the drive, and Harry laid his hand on the hood. It was still warm. Markland hadn’t returned home very long ago. In Harry’s mind, that was a good thing. It meant that if Markland was indeed the Tampa Slasher, he had just returned home. Did he have a victim in his house at this very moment? Harry hoped so. It would be good press if he did!

  Harry grabbed his digital camera off the seat and quietly shut the door of his car. The rain had let up a lot. It was barely more than a fine mist now. Harry headed for the front porch.

  The only lights were in the back of the house. That suited Harry just fine. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a credit-card lock-picking kit. He knelt down and went to work on the lock. Two minutes later, he had the front door open.

  Harry Dove stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him. He didn’t bother re-locking it. He was more interested in what he might find deeper inside the house.

  He found nobody on the ground floor and slowly climbed the stairs up to the second floor. There was nobody up there either. Harry made his way back to the ground floor and went deeper inside. There was a door in the kitchen.

  Harry scanned the floor. He thought that the door had been opened not long before. Harry reached for the doorknob and turned it slowly and silently until the door swung open in her hand. There was a pale glow from below. Harry wished that he had a weapon of some sort. Maybe he would find something on the way down. He put his foot on the first step, waited, and then took the second one.

  There was no sound. Harry put his foot on the third step. Again no creak or groan as he made his way deeper down into the basement. The first room held both a table and a television screen that currently was black. There was a tray covered with surgical instruments next to the table. Harry took a picture of it, before heading for the rectangle of light that led to the next room. He could hear sounds from that other room. Harry was torn. The missing woman might be in there. But so might be the killer. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, in this case, Harry started backing up, planning on going upstairs and calling the cops. He forgot about the tray of surgical instruments until he bumped into it, sending both tray and instruments clattering loudly to the concrete floor!

  “This is the place,” Moseby said as he pulled into Markland’s driveway. Morales and Ramirez parked on the street behind a rental car. The rain was falling harder now as they made their way up onto Markland’s porch. Lightning flashed brightly in the sky, illuminating them in the stark blue-white light. “The door is open,” Moseby said, his voice nearly drowned out by the booming thunder.

  Moseby drew his Colt Commander .45 and clicked off the safety before stepping inside. The living room light was on, but the room was empty.

  “Somebody just came in not long ago. Look, wet footprints on the hardwood,” Lucy pointed out, her Glock 19 in her hands.

  Moseby looked at Ramirez and Morales. “Clear the rest of the house. Lucy and I will check down here and see if we can find this son of a bitch.”

  “Sure thing, Sarge,” Morales said. He tilted his head and Ramirez headed silently up the stairs. Morales followed him. Moseby motioned for French to stay where she was as he made a quick sweep of the rooms that opened off the living room, and found nothing.

  Moseby and French entered the kitchen in a very cautious manner. A kitchen can be one of the most dangerous rooms in a house because there are so many things that could be used as weapons there. From silverware to pots and pans and cleaning supplies, any of it could be used against them.

  “Basement door,” Lucy whispered as she pointed.

  “I bet that’s why he didn’t let us inside when we were here earlier.”

  “That would be my guess as well,” Lucy nodded. Just then they heard a loud clatter from the basement. Moseby charged ahead, hitting the door ahead of French and taking the stairs down two at a time. His feet hit concrete just as a naked man wearing a ski-mask and holding a knife charge out of a room on the other side of a large wooden table.

  A guy with a rumpled white suit and red hair was tangled up on the floor. Moseby lifted his gun, aiming at the man in the ski mask. “Freeze!” he shouted, wiping down the safety on his pistol.

  “No, I’m not done yet! Tara has to die!” the man shouted as he lunged back towards the door that he had come out of. Moseby lifted his Colt and fired, the roar of the discharging gun impossibly loud in the concrete walled basement. Moseby could hear Lucy French firing her lighter caliber Glock, the 9mm rounds not making near as much noise as the .45. Moseby moved across the room. The naked man was down, with several bleeding holes in his body. He was still breathing as Moseby reached down and ripped the ski mask off of him, exposing his face. Woody Markland gazed up at him, blood running out of his mouth and nose.

  Moseby recognized the look. Even if there had been an ambulance standing by outside the door, there was no way that Woody Markland would survive his wounds. Moseby upped the safety on the Colt and stepped over Markland into the room. Tara Sweet was strapped down to another wooden table. Other than dried blood at her ankles, she didn’t appear to have been injured. A ball gag was strapped into her mouth. Moseby moved up and undid the gag, and then he began to release the straps holding her down on the table. He stripped off his jacket and put it over her to cover her. It didn’t matter that it was rain soaked. He could see in her eyes that she was thankful.

  “I need you to lay still. Markland did his best to cripple you, but the EMT’s will be here soon to take you to a hospital where they can help you,” Moseby told her. Tara nodded her head as tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Moseby patted her hand, holding it until the EMT’s arrived.

  Harry Dove was busy composing his story on his android telephone. He knew that he was lucky that the cops hadn’t arrested him for interfering in their investigation. But they sa
w his knocking over the instruments and falling on top of them as leading them into the basement where they had cornered and killed the Tampa Slasher. Of course, Harry also knew that once he filed his story he would be best served by getting the hell out of town before they changed their minds and threw away the key.

  Once he was satisfied with the narrative, Harry hit send and the story was moving through the ether to hit the computer of his boss at INS. What he needed now was a drink, and not just any drink but a nice smooth Scotch whiskey. Cops were all over the place but none of them were paying much attention to him. Harry slipped out of the house and headed for his rental car. He figured it best to get while the getting was good!

  Captain Luke Stanley had come out to supervise the scene. He got Moseby and French off to a side room. “You guys did a good job on this, especially given how little you had to work with,” he said.

  “Plus, Ramirez found some of the plastique that Markland had used on Lucy’s car, so we cleared that too,” Moseby shrugged

  “So you are sure this is the guy?” Stanley looked at them both.

  “Yeah, he’s our guy. All the ankle cuts are the same. Fortunately, there was a surgeon at Tampa General who was able to repair the damage to Tara Sweet. She should make a full recovery,” Lucy French said.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Stanley told them.

  “We did our jobs, Captain. The dead can’t speak for the dead so we speak for them. Sometimes we get lucky and we save one before they become dead. I’ll take that anytime,” Moseby said.

  “You did good, Garrett. You too Lucy,” Luke Stanley told them.

  Moseby and French will return in…

  Looking into Darkness

  Being a cop in a southern city is never an easy thing. Garrett Moseby and Lucy French are two of Tampa’s best. But somebody has started targeting Tampa Police officers, shooting them down from ambush. Moseby and French are assigned the case. This coming on the heels of the hunt for a deadly serial killer. Moseby and French know they will nail whoever is behind it, but they also know they won’t come through it unscathed. To solve this one, they will have to look into the darkness and hope that the darkness isn’t looking back…