“Why are you hiding?” His voice didn’t sound as confident as before.
“C’mon baby…” A brief few seconds passed before, “C’mon baby…” She repeated.
Timothy gave his caution a rest and walked directly to the ladder. Before he reached it, a loud crack clamped onto his left ankle with such a force, he instantly crumbled to the ground in agony. Flailing around in the newly dispersed hay, he groaned, screaming out in pain.
Blood darkened the straw beneath him.
He tried to direct his attention and to make sense of the situation between gasps. A bear trap, used primarily to catch large game, had caught him before he reached the ladder. Purposely set and strategically centered, it had waited for him. There was no doubt that it would take him down and hold him like a wild animal.
What the hell?
“Who are you?” He screeched. “I… I… need a doctor!” For the first time, he examined his ankle looking down at the shattered appendage, broken, cut deep to the bone, and gushing blood. “Please… why are you doing this?” His fearful thoughts turned to the possibility of a severed artery and dying in a couple of minutes.
A small tape recorder flew over the railing from above and landed next to him. Still running, it said… “C’mon baby… C’mon baby…” It kept repeating the same words, and sounded more like the rant of a crazy person with each fevered request.
“Help me!” Timothy screamed in agony.
The candles blew out.
Darkness fell over the interior of the barn.
Footsteps moved from one side of the loft to the other.
“Help! Help me! Please!” Timothy screamed.
* * * * *
Standing in the clearing, barely fifty feet away from the barn, a dark, slim figure watched. He observed the destruction as the light became brighter with profuse shades of yellow, orange, and red. It overflowed into the night. It burned bright and deep, cleansing away any remnant of what remained behind.
A new beginning would soon reveal itself.
The man pushed his hands deep into his coat pockets, nervously pressing the thumbs against the forefingers, each time with more force, staying in the moment, wanting to experience life dwindling from another person, but not just any person – a sinner.
The screaming had stopped. It was unclear if he still felt the scorching heat peel away his skin from the bones, or if he had succumbed to the smoke before the transformation occurred. The pleads and agonizing screams made it more enjoyable, but still, the outcome was always the same. A long, drawn out death, or a quick one, it did not matter.
The burning building captured the man’s soul and deep seeded emotions with the hypnotizing and inviting spirits. It amazed him each time with a wondrous performance.
A sin repaid.
The arsonist patiently waited for a hidden message to exit from the fire to commend him on his sacrifices of righteousness, but it never did. He did not grow weary of waiting; it was only a matter of time. The deeds piled up, and once he reached the appointed number, the words would push him to the next level.
The flames gained an impressive momentum that engulfed the building, crashing and exploding inside with a magnificent symphony. It incinerated everything within its path, until it reached through the windows like fingertips from the afterlife, clawing for redemption, and some sign of recognition.
No one would grieve Timothy Devlin.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Thursday 1930 Hours
A camera flash illuminated the corner of the restaurant where a table of three friends congregated over drinks and dessert. Several more bursts from the camera phone in rapid succession finished the impromptu photo shoot.
“Knock it off Jordan.” Rick grimaced and rubbed his eyes.
“What?” Jordan smirked as he scrolled through the images on his camera phone. “Rick you take really nice photos, even with a nasty scowl on your face. We’re talking high fashion model here.”
“Take another photo and I’ll break your phone.”
“Ricky…Ricky… after everything we’ve been through?”
Emily interrupted. “I almost forgot. I have something for you Jordan.”
“Me?” His voice raised an octave.
“Don’t get too excited.” She reached into her leather handbag, and retrieved a flat white box with a red ribbon tied around it.
“Wow, you really shouldn’t have.” Jordan replied dramatically.
She handed the box to him. “Don’t open it here, it’s the device I was telling you about from the fire scene.”
“It might be over his head. Maybe we need to send it to an expert.” Rick interjected with a half-smile on his face.
Jordan took the box and held it close like a child not wanting to give up a toy. “I’m hurt. I’ll take a look when I get home, and give you my professional diagnosis.” He beamed the usual toothy grin.
The waiter stopped at their table. “Would anyone like another cocktail?”
“Please.” Jordan quickly piped up. “All around, thank you.” He tossed a hundred dollar bill on the table.
The waiter smiled, gave a courteous nod to the group, and left to get their orders.
Jordan searched his phone using the touchpad, and brought up some of the photos that Emily had taken at the crime scene. “I’ve been thinking…”
Rick grunted in annoyance.
“I have been thinking… that this crime scene doesn’t have the usual MO that most burn scenes have…” He lowered his voice. “This guy…”
“We don’t know it’s a man.” Rick interrupted.
Emily said, “We’ll just assume for now that it’s a man, until evidence dictates otherwise.”
“Thank you.” Jordan continued, “Anyway, most arsonists are angry and retaliatory in nature. Right? Basically, they are people just pissed off at the world around them. But this guy, a totally different serial anomaly.”
Emily listened and she knew that they were on the same page. “The only motive or purpose that seems to fit from all the crime scenes is that he’s choosing his victims selectively.”
“What’s the worst kind of criminal?” Emily watched the two men.
“Child molesters and murderers.” Rick stated. He paused a moment and then said, “What about any other high-profile cases tried in the media?”
Jordan added. “Like the Devlin case. He’s a serial criminal that rapes, tortures…”
“And…” Emily added. “Anyone who helps the perps, like attorneys, special interest groups, judges, social workers.”
A young cocktail waitress arrived with their drinks on a tray. She smiled and swiftly served their drinks.
“Thank you.” Jordan smiled.
Emily took a sip of her drink, wrinkled her forehead. The alcohol was distinctly stronger than the last cocktail. She quickly focused back to her train of thought.
Leaning forward at Jordan, she continued. “I forwarded you my profile, new findings, and questions about the latest scene.”
“Got them.”
“What confuses me are the fire patterns, and how it could burn so hot, and just destroy the one and a half rooms.” Emily mused.
Rick explained. “Usually you can detect some type of accelerant, or find pieces of the incendiary device, but there was nothing.”
“There wasn’t any unusual odor that would indicate a controlled burn or accelerants.” She leaned back in her chair. “I know that there’s something that we’re missing.”
“Hmmm… a case that Emily Stone can’t crack.” Jordan laughed.
“Yeah, well, more people are going to die if we can’t figure it out.” She looked seriously at Jordan, right eyebrow raised. “You still have contacts at the courthouse?”
“Sure, why?”
Rick took Emily’s hand, and squeezed it gently. “It would probably be a good idea to find a casual way to warn the judge and prosecutor in that Devlin case. Just as a precaution.”
“Will do…” Jordan
turned his attention to Emily again. “I briefly went over your notes and photos. There was something unusual at the scene.”
Emily took another sip of her drink. “What’s that?”
“The shoe prints. I know they were muddled, but there was one set of work boots that seemed to be distinctly apart from the others.” He laughed. “I know that’s like a needle in a haystack, but it still bothers me.”
Rick didn’t make eye contact with Jordan, he stared at Emily. “You think that it was someone impersonating a firefighter, moving through the crime scene where no one would notice.”
“Something like that…” Jordan downed the rest of his drink.
“The cops only have bits and pieces of the body, and very little to go on from the actual fire.” Emily’s mind spun. “Is there a solid way to connect the evidence? All of the forensics and behavioral evidence in order to flush out the killer?”
“We’ll just keep digging until we do.” Jordan replied.
The group sat silent for several moments.
Emily let out a sigh. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m exhausted.
Rick pushed back his chair. “It’s time to get home and get some sleep.”
“Oh, yeah, sleep…” Jordan said with a sarcastic tone and a dramatic roll of the eyes.
“Jordan are you ever going to get a girlfriend?” Rick equaled his mocking tone.
The group stood up to leave.
“Yeah, well, most of the women I know can’t handle me.” Jordan grumbled.
Emily grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “One of these days Jordan…” She patted him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture.
Rick headed out of the restaurant first, followed by Emily and Jordan.
Jordan slipped his arm around Emily’s, and spoke directly into her ear. “I have something for you.” He padded his hand into hers. “It’s a little something that will help you, if you’re ever lost.”
“What?” Emily looked in her hand, and revealed a silver locket in the shape of a heart on an intricate chain. She looked at him with a blank expression.
He laughed. “It’s a tracking device. You don’t have to worry about activating it. It’s always emitting a low signal.” He tapped his cell phone. “I can track you with a simple application. It is something I’m working on to take to a big company. Cool huh?”
“Thanks Jordan.” Emily smiled, and thought it was a nice quality for the jewelry version of a low jack. She slipped it into her jacket pocket.
* * * * *
As they drove slowly down the quiet street, the evening remained serene and dark, and the only lights illuminating were motion lights affixed to neighbor’s houses. Most residences had at least one car parked in front of the house as well as one in the driveway.
Rick eased the Explorer into the driveway and cut the engine.
Emily jumped out of the vehicle, and proceeded up the cobblestone walkway when Rick caught her around the waist, pulling her close to his body. She returned the affection, leaned in and kissed him. They lingered for a moment enjoying each other, the warmth of their bodies, and the quiet moment on a clear, crisp evening.
“You managed to make it through another dinner with Jordan.” Emily teased.
“I’ll let you in on a secret.”
She nuzzled his neck. “And?”
“I really don’t mind him, he’s like some of those stand-up comedians that you flip by on the television, but you wind up watching them eventually.”
Laughing, Emily replied. “He is, isn’t he?”
Rick kissed her again.
A deep dog bark boomed from inside the house. It continued in rapid succession.
“Oh, I left my purse in the car.” She wiggled out of Rick’s comfortable embrace.
He tossed her the car keys. “See you inside. I better go and let Sarge out before he tears down the door.”
Emily walked back to the car and opened the passenger door. As she reached inside to retrieve her purse, the low glow of Rick’s cell phone caught her attention. It had fallen out of his pocket and now rested on the seat. She quickly picked it up, and saw a recent text from a local law enforcement agency that read: Nothing new to report on escape of Leo Brown
Emily stood up straight, still staring at the phone screen, dumbfounded, which quickly turned to anger.
How could Rick have kept this from her?
The man responsible for several deaths that almost cost her life, not to mention the man who killed her parents when she was twelve years old, was out roaming free to kill again.
So many questions rifled through her mind with lightning speed.
When?
How?
A crash from inside interrupted her endless loop of irritation. “Sarge…” She mumbled. Rick and the dog were probably roughhousing again, she thought to herself.
Emily grabbed her purse, slammed the door shut, and engaged the locking mechanism before returning to the house.
Still reading the message, Emily pushed through the front door, walked over the threshold, and demanded, “Leo’s not in prison? Why didn’t you tell me?”
The house sat quiet.
“Where are you guys?” Her voice confronted.
Emily stomped into the living room, when an intense pressure squeezed her neck and upper right arm. Her breath caught in her throat, chest tightened, just as she fell to the floor, in what seemed like, extreme slow motion. Her vision dimmed, wavered in and out, as the room spun like a carnival ride with a sickening ripple effect.
She heard two, maybe three men, talking in low tones as they stood over her with authority and confidence. She could not see them, and had no way of knowing if they were young or old, cops or burglars. The last thought that muddled through her mind was of Rick and Sarge, before she succumbed to unconsciousness.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Friday 0830 Hours
What had once been a large barn sitting on top of a beautiful hill, now smoldered with lingering smoke billowing in low clouds. A few surrounding trees with scorched leaves, and gnarled trunks, made the entire site chilling. It sparked a supernatural scene that inspired urban legends.
Detective Bobby Duncan stood twenty feet from the scene, uncomfortable and stressed, as usual. He watched the crime scene techs methodically sift, search, and photograph any item from the debris that did not belong at the location. The seasoned detective hoped to find some truth this time, and some solid answers before the next one.
The secured area doubled the size of the standard fire crime scene. At least until it was determined an arson act or not. Due to lack of evidence from previous scenes, Duncan decided to extend the search area this time.
The burnt body freshly extracted from the center of the structure, shrouded in a black body bag, was laid to rest on the gurney.
The detective did not need to see the body; he knew the typical conditions of the charred form, contorted in a ghastly manner, teeth and bones protruding in between any skin that had not burned completely off the body. Sometimes, enough grisly matter oozed from the victim, which transformed into sickening chunks. This condition made the body appear mannequin-like, or something that would be dangling during a haunted house ride.
These images made the long, two and half decades as a cop, still shocking to the detective. No matter what any cop conveyed about homicide investigations, there were always murders and crime scenes, so disturbing, that it couldn’t be erased from memory.
The wheels of the gurney screeched and churned in the uneven dirt pathway as two coroner technicians maneuvered the metal contraption to the van.
Evidence markers scattered over dozens of areas around the location. Every item with an identifying number that coincided with pieces of evidence discovered, photographed, and collected. Some burnt fragments deposited into containers, jars, and plastic bags filled the forensic van.
The mood and energy remained somber and quiet. Each technician wo
rked diligently and there was little conversation, which usually consisted of casual topics to lighten the attitude of the team.
Moving with the great effort of an overweight physique, breathing heavy, Duncan wanted a closer look to determine, and possible locate, anything that hid underneath the body. He puffed for breath, not because of increasing anxiety or overexertion, but for the sheer effort of the extra bulk taxing his middle-aged body.
The large bear trap, mostly intact, extracted carefully from the ashes, made the detective ponder. It wasn’t clear if the victim was caught accidently in the device, part of a killer’s plan, or if it was just another item from inside the barn.
The first thing he noticed about the crime scene was that it differed from the others, this time the entire structure burned.
Could he be changing his M.O.?
Was his psychological need escalating into something else?
Duncan knew in his gut that it was the same perpetrator as the other arson sites over the past several years. So many questions lingered and haunted him, day and night. Chasing after a serial killer was not anything new to the detective. In fact, he gave talks and workshops based on some of his previous solved serial cases. There was always a thirst in the law enforcement community for answers, and for new insights into solving serial murder cases.
Duncan distanced himself from other detectives on a certain level. He had a secret that he couldn’t tell anyone at the department, or even anyone in his personal life. A phantom investigator sent him anonymous emails with information about various serial cases. It wasn’t idle gossip among the blue code, but a real vigilante detective that provided evidence. He had met her in person, almost two years ago, and everything changed. It transformed how he conducted his investigations, how he looked at evidence, and ultimately, the closed murder cases steadily increased at the police department. He felt a sense of pride and admiration for Emily Stone, and protected her identity at all costs.
Even with a potential hovering angel at the crime scene investigations, it still didn’t ease the detective’s mind about the arsonist. He checked his phone with regularity, waiting for some piece of evidence, or in-depth profile to solve his problem – but nothing came.
Dead Burn Page 7
