Monster: The Story Of A Maniac

by Peter Cry

“He jumped out onto the road!” shouted a driver in a cap, running up to the body. “I had no time to even notice him!”

  “He's dead, call 911,” Alfred said, looking at Zimmerman's lifeless gray eyes, with a mixture of hatred and pity.

  “Yes, right away. I have the phone in the bus,” muttered the driver, shaking.

  “Go and get the phone, now!” the federal agent ordered.

  As soon as the driver had run back to the bus, Alfred discreetly picked up a bunch of keys that had fallen from the victim’s jeans pocket and, clenching them in his fist, hastened to leave the scene.

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” the driver caught up with him on the other side of the bus. “You can’t leave, I need witnesses. He jumped out onto the road right before me.”

  “This street is full of witnesses,” Alfred answered coldly and without turning around continued to leave.

  He calmly entered the front door of the house and quickly went up to the third floor. He fiddled with bloody keys trying to find one that fitted the lock to Zimmerman’s apartment.

  “Come on,” he muttered until finally he was successful.

  There was a soft click, and the door opened.

  Realizing that his actions were not entirely legal, Alfred pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his pants. Grabbing the doorknob, he opened the door.

  The federal agent cautiously entered a stylish and expensively furnished living room. There was white and red sparkling plastic everywhere. The apartment looked like a photo studio, or Andy Warhol's creative lab. There were several old cameras on the tripods near the wide windows. Photographs in chrome frames of attractive naked men and women, both young and old, hung on the walls.

  Passing into the hallway, Alfred peeked into a guest toilet and moved on. He glanced at his feet to make sure he was not leaving traces of dirt on the white fluffy carpet. Realizing that he needed to hurry, he fumbled around nervously. He had no search warrant. After the accident, no one should see him leaving Zimmermann’s apartment.

  Using his handkerchief to prevent leaving fingerprints, Alfred quickly checked every shelf and every cupboard. He leafed through a few books he came across, and carefully put them back in their place. In the kitchen he examined even the oven. From there he moved to the bedroom. In the unpleasant red room with soft fluffy walls, Alfred immediately noticed a small metal ring in the ceiling. Having dealt with perverts from time to time, he realized what it was intended for.

  Opposite the bed with a red cover, there was a desk on which photographs and documents were scattered. Under them he found a laptop. He opened it and switched it on. The display of the professional powerful computer designed to work with graphics and images came to life. A black window with a white line asked for an access code.

  “Fuck!” Alfred cursed.

  Hearing ambulance and police sirens approaching the scene of the accident, without thinking twice, he closed the laptop and, disconnecting it from the power supply, put the device under his arm.

  Leaving the apartment, Alfred nervously wiped the sweat from his forehead. Having pulled himself together, straightening his shirt and fixing the tie around his neck, he left the house and walked calmly along the street, passing behind the strangers who stood around the body of Nathan Zimmermann, which was now covered with a white bloodied sheet. Pulling the keys out of his pocket, he threw them into the first flowerbed that caught his eye. Turning around the corner and walking several blocks, Alfred, clutching the victim’s laptop, called a taxi and went back to his hotel.

  ***

  “Do you know if the flight from New York had arrived?” a heavy woman holding her daughter's hand, asked Alfred.

  “I'm sorry, what?”

  “The flight from New York. Has it landed?” she repeated.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know, I just came here, and I…”

  The woman and her daughter, hanging on her hand like a balloon, disappeared among the half-empty rows of the waiting room. When he flew to Chicago, Alfred could not even have imagined that his business trip would end so quickly, in just half a day. Placing the stolen computer on his lap, he shook it, tapping his foot excitedly on the floor.

  Vibrating in his inner pocket, Alfred’s smartphone came to life.

  He pulled it out and glanced at the display. There was a photograph of a half-naked smiling Rita.

  “Yes,” Alfred answered the call.

  “Hi,” a pleasant female said. “How are you doing in Chicago? How was your flight?”

  “Everything’s fine, already at the airport, waiting for my flight to come back.”

  Rita felt in his voice that he was either upset or worried.

  “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry. It seems I’m not used to planes. They make me tired.”

  “I see,” Rita was annoyed. “Since you don’t want to tell your lover anything, can you share something with your colleague and your boss?” adopting a more official tone, she asked. “Did you manage to do what you’d planned?”

  “Stop it, Rita, please... Not now,” Alfred answered wearily.

  “And what should I do? You don’t listen to me either way, and you don’t answer my questions.”

  “Did you call to give me a dressing down?”

  “No,” Rita changed her tone.

  “Why then?”

  “I wanted to indulge in a bit of sweet talk, to thank you for the most wonderful weekend I’ve ever had. But, obviously, it didn’t work out.”

  Alfred felt guilty.

  “Forgive me. As soon as I come back, I’ll tell you everything right away, I promise.”

  “Do you want me to meet you at the airport?”

  “No, I’m fine,” Alfred said sluggishly. “I have to reflect a lot. About what I saw today. I’ll need to sleep on it. Then we'll discuss everything at work.”

  “Okay, fine, I just wanted to...” Rita felt offended.

  “And yet...” she was interrupted by a velvet male voice, tired, but music to her ears. “I miss you so much. I don’t know how I’ll be able to withstand the torture of working days without being able to hug and kiss you.”

  “Agent Hope, you have rehabilitated yourself with just a few words of the sort that every woman wants to hear.”

  “Don’t get mad at me, please, I will explain everything to you when we meet.”

  Feeling there was no point continuing with questions, Director Coleman agreed. “I understand. Hurry back and stay safe.”

  “I will. See you tomorrow.”

  After hanging up, Alfred opened the silver laptop. It still requested the password.

  “Where do I get that?” he muttered angrily.

  Alfred was annoyed things had not turned out the way he wanted. Reality had refused to support his plans. It seemed that the clue or thread leading to the children was encased in an absolutely numbing emptiness and they had slipped out of his fingers again in such an eerie manner.

  Alfred was unable to find anything among the papers and other things in Zimmermann’s apartment which could shed light on the case of the abducted children. Neither an address, old business card, nor incriminating pictures – not a single hint that the laptop’s owner could somehow be connected with it.

  Tired and resentful, Alfred stared at the laptop’s screen. From his relatively short but broad experience obtained as a patrolman in Seattle, he knew that none of those involved in child pornography stored that kind of compromising data on their home computers. Usually everything was transferred to flash drives, external hard drives or loaded to clouds on the Deep Web.

  Most of all, Alfred was angry with himself for having been confused and not rushing towards Zimmerman when he’d had the opportunity.

  He was also frustrated with himself because he was afraid. There was something he could not understand. Why would a person involved in the abduction of children, or least a prime suspect, call him by a different name? The very thought of tha
t name disgusted him and made him feel sick.

  “What a moron,” Alfred thought, remembering the smile of the suspect a moment before his death.

  That look shocked him more than a gun pointing at him or a knife flashing in the hand of an assailant. But worst of all were the suspect’s eyes who had stared at him as if they had met before, as if they knew each other.

  Alfred's fingers reached for the keyboard. Slowly, and without thinking, he began to type where the password was required the name that was haunting him – Jason.

  Chapter 24

  Entering the FBI operational, Alfred briefly paused at the door. The room was almost empty, there were only three people inside, lazily working at their computers. Even the always punctual Kate was absent.

  “Hi,” shouted Agent Polaski, raising his hand.

  Alfred responded with an indifferent smile and nodded.

  “I need your help,” he said, going to his colleague’s desk.

  Polaski sat upright. “How can I help you?”

  Alfred put the laptop on the desk and turned it on.

  “I don't have the password, but I need to get inside it.”

  Polaski glanced at the screen and gave Alfred an ironic, bewildered, look.

  “Well, I would advise you use the Accio-Password or failing that a can opener. You could then search among the chips for what you need.”

  “Cut it out, Polaski, I'm serious. You are the IT-expert. The information in that laptop could be incredibly useful for the investigation.”

  “Despite what you might imagine about the abilities of FBI employees and their technical capabilities, we cannot just go into someone else’s computer like that.”

  Alfred rubbed his forehead nervously.

  “Is it really not possible to do anything about it?”

  Polaski got up from his chair and smiled slyly, looking into the eyes of his colleague.

  “You can always do something, the question is, why on earth should I or my colleagues spend time on doing it?”

  “So, what I’ve said about the importance of the information inside that laptop is not good enough for you? Alfred asked quietly, trying not to attract unnecessary attention.

  “Well, apparently, not,” his colleague shrugged.

  “So, what do you want then?”

  “I want you to stay away from me and my desk.” Seeing Alfred’s thinly veiled anger, Polaski irritated him even more by continuing to smile.

  Quietly opening the door, Director Coleman entered the room. When she saw Alfred talking with his colleagues, she lit up inside for a moment, but then remembered that he hadn’t picked up the phone three times the night before and once in the morning.

  “Agent Hope,” she attracted the attention of those present. “Glad to see you back at your workplace. How was your business trip?”

  “Very productive,” Alfred responded, still staring at Polaski. “I’m just about to share the results with Agent Polaski. He’s very pleased and wants to help me.”

  Rita noticed the tension between the two men.

  “Is that so, Polaski?”

  “Yes, chief,” he feigned a smiled as he looked at her.

  Alfred inclining his head slightly forward, so his lips almost touched the left ear of his colleague.

  “If you don’t extract everything up to the last file, and it turns out that the information on the laptop was relevant, Director Coleman and Benjamin will destroy you. I will destroy you.”

  Continuing to smile and look at his boss, Polaski sat back in his chair.

  “What's happening?” Rita was disconcerted.

  “Nothing, chief,” Polaski switched his glance to the black screen. I’m already working on it.” He raised his head and gave Alfred a dirty look. “As soon as I finish, I’ll let you know.”

  “Agent Hope,” Rita continued. “I want to see you in my office. Now!”

  Clearly displeased, she pushed the doors with her hand and left the room. Realizing what was in store, Alfred prepared for the worse and followed her.

  “Have a seat, Agent Hope,” she said, pointing to the chair on the opposite side of her table.

  “Listen, Rita,” he wanted to make excuses right away.

  “I said take a seat,” she interrupted. “We are still in the office, which means that we will conduct our relations with that in mind.”

  “Fine,” Alfred sank unhappily into the chair.

  Rita took off her short gray jacket, showing her white fitted sleeveless blouse, fastened at the waistline with a sewn-in brown silk belt.

  “Tell me about your trip. What have you found? I want to hear the results,” she asked nervously twisting a pencil in her hands.

  Tired of constantly making excuses and hiding what he knew, Alfred sighed heavily.

  “I found the person involved in the abduction.”

  Hearing those words, Director Coleman almost dropped the pencil on her table.

  “And you went there alone?” she asked. “To the suspect! Without me and other agents?”

  “Yes,” Alfred answered wearily.

  “So, where is he, have you detained him or interrogated him?”

  “Unfortunately, he’s dead.”

  Unable to suppress the tension, Rita broke the pencil in half. Putting the two pieces on her desk, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Are you to blame?”

  “No.”

  Lightly but loudly, she hit the table with her open palm.

  “That’s enough, Alfred!” she exclaimed. “I can’t and don’t want to drag out every single word out of you with so much stress. Can you just tell me what happened? Why did you fly to Chicago, and why didn’t you pick up the phone? Or you are no longer interested in me after the weekend?”

  “Don't shout,” Alfred tried to calm her down. “I’m not telling you anything, because there is nothing special to report. Right now, Polaski, the nerd, is getting the information from the laptop, and then I’ll have something to share. The man I suspected was hit by a bus in front of my very eyes before I could interrogate him. Rummaging in his home, I didn’t find anything suspicious. The only hope we have now is that damn laptop.” Alfred was getting steamed up. “And I did not pick up the phone because after the incident with the bus I was trying to get rid of the memory of brains and blood splattered on the road.”

  Moved by what she’d heard, Director Coleman calmed down.

  “Alf, I repeat, you cannot proceed with the investigation the way you have been doing. Or maybe you think that without telling me the names and the facts that led you to the suspect in Chicago, and simply raising your voice will make me calm down and feel guilty?”

  Rita got up from her table and, going around Alfred, sat in the chair next to him. “You are not only the man with whom I have a relationship outside of work, but also my agent. I’m responsible for your life.”

  “I know, Rita,” he looked guiltily at his lover. “And I will tell you everything right after I deal with the laptop. I will provide a detailed report with all the information I have. I just ask you to understand my style of work. Being a patrolman in Seattle, I did everything by myself. I didn’t even have a partner.”

  Alfred took Rita's hand. “Don’t do that either.”

  “Do what?”

  “Never say that I’m no longer interested in you. To be honest, I'm here only because of you. If not for you, I would have returned to Seattle a long time ago.”

  Alfred got up and, holding his boss's hand, helped her do the same. Hugging her, he pressed Rita to his body.

  Rita reciprocated, pressing her nose and her lips to his neck.

  “You didn't lock the door,” she whispered.

  “Do I have to?”

  “No. They are so afraid of me that they never come in by themselves.”

  Alfred kissed Rita, and for a moment she melted and forgot about how her reputation could be destroyed at any second.

  Something vibrated under Alfred’s jacket next to his hea
rt.

  “Well, that’s an interesting reaction,” Rita quipped, extricating herself from the embrace.

  Her subordinate took his smartphone out.

  “It’s Polaski,” he said, looking at the message. “I have to get back.”

  “Yes, sure,” Rita agreed. “Please, remember about the report.”

  “You’ll have it today,” Alfred was a little bewildered. He paused by the door. “And maybe tonight after work we’ll run away to my place or yours and have dinner together?”

  “Should I take my toothbrush?” Rita caressed Alfred with her eyes in anticipation.

  “I have a spare one for you, I’ve bought it at the airport.”

  With the sensation of a weight having fallen from his shoulders, Agent Hope returned to his workspace.

  On entering the room, he noticed that another agent was standing by the laptop with Polaski. Bending over the table, they were staring at something, clinically discussing what they saw.

  “Well, what is it?” Alfred asked them.

  “Nothing special,” Polaski said with displeasure, closing the laptop. “Same as everything I’ve seen before – tons of child pornography. The faces of the adults are hidden, the voices changed. That’s judging from the two videos we’ve just watched.” Without getting up, he handed the laptop to Alfred. “I hope you won't ask me to watch all of it?”

  “No, I won’t,” Alfred replied with no desire to start a conversation. “You’re a shit, Polaski, but thanks all the same.”

  “Mind what you say, patrolman!” his colleague replied loudly so everyone would hear him.

  Alfred sat at his desk and opened his laptop. Putting on his headphones, he double-clicked on the touchpad and opened a folder in which another 374 folders were stored. Having selected everything, he measured the total volume of the folders. A bit more than a terabyte. There were only multimedia files, photos, and videos. It struck Alfred that Nathan Zimmerman, being connected with the pedophilia business, was not at all worried about being caught, and had stored such pornographic material on his laptop.

  The folders on the hard drive were mostly numbered. Those signed differently had unclear titles, most likely representing abbreviations. First, Alfred checked when the files were saved to the computer. This could not tell him when exactly the photos and videos had been taken, but at least it provided information about how long Nathan Zimmerman had been engaged in such a vile business.