An Unkindness of Ravens

by European P. Douglas

  “I don’t care,” the other said, “I’ll just be glad to have something warm to eat.” Sarah felt sorry for these two men on hearing this. The younger one seemed very new to the whole thing.

  “Did you wash your hands properly?” the older asked after they had walked on a few moments. At the mention of cleaning, Sarah’s ears pricked up.

  “Yeah,” the younger one said, “I was in the bathroom at the gas station.”

  “Show me,” the older said, and the younger held up his hands as they continued to walk. “That won’t do,” said the older. “If Ferguson is on, he won't serve you food unless your hands are spotless - he insists on it!” Sarah perked up at this. This was exactly the kind of thing she was looking for!

  “They’re fine!” the other protested, and the older shook his head.

  “Not for Ferguson,” he said grumpily and then added, “Come on, we need to get you sorted before we get there or there'll be a fuss.” They started off in another direction and Sarah had to talk to them.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, coming up to them. They both stopped and the younger looked at her nervously while the older smiled.

  “It’s been a long time since anyone called me a gentleman,” he said. Sarah smiled too, a little embarrassed by her formality.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing you talking just now,” Sarah said, “Were you talking about the soup kitchen just up the street here?”

  “Yes, you know it?” the older man asked.

  “No, but I’m going down there to have a look now,” Sarah said. The men looked her up and down and the younger one spoke up now,

  “Are you from the Department of Health?” he asked nervously.

  “No, no, nothing like that,” Sarah said, “I’m just looking in on such places for a report I’m writing,” she said. It wouldn’t do her any good to tell them the real reason she was so interested in this place and especially this Mr Ferguson. She fumbled in her pocket and found a couple of crumpled bills and handed them to the men without even looking to see what they were.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the older one said, and he didn’t look at the money either. The younger one did and then looked away embarrassed when he thought he’d made a faux-pas.

  Sarah walked on down to the soup kitchen and watched from outside for a time as homeless men and women filed in and out of the old dilapidated building. Sarah thought it was just as well for this place that she was not from the Department of Health; they’d likely shut this place down on sight.

  As she watched, a man came out and he looked well sated and in good humour. Another man was on his way in and the one coming out said in a jocular tone,

  “I hope you’ve washed your britches, Ferguson is on today!” The other man didn’t say anything, but he did look down at his hands as he went inside.

  Sarah stepped in front of the man leaving with a five dollar bill in her hand.

  “What does Ferguson look like?” she asked. The man looked at the bill before taking it and said,

  “Red headed, red faced Irish bastard, you can’t miss him.” He smiled.

  “What’s the deal with him being so caught up on clean hands?”

  “He has a thing about germs and food, says the hands are the quickest way to get into the mouth, so he makes everyone scrub their hands like you’re about to perform surgery before he’ll give you any of the food.”

  “Do you know his full name?”

  “No, don’t recall ever hearing it. I don’t know if Ferguson is his first name or his last name,” the man said and then tipped an imaginary hat and set off.

  “Thanks,” Sarah said as he walked away.

  The inside of the hall didn’t look much better than the outside. Shoes squeaked on the old warped floor as people shuffled from the serving area to long benches that ran on either side of tables throughout the hall. It was busy, a lot busier than she would have thought possible, and Sarah was shocked at how many homeless people there were in a place so small as Woodbridge. How had she never noticed this before?

  In her quick glance around the room, she felt she hadn’t been seen, so she crossed quickly to one of the tables and sat down. From her vantage she was partly hidden by the hungry clientele but had a clear enough view of the serving area. And more importantly the man at the counter.

  There was certainly no mistaking this fellow, Sarah thought. He was exactly as described. Curly red hair, a drinker’s red face on top of a strong thick body - the look of farming in his ancestry. She noticed he wore gloves up his elbows as he worked and he had a mean countenance, his eye glaring over the people he was here to help. He was definitely looking at everyone’s hands as they came to him.

  The two men she’d been behind in the street came in and went to the counter. Even from where she sat Sarah could see how clean their hands were now. Ferguson looked too and if it made him happy to see it, he didn’t show it. The men got their food without any chatter and went to a table. There was a break in the service now with no clients waiting with trays. Ferguson turned and she saw that he was removing his gloves and then started washing his own hands. Was this ‘John the Baptist?’

  She walked to the counter and when he turned back to face that way, pulling on fresh gloves as he did, she saw the look of surprise in his eyes. He hid it almost at once but she had seen it.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, his tone neutral, no smile on his face. She guessed this was as pleasant as he got.

  “I’m Agent Brightwater from the FBI,” she said, flashing her badge a moment. Ferguson looked at it and followed it as she put it away quickly. “I don’t want to make a scene here Mr?”

  “Ferguson,” he filled her silence.

  “Mr Ferguson. We’re running an investigation and I’d like to ask you a few questions if I could?”

  “Investigation?” he looked worried but trying not to. “Into what?” Sarah ignored this question.

  “Can you tell me your full name please? Do you have ID on you?” His face flushed, and his eyes darted about to see if the homeless people were watching this.

  “What is this?” he said angrily. Sarah watched his reactions with great interest. She had purposefully started to question him here in public for just this reason. The flashing of the badge had been an afterthought but a good one.

  “What time will you be finished here?” she asked again, ignoring him.

  “Two O’clock,” he said.

  “I’ll hang around and talk to you then,” she said, “Is there anyone else helping you with this today?”

  “No, Susan called to say she was sick,” he answered, his temper receding now that he thought she was going to stop embarrassing him. Sarah nodded and looked around the room. She walked out without another word. Once outside she called the Woodbridge Police Department and told them to send someone down to the soup kitchen at lunchtime to talk to Ferguson. She wanted to talk to him herself, but she wouldn’t have the time to hang around if she had to visit Malick, and she didn’t want to leave it until tomorrow before someone spoke to him. Ferguson was a real possibility and definitely had to be checked out.

  Chapter 12

  Tyler sat at his desk, looking through the file Danny had been working on. It was good and easy to read and reference, but so far it hadn’t yielded anything. It was very possible it wouldn’t even when it was complete, but it was a worthwhile undertaking to have all the facts, rumours and stories in one place. Danny wasn’t in the office right now, but he’d emailed to say that he would be in soon. Tyler told him he didn’t need to do set hours in the office as his job was internet based right now and he could do it from anywhere. It also wouldn’t be good training to be a reporter as they were supposed to be away from the office as much as possible getting leads and breaking stories. That was the real work of investigative journalism.

  The double doors to the office swung open and a familiar voice called,

  “Knock, knock, hate mail and complaints delivery!” Tyler looked
up to see Harvey, the US Postal worker, come in with a wad of letters. His heart raced now every time the post came in. Was there going to be another letter from the killer?

  “Just drop them in the trash can by the door, there,” Tyler called over smiling.

  “You got it!” Harvey said and he pretended to dump the lot. The two men smiled at one another and then Harvey dropped the pile on June’s vacated desk. “Better let June decide which ones to keep when she gets back,” he said, smiling and then waved over his shoulder as he went back out the door and back on his busy rounds.

  “See ya,” Tyler called out, but he was already on his feet and reached the letters before the door had even fully closed behind Harvey. He scanned through the letters, dropping them back on June’s desk in two piles, one his own post and the other everyone else's. Then he hit it! There was another one, he was sure of it. The handwriting was the same, and the first thing he looked at this time was the postmark. It was only yesterday, and it bore a Baltimore Post Office stamp.

  Tyler went back to his desk and put the letter down on the top and looked it over. The lettering was neat and the stamp at a right angle, he could only imagine how much the off centre postal workers stamp would have upset the killer in that it ruined his aesthetic. Tyler looked around to be sure he was still in the office alone - Davis had gone out for lunch and there had been no sign of any of the others all morning. Tyler looked at the clock on the wall. Davis could be back soon and Danny was on his way in. Perhaps now wasn’t the time, and this wasn’t the place to open the letter. Though it killed him, he knew it was right. He was going to have to wait until later to have a good look without worrying about being interrupted.

  Almost as soon as he’d made this decision, his boss and editor Davis walked in through the doors patting his belly and saying he needed a nap after the lunch he’d just had. He disappeared inside his office and shut the door - Tyler did not expect to see him for a while. Only five minutes later Danny was also in, setting up his laptop at the workstation assigned him.

  “I’ve been looking in on the file,” Tyler said, “You’re doing great work.”

  “Thanks,” Danny smiled, “Still a long way to go though, my list is getting bigger by the day.”

  “You seem excited by it,” Tyler remarked, smiling.

  “It feels like something,” Danny said, “It’s almost like I’m a police detective, and it feels like there is a clue or an answer somewhere in what I’m doing and it’s only a matter of time before we find it!” He was excited, his eyes sparkled as he spoke.

  “This is what it’s all about,” Tyler said with a wink. He too had felt this way on stories before, and on more than one occasion he had cracked a case before the police or the regulatory bodies even got close. It would be good to be able to do it again on the ‘John the Baptist’ case. The letter burned in his pocket.

  “Well, I gotta get going,” Tyler said, getting up and pulling his jacket from the back of his chair, “It never ends.”

  “OK,” Danny said, “Let me know if there is anything else you need me to do.”

  “Will do, see you later.”

  There was nowhere Tyler felt was a good place to open the letter, so he drove home as fast as he could. Once inside the door, he went straight to his desk, and though it was bright daylight outside, he pulled his lamp closer and switched it on. He stared down at the envelope once more, determined not to miss anything on the outside this time. After five minutes holding it in different lights and at different angles, he decided there was nothing to see. He opened the letter very carefully with a letter opener, not wanting to damage the paper inside even a little.

  Inside, like last time, there was one single folded sheet. It looked like the same kind of paper as before too. Tyler placed the sheet on top of the desk and read it.

  Dear Tyler Ford,

  Seeing as I have not read about it anywhere, I am assuming that you have decided to keep our communication to yourself, for now at least. Good for you. It won’t enhance your career to let the police or the FBI run around in circles questioning you as they try to steal the glory from you.

  I thought it nice of those two fellows to emulate me and in the process celebrate our National Parks. Wouldn’t you agree, what a perfect place to lie a body down in the dark? I’m sure by now even the Palmyra PD have figured out the body found by the Shenandoah had nothing to do with me. I’ve never heard of such shoddy work done and yet... it seems to have escaped everyone’s attention that two people were involved. Strange that.

  Well, I better be going again, I have work to do this very night.

  Keep writing,

  Your pal.

  J.T.B

  The sign off was the first thing that struck Tyler. The writer of the letter had adopted the name Tyler had given him. John the Baptist approved, it would seem. The other key points rushed through his mind then: There were two people involved in the third murder - but only Des Roche had been arrested - and the killer intended to strike again... Here Tyler stopped himself. The killer no longer intended anything. This letter was posted yesterday and the work he spoke of would have been done last night. There was a body somewhere right now waiting to be found. There was nothing anyone could do about it.

  As with the time previous, Tyler read and reread the letter many times. He scoured over every word and took sentences and phrases one at a time in the hunt for some meaning that would elude the casual reader. Why was he in contact with him; there had to be a reason. He wasn’t asking for anything of Tyler, just that he keep writing. Did he mean keep writing about the killer? He was glad Tyler hadn’t handed the letter over to the police - he wondered what the killer would think if he knew an FBI agent had been secretly testing the letter in the labs at Quantico.

  This thought led him to think of Sarah Brightwater. He’d told her he would keep her up to date with anything that happened regarding John the Baptist. This certainly counted as that. But then hadn’t she promised to keep him abreast of things too? Certainly the fact that there was a second killer involved in the Des Roche murder was something she should have told him - if she knew of course. It hadn’t been leaked anywhere, so perhaps it wasn’t true at all, and just part of some game the killer was playing.

  Tyler picked up his phone and called Sarah.

  “Tyler?” Sarah answered more quickly than he’d expected.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I’m about to send you a picture message. I got another letter!”

  Chapter 13

  It felt wrong but still she was doing it. Sarah raced along the highway towards Tyler Ford’s home. Not satisfied with the image he’d sent her, she asked to meet so she could see the actual letter. She would take it like the last one for testing once they had figured out what the killer was saying. She could tell Tyler had been reluctant about her coming to his house, but there was nowhere else he was willing to share the letter with her. She didn’t know if he was being paranoid or protective about it.

  Mixed feelings ran through her, she knew keeping this evidence secret like this was way out of line, but something about it felt like it was the right thing to do, that a leak could kill everything on this. Shady guilt of her going to another man’s home, an attractive man at that, also muddled her. What would Marcus think about this? She wasn’t attracted to Tyler, but that wouldn’t make a difference in Marcus’ mind. That wasn’t fair; Marcus was not the jealous type. Things were just difficult with them at the moment and she was lashing out at him in the safest way she knew how, in her head.

  Tyler’s house was very impressive, and driving onto his land was like being in a forest for a half minute of the drive. The house was beautiful, she didn’t know anything about architecture, but it looked old and very welcoming. She could hear the wash of the river behind the house when she got out of the car. On the far side of the bank all she could see was trees. How much had this place cost, she wondered. A lot more than she earned for sure.

  Tyler came to the door and stepped o
ut onto the large porch as she approached,

  “What took you,” he smiled. She’d broken all kinds of speed limits on her way here this afternoon.

  “Where is it?” she said, nodding hello and almost going into the house before being invited.

  “It’s on my desk, come on in,” Tyler said, holding a hand out for her to go inside.

  The place inside was impressive but surprising; it was like an Ikea showroom, but that wasn't where her focus was now. She searched out a desk and on finding it she rushed towards it, pulling gloves from her pocket as she crossed the room.

  “You’re eager,” Tyler laughed from behind her, “Can I get you some coffee, something to drink?” he asked. She glanced at him as though in horror,

  “You haven’t been eating or drinking while you’ve been looking at the letter have you?”

  “Not the original, but I’ve printed out a few scanned copies I think could take the hit of a coffee stain without letting John the Baptist get away,” he smirked.

  “Maybe some coffee in a while, then,” she said distractedly, “I want to have a look at the original first.”

  Sarah looked at the letter for a long time without touching it. It was a terrible feeling to know that someone else was already dead and that this letter was probably a clue to where the body was. The most obvious idea was that the body was in the Shenandoah National Park, the same place Des Roche’s car was found, but that was a huge park and it could be a long search looking for it with no idea where to start. They had to try narrow it down, and she felt that the information that would enable her to do this was in this letter.

  “What do you think he’s saying here?” Sarah asked Tyler, who stood by the kitchen island with a cup of coffee in one hand. It smelled good to her.

  “I think he’s pinpointing to us exactly where the body is,” Tyler answered, “Once we figure it out.”