BAD BLOOD
Part
Seven
By Daniel
Skye
Wednesday,
January 8th, 2014.
Captain
Frost had come clean about his family history. About the son that he had never
spoken of. The son he had disowned.
Declan
Frost. The kid with a head full of bad wiring. Wiring that could never be
repaired. No amount of therapy could’ve brought that boy back to normalcy. Not
after drowning cats in the lake and hanging wounded animals by their legs from
trees and hurling knives at them.
Frost
couldn’t lock his own son away. He never would’ve been able to live with
himself. So he cut him loose at eighteen and prayed that Declan could hang on
to some semblance of sanity.
Shannon
Reynolds’ email service provider confirmed Declan’s involvement from the series
of private online conversations he had with Shannon, including one in which
they arranged a meeting to smoke pot in the basement of the school. That placed
all three of them in that basement the day that Shannon and Molly Henderson
were murdered there.
The
emails had been deleted by Shannon and it took the service provider a few days
to recover the lost messages, but once the police had them and Declan’s email
address, they were on their way.
Declan’s
final email to Shannon included a set of numbers at the very end that appeared
to be a code of some kind, one that the geniuses of Carter City PD had yet to
crack. Turning the numbers into letters didn’t give them anything to go. There
were too many digits for the number to be an address or phone number. It wasn’t
a social security number, a bank account number, or a serial number either.
But
Declan’s email address was linked to several other online accounts, most
notably a knockoff eBay site that had his home address on file. 868 Whitman
Boulevard, one block over from the Bellmore Café.
“There
are no houses in Whitman Boulevard,” Archer pointed out on the ride over.
“It’s not
an apartment. It’s a real estate office. He must rent out the upstairs
apartment.”
“Real
estate office? Ugh, don’t tell it’s one of Nino Vanzetti’s offices. I can’t
stand those smug bus bench advertisements and those jowls of his.”
“Yeah, I’m
afraid it’s one of his. But he probably won’t be there. He owns three of them
in Carter City alone.”
“As long
as Declan Frost is there, I don’t care who else joins the party. I just want to
nail this bastard and get Valerie back in one piece.”
* * *
Declan
Frost had allegedly been using the alias Green Ghost, but the name the papers
gave him was Copycat.
His
first murders mirrored the heinous crimes committed by Wes’s brother, Aaron.
His second victim, Ellen Frost, his own sister, was an homage to the Vulture, a
killer that had crossed paths with Archer not too long ago.
And now,
he was taking a page out of the Gravedigger’s book. He kidnapped Val Reed and
at that very moment, probably had her buried alive in a makeshift coffin,
struggling for air. Wes had to find her before it was too late. Before she ran
out of oxygen.
The clock
was ticking as they pulled up along the curb and barged into the real estate
office.
“The
apartment upstairs,” Wes said to a secretary whose desk was closest to the
front door. “Who rents it?”
“A young
man named Declan. But I don’t believe he’s in. May I take a message from you?”
“No, but
you could give us the spare key for upstairs,” Archer said, flashing his badge.
Not a
second later, the key was in his hand. The secretary asked no questions as they
walked around to the back outside and ascended the grated metal staircase to
the second floor.
Archer
knocked once, shouted past the door and gave Declan one chance to surrender.
When they heard no movement on the other side, they drew their guns to be safe
and Archer used the key to open the door.
Sprayed
across the walls with thick red paint were pentagrams and skulls and the name
GREEN GHOST scribbled on every wall. The foyer led down a narrow hall with a
kitchen to the right, small living room to the left. And a bedroom and bathroom
at the end of the hall.
The
kitchen, living room, and bathroom were clear, but the bedroom door was closed,
locked.
“On
three,” Wes said. “One…two…three!”
Wes
kicked the door and Dale moved in first, his gun raised. The chair tipped and
Declan Frost’s feet dangled in the air, the noose taut around his neck.
“Oh
no you don’t,” Wes said, removing the serrated knife from its sheath tucked
away in his boot. Some cops carry a backup gun, he carries a backup knife. Some
people call it crazy, Wes calls it old fashioned.
He
used the knife to cut him down and his body fell to the floor with a heavy
thump. Dale pulled the noose from his neck and Declan coughed, sighed.
“Nice
try,” Dale said, pulling Declan to his feet and pinning his wrists behind his
back.
“Where’s
the girl?” Archer asked. “Where’s Val Reed?”
“Trapped
inside a box with a limited supply of oxygen. By my calculation, she’s got an
hour left.”
“Where
the fuck is she?” Wes said, holding the edge of the knife to his throat.
“Go
ahead, kill me if you want,” Declan said. “The Green Ghost has promised me
immortality in this life or the next.”
“What’d
you say?”
“I
said the Green Ghost has promised me immortality–”
“You’re
not the Green Ghost?” Archer asked, perplexed, his brows arched at a quizzical
angle.
“I
wish,” Declan sighed. “I’m just one of his followers. The Green Ghost has many
followers, and they all know who you are.”
“Where’s
the girl?” Wes asked again, pushing the knife a little deeper.
“How’d
you find me?”
“The
emails you sent to Shannon Reynolds led us straight to your address.”
“Then
you read the last email I sent her. You saw the numbers.”
“Yeah,
so? What about the numbers?”
“They’re
GPS coordinates. Good luck to you.”
Declan
wriggled free from Dale’s grip and ran for the door. Archer tried to cut him
off, but was met with a fist to the jaw. Wes toppled back and he moved for the
bedroom door again. Just before he could cross the threshold, Dale stopped him
in his tracks with a roundhouse kick to the back of the head.
“I was
wondering when you were going to bust out that Tae Kwon Do shit,” Archer said,
picking himself back up.
“I don’t like
having to resort to that,” Dale sighed.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure a
roundhouse kick is against standard procedure. But I won’t say anything if you
won’t say anything.”
“Deal,”
Dale smiled. Then it was right back to business. “You got GPS on your phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Then
go. I’ll handle this schmuck. You go find Val.”
* * *
Archer
felt like he was slowly awakening from a coma. The nightmare was almost over.
All he had to do was find Valerie before it was too late. The clock was ticking.
The sand was trickling down the hourglass.
Tick,
tock. Tick, tock.
He
punched the numbers into his phone and the coordinates led him to the old
Chemical Bank on Skid Row. The bank had been closed since 1996, but Archer understood
the significance.
Declan
Frost was hitting close to home by sending Wes down this route. This was the
spot where Wes caught Aaron red-handed. Where he discovered his brother was the
coldblooded killer the police had been hunting for two years.
Wes
drove around back to the abandoned parking lot. He grabbed a shovel from the
back of his Jeep and ran towards the square of green past the lot. According to
his phone, this was the spot.
He
saw where the ground had been dug up and the dirt had been filled back in. He
dug the shovel into the ground, tossed some dirt over his shoulder, and
repeated the process.
Even
in the cold of January his body leaked sweat as he refused to pause once. He
just kept on digging until he heard the head of the shovel scrape the top of
that coffin.
“Help!
Help me!” Val screamed from inside the coffin.
“Hold
tight, Val! I’m coming!” He used the head of the shovel to bust the lock. He
tore the lid off the coffin and Val Reed gasped for air. He helped her out of
the shallow grave and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“I
knew you’d find me,” she said, still regaining her composure. Her voice was
quivering slightly, but the worst was over. She was safe now in Wes’s arms.
“Thank
God you’re all right,” Archer said. “I’m never going to let this happen again.”
“Good,
because if I get kidnapped a third time and used as bait, I’m leaving you,” she
said with a weak smile. She was still shaken up, but her sense of humor was
intact.
“Val…I
love you.”
“I
love you too,” she said, gripping him tightly. “Now please get me home. I need
a shower after being locked in that box for two hours.”
* * *
Wednesday,
January 17th, 2014.
Firebug AKA
Seth Cambridge was dead.
The mafia hit-man
known only as the Mechanic was dead.
Copycat
AKA Declan Frost was going to be serving consecutive life sentences in CC
Maximum Security.
But
something didn’t sit right with Wes and Dale. The gangs being targeted by the
Mechanic. The fires started by Seth Cambridge. The murders committed by Declan Frost.
The Green Ghost. They were in fact connected, but there were still pieces to
the puzzle missing.
That
day, sitting at their desks, they weren’t expecting company. But when Officer
Foley wandered over and said, “You’ve got a visitor, Judy Blackwell,” it peaked
their interest.
Foley
sent her over. She was a short woman in her forties with horn-rimmed glasses,
her brown hair tied in a bun.
“Afternoon,
Miss Blackwell,” Wes said.
“Afternoon,
gentlemen,” she returned the greeting. “Herb and I were in the process of a
divorce. That’s why I haven’t changed my last name yet. But I thought you guys
should know something. Something that might answer some questions about his
death. Herb was a stubborn man, difficult, but he was my husband. I loved him
and he deserved better than what he got. I want to help you find the man who
was really responsible.”
“Who
are you referring to?” Dale asked.
“Nino
Vanzetti.”
“We
have it on good authority your husband was murdered by a man named Seth
Cambridge,” Wes said. “The same man who burnt your husband’s apartment complex
to the ground.”
“Seth
Cambridge might’ve killed him,” Judy said. “But I believe it was Nino Vanzetti
who gave him the order.”
“What
makes you say that?” Dale asked.
“Two
months before my husband was murdered, Nino approached him, looking to buy him
out. He wanted the property so he could bulldoze it and put in a strip mall to
rent out the individual stores. My husband refused, and he paid the price.”
“We’re
going to need more than that,” Wes said. “And that’s coming from someone who
hates Nino Vanzetti.”
“Vanzetti’s
been rumored for years to have ties to organized crime,” Judy said. “His
business is often used as a front for illegal activity or laundered cash. And
what about the other properties that burned? The restaurant? The house in the
West Side? The department store? Imagine the profit Vanzetti could make if he
bought and sold these properties, or built on them?”
“She
might be onto something here,” Dale said. “A prison pal of Seth’s did mention
something about a real estate scam Cambridge was working. This could be it. And
if he really has ties to organized crime, he could’ve arranged for the Mechanic
to target the local gangs.”
“It’s
not enough,” Wes said. “We need a confession. Call Nino in and we’ll see what
he has to say.”
* * *
They
didn’t have to lean on Vanzetti hard to get him to confess. He gleefully
confessed to his involvement.
He
hired the Mechanic to target the local gangs and drug dealers in Skid Row and
the downtown areas in an effort to clean up the streets that surrounded the
property he was hoping to acquire. He had made it a point to tell the Mechanic
to waste Archer’s friend, Toad.
He
paid Seth Cambridge to torch those buildings and murder Jason Briggs and Herb
Blackwell. Judy Blackwell just happened to be overlooked as Vanzetti assumed
she knew nothing.
He
found Declan Frost with help from a friend and funded his little sadistic operation
after seeing his potential.
He
even went as far as to track down the Gravedigger in Florida and give him an
open invitation to Carter City.
The
Gravedigger. Declan Frost. Seth Cambridge. Cultus Satanas. The Mechanic. He
confessed to his involvement in everything, his jowls ballooning and jiggling
over his white shirt collar. And not once did Vanzetti break his smile.
“Why?”
was all Wes had to ask.
“To
see you suffer every step of the way,” Vanzetti said. “To put you through the
mill. To make you jump through hoops. To punish you for your sins.”
“My
sins?”
“Does
the name Martin Vanacore ring a bell to you?”
Wes
remembered the name. He had arrested Vanacore for orchestrating the murder of
his secretary.
“He’s
my half-brother,” Vanzetti explained. “And because of you he’s behind bars.”
“And
you’re soon to join him,” Wes pointed out.
“It
was all worth it,” Vanzetti smiled. “Every last second of it.”
In
the end, Vanzetti was pleased they had caught him. It gave him the chance to
gloat. He didn’t care about the money or the property or spending the rest of
his life in prison. He did it all to see Archer in misery.
“I
couldn’t have done it alone,” Vanzetti added. “Not without the Green Ghost.”
“Spill
it,” Archer said. “Who is he?”
“You
know,” Nino grinned. “You’ve known all along. He’s family. He’s your brother.”
* * *
That
night, Wes Archer took the last ride to Carter City Maximum he’d ever take. He
was walked to his brother’s cell in solitary and told the guard to wait outside
for him.
“Evening,
brother,” Aaron said from his cot, not bothering to glance up from the paper he
was reading. “What brings you here?”
“The
game’s over,” Wes informed him. “Nino Vanzetti is behind bars. He’s going away
for a very long time. So is Declan Frost.”
“It’s
far from over,” Aaron said. “The Green Ghost has many followers. All loyal and
dedicated to their cause. All hung up on the fallacy of immortality. Promise
these lost souls something impossible, make them believe in the impossible, and
you’ve truly got them under your spell.”
“I
met your followers,” Wes said. “Cultus Satanas. They’re weak.”
“Not
all of them,” Aaron said. “So you met Declan Frost, my protégé. I taught that
kid everything he knows. Showed him the ropes when we shared a cell years ago.
I also introduced Cambridge to Vanzetti. Once Vanzetti told me what he had in
store for you, I couldn’t resist. I just had to help.”
“Why?”
“Because
you locked me up in this hellhole and I’ll never forgive you or forget you,”
Aaron assured him. “Even locked away in here, I can still make your life a
living hell. And by the way, Declan was not my only protégé.”
“I
can’t wait to meet the next one,” Archer said, banging on the cell door for the
guard to let him out.
“Let
the games begin,” Aaron cackled.
Tuesday,
March 4th, 2014.
“Good
morning, Lieutenant,” Dale said to Wes Archer that day in his office.
“Cut
the crap,” Archer muttered, sipping his coffee. “I hate it when you call me
that. Have a seat.”
Dale
took a seat and Wes shouted, “You can come in now.”
The
door opened and in walked a tall, lean man with reddish brown hair and piercing
blue eyes.
“What’s
your name, son?” Wes asked.
“Brandon
Chase, sir,” the man said.
“You’ve
been working vice the past six years, is that right?”
“Yes,
sir.”
“Well,
how’d you like a promotion to homicide? My buddy Dale here needs a partner and
I think you’re right for the job.”
“Are
you serious?”
“As
a heart attack.”
“I’m
in,” Chase said.
“Excellent,”
Lieutenant Archer said. “Now please excuse us for a minute.” Chase left the
room and Dale turned back to Wes after watching him walk out.
“Him?”
Dale asked.
“Trust
me on this one,” Wes said.
“I
unfortunately have to since you’re my boss now. Hey, did you hear the news? The
Gravedigger’s book is getting picked up. It’ll be out by the summertime.”
“I’ll
wait for the movie,” Wes quipped.
“So
what’s next for Lieutenant Wes Archer?”
“I’ve
been thinking a lot about marriage lately,” Wes said, showing Dale the ring he
was prepared to give Valerie Reed that evening. “Think she’ll say yes?”
THE END
