BAD BLOOD: PART SEVEN

Genre: Crime Fiction/Murder Mystery

 

BAD BLOOD

Part Seven

By Daniel Skye

 

 

Wednesday, January 8^th, 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 17^th, 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 4^th, 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