BAD BLOOD
Part
Three
By Daniel
Skye
Saturday,
January 4th, 2014.
Aaron
Archer was serving ten consecutive life sentences for the murders he committed.
The papers had labeled him the Devil’s Apprentice. He wasn’t fond of the
nickname, but it stuck and eventually became part of his morbid history.
His
tenure as a serial killer met an abrupt end when a streetwise cop caught on to
what he was doing and handed him over to the authorities. That cop was Wes
Archer.
Wes
turned in his own brother, and got an unwanted promotion to homicide for his
efforts. He wasn’t seeking promotion, he wasn’t looking to get into anybody’s
good graces. He just wanted to put a stop to it before Aaron killed anymore
innocent people.
His
father had disowned him for it. His family had shunned him. His own brother
resented him, always asking, “Why’d it have to be you who caught me?” And Wes
used to ask himself that same question from time to time.
Still,
he harbored no regret. In his mind, he knew he did the right thing. Even if
Adam Archer couldn’t see it, even if Wes couldn’t understand it himself from
time to time. He knew he did the right thing.
But
now, Aaron was his only hope for answers. Wes had found himself wrapped up in
the immolation of two teenage girls, Shannon Reynolds and Molly Henderson.
Victims
of a copycat killer who seemed to fancy themselves as the next Devil’s
Apprentice. And Wes knew if a suspect was apprehended immediately, there would
be more sacrifices that followed.
Cozily
confined to a private eight by ten cell in Carter City Maximum Security Prison,
Aaron couldn’t hurt anybody anymore. Not on the inside, at least. But Wes was
unsure of his influence on the outside. And that’s what he came to find out.
“Leave
us,” Wes told the guard who unlocked the door to Aaron’s cell. “I’ll call you
when I’m done.”
The
guard nodded, stepping out and closing the door behind him. Aaron didn’t move
from his cot.
“You
never sent me a Christmas gift this year,” Aaron muttered.
“You
always throw away what I send you,” Wes said.
“You
got me there,” Aaron shrugged. “So what brings you here? Did dad finally kick
the bucket?”
“No,”
Wes said. “That’s not why I’m here. This has nothing to do with family.”
“I’m
not family?”
“Stop
joking around and listen to me.”
“I’m
listening.”
“We
found two teenagers in a high school basement. They were dead. Their femoral
arteries were severed, they bled out. And 666 was written across the wall with
their blood. Starting to sound familiar?”
“Oh,
yes,” Aaron smiled. “That brings back memories.”
“There
was another message, written in blood. O brother, where art thou?”
“What
do you think it means?” Aaron asked, cocking his head at an inquisitive angle.
“Stop
fucking around,” Wes yelled so loud the guard popped his head in for a second
just to make sure things were all right.
“What
are you getting at with all this?” Aaron asked.
“You
know why I’m here,” Wes said. “I want to know if you’re involved.”
“I
have no contact to the outside,” Aaron said. “They won’t even let me call a
lawyer anymore. And I haven’t had any visitors lately besides you. Check the
log.”
“I
already checked it. But this whole thing still reeks of you.”
“It’s
not me, brother,” Aaron assured him. “Though I wish it was. I’ll definitely be
reading up on this maestro and if I think of anything useful, I’ll call you if
they let me.”
“Always
a pleasure to see you,” Wes said and yelled for the guard to open up and let
him out.
* * *
Dale
Craven was with the arson squad at the apartment complex on the East Side of
town. The whole building had been torched.
Thankfully,
the building had been evacuated as soon as the alarms sounded. Only a few
people got trapped on the top floor and had perished in the flames. Still, if
it had been an accident, there should’ve been no fatalities. The building
should’ve been cleared before the fire had a chance to consume the structure.
The
fire had spread fast, a little too fast. And that was Dale’s first clue. It was
going to take arson a day at least to do a full investigation. But Dale knew
faulty wiring wasn’t the cause. And he wasn’t leaving until he found evidence
that proved otherwise.
The
charring, the V shaped patterns that were burned into the wallpaper indicated
the fire was started by an accelerant. A faint chemical odor lingered in the
air. It wasn’t gasoline. Turpentine.
The
whole building had been soaked in it. Dale cut a charred section of the hallway
rug free and bagged it for the boys to check for traces of turpentine.
All
the apartment doors were open now, even the ones that had been locked. Beyond
the threshold of one door, the charred remains of a Saint Bernard. Someone had
gone away on business or vacation and left their dog home alone, locked inside.
Perhaps
no one else knew the dog was trapped inside. Perhaps none of the neighbors had
a chance to save him. But the very sight turned Dale’s stomach.
“It’s
ok, boy,” Dale whispered. “Rest easy. I’ll catch this fucker for you.” He was
starting to talk like Wes. And worse, he was starting to like the way he
sounded.
He
passed the bag along to arson and booked from the scene. He met up with Wes
back at the department.
* * *
“I’m
sorry you had to see that,” Wes said after hearing about the Saint Bernard. “If
it’s any consolation, talking to my brother was no picnic either.”
“What’d
you find out?”
“I
found out Aaron doesn’t have anything to do with it. And if he’s lying to me,
he deserves an award for the convincing act he pulled. We’re dealing with a
legitimate copycat who has no affiliations that we’re aware of. It’s likely
that our guy is acting on his own.”
“So
why emulate your brother?”
“That’s
what we’re going to find out. What do you have on the apartment complex?”
“Turpentine
was the cause of the fire. Someone poured a shitload of it around the building,
lit a match. Arson confirmed it with a simple test.”
“Why
that building? Why the East Side?”
“A
lot of unanswered questions,” Dale shrugged his shoulders.
“Well,
I know someone who usually does have answers for me.”
“Who?”
“Toad.”
“Not
that scumbag.”
“He
may be a scumbag, but he’s my scumbag.”
“You
run along,” Dale said. “I’ll sit this one out. Someone still needs to talk with
Molly and Shannon’s parents and ask them a few questions. I guess I’ll go do
that.”
* * *
Ever
since the ESB took over Elm Street, Toad was forced to move his drug
operations. If anyone was looking for him, they’d find him on skid row. This
area was even more dreaded by police officers than downtown Carter City. Skid
row was where you ended up when you wore your welcome out downtown and you had
nowhere else to go.
He
pulled up next to the shelter that Toad was standing in front of and rolled his
window down. Toad approached and asked, “You want the usual?”
“I’m
clean,” Archer said.
“For
now,” Toad said.
“So
you live here now?”
“Nah,
but my customers do.”
“You’re
shameless, Toad. But you hear things I don’t. What do you know about the fire
on the East Side?”
“I’m
assuming it wasn’t an accident based on the previous fire. But that’s all I’ve
got for you. Arson isn’t my specialty. And I don’t know any firebugs.”
“What
about the Mechanic?”
“I
heard he was in town,” Toad said. “But the guy’s a legend. No one knows what he
looks like. But I heard someone paid him big bucks to be here.”
“Who?”
“Beats
me. But it wasn’t the ESB. I would know if it was. And it wasn’t anyone on skid
row or anyone from the downtown area. I’d know too.”
“And
what do you know about Shannon Reynolds and Molly Henderson?”
“I
don’t know any Molly’s,” Toad said. “But Shannon Reynolds rings a bell. I think
her boyfriend used to buy weed off me.”
“His
name?”
“Calvin
Woods,” Toad said and Archer was off to find him.
* * *
Calvin
Woods wasn’t home when Archer arrived, so he waited patiently. Two hours later,
Woods came walking down the sidewalk, skateboard under one arm. Archer rolled
down his window and exhaled a thin cloud of smoke. “Cigarette?” he asked
Calvin.
“My
momma taught me never to accept gifts from strangers,” Calvin replied.
“Your
momma’s a smart woman. I bet you don’t take after her.”
“And
just who the fuck are you?”
Archer
flashed his badge. “That’s who the fuck I am.”
“What
do you want?”
“Information
about Shannon Reynolds.”
“I
was just at her parents’ house, expressing my condolences. I just found out a
few hours ago. I’m just as shocked as anyone else.”
“We
have a mutual acquaintance,” Wes informed him. “Says you used to buy weed off
him.”
“Is
that a crime?”
“As
a matter of fact, it is.”
“So
arrest me.”
“Not
yet. First, tell me about Shannon.”
“She
was a sweet girl. But she was strange. She marched to the beat of her own drum,
did what she wanted. I think she might’ve been seeing someone else.”
“What
makes you say that?”
“Molly
mentioned some mystery man she was chatting with online. It was supposed to be
some super-secret. She never saved their conversations, Molly said. She always
deleted the emails to be safe.”
“So
how can you be sure?”
“I
can’t,” Calvin said. “I just know what Molly told me before she was killed.”
“If
you think of anything else, I want you to give me a call,” Archer said, handing
him his card.
* * *
By
the time Wes returned to his desk, he was spent. And so was Dale Craven. Three
hours of talking with grieving fathers and crying mothers is enough to wear
anyone out.
“We
need to get access to Shannon Reynolds computer,” Wes said. “And shit, I need
to call Valerie and make plans for dinner.”
“Better
hurry, it’s almost eight o’clock.”
“I’ll
never get reservations now,” Wes sighed. “I hope she likes Chinese takeout. Or greasy
diner food.”
“You’re
so romantic,” Dale laughed.
Wes
was actually about to join in, but his expression changed when Officer Foley
approached and he saw dinner with Valerie go out the window.
“Guys…it’s
Captain Frost’s daughter…she’s missing. They found this at the scene.”
He
held out an evidence bag and Wes could make out the symbol through the
transparent plastic. It was a pentagram.
To Be Continued Soon With Part
Four!
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