Book One: Part One: Evil X 3 - Chapter Three

May 16th - Saturday Afternoon – 1:05 p.m.

“Thanks, mom. Today was great!”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I see by how the bag looks, you collected quite a few shells.”

“Today was the best. I found some really cool ones, and some with neat color patterns and….”

Her cell phone rang.

She looked at Stevie.

“Go on mom, answer it. We know what it means.”

She pulled her cell phone from the bottom of her beach bag that held the towels, blanket, and lotion.

“This is Baker, and it better be good.”

“Trust me, Baker, you’ll love this.”

“Hello, Ed. I can tell from the sound of your voice, I won’t. What have you got?”

“Another body, the same way, except this one has all the body parts intact.”

“How long have you been on the scene?”

“Close to sixty. First impressions; he’s been dead according to initial study, three to four hours.

“I’ll fill you in when you get back from the lake. By then I should have more information.

Did you and Stevie have a good time?”

She looked over at Stevie, his head bent over the open bag of seashells, and she smiled.

“Yeah, we did. Look, we were just on our way home as it is. We should be back in thirty. Check the victim to see if he was part of the congregation from St. Peter’s.

“Can do, will do. I emailed you the address. Call me when you’re on your way here.”

Baker no sooner hung up when her cell phone rang again.

She sighed. Stevie looked at her and grinned.

“Baker.”

“J.B., Carl here.”

She’s known Carl several years, and she stopped trying forever ago to get him to quit calling her by her initials. It just wasn’t happening. At least he had the presence of mind not to do it with anyone around.

And no one on the force called her, Janice, or Jan.

“What’s the good word, Carl?”

“I found four different matches. A partial on one; but too smeared to get in Ident on, and it appears to have been enclosed in surgical gloves. One set belonged to the victim. The other two sets belong to a Mrs. Josephine Gulatta, and the last one, a Marianne Olster. I have their addresses and phone numbers for you.”

“Great, Carl. Stevie and I are on our way home from the lake. I’ll drop by and pick up the report. Just leave it at the front desk for me. Stan is still working there on weekends, right?”

Stan is the weekend guard. A retired cop. Time on his hands and all that rubbish.

“He is. I’ll let him know you’ll be stopping by.”

“Thanks, Carl.”

“Oh, before I forget; the Mattingly murder? One set of prints; hers.”

They disconnected from each other and she was about to put the key in the ignition, when her phone rang again.

“When it rains, it pours, mom.”

“But not in my car. This is so frustrating. This is; was, supposed to be our day.”

“It still is, mom. No sense in getting frustrated. Besides, it’s who you are and what you do. That’s why I’m proud of you.”

She reached out and gave Stevie a quick hug and a smile.

“Grand Central. Baker here.”

“This is Macklin again. Just received the prelim autopsy report on the two victims from the other night. Seems the general was a busy boy before he went to heaven; or maybe hell, after you hear this.

“The other one; nothing unusual about the cause of death other than the eyes missing. No signs of forced sex or semen stains anywhere in or around the vaginal cavity.”

“All right. So, what have you got on the general?”

“Seems as if he was into passive role-playing. Somewhat of a closet sexual deviant, perhaps. Upon examination, tears and lacerations were found on his back legs, and buttocks, as well as around and inside the anus and sphincter muscle. No traces of any semen though. I’m thinking more of a penis substitution such as a dildo, or some sort of plastic phallic object was used, and I should know by who in the next few hours.

“I ran a swab over his genitals, and there were traces of dried seminal fluid, both his and his partner. Last night I sent the swab to Albany where they will do a DNA test and hope to have a confirmed report back shortly. You have to love the invention of DNA analysis.”

“The minute you find out, call me, Carl.”

While driving home, all Baker knew at this point is that someone out there was having a field day and wasn’t in a hurry to call it quits anytime soon.

Marianne’s Apartment – 1:17 p.m.

The doorbell rang twice.

Looking through the security eye-hole of her front door, she smiled when she saw who it was and opened the door.

“Ben!” she exclaimed. “What a wonderful surprise. I wasn’t expecting you until Monday. Have you missed your mommy?”

He walked in abruptly, turned, and made sure the door was closed. He locked it and put the dead bolt in position.

He quickly spun around, striking out his right fist, connecting flush with Marianne’s mouth. Blood splattered across her lips as four teeth were torn away from her gums. Two others were barely holding on as she teetered backward three steps, and fell over her stepstool to the floor, the back of her head bouncing hard.

A dazed but horrified look came over her. Tears slid down her cheeks from the intense pain, and a look of shock held her from moving off the floor. Her hands, desperately trying to keep the other two teeth from being forever useless.

“Ben, why di you hith me?”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch! You didn’t think I didn’t know all the other silly little games you play with other people besides me. Didn’t I tell you, no one else but me! You gave me your word. You lied! Like your playmate, the general; you are going to die.”

Marianne found the energy to crawl toward the kitchen table where her cell phone waited quietly.

He kicked her in the back of the head.

“You will never make it. But I’ve set it up where you can keep doing the general when you meet him in hell. I’m sending you to meet him right now!”

From under his plastic coat, and with hands covered by surgical gloves, he removed a Bowie knife and expertly and efficiently sliced her throat as Marianne looked up at him with a pleading, sobbing cry. “Fir gib me.”

Blood erupted in the air.

He reached down and tore away her dress until it lay limply around her waist and deftly made the crisscrossing X, across her pale white skin.

Then he walked to the table, grabbed her cell phone, but not before he opened her mouth, and sliced her tongue off and placed it next to her left hand, with another message written backward.

LIVE ON KAEPS.

Placing the cell phone in her right hand, he used one of her lifeless fingers to press 911.

Then he hurriedly left her apartment. No one would see him. He always made sure of that, except for the old woman. But who she thought she saw, and who he really is, are two different stories entirely.

St. Peter’s – 2:36 p.m.

“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”

“I remember your voice. Please, tell me you didn’t kill, again?”

“But, Father, I did. I know you have called the police before. I’m much smarter this time. I didn’t track any evidence into your precious box.”

Bishop Ekerson wanted to say booth but remained silent.

“I’m not staying long, but you know something? I love that word, but. I can go on and on with a single, but. But, it’s the assholes who think they know everything; the BIG BUTTS who try to get away thinking they will never get caught. This is why I do all this.

“I’m going to put an end to their self-centered pitiful existence. Even I may be caught one day. but... there’s that word again, but. But my being caught remains to be seen. Right now, no one is doing a very good job trying to catch me.

“There are others on my list of assholes I must take down; but that’s my secret, Father.

Now, are you going to forgive my fucking sins, or what?”

“My son, all those who have been saved or wish to be saved by Jesus Christ, and the Holy Father, can be forgiven their sins, but….”

“See! SEE! There’s that all too important fucking word again! Either for-fucking-give-me, or just shut the fuck up with your religious bantering. I don’t have all day to play games with you.”

The confessional booth’s door opened, and then banged closed leaving the sound to faintly echo throughout the church.

“See you in church, padre.”

In mere seconds, Bishop Ekerson was beside himself, breathing in the quiet. And very scared.

Medical Examiner’s Lobby – 2:56 p.m.

“Thanks, Stan. So how are things going for you these days?”

“Same-o, same-o, Baker. Some days are better than most. Other days just suck. I still find myself missing the thrill of a good bust or a righteous shoot; but I still keep up with what’s going down on the streets with my scanner. Of course, the best news is over at Benny’s Pub, so it’s not all bad.

“I hope that report helps you to nail that son-of-a-biscuit eater soon. Creeps like him make me sick. And yeah, I took a peek, Baker. Couldn’t help myself.”

She smiled at Stan.

“Don’t worry about taking a peek. Just keep what you saw to yourself. We’ll get this guy, trust me, Stan.

“You take care of you, okay? Be good. Be safe.”

“You too, Baker. You too.”

Such a sad, lonely look he carries, she thought.

St. Peter’s – 3:05 p.m.

“So, Father Ekerson, were you able to get a better look at him this time?” asked Ed.

“From what I could actually see, he appears to be in his early to mid-thirties, his hair looked dark, and stockier than I first believed. I still couldn’t get a good look at his face or eyes. Once inside the booth, the lighting is minimal, and designed that way for a reason.”

Somehow, Ed knew he was back to square one except for one statement.

See you in church, Padre.

Baker’s Townhouse – 7:30 p.m.

Both she and Stevie barely walked into her living room when her cell phone rang again.

“Get that out for me, will you, Stevie. My bladder is about to explode!”

Stevie reached for the phone as she dashed off, and he held it to his ear and said, “Baker’s professional Answering Service. How may I help you?”

Laughter on the other end.

“Pretty good, Stevie. Where’s Baker?”

Stevie knew it was Ed.

“She’s in the bathroom. She should be out shortly.”

“Heard tell you had a fun day.”

“It was pretty cool. I picked up over two-hundred seashells, and I think a couple of them might even be fossilized. I won’t know that until summer is over and I’m back at home with my dad.”

“Wow, fossilized, huh? Probably worth a few bucks if they are.”

“Maybe. Anyway, here comes mom. Bye.”

Baker grabbed the phone as Stevie walked past her and whispered, “It’s Ed.”

“What’s up, Ed? What are we looking at?”

“If you have no objections, I’d like to run all this by you at your place. I’ve made copies of all my notes from the murder scene, plus our perp show up again at church. Ekerson was able to give me a better Ident on the guy, but it’s still sketchy. He was extremely rattled.”

“Where are you right now?”

“Promise not to laugh or get pissed off?”

“That doesn’t leave many options.”

“I’m parked next to your rig.”

She laughed.

Still There – 8:20 p.m.

“These are the autopsy reports of former General Arnold Kilpatrick, and Mrs. Ethel Mattingly.

“Both throats slit, both with a double incision in the shape of an X. Kilpatrick had his ears removed with a message printed backward reading: Hear no evil.

“For the record, Mrs. Mattingly had lung cancer and Kilpatrick had a bad kidney. Beyond that, both showed elevated endorphin levels in the blood. Time of death for Kilpatrick based on a rectal thermometer on scene: 9:30 p.m., with a plus or minus ten minutes.

“Mattingly, roughly 9:50 p.m.

“Both had trauma to the scalp, rendering each unconscious.

“The weapon used appears to be a large blade, possibly two inches wide from its most narrow point, possibly five inches wide at the hilt. Estimated length is fourteen inches. It was first thought to be a Chef’s carving knife. After searching online, it is now believed to be a replica of a Bowie knife.

“No skin or hair follicles were found under any of the victim’s nails. This indicates no struggle took place. Both were checked for full, or partial prints, and although a partial was found, it isn’t enough to run it through fingerprint analysis. There is currently some DNA testing being done to determine who Kilpatrick may have had sexual relations with prior to his death.

“All the handwritten notes have also been sent to Albany to be run over by handwriting experts.

“Finally, the blood first found at the church was Kilpatrick’s blood. Right now, we have absolutely zero on the perp. So what do you think, Ed?”

“Your idea to stake out the church might pay off if in fact he really shows, for one. Depending on what the two black and whites find out about Gulatta and Olster; seems like maybe one, or both of them were well, doing the wild thing with the general.” Ed let his voice trail off to convey his meaning.

“No to worry, Ed,” explained Stevie. “I know what sex is. Dad says sex is healthy as long as you have protection and are aware of your surroundings and environment. Mom has told me a million times, if you love a girl, you’ll wait until marriage, since love is all about respecting the one you’ll be with.”

Baker looked at Stevie and thought; too bad your father didn’t hold onto to those ideals, but he and Donnie are happy together, and Stevie’s head hasn’t been corrupted. Mark has always been a great father. Just not a great husband.

“Any way, it’s my night to cook, Ed. How do you like your hamburger?”

“No, that’s fine. No bother. I can pick something up on my way home.”

“Too late. I already started. Just tell me how you like it cooked. Are we talking medium, medium-rare, or dead?”

All three burst out laughing.

Then Baker’s phone rang.

“Baker here.”

“This is Carl. Just to let you know, Albany faxed me back the report I sent. Seems like the general was fond of Miss Olster.”

“Thanks, Carl. I have Ed here, I’ll let him know. If nothing else major happens, I’ll see you Monday. Goodnight.”

She closed down her phone and told Ed what Carl told her.

“Seems your suspicion of the general’s sexual activities are pretty spot on and….” The phone rang again.

“Baker, here.”

“Lieutenant Baker?”

“Yes.”

“This is Officer Phil Mallory. I’m one of two units dispatched out by Detective Manning. I’m at the Olster residence.”

“And?”

She rolled her eyes at Ed just a bit. She could sense that Mallory was still fresh out of the Academy.

“I’ve called it in, but Detective Manning said I was to call you or him if something didn’t go right about the interview. Three other units are pulling up now.

“Miss or Mrs. Olster is dead.”

She passed on what Mallory told her to Ed. She took a last bite of her burger, stood up and went to her bedroom, and opened a dresser drawer and snatched up her Snap-on holster with her police special to her belt, grabbed her badge, stuck that in her jacket pocket and walked back out to the kitchen.

She looked at Stevie.

“I know, mom. I won’t wait up.”

She looked at Ed.

Ed looked at Stevie. “Burger was great, thanks.”

“You ready, Detective Manning.”

Both headed for their respective cars.

Neither one was smiling.

Marianne’s Apartment – 9:21 p.m.

By the time Baker and Ed arrived, they could count six black and white’s flashing, one ambulance, and the news media already on display. All the major players in the press were there. Baker knew it would be like this until they caught this sick bastard once and for all.

The circus was going to be around for a while.

As always, Baker always has two words for the press, and she would say them again before she left the crime scene.

“No comment.”

Stepping under the yellow-crime scene tape, they walked up six steps to an open door, and just to their left, another door opened.

“Hey guys, over here.”

Brad Jackson, eight years on the force, three citations for bravery; shot five times, and big enough to take out the front four of the Steeler’s defensive unit, and not break a sweat, was kneeling next to the body.

As both she and Ed looked down, the first thing they noticed was the tongue.

Then the note.

“Odds tell me the note says, speak no evil.”

“Give the lady a Kupe-doll, Ed.”

“That isn’t all,” spoke out another officer, Tommy Banks, “look in here.”

They walked into the bedroom and Tommy pointed to the open closet doors.

Leather outfits, eight-inch spiked heels, full-bodied rubber suits, leather corsets, whips, crops, canes, masks, handcuffs, and feathers. All those features and a lot more for that intimate moment, or the quickie during lunch.

Leisure or rush hour, Baker wondered.

She and Ed put on their surgical gloves and started going through every drawer. Tommy pulled down two medium-sized boxes, one which contained photographs. Lots of them. Tommy whistled.

“What, Tommy,” half-spoke Ed.

“This chick was busy, and I mean biz-zee.”

“Key word, was,” responded Ed.

“No, seriously. You need to check this out.”

Baker and Ed walked to the edge of the bed where the box sat. The first three pictures were sexually graphic, and the positions looked impossible, unless you were a contortionist.

The next few were of the now deceased, Marianne Olster, in various poses ranging from semi-nude, to full nudity to ultra-explicit sex.

It was the next batch of pictures they looked over that produced a flat sounding laugh from Ed and caused Baker to grimace and shake her head in disgust.

There, in black and white, as well as color; in all their glory, were shots of two of the city’s finest, most respected, and fearless leaders. The Mayor, doing things beyond description, and the Deputy District Attorney, who just happens to be running for Governor in the next election. His slogan: ‘We will take a bite out of crime until there is nothing left to chew. We will win this war on drugs and send a clear message we will not tolerate this filth in our neighborhoods, our schools, our city!’

No one had the heart to tell him that that crap wasn’t going to fly.

There were also pictures of other state representatives, and a congressman, who seemed to enjoy his visits in Marianne’s little whipping den.

“Think she might have been bribing them?”

“Possibly. If so, it backfired on her. From the look of things, we have a few potential suspects.

“If these pictures get out, the damage done to their careers would be devastating, but would they actually kill for it? And if one of them did off her, you would think he would have demanded to have the pictures in his hands.”

“I was thinking the same thing, Baker. They would get any incriminating evidence before leaving this little playground.

“You do know we are going to have to question all of them. One of these people is possibly our perp.”

“Yeah. We’ll start Monday; and we might as well start at the top. Mayor Rydell F. Abraham and Deputy D.A. Fred Allan Mosher. I have to tell you, Ed, I hope neither man is involved beyond their fetishes.”

“Ditto.”

Freddy’s Apartment after Midnight

Alone in the quiet of his small apartment, sitting in the living room, his notebook open, he stares down at name after name after name.

Music plays a soft-flowing number by Debussy.

Next to him on a side table is a decanter of white wine, and he pours his third glass of the evening.

“So much to do. Why do I take it upon myself to get rid of the stench, the filth that parade the streets every day; that flaunts themselves into our home on our televisions? How can people believe the lies these people tell, and then go out and commit the depravities that they do?

“Yes, so much to do, and I will get as much finished as I can. That is why I am here. But, yes, butbutbutbut and but, that little bitch of a cop might have to go as well. She may catch on soon, and then what? WHAT! If she catches you, you idiot, it’s over, that’s what!”

He hurled his half-empty glass of wine and heard it shatter somewhere in the kitchen.

“That is what I will do to her. I will shatter her. Simply remove her from the equation.

“That stupid fucking priest will have to go as well. He hasn’t a clue who I am, but I know who he is. It’s just that I still need him around for backup just in case. Backup? Backup? Oh my, that’s just too funny!” And laugh heartily he did.

Outside, the night was calm, and quiet. Just as it should be.

Going to his bedroom, he removed a large valise from the closet and put it on the bed. Opening it, he looked at the various assortments of wigs, prosthetics, and makeup he would use to create another character unrecognizable to many. Tomorrow, he would be another member of the congregation; filled with many sinners.

No one else would be murdered, for didn’t the Lord say to rest on the Sabbath anyway.

As it was with other nights, his sleep was always plagued with nightmares from another time, another place. They all started and ended the same way.

Agony.