After The Morning After, installment 3

7:00 am came, the night shift was getting ready for to change over, go home and rest. The changing of the guard, as it were, for this area of Indianapolis was just begining. Patrolmen and women were coming in, some in uniform and some in street clothes. Computers hummed as reports were getting filed. Phones rang, suspects being held for questioning were making things difficult. Basically, things were in state of chaos as Jason pushed his way in with two boxes from the local pastry shop in one hand.

He made his way through the crowded room to the conference room. Amy was already there with a full coffee pot. Recognizing the CZ on the sides of the white boxes she smiled with anticipation. Just the thought of the fresh treats made her mouth water. “Whatcha got there, Bolger, fat bombs?”

“Oh, yeah, just got them fresh from that Czech bakery on the corner.” Jason set the boxes on the end of the table near the coffee pot.

Amy quickly made her way over. “These are my favorites! Thank you.”

Reaching over Jason's Shoulder, Ernie grabbed a doughnut, “Zelenka's, way to go, kid!”

Laughing, Jason ribbed Ernie, “Hey! Hey! Get yer fat fingers outta there, Ernie! Those are going to send your cholesterol through the roof, pal.”

After a while, Joyce Wolfe, Stewart Wausau, and Dorothy Acevedo, the crime scene technician came in. Amy began, “Alright, what do we know. Exactly what do we have?”

“Craig the Colander?” Jason asked. There were a few chuckles

“Funny, I bet you strained for that one, huh, Jason? No, seriously.” Walking to the white board Amy wrote on it “Craig Williams” and beneath that “Murdered.”

“Amy?”

“Yes, Joyce?”

“Can we be sure that this was a murder and not a suicide?” The others broke out laughing. Amy shook her head and looked at the floor. Joyce continued, “I mean, we haven't a suicide note, yet, but we really can't rule that out, can we?”

“We are so screwed.” Amy mumbled to herself with a chuckle. “Joyce, I expect this crap from them, not you. How did these schlepps get to you so quickly, hon?” Amy took a few deep breaths as her friends laughed a little more. “Seriously, what does this event look like to you?”

Everyone went quiet for a few moments. Dorothy, the crime scene technician, even though she had been a uniformed officer first, who seemed too young and innocent to have been a patrol officer much less now picking through crime scenes was the first to break the silence, “This looks like a personal crime. At least, to me it does.” She looked around nervously, “A crime of passion … you know… right?”

All the detectives looked at her as if they were asking silently for further explanation “A personal crime?” Amy gently urged Dorothy to expand on that thought.

Nervously Dorothy continued, “Well, yeah, personal. How much more personal can you get than all those stab wounds?” She looked around for help, but no one offered any. “Plus, a knife is so up close and personal, and that many wounds, wow! There is a lot of passion in that, a lot of anger.”

To Dorothy's relief someone else had something to add, making this a conversation, it was Stewart. “Ordinarily, I would agree with you. 150 stab wounds is very passionate and very personal, yes.” He walked over to get a fresh cup of coffee. “But, I have to tell you, absolutely none of those wounds, in and of themselves, was life threatening.”

The looks on everyone's face said enough, but Ernie put voice to it, “What?!”

“Alright, guys, and gals, here's the deal, if Craig had only been stabbed 10, 20, maybe even 30 times, maybe 40, Craig Williams would have survived long enough to get medical assistance. In that case, even with his being hung up and left swinging in the manner he was found, Craig would still be with us today. But, no, he was stabbed 150 times in specifically chosen places. Those places were chosen so as not to kill him, but to bleed him out and cause him severe pain.”

Amy's forehead had wrinkled up, “So, you're telling us that it was not just random stabbing? The attacker, uhh, murderer or murderers or whatever, stabbed Craig with deliberate precision?”

“Exactly, each stab was deliberate.” Stewart replied, “The placement and position of the blade was expertly picked. Done so that Craig would feel the agony of each cut individually and in total as he bled out,” Stewart explained.

Everyone was quiet, trying to absorb both information and perspective that Stewart had just provided.

“You have that straight. I can also tell you that the knife was extremely sharp, it has two smooth edges, and a thin blade.” Stewart finished and sat down.

Amy summed things up, “So, our killer, he or she, knows exactly how to use a knife. Do we think the perp is working alone or with a partner or maybe two?”

“He or she?” Jason asked. Why do you think there is any question? There is no way a woman could drag a man that big up onto the elevator, poke holes all over him, and then suspend him inside the elevator to be found again. It had to be a guy.” Ten he added quickly, “And, yes, I think there were two, at least two working on this up there. It makes no sense that any less that one man could do that.”

“I do not want to make any assumptions on how many at this point,” Ernie said. “The evidence we have doesn’t say if it was one, two, three, or a dozen.” He looked around. “C’mon, work from the basics, from what we do have.”

“I'm not sure that a jealous woman couldn't be behind it.” Dorothy interjected. “Really, don't put anything past a woman who feels threatened … or even left out.”

Jason looked at Dorothy even though he thought it, he surely didn't say it, who the hell was feeling threatened in this case kid? Shit! He just shook his head, clearly not believing that this possibility was even brought up. The others were looking at her in disbelief, too. “No, she’s right, no idea is thrown out, Dorothy.” Jason looked at Amy as if to say that he was doing this just for her, “How? How could a woman have done this, Dot?”

Shifting in her seat to face Jason and sitting up straighter, “She maybe hired a couple of guys to do this? You, know, cash or the promise of her bed.” She paused for effect and, as she settled back into a more relaxed position, “you'd do it for a body like Gabrielle's, Jason.”

As everyone hooted and jabbed, Amy was getting tired of what she termed General Jackassery. “That's enough of the horse shit! All ideas are valid right now. The more time we spend joking around and busting each other’s balls the less progress we are going to make. That makes it more likely that the perps or perp will get away! So, stay on target. All ideas are valid at this point. Well, all ideas except those including little green men beaming Craig into that position, okay?”

Breaking the silence Jason spoke up, “The interviews and our investigation so far reveal that Gabrielle and Craig were not living together. Craig has his own place on the upper side of town. Gabrielle has her own tiny, and I do mean tiny, apartment just south of here. This condo and the interviews indicate that Craig and Gabrielle were shacking up here a few nights a week while trying to keep it quiet for professional reasons.”

“Their neighbors liked them,” Joyce added while casting a cold glance at Jason, “They were quiet neighbors who got along well enough with everyone on the floor. The only wrinkles might have been that Gabrielle is flirtatious. Maybe a little too flirtatious, I'm told by a few of the wives there, but not so much that anyone was ready to get into a fight over that I could tell.”

“We know that Craig left Gabrielle's place at 6:30 and was found two hours later at 8:30.” Jason continued.

Dorothy could not keep her reaction in, “Ugh, two hours of being stabbed? That must have been horrific.”

“Alright, so we can rule out a crime of passion, then, maybe?” Ernie winked at Dorothy.

Dorothy rubbed her eye with her middle finger in response.

Wanting to keep it productive, Ernie asked “Was it sexual in any way?”

“What?” Joyce spun in her seat.

“You know, like Dennis Rader?”

“Dennis who?”

Even Jason could hardly believe that Joyce was having a hard time recalling this name, “C'mon, Joyce, you know, Dennis Rader? The BTK serial killer? You remember, Bind, Torture Kill, he killed … uhh, what was it, 15? 10 people from 1974 to 1991?” He paused before saying “When was that, Ernie? Weren't you were a grizzled, old detective then? Why don't you tell us all about it and how you cracked the case?”

“Smart ass!” Ernie playfully swung at the back of Jason's head. “You should live so long in this job. But, yes, it was 10 people for that time period and, for him it was sexual as well as a driving need to have absolute control over other people, a need for power. That sick bastard really got off on it. He killed the victims of his power high and sexual attack in order to cover those crimes.“

“Stewart, is there anything that gives you any sense of a sexual nature to this?”

“Not that I could find, Amy.”

“Can you tell us anything else about the knife?” Jason interjected.

Turning to Jason Stewart replied, “Yes, I can. Let me make this simple for you, Jason. It was sharp and pointy.” Shaking his head he added, “No, there really is nothing else that I can tell you about the knife itself. Unlike on TV, the reality is stab wounds are not neat and pretty. The blade swivels and slashes inside the victim making any special or unique markings on the blade impossible to profile.”

“Oh! OH! I see how it is. Thanks, Stewie!”

Everyone was silently writing notes as Amy continued, “What can we see in this one crime?”

“Before we say this one crime, are there any others like it?” Ernie asked around a mouthful of doughnut.

“Good question, Ernie, and you are just the guy to find out. I expect an update on your progress by five o'clock today, got it?”

“You got it, Amy. That will start my laundry list. What else?” Ernie asked.

“When we get there, you'll know.”

Amy continued, “Sexual aspect considered already, thanks for going there, Jason, you sick pup. We are looking at the jealous woman, jilted lover aspect, also the possibility that someone who knows Craig wanted him dead and in a bad way. What else? What are we overlooking? Who is going to look into the business contacts and business competition aspect of this?”

Before anyone could answer police sergeant pushed the door open very quickly, “Sorry to interrupt, Detectives, but you need to turn on the news.”

Amy responded first, “Which channel?” grabbing the remote and turning the TV on.

“Any channel. It's all over.”

“Good morning, I'm Kimberly Orlando with breaking news. Yesterday police were at the Bradbury on the southwest side of town, as many of you have already heard. We have just received inside information from what appears to be a credible source that the police are right now pursuing this as a murder. They say that the victim, Craig Williams, was found suspended inside one of the elevators at the Bradbury. We are told that the victim was stabbed 150 times and left to die, hanging in that elevator. As we learn more, we will keep up updated. Thank you.”

Silence fell throughout the entire precinct. It only lasted for a few moments, but it felt like an eternity for the detectives. Their haze was finally shattered by hoots and hollers from the detained people in the precinct room.

The detectives sat in silence not wanting to say it. Amy's face turned a brilliant red with anger. “That sonofabitch!” Looking around the room, she barked, “Get to work!” They all jumped out of their chairs” Get back to checking everybody who knew Craig Williams and Gabrielle Pipkin … ALL of you, now!” While Ernie, Jason, Joyce, Stewart, and Dorothy quickly scurried out of the briefing room to get out of view and get working, Amy kept talking, “I'm going to the media desks to see if there is … nah, there is no chance that leak has a back trail, but it's gotta be checked … shit, I'm on the media like white on rice.” she heaved a heavy sigh.

While the others hurried off chasing leads and names from contact lists or to head back to the morgue Ernie sat at his desk. He began writing search protocols and putting them through police networks and crime databases. For the next hour he sat there, focused and intent.

That old wheelhouse got cramped after a night in, Zachary needed to get out, get some fresh air and feel the sunshine on his face. “To walk among the people outside is such a nice thing. There were so many nights and days in so many institutions that this little thing had been denied me.” Locking the gate behind him, Zachary walked down the drain-way and out into the late morning sun. With a satisfied sigh, he looked up at the blue sky, “That was quite a kill the other morning.” He put on thick framed square glasses and a light blue baseball cap that had a slight bit of shaggy blonde hair stitched in and hanging out from under the edge. He straightened out his tan jacket and then stepped out from the thick tangle of overgrown vines at the end of the tunnel.

This was a day to relax and watch the police scramble like insects. They would run wild after seeing that he told the media that Craig was stabbed 150 times. Later today, maybe for the evening news, the announcement that it was one man that the police are looking for, or maybe they will be looking for someone that Craig knew from work? Well, Zachary had not decided that as yet.

As he walked along the waterway, he casually put one hand in his coat pocket. His fingers played lightly over the handle of his knife, the Sykes Fairbairne knife that he always carried with him. The same one the he used on Craig. The same one he used in every stabbing he did.

The river walk soon opened up to a plaza with a park. The area was full of people. There were people walking alone, walking with dogs of all sizes, shapes and colors. There were a few young couples sitting on benches in shadows under large, ancient oak trees. Old men sat on benches watching people walk by. Children played on the swings, slides, teeter-totters, and other varied pieces of equipment.

Among them, Zachary moved and mingled. He walked just as easily as any one of them. He knew that most of the people around him were good and decent people, people that would not hurt a soul. But, there were some, some right here, right now. Some who were undesirables. People that would, were hurting others in their daily lives. Abusers, cheaters, robbers, thieves, and the like who, just like him, walked freely among the good and decent folk. Zachary had to admit, as he again touched the pommel of his knife, that the itch was starting again. He had to admit to himself that he was on the prowl, hunting for kill.

There were so many in the plaza to choose from, the abusers, the cheaters, there were so many deserving targets to be hunted, tortured, and dispatched. Something caught Zachary's attention. Something that sent an chill through him. It was crying. A child crying. He looked around quickly. “There she is.” He smiled.

Zachary walked towards the girl who was crying, one hand slipped deep into a pocket. As he got near to the girl, he noted that she was about 8 years old, “Hello, Poppet,” he said with a British accent. Still crying, the little girl looked up into his face. He knelt down to get as close to eye to eye with her as he could. “Are you lost, Poppet?” This time he frowned, pouted a little, and tilted his head to the side a bit. The little girl looked into his eyes and sniffled, although there were streams of mucus and tears running down her cheeks and chin. “ 'ere, now. This won't do.” Zachary pulled from his pocket a handkerchief and wiped her face. “Now, that's lookin' be'er.” He even smiled a crooked smile. The little girl just looked at him. Zachary instantly stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes for a quick moment and then grinned again. This time the girl chuckled. “Right! Now, what say you we go find us a police man so's you and 'im can find your mummy?”

With a grin and a little sniffle the girl replied happily enough, “That would be nice.”

“Of course it would.” Standing up, he held out his hand and the little girl placed her little fingers onto his. “Looky there, Poppet. There's a place what sells doughnuts, coffee, and 'ot coco. There's sure to be a copper in there. What d'ya think?”

She chuckled again, “You'd get me a hot chocolate?”

“Yes, but we gotta stay outside, get it at the window, 'ere. Stay where yer mummy can see us an' you can see 'er.” The two stood there sipping hot chocolates, each looking around. She was looking for her mother, Zachary was looking for someone. “Tell me, Poppet, what color was your mummy wearing today?”

She skewed up her face to show that she was concentrating and really thinking hard. “I think that she was wearing a red shirt and blue pants.”

Staring into the crowded market next to the square, Zachary asked, “Does mummy 'ave brownish 'air pulled back in a pony tail today? You 'ave a sister, do ya?” Zachary was looking at a mother and a daughter talking to a stocky man with gray hair and a wrinkled coat. He figured that older man for a cop,

“You found them!” the little girl squealed.

He pointed to the woman with the little girl talking to probable cop near the edge of the square.

“Mommy! Kelsey!” There was no holding her back. The little girl ran to her mother.

Ernie watched as Rachel ran to her mother and her sister, Kelsey. He felt an incredible wave of relief settle the instant they were all together again. He smiled as the scene unfolded before him.

“Thank you,” Mary said as the three walked into the crowd of shoppers with her little girls in tow.

Zachary watched the reunion from where he stood near the coffee stand. The little girl turned and pointed to Zachary, smiled, and waved. Zachary smiled his crooked smile and waved back. The mother led the little girl by the hand, took her other child by the hand, said something to the probable cop, and left. That man, the probable cop, turned to face Zachary. He looked straight at him, into Zachary's eyes. The started walking toward him. Zachary watched his approach, noting his slight limp on the left leg and the military styled hair cut. “Was that a military issued injury, copper?” he asked over the top of his coco as he brought it up to sip, the accent gone, his voice cold. “Yes, you are a cop, aren't you.” He threw the rest of his drink in the trash and walked off into the crowd in a direction taking him away from the officer and into the growing crowd in the plaza.

Ernie wanted to thank the man who had helped bring little Rachel up to the square and, ultimately to her mother. He started to walk over when the man tossed his cup in the trash and walked off. Ernie shrugged. He was thinking about going after him, but Ernie had some things to take care of before the lunatic he was working on killed again.

His phone vibrated insistently. “Yeah, this is Matthews … yes, I was for something like that … right … yes, extreme overkill would fit … it's a cold case, you say? Great, well, that is to say, not to say it's great that your department couldn't solve it … yeah, you know, thanks … can you email it to me? Fantastic! I'm heading back to my office right now to see it. Thank you very much … on, yeah, our coroner is going to love going over those pictures … again, thank you. Okay, if there I need more I can get it? Great, thanks. Bye.”

Turning around quickly and heading back towards the main street that would take him back to the precinct Ernie quickly called Amy,”Hey, I just got off the phone with the Miami police, they have a cold case that they say carries some similarities to ours … I don't know the specifics right now, it's been emailed to me and I'm on my way in, I just wanted to give you a heads up, you know, like you asked for this morning … that's right, you can always count on me, Amy.”

Ernie had been sitting at his desk going over the files now loaded onto his computer. “I now have information and photos on a cold case from Miami that's now 13 years old. There were three victims.” Ernie passed out the crime scene photographs as he read the overview of the report. “Horace Anderson, Nora Garcia, and Lena Sharp, she's the big girl with who was opened up, shown on the last set of pictures … “

The crime scene was unbelievable. There had clearly been a fight in there as well as a murder. Actually, that is where the first two victims were found, the third was found in the kitchen.

The living room was a mess. The sofa had been pushed around and some of its pillows were knocked on the floor and the chairs were knocked over. Blood was splattered everywhere. The pictures showed puddles, spray, splatter, you name it, it was there. There were drag marks where the victims had apparently tried to escape by crawling away. The coroner's report indicated that they were being stabbed while crawling. Cause of death 83 stab wounds to Horace Anderson and 65 to Nora Garcia.

“That's some grim reading, Ernie.” How long Amy had been reading over Ernie's shoulder he couldn't guess, he had been so engrossed in the report and photos that everything around him faded into the background.

“Yeah, the perp in this, was some piece of work. Several wounds stopped short of vital organs, while some did not. These first two victims who were found in the living room had been tortured before being murdered. Even though there was organ damage, the cause of death is still exsanguination; however, the coroner believed that the wounds that caused death were the cuts to the arteries and veins and were administered last before the murderer went on to the third victim.” Ernie shrugged, “I have no friggin' idea how anyone could come to that conclusion.”

“Drama.” Stewart said.

Ernie spun, “Hey, Stewart. How'd you hear? Amy told you?”

Stewart nodded yes, his mouth full of coffee momentarily, “Yes, could you forward me what you have?”

“Of course. Too easy, man.” Turning back to the computer, Ernie read more, “The kitchen was worse, much worse, the report says.

There was blood and intestinal tract sprayed everywhere, the ceiling, walls, all over the floors. Chunks of flesh and bone that had been ripped loose by the violent tearing of the chain saw were splattered on cabinets and stuck to walls. Blood was thick and dark on the floor nearest the naked body of Lena Sharp, the third victim of overkill on this scene. She had been opened up from crotch to neck.

Lying next to her was the chainsaw.

“The coroner writes that he believed it was likely that this poor woman was alive at least until the saw got through the pelvis and into the intestine.” Ernie leaned back in his chair, just reading about that scene and looking over the photos was turning his stomach. “Goddamnit, what kind of a sick and twisted cuss is capable of these kinds of things?”

Zachary Leach found himself wandering through a bookstore. He had made his way to the New Age section. Picking a book on Astral Projection he thumbed through a few pages. “Now, isn't this interesting? Projection of my consciousness into another plane … hmmm, imagine the possibilities.” He picked out a few more similar books and asked aloud to no one, “I wonder if I can learn to project my consciousness into another's body? Now wouldn't that be interesting?”