After TheMorning After, installment 5

12:21

Apartment lights were still on here and there. Through open windows the sounds of a few dinner parties wrapping up could be heard. Some were more cordial than others, but they were wrapping up in the unseasonably warm and moist night.

Condensation ran down the sides of the cold, smooth glass, both on its inner and outer surfaces, gently disturbing the surface of the vodka inside the glass and the growing puddle of moisture around the base of the glass on the aged and already stained small table under the lamp. Ring shaped stains set deep in the wooden surface showed that the use of coasters was not something that mattered here.

Across the small, dimly lit room a phone rang. It was the old bell chime ringing incessantly to be picked up from its cradle. While the ring did not change in its volume or tone, the hour of the call seemed to change either the urgency or the insistency of the call.

Finding the phone in spite of his being more than half asleep, Ernie sat up on the edge of his bed, looked at his phone, and then answered. He took a few heavy breathes before saying anything, “Yeah, I'm up. What is it?” Nobody called him during the day unless it was important. Now, calling in the middle of the night meant it was bad, the only question was how bad.

Ernie listened, he didn't say a word. His eyes narrowed, jaw tightened, and his skin prickled. After a minute of silence Ernie finally spoke, “Yeah. Got it.”

On his way through his apartment Ernie stops and picks up the glass of vodka that he left earlier. He considers the drink, he condensation and coolness of the glass against his fingers, “Just a sip,” he reassures himself as he puts the glass to his lips, he hesitated then emptied the glass into his mouth. There it was again, hesitation. Ernie turned to the window and spat the liquor out through screen, spraying it across the fire escape outside his ledge, dropped the glass on the stained table top, and quickly left his apartment. “She needs me to be on the ball,” he said to the door as he locked it behind him.

Ernie has to process the crime scene at Dorthy's

When Ernie arrived at the crime scene there were uniformed police putting up crime scene tape and a few crime scene technicians already there. He looked around for familiar faces, Ernie was looking for his team. Ducking under the crime scene tape, Ernie walked into the apartment.

“Hey, you can't just walk into a crime scene.” A uniformed officer stepped in front of Ernie. The rank on the uniform's shoulder showed him to be a low rank, the fresh and unwrinkled skin as well as his bright eyes that showed that flash of something that young troops always had right before their first real mission told Ernie that this officer was new on the force.

Producing his badge and ID Ernie introduced himself, “Detective Matthews.”

As he put his badge away he commented, “You'll get to know us detectives, we are few but, we are damn good at what we do.” He stopped and considered the young officer for another moment. He recalled his days as a young troop, the FNG – Fucking New Guy – on the team and looked the young man in the eyes. “What's your name?” Ernie didn't care about how long this kid had been out of the academy or if law enforcement was a family tradition. He was asking about the officer as a person.

“Roark, Detective. I'm … “ the patrolman started.

Ernie cut him off by shaking his head and looking down at the floor in disappointment. “No,” he said. “I really don't think that your mother named you 'Officer', did she?”

This knocked the officer off his mental balance. “Oh, yeah, Rich. My name is Rich.”

Looking at him again, Ernie smiled, “That's better. Rich, you'll have a good career here.” Someone waved at Ernie over Rich's shoulder, it was Amy, Ernie had to get to the scene. “If you're strong enough,” he added.

Ernie moved brusquely past Officer Rich Roark to Amy Love. He looked around at the CSI technicians and felt a pang, something was missing, there was an emptiness.

Amy had a pained look in her eyes more than on her face, but it was still there. “Ernie, I know that you had a special friendship with her. I get it, too, that big brother-little sister thing, and that's why I want you to take lead on the investigation into Dorothy's murder.” She was always up front and in your face about things and she knew that this called for tact, but that Ernie didn't always appreciate or enjoy tact. “There would appear to be two victims.”

Ernie stopped in his tracks. His brow wrinkled, “Dot never mentioned a guy or said that she was dating anyone.”

Amy looked uncomfortable, as if investigating the murder of one of her detectives wasn't disconcerting enough, there was another detail that put her at odds. “Did she have any girlfriends or a gal that she was particularly close to?”

That wrinkled brow on Ernie's forehead now skewed into a mask of incredulity. “Are you asking if she was lesbian?” He knew Dorothy very well. The two had talked on the phone and over coffees at a variety of diners around town for hours on end and she never mentioned any partner or love interest, guy or gal. Whenever he asked her about it she dodged the question and certainly never answered it. “That wouldn't have mattered if she were alive and it doesn't matter now. Why, is there another female victim here?”

She produced an evidence bag with a finger in it. “We found this, apparently a woman's finger, on the counter in the bathroom.”

Taking the bag from her, he studied the finger. While focusing on the finger he did not notice that Officer Roark had come up to Amy, “Detective Love, may I see you?”

Ernie was still considering the finger. It was petite, had a finely manicured nail, and what appeared to be soft and well cared for skin. This finger came from a lady that really took care of herself.

He stepped over to where the crumpled shower curtain partially covered the lifeless body of Dorothy Acevedo, Crime Scene technician , and his good friend. There had been something about her that just really endeared her to him. When she had been a patrol officer wanting to move into crime scene investigations someone had told her to find the old, gray dog in the pack and ask for advice. That lead her to him. He had followed similar advice years ago, a lifetime ago.

A lifetime ago he had been a young Airborne Ranger getting geared up and ready for his first operational deployment. He had wanted to make a name for himself in the SPECOPS community. Ernie was wondering exactly how to go about doing that. The advice he had gotten was manifold, varied, and useless.

“Be the baddest bad-ass in the valley of death.”

“Don't stop killing until everyone is dead.”

“Get some! Get Some! Leave None! Leave None!”

“Remember the Rules and achieve the objective even if you're the last surviving member.”

Wet behind the ears, fresh out of training, no time in grade Sargent Ernie Matthews had different ideas on how to climb the ranks and make a name for himself. He looked at the hardened troops who were giving him the advice, sage as it was, it just didn't answer what he needed. Ernie looked elsewhere.

Somewhere along the line he had picked up the advice to pick out the the old gray dog in the pack and team up with him as that would be the one to learn from. There the new pup could learn the ins and outs, the tricks as well as the skills and other treacherous acts that ensured the survival of the elder member. Master Sargent Bernard Gilligan was that man.

MSG Gilligan may have been the NCO in charge (NCOIC) by rank on Ernie's first mission, but MSG gave him the room to make all of the recommendations for each step of the way. For three months in the jungles in South America working off of a specific kill list and intelligence collection list Ernie made the recommendations and MSG Gilligan allowed the young Sargent to take the bit and lead.

“Are you drunk?”

The question had come out of left field. Ernie could hardly believe that the question had been asked. Somehow, he convinced himself that the question had not been asked and was simply a ghost, a figment of his imagination due to the late hour and the stress of investigating the crime scene of his friend.

But, the hand on his shoulder pulling him halfway around and out of his thoughts. “What?” Ernie glares into Detective Love's eyes, “I have a drink or two in my off time and it becomes a problem how?”

Amy Love steps back a step as two patrol officers step up on either side of her. “Ernie,” Amy said in a steady voice, “I am only asking because both Roark and I smelled something on your breath. I know that you had a drinking problem earlier in your career.”

She was referring to a period during Ernie's days early on patrol in uniform. There seemed to be certain issues that uniforms brought to a person. Something about the uniform, any uniform, brought up ghosts for him. Ghosts that he, like so many others, had tried to drown.

“What? I can't have a drink on my off time in case someone gets killed?” Ernie just stared into Amy, through her, was more like it. The way his eyes cut through her made her squirm inside. “That's a bullshit thing to say and you know it.” As he turned around to focus on Dorothy Ernie grumbled, “I'm busy, write me up later if wanna.”

Stewart Wausau was now bending over Dorothy's body, looking at her, shaking his head in disbelief. Ernie stepped up to take charge of the scene. This was his crime scene and he was going to run the investigation his way.

8:15 am

Main Briefing Room

Ernie Matthews looks like hell at this point in spite of having taken the time to get a shower and put on fresh clothes. This was part of what had to happen, it was his investigation, his show, his briefing and he had to look the part no matter what. Besides, in attendance were two representatives from the FBI. Ernie was readying the final pieces of his brief as Amy came in.

“Hey, you.”

“Morning, Amy,”

Looking around the room Amy scowled, “I haven't heard from Bolger or Wolffe since I sent them over to the condo earlier last night.” She paused expecting Ernie to answer. Nothing. “I guess you haven't heard from them, either.”

Looking up from his notes, papers, and prints Ernie looked at her, “You know that neither of those kids are the type to be late. You call them?” Immediately he kicked himself inside. Of course the senior detective called the two missing detectives. “Maybe their scene was more of a mess and they needed to sleep in.”

Amy shrugged, “Yeah, maybe.” She sighed. “I still don't like it. It's not like them to not call.”

As Amy turned to leave Ernie called out, “Hey, Chief!” Amy looked back over her shoulder at Ernie, he could see the worry on her face. “Let me know what hear, please.”

“Of course.” Amy replied and spun again then left the room to find out what happened to her other two detectives.

Taking note of the number of police in the briefing this morning Ernie Ernie identified the two FBI agents quickly. They had the best suits and he didn't know who they were. The rest of the detectives on the force and most of the uniformed officers he knew or at least had seen around.

Ernie began, “Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen. Last night one of our crime scene technicians, Dorothy Acevedo, was murdered in her shower. Some of us conducted the initial investigation, these are our initial findings.”

Ernie flicked up a slide of the earlier killing of Craig Williams, “Based on the initial review of the scene and the evidence there, we believe that these murders were committed by the same perp.”

Another slide come up, it was Dorothy wrapped in the shower curtain on the floor of her shower. “This killer is violent and vicious. He has no problem with overkill. It seems that overkill is part and parcel of his act. He seems to get off on it.” Ernie paused for a moment to consider his choice of words. “There have been no signs of sexual gratification at either scene, so don't get wrapped around the axle on how I said that.”

The briefing room door opened up suddenly, Amy steps in. “Email it out.” She points at several CSI technicians and some of the other detectives. “We have to get to The Bradbury now, as in five minutes ago.” Amy looked at Ernie, swallowed hard, choking back something, “We found Jason and Joyce.”

“Detectives Love and Matthews! Can you wait a moment, please?”

Ernie looked, he noted that it was one of the two FBI agents calling out to him. Amy had already left the room but, he was stuck. “What can I do for the FBI this morning?”

The two agents got to within speaking range, “It's not what you can do for us so much as what we can do for you. We understand that you might be dealing with an interstate murderer.”

Ernie stood there, staring at them blankly, almost incredulously. “Okay.” Ernie was already on edge and this suit was pissing him off since he had to get to another scene.

The agent introduced himself, “I'm Special Agent David Miller and this is my partner, Special Agent Gloria Gentner. We will bring to this investigation every resource that we have available.”

Unimpressed, Ernie replied, “Great, welcome to the team. Follow me.” He lead the way out to the parking lot and to his car.

“Wait. Stop right there, Detective Matthews.”

“Special Agent Miller,” Ernie replied turning around slowly, “I have just begun the investigation into the murder of one of my team mates and I am on the way to open another investigation into the murder of two more! What, on God's green earth can I do for you this second?”

David met Ernie's gaze, “A name.”

“A what?”

“A name.”David repeated, “Who you think is responsible for the murders. The killer's name. What is it?”

“I got nothing.” Ernie's face was turning a shade red as his temper was coming to an end.

David shook his head.

“Is that a problem, fed?” Ernie stepped toward David. “I got one butchered civilian, some damnably gorey crime scene photos from Miami dated 'years ago', a CSI gal who now has more holes in her than Swiss cheese, and two dead detectives who are friends of mine.” He was nearly shouting now. “These last three were my family, you might say. Now,” Ernie walked into David's personal space, “this all happened within three days time and there has not even been so much as a single fingerprint found. And this isn't good enough? You want a name?”

David didn't move. In spite of Ernie getting face to face and overtly threatening him, David didn't flinch. “What about the business card?”

Ernie stood down. He asked himself, how did this fucker know about the card? “Who do you think it is?” Ernie asked David. He waited a few moments to let David answer. When no answer came Ernie asked again, “Who's the goddamn perp?”

Unlocking his car, David said, “There might be a couple who fit this profile, but I don't know off hand.” Leveling his gaze at Ernie, “Look, Airborne, I don't know right now, who it is. If I find out before you do, I will let you know first.”

S

There was something about the way that David said this, something about the way that David stood with his legs and feet in an open stance. The way he held his arms open, in spite of the car door being between him and Ernie, that said David was being honest or, at the very least, open about what he was saying. It put Ernie at ease, a little.

Once he had the car on the road, with David following, Ernie called Stewart.

“Wausau, here. What can I do for you?”

“Stewart, Ernie. I have to know, was it the same knife?”

Stewart was shocked at the question. “Ernie, I know this is important to you … “

“Yeah, it is, I have to know, was it the same knife? You've had her for a couple of hours now. That has to be long enough to tell if that was the same knife.”

“Ernie, please,” Stewart tried desperately to calm Ernie down. “I swear, you're like a bulldog at times. Listen, I've told you before, I can only say that the wounds look like they are from a similar knife.” He paused. “I can tell you that the case for overkill can be made; however, due to the lack of bruising around the stab wounds themselves, our killer was calm and in control. This was not overkill, in the traditional sense. The killer did it, I think, because it was, as hard as this is to say, fun to do.”

With that Ernie hung up. That information was going to digest for a little. This wasn't the first time he saw someone enjoy killing. His time with with Battalion had him serving with lots of people who enjoyed it. There were plenty of kills he made himself that were fun.

“Ernie, when you were in, you enjoyed it.” Amy knew it. Any adult would have to naïve, nuts, or just completely unaware to not recognize that you don't ask to be one of the top killers and not like doing the job.

He nodded slightly. “Of course, I did.” He sighed. “You know it, too. I told you.”

“What about the drinking?” She knew this wasn't a good and that it was the wrong question to ask. She asked it and almost immediately regretted it.

Ernie was considering the question and putting together a thought to answer. He wanted to respond to the question, Amy deserved an answer. She was, after all, both his boss and his friend. He wanted to respond to the question, but the phone rang, cutting off his thoughts before he could put his answer into words.

The call came out over the speakers, “Hello?” A woman's voice filled the car from the speakers.

Ernie answered in a professional manner in order to detach himself from being so angry with the current situation and Special Agent Miller. “Detective Matthews, what can I do for you?”

“Detective, I am Dr. Jennifer Kerr at the Rosewood Center in Baltimore. I'm glad to have reached you so quickly.” Dr. Kerr's voice sounded strained, not happy. Even though she said she was in Baltimore it sounded more like she had said 'Bawltimore', as if she had just moved in from New York. “Unfortunately, Detective, bad news travels fast these days.”

Without her saying he knew that the news outlets had already covered the Williams murder. How that got leaked he didn't know, he really give a damn, either. It was going to get out anyway, it had to, there were too many people that knew him and what happened. “Yeah,” he sighed, “we, uh, seem to have a bit of trouble here.” Ernie shifted uncomfortably as he drove, “why would that matter to you?”

It was her turn to shift uncomfortably, even though Ernie couldn't see or hear it. Jennifer got up from her seat and walked anxiously around her desk, “I might know who is committing these murders.”

Murders? Ernie thought to himself, who the hell said anything about murders? Dot's death has not been released to the media yet, the scene that I'm on the way to doesn't even have any press on hand for. She knows exactly who this killer is and what he can do. He motioned to Amy to stop her from saying anything. “Really? You think you know who might be doing this?” He paused to see if she would offer up any more information.

“There have been several … well, not several, but a few cases of mentally ill who have displayed the capacity to carry out such crimes.”

“Hmm, you don't say, Doctor … Williams was not a small guy. Are you telling me that there are a couple of patients you can track down that could have restrained him well enough to do all that?”

“By 'all that' I suppose you mean stab Craig 150 times, yes.” she responded with a tinge of impatience to her voice. “Didn't I make it clear that I am familiar with the crimes committed in your area which we are talking about?”

Ernie could picture a tall, gaunt woman with a severe look in her eyes tapping a meticulously manicured nail on the surface of a very impressive desk. “I suppose you did, yes. So,” he took a moment hoping that Jennifer would offer information, “ how many are there that you would have to choose from?”

Over the speaker system the sound of papers shuffling was clearly audible now. Jennifer was back on the business side of her desk flipping pictures over. “With the amount of carnage that you have already checked out in this week, there are really only 21 different profiles that could fit that kind of, ahh, violence.”

Ernie and Amy looked at each other in disbelief. 21 people that this doctor knew of who were capable of committing the kind of atrocities that they have seen in a few days, and they weren't even done looking at what was to be seen yet. “You have got to kidding me, Dr. Kerr, 21 people?” His voice was full of disbelief. “There is no way that there are 21 people walking the streets right now that can do this kinda thing. Uh-uh, no way. I am not buyin' it, Doctor.”

“That is not to say that all of them are free on the street right now.” There were several seconds of tense silence before she added, “That is, that I know of.”

“That you know of?”

“Yes. Not all of them are here Rosewood and, therefore, I can't account for them.”

“Of course not, they aren't in your program, then, are they? But, you can get a list from the other programs to see who has escaped, right?”

“Yes. I should be able to get that information fairly quickly.”

“Nice. It'll help to know what kind ofa psychopath it is we're dealing with here and how this guy's mind works, y'know?”

“Of course, that's why I called, to offer you that assistance.”

“Lemme ask you one thing, I thought mental hospitals were shut down back in the 1980's? Not to be rude, but Rosewood Center certainly doesn't sound like a prison to me. Weren't they all shut down in the 80s and 90s?”

“First, Detective, the group I'm thinking of are sociopaths not psychopaths and I think that you know the difference. Second, yes, mental hospitals, as they were, had been shut down in favor of more humane treatment centers that included a more community centered approach.” Her demeanor changed noticeably. “Out here that would have included the Henryton Hospital and the many others like that, yes, there were several hospitals like that shut down while some were … “ she suddenly stopped as if she caught herself.

“Yes, Doctor?” Ernie urged her. “It sounded like you were saying that some were kept open.” He waited for her to answer. When Dr. Kerr didn't respond immediately Ernie tried coaxing her again, “Are you implying that some such hospitals were not shut down or maybe kept going?”

Jennifer Kerr thought carefully about the question. Actually, she was thinking about how she was going to answer it. She already knew that some hospitals had been kept open, off the record, and out of the view of the public for very specific reasons. Reasons that included killers like Zachary Leach. She knew full well who it was out there and what he was capable of. She had overseen part of his captivity in this particular facility for several years. He was kept here quite safely. Safely, that is, until certain committees on Capitol Hill questioned the amount of funds going into various unnamed and tightly guarded medical projects.

Without saying anything Ernie pulled his car into the parking lot of a convenience store. Amy looked at him in surprise. “Alright, doc. I was going to let this slide, but I am gonna call you on it right here and right now and you had better have a good answer.” Ernie stopped talking long enough to take a deep breath. “How many crime scenes do I have right now?”

“What do you mean, Detective Matthews?”

“How many? How many crime scenes are there here? Right now, how many do I have? You have, more than once, told me that I have multiple scenes right now. Only one has been publicized.” Silence filled the car. “How many do I have?”

The sound of her breathing came over the speakers. “Alright, I know, well, I am pretty damn sure I know who it is that's out there killing right now. If I'm right, he doesn't sleep much and has been working for a few days now which means that you have two, three, maybe four crime scenes right now. Maybe even more, I can't tell you. I can tell you that this guy, if I'm right, is one sick and twisted bastard.”

“So, what's his name? That would be a start.”

“Leach, Zachary Leach. He's also the one who did the Miami job that you have the photos of.”

“Okay, and you're telling me that Leach doesn't sleep? Now, that's impossible.”

“No, he doesn't sleep much, maybe three or four hours a day at the most. At least, I have never seen him sleep more than that.” Jennifer thought about what the next points first. “He can stay up for days on end. It's in his record that he can go 6 days without sleeping. He also functions on a higher adrenal level than most people will ever see.”

“A higher adrenal level than most people will ever see, huh? What do you mean by that, exactly?”

“I mean that his adrenal system is operational at all times. He operates daily at a physical level many, many times higher than anything anybody will ever see even in the most dyer and dangerous of situations. That makes him easily ten times stronger than professionally trained athletes. He is also highly intelligent with an IQ of 171, is a social chameleon. He has already proven that he can easily blend into any social setting and situation. Languages come to him like second nature.”

Ernie's blood chilled at this news. “Is there anything else I should know? Does he have metal bones or something?”

“Well … “ Jennifer began.

“Oh, God help me,” Ernie groaned.

Jennifer chuckled a bit at Ernie's reaction, “It isn't that bad, but he is frighteningly patient. He has been known to stand stock still for up to 30 hours.”

Ernie's disbelief at this claim was more than he could contain. “30 hours? No. There's no way! No way that a man can stand still that long.”

“Detective, you have personally known snipers to do similar acts of physical patience and control.”

He thought back to his days in Battalion and the snipers he knew there and the crazy things that they did to make the shot. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Listen, Detectives, and I know that Ms. Love is there with you. While I personally hold the death penalty disgusting, this is one case that may make a strong argument in favor of capital punishment.”

“Tell me something. You said that Leach did the Miami killings that I have the pictures for, right? Did he just show up and do it or was he already on somebody's radar at that point?”

She decided that she would tell them about it, even though his was a painful memory for her. She was an intern working for the psychiatrist who had Zachary Leach medicated and, presumably under their control at that time.

“But, the loathing is still here. The disgust is here after all the pleasure.” Zachary thumped his open hand against the center of his chest. “It builds up so … tremendously, so wonderfully, so new, you know?” He looked at the his psychiatrist, “I hate new psychiatrists, I really do, and I go through so many, too”

“The thrill of the chase, yes?” Dr. Sisco asked him nervously.

“Yes, Dr. Sisco, the thrill of the chase has something to do with it. The moments of closing in. How it all comes to a tension filled crescendo of pleasure.”

“Sex is often that way.” Dr. Sisco said to him.

“With that, Ernie, Leach pushed the platform that Dr. Sisco was strapped on back into the pig pen. Killing is all thrill for Leach, at least it was when he was younger. As he grew older it became more of a driving need, like breathing for you and me.”