She lay awake, staring at the ceiling wondering for the umpteenth time if she should go out to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk. Pulling back the blankets she swung her legs onto the icy floor. Shivering, she pulled a threadbare peach terrycloth robe about her. She slipped her feet into a pair of fuzzy lamb slippers. Wriggling her toes, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She made her way into the kitchen, walking through the pitch-dark halls by rote. She opened the refrigerator and retrieved the milk. As she was reaching for a glass, a cold hand came across her mouth. The glass tumbled from her fingers, shattering on the floor around her feet. She felt several shards dig into the soles of her slipper covered feet as she was dragged from the room.
The sound of tearing cloth shattered the silence of the secluded house. Screams rent the night, echoing for miles yet reaching no living soul.
Michael Taggart stood just inside the room. The heavy wood furniture had been overturned and even turned into splinters in some cases. In one corner someone had already lost his lunch. Several more looked like they wanted to. He crossed the floor of what had once been an elegant bedroom, surveying the crime scene. “Dr. Montoya?” He gestured to the mutilated body. “What have we got?”
“Caucasian female. Mid to late twenties. Been dead less than twenty hours, if I had to guess. I’ll be more exact when I get her back to the office. She died from severe trauma. Her neck is broken.”
“She sustained several lacerations as well.” He murmured thoughtfully.
“Where’s all the blood?”
Michael looked up. He met the county coroner’s deep green eyes. “Where’s all the blood,” he echoed. “I don’t suppose there’s blood anywhere else in the house?” He took in the shaken head with stoicism. “Another one for the serial killer.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just great!” He dropped his hand to his side with a sharp slap. “Get back to work. I need that report on my desk tonight.”
“Tonight?! Tonight when?”
“Top priority Maggie. Tonight!” He turned and left. Moving deeper into the house, he found the master bedroom. It had been tossed. Clothing was torn and strewn everywhere. The scent of perfume wafted up from broken bottles, overpowering any other scent that might be there. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he covered his nose and mouth before stepping inside. Coughing, he pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket and donned them. Running his finger over each surface he passed. When he reached the bedside table he found a book lying face down on its surface.
“She was neat as a pin. An artist, according to her financial records.”
He looked up and found a lieutenant in the doorway. “Does she have a name?”
“Madelaine Grey, Detective Taggart.”
“Grey?” Michael dropped his head into his hand. “This just keeps getting deeper. Thank you lieutenant. Get back to work.” He lifted the book from the table and idly flipped through the pages. His attention was caught a few pages into the book. Backing up a page, he scanned the careful script again.
He followed me to the gallery again today. I don’t know what he wants. I wish he’d stop following me.
Reading further he found several more entries talking about a mystery man following her.
He was in the west hall again. I ran into him coming out of the exhibit hall. His hands were icy as they bit into my shoulders. Made me wish I had worn my jacket. He scares me.
A sound outside the room startled him from his reading. Snapping the book shut, he slipped it into a glassine bag. Glancing at his watch he hurried out of the room. Pointing at the cop guarding the front door, he gestured with the book. “I’m returning to the station.” Handing the book to the uniformed officer, he frowned. “Have this booked into evidence and see that I get copies ASAP.”
“Yes sir.”
A single lamp burned in the darkness illuminating a snifter of amber liquid. A slender white hand appeared from the shadows and lifted the glass from the table. Ice clinked hollowly as the empty glass was set back down. A phone rang and was answered. “Yes?” Silence reigned for several moments. “I told you, she’s dead.” Another silence reigned. “I’ll take care of it. No! Don’t ask me that again!” A dark shadow detached itself from the rest and moved swiftly away from the light. Moments later a door slammed.
He stood on the narrow ledge. His keen eyes watched the lighted window more than fifty feet away. He watched the shadow’s moving on the wall. His patience was unmatched. When the light went out, he waited three minutes. One step forward and he was in free fall. His body plummeted towards the ground, even as his spirit acquired wings. He almost lost himself in the joy of his death defying flight. He let loose a high-pitched squeal, which echoed off everything around him. He bunched his legs up in preparation to land. His feet hit the sidewalk moments before the elevator reached the ground floor, his long black coat flapping and settling around him. Fading back against the building he waited for his quarry to appear.
The seconds were ticking slowly by when he caught a whiff of the target’s cologne. “Mmm. A little spice always adds to the flavor.” He watched closely as the door opened. His foot was kicked up on the wall and he was studiously looking at his fingernails when the man came out of the building. He smiled nonchalantly and nodded. “Good evening detective.” His voice was like liquid smoke, hanging in the air. “Got a few minutes?” He pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears and pushed away from the wall. The cop was eyeing him suspiciously and he almost smiled.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any change.”
“I’m not interested in your change detective. I have information for you.” He smiled slowly. “I know who your serial killer is.” That got his attention! He almost chuckled as the cop’s eyes widened. “Interested?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and started down the street whistling a jaunty tune.
“Wait! Just a minute! What do you mean you know who the killer is? Where’d you get the information?”
He stopped and let the cop come abreast of him. “It’s a long story. Walk with me and I’ll tell you.” Gesturing forward, he started walking again. “It was a dark and stormy night.” He chuckled as the cop fell into step with him. “Corny line, I know, but it’s true. He approached me about six months ago when we had that really nasty storm.” His mind flitted back to the stormy night he’d been on this same bridge. “He approached me on this bridge. I was out walking, minding my own business. Called himself Fletcher. Tiberius Fletcher.” He turned to look out at the water. “Was right here that he asked me to help him kill his first victims.”
“You turned him down, I assume, since you are coming to me with this information?”
“Naturally. I don’t go in for that kind of business. I told him as much. He said he’d heard my name mentioned in connection with the Harper killings.” He shrugged elegantly. “I simply told him that I’d been exonerated and left it at that. All I know is that he left me with the same calling card as he leaves on his victims.” The pale man pulled an object from his pocket and handed it to the cop. “He leaves a silver hatpin on each of his victims. He gave me one that night and told me if I ever changed my mind to look him up.”
“Mind if I keep this?”
“By all means detective. It’s why I gave it to you in the first place. I just want vermin like this to be removed from the streets. His kind are dangerous for society.”
“I understand completely, sir. If you could just tell me your name and give me an address where you can be reached. Also, you’ll want to stay in the area. I’d like to confirm your information and may need to question you further.”
“I understand detective. My name is Adeo Sidonius. 7312 Overton Rd.”
“You’re a local?”
“I have been here for many years, if that is what you are wondering.” He felt someone watching him and turned casually. A feral smile crept onto his face as he recognized the man he was setting up. “Detective, what would you say if I could tell you where Fletcher is right now?”
“That’d be fortuitous. Why?”
The pale man gestured. “Because he’s standing right over there watching us.” When the cop turned and started after the suspect, he leapt into the air and disappeared over the railing.
Michael started off after the man that his informant had implicated. Turning back, he spoke, “Mr. Sidonius, please…” He trailed off as he realized that the man had disappeared. With a frown, he turned back towards the suspect. Crossing the street, he walked up to the short, balding man. It surprised the detective that the man just stood there waiting for him. He stopped before the man and noticed a spicy aroma. “Tiberius Fletcher?”
“That’d be me. S’pose he told ya that I was responsible for the killings?” The detective nodded and pulled the pin from his pocket. “Thought so. Damned foreigner. I knew I shouldn’t a got mixed up with the likes of him.”
“Mr. Fletcher, I’m Detective Michael Taggart. Are you trying to tell me that you know he implicated you in the killings?”
“Well duh!”
“I see. Mr. Fletcher, would you mind coming down to the precinct? I’d like to fill out a statement and get your side of the story. You do realize that he’s implicated you as the murderer, right?”
“Yeah, I understand. You arresting me, or am I goin on my own volition?”
“I’m not arresting you, so long as you cooperate.” The detective gestured back down the street. “Shall we?” They got up to the fifth floor and he opened the door to an office. “Step inside and take a seat.” Switching on the lights, he moved around the desk and sat. Frowning at the balding man, he gestured to a seat again. “Sit down, Mr. Fletcher.”
“You got a swanky office here detective. What’s a desk jockey like you make?”
“Mr. Fletcher,” Michael steepled his fingers. “Perhaps you should sit down and start at the beginning. Tell me what you know about the Atropos Killings.”
“That freak you were just talking to, Trimmer, he approached me several weeks before the first killing. Said he was looking for someone to do the dirty work for him. Couldn’t get his lily-white hands dirtied with someone else’s blood. I says to him, that I’m not in that line of work no more. Did my time in Sing-Sing for it. Don’t want nothin more to do with that work. I’m an honest man now.”
“And just what do you do, Mr. Fletcher?” Michael tapped some instructions into his computer and brought up the Criminal Investigations database. He searched for Fletcher’s record and nearly gagged when it came up.
“I’m a commodities broker now. I deal in art mostly.”
“I see. And Mr. Fletcher, when was the last time you spoke to your parole officer?”
“Six months ago. Don’t see him for another two weeks. Why?”
“Just gathering as much as I can. Now, Mr. Fletcher, when this man approached you. What exactly did he ask you to do?”
“Well, see. He asked me to ice a couple of broads that had solicited him. Said they were too… independent, if ya follow me? Wanted me to do em while I did it. Said it was a reward for being good at my job.”
Michael Taggart felt his stomach churn at the images of defiling women came to him. “And you didn’t report him to the cops when the women were found dead?”
“Shoot! Now why would I do that? You think I want my name linked with more killin? You gotta be outta your ever lovin.”
Michael watched carefully as the seeds he’d planted began to take root and the man’s tirade lost steam. “Mr. Fletcher,” he said quietly. “An honest citizen would have reported the crimes. He would have helped bring the killer to justice.”
“Detective, I ain’t sayin that I’m in on this, but what do you think it woulda looked like to my parole officer? He woulda had em throw me back into the clink! Stupid copper! Never have trusted you smarmy bastards.”
Michael pushed a button hidden under the edge of his desk. “Sit down Mr. Fletcher. I’d like to hear your story from beginning to end but you have to calm down. Remember, you’re here of your own volition.” He watched the agitated man pace. Shaking his head, he gave no outward sign of the relief he felt when the door opened and two uniformed officers stepped in. Rising from his desk, he came around the edge and… “Oof!”
“You lied to me copper! You said I was here at my own volition!”
“Mr. Fletcher, you were… until now.” Michael straightened and gestured to the two cops that had stepped in to restrain the man. “Arrest him.” He rubbed fingers over his still tender stomach. “Book him on charges of assaulting a police officer.”
“Yes sir, Detective Taggart. You need a doc?”
Michael waved the officers away. “No, I’ll be alright. Watch his right hook, though.”
“Yes sir.”
Michael walked back to the computer and hit the print button. Following the officers out the door, he locked his office and joined them in booking. He took notes on what came out of the suspect’s pockets. When the silver hatpin came out of his jacket, the detective grimaced. “Damn!” He threw his notebook across the room, hitting the two-way glass in the observation room. “Smarmy bastard indeed!” He stomped out of the room and into the booking area. “I also want this man charged with homicide. We’ve found our serial killer.” Sickened by the smug look on the prisoner’s face, he turned and stalked from the room.
The shadows concealed his face; his hands were sheathed in black leather. He watched the woman through the trees. Her red hair picked up the moonlight. His breath caught as her dress dropped and her alabaster skin was revealed. A predatory grin spread across his lips. Moving as silently as the breeze, he slipped through the trees. He watched her move towards the water and licked his lips. At the edge of the trees he shed his coat and gloves.
The moonlight glinted off his snow-white shirt. He stepped slowly across the sand, dressed like a buccaneer of old. When he saw her emerge from the water he glided to its edge. His eyes glittered, jewel bright. A song, ancient in origin and tongue spilled from his lips. He drew her as a siren draws ships in the sea. He opened his arms to her.
Detective Michael Taggart stared down at the body. It was bloated and unnaturally white. Disgust burned the back of his throat as lack of sleep burned his eyes. He turned away from the scene and trudged back to his car. Lifting the radio microphone from its cradle he called dispatch. “Lucy run a check on the cell block. Find out if Mr. Fletcher had any visitors last night or today.”
“Will do.”
He waited several minutes listening to the general chatter coming across the line. Accepting the cup of coffee that was thrust under his nose without looking up.
“Michael? No visitors but he did make a phone call.”
“Thanks Lucy.” Dropping the microphone he turned to look out over the beach. Uniformed officers dotted the sand like ants marching to a picnic. Several more filtered through the edge of the trees like hummingbirds searching for nectar. Shaking his head he pushed away from the car. “Damnit! Who is your accomplice? Who are you working with?”
“There was no calling card this time, sir. All we found was this.”
Michael looked up to see the uniformed officer that had handed him the coffee holding out a glassine bag. Inside it was a scrap of cloth. He took the bag and examined it. The material was very old, the lace exquisite, and embroidered in the outside corner were two small letters. He couldn’t quite make out what they were. “I’m going to take this back to the station. Give it to the lab boys. Thank you, sergeant.” Nodding absently, he turned and slid behind the wheel of the car. Starting it up he turned to the officer. “Get this crime scene buttoned up.”
“Yes sir.”
The drive back to the precinct was filled with thoughtful silence. Broken only by the static and random chatter of the radio beside him. His mind was slowly processing the information it had been fed. Fed… food. I need to eat something. Mom always did tell me that I thought better on a full stomach. Pulling into his slot he switched the engine off. Lifting the glassine bag from the seat beside him the detective tapped it against the streering wheel. Deep in thought he didn’t see the pale man dressed in a long black coat and a wide-brimmed hat approach. A sharp rap on the window jerked him out of his reverie.
“Detective Taggart?”
Michael recovered from his shock and gestured the man back. Opening his door, he stuffed the glassine bag into his pocket and got out. “Mr. Sidonius, what can I do for you?”
“I heard you caught the killer. Does this mean that the murders will stop now?”
The detective shook his head. “I’m sorry Mr. Sidonius. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of this case. If you have any further information for me, I’d be happy to speak to you in my office. Otherwise, if you will excuse me? I have a great deal of work to do and my day is just beginning.”
“Forgive me, detective. I am just worried about my own safety and yours.”
“I’m trained to take care of myself in any situation. As for your own, did Mr. Fletcher ever threaten violence against you?” He eyed the man carefully. There was something niggling at the back of his brain something off color.
“Once or twice. I am glad he is behind bars again.”
“Again?” Taggart took a step towards the door. “Why don’t you come to my office, Mr. Sidonius? We can discuss what you know about Mr. Fletcher.” He opened the door and gestured for the pale man to precede him. “I think it’s time we had a chat, don’t you?”
“I don’t know that I can really tell you anything at all, detective. I don’t know Fletcher all that well. Just what I was able to dig up about him in old newspaper archives.”
“Well then we’ll have a nice short chat. I’d be interested to see if my information coincides with yours.” He watched the man shrug and reach under his coat. Michael’s eyes were alert, his body tensed in an instant. He felt a bead of sweat trickle under his collar. His hand itched to reach under his jacket. When the pale man’s slim hand came out from under his coat holding a plastic baggie and a folder, he relaxed marginally.
“This is everything I was able to dig up and the letters he sent me.”
The detective frowned. “Come on. We can discuss this in my office.” He led the way to his office and unlocked the door. Going around the desk he brought up his computer. Seeing a flashing window, he gestured to the visitor’s seat. “Give me just a minute and we’ll get down to business.” Opening the window he read the message and blanched. “No!”
“Detective?”
“Huh?” Michael looked up. “Sorry. Inner office memo.” He cleared his throat. “Now, where were we? Ah yes. You had more information for me. May I?” He gestured across the desk for the folder and baggie.
“Of course. I don’t want to sound rude, but you look like someone just walked over your grave.”
Michael shrugged his shoulders. “I’m all right.” He took the folder and flipped through its contents. There were several old newspaper clippings concerning the trial and Mr. Fletcher’s eventual incarceration at Ossinning prison. There really wasn’t anything new. He’d read court reports on the case until his eyes bled. His head ached just remembering the midnight oil he’d burned the night before. Flipping the folder closed he set it on the desk between them. “This matches the information I have. Now,” he gestured to the baggie, “why don’t you tell me about those.”
“These are the threatening letters I was telling you about. He sent them from neighboring townships, even as far away as New York City once. Never signed them, but I could tell his handwriting.”
“Hmmm….” Michael dumped the contents of the baggie on his blotter. He picked up the top sheet and read it carefully. The letter was done in a looping script. It requested that a man named The Trimmer meet him. The next letter added a threat. There were seventeen letters in all, each one more viscous than the last. “How long have you been receiving these? And who is the Trimmer?”
“Since he first approached me. I was saddled with the name years ago.”
“Mr. Sidonius, I have to ask. Why didn’t you come to the cops before now? Why did you wait six months before you reported these letters? Were you planning a little vigilante justice?” His eyes narrowed when laughter spilled from the man’s lips.
“Now why would I do something that stupid? That would imply that I thought I could get away with it. We no longer live in the colonies. Time has marched forward. This is no longer the time when one can safely be a vigilante.”
Michael’s hand crept under the edge of his desk, his finger hovering over the button embedded there. “You haven’t answered my questions?” He kept his voice carefully schooled, despite his growing trepidation. “Why did you wait for so long before coming to us with this information?”
“Detective, I am a private man. I do not go out seeking trouble.”
Michael nodded. “Very commendable sir, but the point remains that you did not come to us with this immediately. Do you realize how that looks to us? For my part I’d be willing to give you the benefit of doubt. However, you need to be straight with me right now. Why didn’t you come to the cops when you got the first letter?”
“I wasn’t worried about the threats. I have received threats before. I have survived.”
“Mr. Sidonius, I am inclined to believe that you can take care of yourself. What I really want to know is why, when you knew this man had asked you to help him, didn’t you come to the police and report it? You could have saved those women.”
He is pathetic! Look at the way he scrambles to understand without pointing fingers. How long should I play with him? He is weak. An almost feral growl erupted from his lips as the detective continued to probe. “Detective Taggart.” He held up a hand. “I understand how suspicious it looks. But you have to understand something. I am from a very influential family. For as long as I can remember there have been threats against someone. It is not something I have ever really worried about.”
“I’ve never heard a name like Sidonius before. What is that, Russian? Italian? French?”
“Roman.” Adeo almost laughed at the incredulous look the cop gave him. “I come from a very old family.”
“After the first women died, which it’s apparent you knew about. Why didn’t you come in and report it?”
Adeo rose. “I think we’re done here. I would keep Fletcher under watchful eyes if I were you.” With a swirl of his long coat, he stole out of the office before the detective could even blink.
I lie here awake every night wondering what its all for. Shadows surround me always. I never feel the warmth of the sun. Why do I keep killing them? They didn’t do anything to me. What is it about these women that compels me to kill them?
Adeo lay stretched in a patch of moonlight. Through the skylight directly above his bed, he could see the stars their pale cold orbs winking billions of years in the past. The weight of his crimes crushed in on him from all sides sending a spike of pain from ages past lancing through him. His eyes closed like the curtains of a stage are drawn after the last act. Waves of pain rolled over him. Crashing like an ocean at high tide, then easing to gentle swells. Relief came when he slipped away into oblivion.
Six hours later he rose. Gone were the fleeting questions. Gone was the doubt. He showered and dressed in denim jeans, a ragged t-shirt, and leather. An anticipatory grin formed for an instant before it was replaced by a look of cold purpose. He drifted into the night, moving towards downtown. He stopped behind the jail. Sniffing the air he caught the familiar stench of misery. Peeling away the layers of stench, he found the scent he was after. He hissed and scurried towards the source of the scent. Above him the bars that covered the window were rusty. Leaping up with little effort he grasped the bars and pulled himself upward. His body became translucent as he brushed past the bars with ease. Landing cat soft on the floor of the cell, he stood ominously above the bed and its occupant. “Hello Tiberius. Did you miss me?”
“Go to hell Sidonius! You rat bastard! It’s your fault I’m in here. What the hell did you sell me out for? I never double crossed you.”
“No. You never did. You’re just a victim of circumstance.” He snorted derisively. “I picked you for your specific skills.” He smiled smugly. “I’m having a great deal of fun with these cops. They are getting nowhere fast and in the morning…” He struck swiftly. His face buried in the soft fleshy folds of his accomplice’s neck and his teeth ripped through like scalpels. The heat leached from his victim and into him. He pulled back surveying his handiwork. Taking a knife from his boot, he made several long gashes in the cold corpse. With a nod of satisfaction, he sneered. “They will find their number one suspect dead.” Taking a silver hatpin from his lapel he stuck it into the corpse’s bloodless forehead.
Flowing out the window he disappeared into the lightening sky. His cold chuckle echoed through the lifeless cell behind him.