DARK VISIONS Page 3

  “Go on,” said Joe Mac.

  At the words the gigantic raven erupted into the sky with a grace and fearlessness that struck Jodi with instinctive amazement. She had never seen such a powerful creature explode upward with such utter confidence and grace. She muttered, “You two really are friends, aren’t you?” She realized she was gaping. “Did you say he’s a wild raven?”

  “He comes when he wants. Goes when he wants. Seems pretty wild to me.”

  “And he’s not scared of people?”

  Joe Mac opened his door. “Why would he be scared of people? You can’t even get close to him unless he lets you.”

  With a grunt, Jodi opened the door.

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t be scared of anything, either.”

  * * *

  Jodi waited at the entrance of Joe Mac’s humble barn as he tapped a path back from his daughter’s house. She wasn’t surprised that the crow – wait, it was a raven – had circled over Joe Mac all the way over there and all the way back. What surprised her was that the raven seemed to have identified her individual car and could determine the difference between her squad car and all the other squad cars cruising to and from the crime scene.

  Joe Mac stopped at the door and turned.

  Jodi asked, “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s been sleeping. It’s gonna take her a long time.” He felt for the lock using his forefinger as a key-guide. “They say you don’t ever get over it. One day you just get up and start moving. But when you bury a child a part of your heart crawls down in that grave with ‘em and stays there.”

  “Yeah,” Jodi responded. “I lost a brother. But I know it’s not the same. Not even close. Nothing compares to losing a child.”

  “Sorry about your brother.”

  “So am I. Drugs. We let him down, I guess. The whole family.”

  Joe Mac opened the barn door. “Come on. I’ll make you some coffee. I learned how to do all that stuff where they rehab blind people.”

  “Fancy.”

  “Nuthin’ but the good life.”

  Entering what was obviously a revamped barn Jodi saw – with a single glance – a recliner, a double bed, a plate of food on a small kitchen table, and Joe Mac’s entire wardrobe strung along the far wall; it was a typical barn layout with added shelves and a bathroom slapped onto the back.

  “You like to keep things simple, huh?” she asked.

  “I got a roof. I got food. I got a bed. What more do I need?”

  He began to clang around in his kitchenette as Jodi lifted and opened a lawn chair. She didn’t feel the need to inform him that he only had one recliner. He knew, anyway, so she could deal with it if he could. She asked, “How come you were never assigned to this case? Seems like you would have been chief investigator for a serial killer like this.”

  “He wasn’t killing people back then,” Joe Mac called. “I retired six years ago. Back then he wasn’t even a blip on the screen. It was only after I got hurt and put out to pasture that he started racking up a body count.” He pulled two cups off a plywood board. “You bring the file in from the car?”

  “It’s right here.”

  “I want you to read it to me.”

  “The whole thing?”

  “The whole thing.”

  “So you’re gonna lend me a hand, Joe?”

  He turned. Stared. “I guess that’s up to you. I want to find who killed my grandson. And I can’t do it by myself.” Jodi saw a deep pain solidify his face. “I don’t think nobody else would have me, no way.”

  Jodi felt a grimace. “Well, I think you’ve still got a few good moves left in you – you and your buddy. What’s his name?”

  “Poe.”

  “Yeah. Poe. What do you say we team up? We don’t wanna leave Poe behind, do we?” She laughed. “I mean, he came in handy today, didn’t he? Who knows?”

  She meant it as a joke but wasn’t surprised that Joe Mac didn’t laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Who knows? Crème and sugar?”

  “Plenty of both. Still got your gun?”

  At that he did laugh and turned back to the coffee. “Why? You want me to carry? You can just tell me to shoot high or low.”

  She sat in the lawn chair and opened the file. “If we find this guy, I’ll tell you to shoot high and low and everything in between. Frankly, I think Professor Mason is right. We’re gonna have to kill this guy. He’s not gonna stop. He’s not gonna quit. He’s not gonna give up. He’ll die first.”

  “Yep,” said Joe Mac. “I’ve taken down a few like that.”

  “Did you kill ‘em?”

  Joe Mac returned with two cups.

  “Nobody wants to get planted,” he said. “But the truth is that everybody gets what they ask for if they ask long enough. One way or the other.”

  * * *

  It was late when Jodi tiredly finished reading the file, although Joe Mac was leaning forward in his recliner, hands clasped, chin uplifted, jaw set; he seemed as alert now as he had been six hours ago.

  “Well, that’s it,” she said.

  Joe Mac muttered, “Sunset.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Sunset. You say each child was found shortly after sunset?”

  “Everybody was found after sunset. And there are twenty-four victims to date. Some are old. Some are middle-aged. Some are kids. Some are men, women. But yeah, they were all found after sunset on the same day they were taken or the next day.” Jodi stared over him. “What are you getting at, Joe?”

  “But the kids were found immediately after sunset on the same day they were killed, right?”

  Jodi considered. “I don’t know. I’d need all the files to be sure.” She continued staring. “Come on, Joe. What are you getting at? They were all found after sunset. What difference does it make if they were found the same day or the next day?”

  Joe Mac was the image of a stone Buddha before he said, “This don’t make sense.” He was silent. “Serial killers target a specific kind of person. Young girls. Young men. They don’t just kill Tom, Dick, and Harry. They have a preferred target. Or they take targets of opportunity. Like kids parking on some deserted dirt road. Or some old person in a nursing home who’s already at death’s door, and they decide to carry ‘em across. But there’s never been a case of a serial killer killing everybody that he comes across just because they’re there.” He paused. “Is that what they assume they’re dealing with?”

  Blinking slowly, Jodi said, “I haven’t read all the files, but, yeah, I think that’s what the task force assumes.”

  “They’re wrong,” Joe Mac frowned. “This guy ain’t gonna break the mold. He has a preferred target. We just don’t know what it is.”

  “So why is he killing every kind of person?” Jodi asked.

  “Static.”

  She gaped and stared. “Static?”

  “Yeah. Static. He’s killing all kinds of people because he wants to muddy the water.” Joe Mac took a long time, breathing deep. “Think of it like this: If this fool targeted old people, then every son and daughter out there would throw up an iron curtain around every old person in the country. If he was targeting young girls, every young girl out there would be carrying a pistol in her purse. Their daddies would make sure of it. If he was targeting four-year-old kids, daycares would be hiring armed guards. Mothers would be carrying shotguns out in the open. He’d never get close to another little kid in his life. Same with the others. It don’t matter what group it is. But if his true target was a single group, and he didn’t want anyone to know what group that is, then he would just kill all kinds of people. That way nobody would know who to protect. And you can’t protect everybody.”

  “Is that what he’s doing?” asked Jodi quietly.

  “Yeah,”’ Joe Mac nodded slowly. “That’s exactly what he’s doing.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Sometimes you just have to trust your instincts, kid. Proof comes later.”

  Jodi paused. “So what do
we do?”

  “We need the files. All of them. Can you get your hands on them?”

  Jodi sank back into the lawn chair, blinking. “Uh … well, I’m not on the task force. I’d have to go to Brightbarton and … and I’ve only been a detective for three days, Joe. I seriously doubt that he’s going to let me see the case files.”

  “You found the cat, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but …”

  “We’ll go to him in the morning.”

  “Have you seriously considered the possibility that he might just be killing people at random?” Jodi offered. “I mean, wouldn’t that be kind of diabolical? He doesn’t kill anybody he knows. He doesn’t really have a motive. He doesn’t take anything, doesn’t leave anything. He’d be almost impossible to catch.”

  Joe Mac’s jaw tightened. “I don’t believe in random any more than I believe in ‘evil for no reason.’ There’s always a reason. It might be subconscious. But there’s always a reason. There’s always a motive. We just gotta figure out what it is.” His breathing was measured and deep. “Who found the bodies?”

  “How would I know?” Jodi closed the file. “Joe, you’re asking me about all of the cases and I don’t have all the case files. I do know that somebody anonymously called in the location of Aaron’s body. That’s how we found him so fast.”

  “The killer called it in because he wanted him found right after sunset.” Joe Mac’s frown deepened. “For some reason, it was important to him.”

  “Joe, you’re making leaps in logic that I can’t keep up with. We don’t know that the killer called it in. You’re assuming that, and you just told me to never assume anything.”

  “I also told you to trust your instincts.”

  “Logic is better than instinct, Joe. You can’t prove instinct in court. You can’t get a search warrant with instinct.” Jodi leaned forward, concentrating her tone, “You can’t get a conviction with instinct.”

  “Yeah. What do I know? Thirty-five years on the job. Solved a thousand homicides. How many hours, now, you been a junior detective?”

  Jodi blew out a long breath. “Fine. But we don’t have enough information to make any moves. We need the files. All of them. Instinct or not.”

  “The captain can give ‘em to us.”

  “But will he?” Brightbarton didn’t say anything about us attending the briefing, but what is he going to say when I tell him I want to be on the task force? I’ve been a detective for, like, five minutes. He’ll laugh me out of his office.”

  “You found those footprints, didn’t you? He’s probably going to thank you and give you whatever you want.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Jodi ran her hair back. “Okay, Joe, I’m going home. I’ll pick you up at lunch. Then we’ll go to Brightbarton and ask for the files and hope he doesn’t die laughing.”

  “All right.”

  She stood lifting the file, her purse.

  “Joe,” she said wearily, “why are you doing this? I mean, I know Aaron was your grandson, and you probably loved him more than your own life. And, yeah, you were a great detective. And you still are. But back then you could defend yourself when you were on top of a bad guy, and now you’re blind. And you gotta know this psycho is gonna come after us if he thinks we’re closing in on him. So tell me, do you have a death wish?”

  Joe Mac laughed, “A death wish? Never thought of it like that.”

  “Well?” Jodi paused. “Do you?”

  “I ain’t in no hurry to stay,” said Joe Mac. “I ain’t in no hurry to leave. That’s it, I guess.”

  Jodi turned toward the door.

  “This is gonna be a lot of fun.”

  * * *

  Outside, Jodi walked in a daze of exhaustion and, for no reason she understood, glanced up at the tree beside her car. She was either too tired to care or some part of her simply expected it, but she felt no surprise to see the raven sitting on a branch.

  Wide awake, it was staring down, and in the light of the moon Jodi suddenly and truly appreciated the enormous size and sheer beauty and strength of the majestic wings, the regal bent of its head, its proud breast. She appreciated the awesome power and unbroken will that emanated from it in a darkness deeper than the night.

  “Hey, Poe,” she smiled wanly. “Your buddy can’t see his hand in front of his face. But you can see forever, can’t you?”

  She pulled open the door and Poe didn’t move and she paused, one foot inside, a hand on top of the car, gazing at the Maltese image.

  “You do look like the devil,” she said quietly. “But this guy’s the real thing. Can you see that, too?”

  The raven stared.

  * * *

  Murder was such a simple thing.

  Kidnapping was far more complicated because the risk of witnesses increased deplorably with each moment it took him to disorient, secure, and carry his victim to the vehicle and put them in the trunk. And each second that he did not absolutely control contained chance. And he hated chance.

  He slowly, quietly crept down the side of the elderly man’s house, his outline hidden from the road by high hedges that the man grew along the wall. If the old man had been more careful about his life, he would have cut the hedges to the ground; they were a burglar’s dream. But the old man was not cautious.

  Although it had only been a week since he killed the little boy, he felt it was prudent to kill again as soon as possible for two reasons.

  First, he had been killing at an almost regular rate of one victim per month, and no pattern was good. It might inadvertently reveal something about his routine – maybe even something subconscious. So if he killed again within two weeks it would force the FBI profilers to reconfigure their psychological profile of him, and that alteration possessed no down side. The more wrinkles he could throw into their profile, the better. Second, he needed to insert as many variations into his missions as possible as quickly as possible. That would be another wrinkle the FBI profilers wouldn’t like but couldn’t dismiss.

  The old man slowly rose from his recliner and slowly approached the door when the bell sounded. He casually approached the foyer without a weapon. He was obviously off-guard, relaxed and confident inside his own home. Then he answered the door, and the man simply stepped forward to punch the taser into his chest.

  With a shout the old man fell.

  He casually stepped over the body and closed the door. It took five seconds to zip-lock the old man’s hands behind his back. Then he duct-taped his mouth and zip-locked his ankles. After that he straightened, staring around. He took a minute to study his surroundings recalling the rules; take nothing, leave nothing …

  He was not concerned about fibers he might take with him on his clothing or shoes. As usual, he would destroy his shoes and clothing in the stolen vehicle when he torched it. Then he would put on clean clothes and take his secondary vehicle.

  Before the night was done, he would drive into the short-term parking garage at the airport where restricted air space prevented police or FBI helicopters from following. Then he would switch to his third vehicle – his primary vehicle – and begin sanitation procedures to insure he was alone.

  Only then would he begin home.

  He bent and effortlessly lifted the old man onto his shoulder. The stolen LTD was within twenty feet of the door. He checked for witnesses, saw none, and walked swiftly forward. He roughly dumped the old man in the trunk, slammed the lid, and in twenty seconds was cruising at a slow and lawful speed.

  He had purposely left the front door ajar; he wanted this discovered as quickly as possible. It would frustrate the FBI, and it would divert attention from the murder of the little boy. And if no one was Good Samaritan enough to check on the old geezer’s welfare then he would call the police himself with another anonymous report.

  Forbidding the unpredictable, he would reach his destination within the hour, and this one would be dead within another hour. Simple as that.

  A little work, a little sweat, and i
t was done.

  And he would be home before sunrise.

  Nothing to it.

  THREE

  “What do you mean we don’t have the same files as the FBI?”

  Expressing her anger with career-ending courage, Jodi wasn’t hesitating to vent her indignation to Captain Steve Brightbarton, chief of the NYPD task force assigned the solemn duty of apprehending “The Hangman.”

  Jodi had picked Joe Mac up with lunch, and they arrived at the station within the hour. After familiar greetings were exchanged between Joe Mac and Brightbarton, the captain invited them into his office where Jodi took the fore and asked Brightbarton if they could be attached to the task force.

  To Jodi’s surprise Brightbarton readily admitted that they’d earned a place on the team when they found the shoe prints. Jodi didn’t tell him that they’d have never found a thing but for the assistance of a very strange bird.

  Jodi continued, “Do you mean to tell me that the FBI files are better than our own files of our own murders?” Brightbarton began to reply before she added, “Is that even legal, captain? Can they even do that to us?”

  “Of course they can do that to us, junior,” Brightbarton replied in a weary monotone. “They’re the FBI. They can do anything they want. And where is it written that they have to share every piece of intelligence with us, anyway?” He gestured toward the “war room.” “They don’t share everything with us. We don’t share everything with them. That’s just the way it works. Always has. Always will.”

  Jodi stood with one arm akimbo. “What happened to ‘working together?’”

  “We work together, yeah, but they don’t absolutely trust us, and we don’t trust them at all, so we’re always playing this game.” There was a pause and Joe Mac felt the captain’s stare. “Been a while, Joe,” he said finally. “I meant to come out and see you a few times but … you know how it is.”

  “Yeah,” Joe Mac stated, flat. “I know. So when did they give this to you?”

  “About a year ago.”

  “Gonna see it through?”

  “I doubt it. I got two more months before I’ve got my thirty-five. Then color me gone, baby. Florida here I come. Warm weather. Umbrella drinks. Naked women. I’ll take it all day long. And I ain’t never coming back to this town.”