Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 01

Authors note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Tracking Evil, The Podcast -- Part One

Erica Anderson is a journalist. More specifically she is an unemployed journalist. Both her parents were print journalists, working for small papers in Kansas. Growing up in a rural farming community, Erica idolised her parents and there was never any doubt what career she would choose to pursue. After gaining a degree in Journalism from Kansas State, she began looking for work.

Each time the interview ended the same way, 'you need more experience'. Disappointed but no less determined, she opted to set up an online blog, honing her skills, reporting on local and international events and gaining a respectable number of regular readers. However, it wasn't enough to separate her from her peers much less gain her the recognition she needed to push for a job opportunity at a big media firm. So, Erica decided she'd work on a podcast. First, she'd need to find something catchy, something that would get her noticed.

Standing 5'6, 114lbs, a trim 34C-25-36 figure, with shoulder length brown hair, blue eyes and the kind of flawless pale skin that women throughout the ages have been willing to sell their souls for, Erica doesn't exactly scream 'hard bitten crime reporter', and at just twenty-four years old she doesn't come across as a veteran, experienced fact-finder either. To see her was to think, 'innocent, sweet' not 'driven and single-minded'.

Nevertheless, she began looking at unsolved crime reports, scouring online sources, images, anything that would tip her off to a story that everyone else had missed, a story big enough to become popular, popular enough to give her name recognition. Then, maybe, she found something.

Episode One: An Old Friend

Erica smoothed down the folder lying on the table beside her coffee. It was a nervous habit of hers. She tended to adjust and readjust items around her whenever she felt on edge. She hadn't seen Victor in a couple of years now and Erica had been in two minds about this whole meeting. The café was quiet, the morning rush for breakfast dwindling off, so she'd had no problem in grabbing a window table.

Her indecision and nervousness had leaked into every aspect of the day. She'd agonised over wearing her hair down as she had always done in college, to remind Victor of their time together in Kansas. But because she was trying to give a professional look to her meeting with him, she wondered if she should wear it tied back. Eventually she'd gone for a loose ponytail, but then she had to decide on an outfit, casual, smart casual, just smart? She finally opted for a dark pants suit with flats instead of heels. The next dilemma, should she have a gift for him, since she was going to end up asking for his help? There at least she felt she'd made the correct decision. It would have seen like a poor bribe especially where a friend is concerned.

The coffee shop door opened and Victor entered. He'd put on a little weight since she'd last seen him and he'd shaved the beard but he still had the same smile and it was wide and beaming as he walked towards her. Erica stood up and hugged him as he reached her table. She pushed herself up onto her toes as she did so, in order to get an arm over his shoulder. Victor was six feet four and had always made her feel tiny with his huge shoulders and height. Like Erica, he was from Kansas. His parents had emigrated to the US from Nigeria and worked in a hospital. Their pride in their son going first to college and then getting accepted for FBI training had been considerable. Erica still remembered the party they had thrown for him and the hangover she'd suffered the next day.

"How's it going G-man?" She teased him, flicking at his tie with a finger as they sat back down at the table.

"Not bad, not bad. I'm still here in DC waiting on my first posting. I'm hoping New York or California but I'll probably draw Alaska." Victor answered with a grin.

"Sure, sure, they send all the top candidates to the frozen north, that's just good governmental sense right there." Erica said smiling.

They ordered some food and Erica refreshed her coffee, chatting and reminiscing for a few minutes. Finally, Victor pushed his empty plate to one side and leaned forward on the table.

"Ok Erica, what gives? You look like you're heading for an interview but I know you aren't. If you were, then your parents would have been bombarding your cell with good luck texts while I've been sitting here."

"Maybe my phones on silent? Maybe it's turned off?"

Victor just raised an eyebrow at that.

"Fine, fine." Erica slumped back in her chair, her fingers once more playing across the folder on the table. "No wonder you did so well at your training in Quantico." she muttered.

"Nah, this is just me knowing you this well." he responded.

Erica flipped open the folder and leaned forward conspiratorially.

"I need some advice. Well, some advice and some help really. Can you give me five minutes to explain?"

Victor nodded then added, "No promises but yeah, I always have five minutes for a friend."

"I started going through old murder cases. Well not ancient ones, but unsolved ones in the last ten years or so. I deliberately stayed clear of Kansas but aside from that I just flitted from state to state, looking for something with a hook. Something that other people might find interesting too. Anyway, there was no point looking at dead criminals, no public interest, same for homeless people, addicts etc. Celebrities, the rich or the famous, everyone has trawled through them already so I knew I'd find nothing there. I focused on what was left. Gotta say, even with excellent police closure figures it was still kind of depressing how many there were."

Victor nodded, "Yes, it is. So, I'm guessing you found a 'hook' then?"

"Ummm, well see I'm not sure. This is where the advice part comes in."

Erica drew out four photographs and spread them out in front of Victor. One was obviously a crime scene picture, police and a covered body visible in the foreground. The other three photos showed people standing in front of either walls or buildings. She tapped the first picture.

"Lisa Bryerson, New Jersey, Caucasian, nineteen years old. Stabbed to death in the street."

Picture two, four people stood in from of an apartment building.

"Kyle Robbins, Washington DC, African American, forty-two years old. Shot in his bedroom."

Picture three, a plain wall beside a sidewalk, a small group of people looking into the street.

"Leon Monroe, North Carolina, African American, twenty-seven years old. Knocked down in the street, run over repeatedly."

Picture four, another apartment block, an old lady laying flowers down beside the main door.

"Jennifer Sands, Connecticut, Caucasian, thirty-one years old. Deliberately thrown from her apartment window."

Victor glanced up at her, nonplussed. "Ok, so where's the hook?"

Erica pointed to parts of each picture in turn and then passed over four more photos. These appeared to be blown up images of the parts she'd indicated.

Again, Victor looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"Ok, graffiti on walls. The hook is 'modern art or vandalism? An introspective'. Come on, what am I not seeing?"

Erica handed over one final picture, a close up on a single piece of graffiti.

'BILLIII' it read.

"What the hell does that mean? Billie? Billy? Bill 3? William the third?" Victor mused; his handsome black face creased in concentration.

"Exactly!" Erica crowed, "It's so weird, I mean the exact same message at four different murder sites. Four that I've found so far anyway. There's probably more. I think it's the killer, I mean it's a message from him. I think it's a serial killer!"

"Wait, wait. Don't go crazy ok. It could be simple coincidence and nothing more. You have no idea what it means. More importantly look at the facts you do have. The victims all died in different ways, different genders, different states, different races, different ages. I'm willing to bet different jobs as well. Most serial killers don't do random." Victor said, passing the photos back to Erica. "So, you wanted my advice? Well, here it is, find a different hook because I don't think this is it."

Erica closed the folder over. She took a sip of coffee to collect her thoughts.

"You are right." She sighed. "Well, you are probably right, but all the same I want to look into this. If I'm wasting my time then so be it." She paused, "And this is where I hit you up for some help."

"Go on." Victor sighed dramatically.

"I searched the internet. I couldn't find any hits for that message. So, I thought maybe it's a gang symbol. Now I don't think that's likely as it appears in four different states but it's the only other explanation I can think of besides my killer angle. You did some time with youth services here in DC before joining the bureau. I thought you might have a contact with them or with an officer dealing with local gangs that could answer my question." Erica pouted at the end, tilting her head to one side as she did so.

"Well to start with you can fuck right off with that face. That's the same look that you used to persuade a bunch of us to go skinny dipping in December. I nearly froze to death."

Erica laughed at the memory. Then she pouted once more, adding in a lisping baby voice "Puh-leese Wictor".

"For fucks sake." he muttered. "Ok, I know a guy. He works with DCPD dealing with gangs, he should be able to answer your questions. But there are conditions to my help."

"Go on." Erica said.

"First" Victor said, ticking off one finger, "This story of yours..."

"Podcast."

"This Podcast of yours. I don't appear in it. No name, no 'unofficial FBI source'. Nothing. Second, if there is anything to this or if you find yourself dealing with anything remotely sketchy then you back off and you contact me or the local police. Third, next month there is a party planned, you are coming. I want to introduce you to a friend of mine at the bureau, I think you'd get along."

"Hey, I don't need setting up..." Erica frowned as Victor waggled the three raised black fingers in her face. "Fine, no names, no danger and I'll let your friend dribble in my ear at the party. Deal?"

"Deal. Give me a couple of hours, I'll call you with my friend's details." Victor rose from his seat, stooping to kiss Erica on the top of her head. "I swear Erica, if you don't show next month..."

"Fuck off G-man, I'll stick to the deal." she said laughing as she pushed him away. "Two hours, don't forget!"

Victor waved as he strode out of the café. The waitress appeared beside Erica, "More coffee dear or do you want the check?"

Erica turned to see Victor laughing at her through the window before striding away.

He might have stuck her with paying for the food but Victor didn't let her down regarding his contact with DCPD. Three hours after meeting with Victor she was sat at the desk of Sergeant Dwayne Hollis, a ten-year veteran who had spent seven of those years working with the various gangs that inhabited Washington DC. A blocky black man in his early thirties, his face looked perfectly suited to wearing Ray Ban aviators, a man born to the profession he followed. He was also very friendly and open, inordinately proud of his wife and three children, talking about them so enthusiastically that Erica was worried he'd never get around to answering her questions.

Victor hadn't told him what or why Erica wanted his help with and she decided to keep her cards close to her chest as well. So, she ended up showing him just the graffiti picture.

"Have you ever seen that before? I mean, is it familiar at all?" Erica shifted nervously in her seat while Sergeant Hollis sat across the desk from her intently studying the photograph.

"Nope, don't know it at all." he said finally handing it back.

"Dammit!" she swore quietly. "Umm thanks anyway, I appreciate you taking the time" Erica said, her voice betraying her disappointment.

"Now hold up, don't go getting all morose on me. I don't know it but I'm not the fountain of all knowledge, though I do know a couple of things that might help you out." Sergeant Hollis said in an upbeat voice.

He took the photo back and tapped his finger onto a red spray-painted symbol just visible beneath the letters.

"See here, this mark? That's a tag used by a gang I've had dealings with in the past. See how it actually crosses onto the bottom of the 'B' in the message you are interested in? Well, that means it was done afterwards so whoever put it there would have seen your message. Now the other thing I know is that the guy who most likely sprayed this gang symbol also considers himself a bit of a graffiti Picasso. He takes a lot of interest in what folks put what on walls. I might not be the fountain of all knowledge but this guy..." He tapped the photo again, "he just might be."

"That's amazing" Erica gushed, "Where can I find him?"

"Find him? Shift you ain't finding him. Victor would kill me and I'd let him if I sent you off alone to meet this guy. Listen up, there are still shitty parts in this city, and this guy lives in a half decent area but you get lost or turned around and you can still wind up in trouble. Hell no, you aren't going anywhere near there alone."

They took an unmarked car, it smelt like fast food and cigarettes inside it, so much so that Erica had to crack her window open just to avoid feeling nauseous. Sergeant Hollis kept up a running commentary as they drove, alternating between pointing out local landmarks, anecdotes about his family and warnings about how Erica should behave when they reached their destination.

"When we pull up you stay inside the car until I signal you to get out. Understand?" He glanced over at Erica in the passenger seat and she bobbed her head in the affirmative.

"These guys, they are young so it's mostly a lot of talk with them but that said, they are probably gonna throw a lot of verbal shit at you. It's important you don't let them see it getting to you. If you need to, just get back into the car and we'll leave. Now when I signal you to get out, you come join me but you stay on my left and slightly behind me. That's important. Say it back to me."

"I get out and I stand on your left...just behind you." Erica repeated, "Why do I need to do that?"

"Like I said, these guys aren't a threat, not with me there. Guy I'm looking to find spends most of his time at his place, actually it's his grandmothers'. Tyrone Johnson, goes by Tiny. Twenty years old, did a spell in Juvie for assault and B&E. Kept himself pretty clean since but all the same I need to know exactly where you are and I need to keep my right side free in case I would have to draw my weapon. That aint gonna happen but I prefer to plan to be safe rather than sorry. You okay with all that?"

Erica nodded once more and turned to look at the streets passing by. "Not in Kansas anymore." she murmured to herself.

Five minutes later they slowed down near a block of houses. It wasn't what Erica had expected, the homes appeared clean, well maintained if somewhat old. She took note of the street names as they passed a sign post. She had read that DC had changed a lot from twenty years before when it was the murder capital of America but she hadn't realised how much so. Sergeant Hollis finally ground the car to a halt in front of a two-storey house. Three young black men were lounging against a black railing fence that enclosed a small front garden. They were all dressed almost identically, Washington Wizard jerseys over skinny jeans, only the numbers on the jerseys differing.

"Wait" he said as he climbed out of the car. Through her slightly open window, Erica could hear clearly as he greeted the three men.

"Busy as usual?" Sergeant Hollis said, positioning himself so that he blocked the men's line of vision to the front of the car.

"Ah you know it. Jes' waitin' on ma stockbroker to get back to me." quipped one of the men.

"Tiny inside?" Hollis's voice was relaxed, his stance casual so Erica relaxed back in her seat. She fished out the photograph of the graffiti along with a small notepad and pen so as to be ready for the Sergeant's signal.

"Uh-huh, I 'spect he is. Why? He ain't done nuthin' wrong." another of the men answered, stepping off from the fence towards Hollis. There was a touch of belligerence in his tone but Hollis didn't rise to it.

At that moment the front door to the house opened and a huge black man clumped down the steps, clad similarly to the others, the only difference was he wore his jeans baggy. A large rottweiler strained forward against the leash being held firmly by its master. The man was tall, six foot two, but it was his bulk that prompted Erica to think of him as huge. He must have weighed close to three hundred pounds. This could only be Tiny.

"Tiny, how's your grandmother?" Hollis raised his left hand in greeting, his eyes on the dog that was straining silently on its leather leash.

"Grams is good, down at Church like always." Tiny replied, his voice oddly high pitched for his size.

"And the diet?"

"Lost six pounds n'all." Tiny answered. "So, what you want huh?" The other young men wore almost identical expressions of wary attentiveness as they waited on Sergeant Hollis's reply.

"Just hoping you'll answer someone with a question is all." the police officer replied, signalling with his left hand for Erica to get out.

As soon as she appeared the four black youth's demeanours shifted instantly. Gone were the suspicious expressions, the bodies half tensed for a 'fight or flight' situation. Now they were four men intent on expressing their interest in a woman, albeit crudely.

"Da fuck?" "Hey girly, you here lookin' fo a real man? I got's you girl, I got's you." "Hey Hollis, you pimpin' now man? That's a sweet bitch you runnin' there man."

Erica let the catcalls and comments roll by her. This was too important. This was her shot at her dream career. She needed their assistance and besides Sergeant Hollis had already warned her that this might happen so she'd steeled herself against reacting to it. She moved up to the position she'd been briefed on, photograph in one hand, pen and paper in the other. Hollis half turned towards her; eyes sympathetic. He took the photo from her and passed it to the closest youth, who passed it over the fence to Tiny without even looking at it, his eyes fixed on Erica.

"Could you tell me if you recognise that?" Erica said, raising her voice over the verbal barrage still coming from the men.

Tiny glanced at it then flicked it back towards them. "Yeah, I could do that." he said in a flat bored tone.

"Umm well then, will you? I mean will you tell me what you know about that?" Erica pressed, trying to be as specific as possible.

"Why you lookin' to know? Huh? What's it worth to you?" Tiny responded, he dropped his hand to slap the dog affectionately on its side, then pulling it back by its leash till it sat beside him.

"Worth to me? Yes, yes, I can pay for information, I have some money here."

As she said it, she caught sight of Sergeant Hollis shaking his head slightly but it was too late, the words were out there.

"You think I need your money? Nah girl, show me those white tits, show me them, show me that bangin' little body you got and then maybe I'll think on tellin' you what you want to hear." As he bargained his three friends hooted with laughter, slapping hands on thighs, doubling over at Erica's expression.