Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 11

Trent only had about a one second window but he had taken at least five images of the mans face, in profile at least, before the door blocked his view.

As the car pulled away, Trent took a few final shots, capturing the make, model and licence plate of the car before it accelerated out of his field of vision.

He remained where he was, as still and silent as he had been before the killer's arrival. Trent only rose from his place of concealment, an overgrown bank of grass twenty yards from where the car had stopped, an hour after the killer had left. Better safe than sorry.

He moved slowly, his muscles screaming in pain from having lain out for so long, towards the ruined pig stye. The sniper had completed his task, he felt sure there were a couple of good usable pictures on the camera's memory card. However, he had gone beyond what he'd been asked to do. Trent allowed himself a smile of self-congratulation as he pulled a plastic evidence bag from inside his camouflage jacket. He stooped to retrieve the smooth sided brick that the killer had discarded. With any luck there would be a clean set of fingerprints to be had from this.

Job done, he turned to start the long walk back to where he had hidden his vehicle. He would stay clear of Hog's Meet, the small town that had played host to Arlene's late captors. Once back on main roads, he'd get his ass to Durham, see what help he could provide there.

Chapter Two - One week later "The truth is rarely pure and never simple." - Wilde

Even as Elvin approached the front door, he could hear raised voices from within the house. He paused, fist raised to knock on the door, his ears strained to make out what was being said but the words were indistinct. All he could really tell was that a male and a female were arguing loudly. He knocked three times, his knuckles connecting solidly on the wooden door to ensure the sound of his pounding on the door carried over the quarrel.

The door was yanked open and a large bearded black man in his early thirties glowered down at the diminutive Elvin. The young black man, a friend of Sondra's brother Terrence the both of them attending Rutwell college, took a half step back as the air about the older man was charged with tension and promise of violence.

"Who de fuck is you?" the older man spoke harshly, turning to look over his shoulder as the sound of someone's footsteps approaching. Elvin recognised Sondra as Terrence's sister moved into view. She threw an irritated look at the man who had answered the door. "Back off Destry, this is Elvin, my brother's college friend. Hey Elvin, are you looking for Terrence? He isn't here."

"Umm Hello Sondra, nice to see you again," Elvin always made an effort to sound polite around Sondra, something about Terrence's sister making him treat her cautiously and courteously. "No, I'm not looking for Terrence, I'm actually looking to have a word with you if that's acceptable?"

Sondra put a hand on Destry's shoulder, pulling him back from the doorway so that she could stand in front of Elvin unobstructed. Elvin was well aware that his own people skills were not anything to write home about, many felt him to be rude and arrogant at the best of times. However even he could see the total lack of tenderness between Sondra and Destry, the intimidating woman almost yanking the big man out of her way with an unconscious display of tetchiness.

"Well, I'm kind of busy right now, I've some... ummm, some friends over." Sondra's eyes flickered to one side briefly, Elvin following her gaze, he could see a shadow of a person passing across a doorway down the hall.

"Oh, I see, well it's just I'm worried about Terrence is the thing." Elvin let that hang there for a moment, well aware of Sondra's protective feelings for her younger brother, the steel in her eyes softening at Elvin's words.

"Worried? Why?"

"Well, we both know about his feelings for Erica, no matter that she didn't reciprocate them towards him. Since she went missing, I've noticed an edginess about him. He won't talk about it, not to any of his friends and I have concerns not only about his mental health but also how this will impact his upcoming examinations."

"Yeah, yeah it's a tough situation," Sondra said impassively as the steel barrier behind her eyes raised once more.

"So, I wondered if there was any news regarding Erica? Some clue as to her location? I thought that if I knew, then I might be in a position to talk to him about it, get him to 'open up' as they say."

"That's uh, that's good of you Elvin. You're a good friend taking the time to come here. Look, I don't know what to tell you, I don't know where Erica is. But thanks for letting me know that Terrence is struggling, it's good to know and even better knowing you have his back." Sondra bestowed a brief smile on Elvin, the young man awkwardly returning one of his own though it was an expression that didn't fit well on his face.

"Ah I see. Well perhaps you could let me know if any developments occur, I'd be most appreciative."

Elvin saw Sondra wincing at the pomposity of his words and his hand flickered into a fist for a split second before he mastered his irritation.

"Sure, uh-huh, yeah I'll do that," Sondra replied even as she began closing the door on him. "Developments, yup, will do. By-eee."

The door closed with a snap. Elvin kept his mask in place, not allowing his disappointment and anger onto his face lest someone be watching from one of the houses windows. Instead, he turned on his heel quickly, walking rapidly away.

"That kids fucking creepy," Destry pronounced as soon as Sondra closed the front door. "And what de fuck was he doin' just turning up like that?"

Sondra whirled round on her boyfriend, a finger jabbing toward his face like a sword thrust. He stepped back from her as she gesticulated angrily once again. "At least he was trying to do some good, looking out for his friend."

"Looking out for his friend," Destry snorted in contempt. "Sounds more like he was fishing for information."

"Well why aint I surprised to hear that you don't recognise someone looking out for another person" Sondra spat contemptuously.

"Look, baby, don't start this again. I..." Destry raised his hands in supplication.

"Don't start again? Don't start again? Muthafucker, I never finished. You had one job, keep my friend safe and you fucked it up, flirting with some bimbo white bitch most likely." Sondra took a deep breath, waving a hand toward him. "Nuh-uh, nope, nuh-uh. This aint the time, this aint the place. You need to leave."

"Leave? Sondra, Arlene asked me to be here."

"Well, it's my home and I'm telling you to go. Go! And don't come back unless I invite you." She began pushing him toward the front door.

"Wait, what do you mean by that?" Destry didn't receive an answer, Sondra half shoving him through the front door and then slamming it closed.

Sondra walked back to the living room, re-joining the five people already in there. Arlene was still seated on a chair, hands clasped in her lap, a calm professional air about her. The forty-year-old Deputy Sheriff with her gorgeous red hair and striking build had a commanding air about her. It was helped by Trent and Lincoln standing to either side of her, like silent ebony skinned guardsmen. The two men were stone-faced as they kept their gaze on the young man sat alone on the couch opposite them.

Victor, a newly qualified FBI agent and a childhood friend of Erica's was perched on the edge of the cushioned couch, face clouded as he leafed through the stack of files that Arlene had set before him.

The fifth person in the room was JP, the tracker that had helped the group hunt for the Graffiti Killer through the forest. The elderly white man, his long beard as unkempt as ever and his grey baseball cap pushed back on his head offered Sondra a cheeky grin as she came back in the room. She couldn't help herself, the old man was crazy, she grinned back despite the tension she carried in her shoulder, flipping him the middle finger before sitting down on the couch beside Victor.

They had spent the last thirty minutes bringing the young FBI agent up to speed. All credit to him, the young black agent had swallowed his disbelief and allowed their story to unfold, only interrupting occasionally to pose a thoughtful question or two.

They had begun with the story of Erica's hunt for Butterman, the encounters with him and Erica's kidnapping by him. Arlene had stressed the facts surrounding his escape and ability to stay ahead of them, facts that supported the theory he had help.

Then they moved on to Erica's meeting with the criminology department in Rutwell college, how a half century of investigation had uncovered similarities with crimes stretching over decades and half of the country, again pointing to a hitherto unknown organisation of killers.

As the story drew to a close Arlene had outlined her own brush with a killer, The Hockey Fan. She had omitted how she had orchestrated the abduction of two men, thugs working for the killer, their subsequent torture and execution. Sondra had found herself in agreement with Arlene, a rare thing these last two weeks, the last thing they needed to drop on Victor was their culpability in a double homicide.

The story would to its conclusion with Erica's disappearance and the actions they had taken since. Lincoln had taken up the narrative at that point, explaining how he had tracked down the man seen in the photograph with Erica. A local Durham businessman named Lawrence who had passed out from exhaustion after a long sex session with Erica. He had awoken to the sound of Erica's screams.

Erica had been sat beside him on a couch, screaming and crying piteously, clumps of her own brown hair in her hands. For a moment Lawrence had feared his wife had discovered the two lovers and had exacted some sort of twisted vengeance.

However, the word 'Jezebel' had been scrawled on a scrap of paper in what appeared to be red lipstick and then left on Erica's lap. This wasn't something his wife would have done.

Erica had been frantic, frenzied even. She had dressed, ignoring his questions and protests, leaving her hair scattered about the room. Then she had simply run off into the half light of the early morning.

Lawrence had neglected to inform the local police about the incident. How would he have explained it to his wife if he had? He'd simply tidied up and attempted to forget about it until Lincoln had appeared at his door. Lincoln had used some contacts to find out where Erica's phone had last been active. It was within two blocks of the Durham Greyhound bus station.

Arlene, now knowing that Erica was alive after the photograph Arlene had received was taken, had used her position as a cop to request access to traffic cam footage in the area. She'd found video showing Erica entering the bus station on foot, no footage however of her leaving it on foot. Therefore, the young woman had taken a bus. But where to?

Again, using contacts, Lincoln had discovered Erica's bank card had been used at an ATM in the station, over $1000 having been withdrawn. Since she'd obviously used cash to buy the ticket, but they were at a loss to discover where she had gone to.

Both phone and bank card had remained unused since then so Erica's electronic footprint had disappeared. Family and friends hadn't heard from her and through an exhaustive set of calls, no hospitals or police stations in a four-state area had any record of her being admitted or picked up.

That was when the group had turned to Victor for help, their own resources exhausted. They had given him time to process it all, Sondra answering the front door during that period. Now she was back and it was time to hear what the FBI agent had to say for himself.

"I had no idea; I mean I listened to her Podcast and all but I had no idea. I mean, all of you, it's so crazy, so scary and so impressive all at the same time." Victor looked around at them all, shaking his head slightly in wonderment. "I should have had more faith in her, supported her better."

"Damn right," Sondra muttered. Arlene held up a hand to quiet her down and Sondra immediately bristled angrily. She might have begun another row with Arlene, a feature of their relationship these past two weeks as Sondra held herself partially to blame for Erica's disappearance but instead chose to lay blame at Arlene's door for not responding quicker to the text, for not rushing back to Durham faster. Weak arguments but enough for Sondra to fester and bicker with Arlene incessantly for a fortnight.

"Will you help?" Arlene posed the question quietly.

"I can't, I mean I don't have the authority to have multiple states on the lookout for her. I don't have the juice to go to the bus company and demand footage from their station and coach camera's. Not without a warrant and no judge will give me one based on what you've brought me. I'm sorry there's nothing I can do." Victor finished lamely, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

"My old pappy..." the gravel rough voice of JP cut through the tense silence.

"JP, not the time, not now." Arlene said cutting him off.

"See, that's the problem young man, feller gets to an age and suddenly experience and wisdom don't matter none. He's just seen as old and stoopid. Criminal really." JP addressed himself towards Victor who seemed even more embarrassed than he had been a moment before.

"Fine, fine you old devil! Finish what you were saying," Arlene said, leaning back in her chair and half closing her eyes in frustration at both JP's interruption and Victor's refusal to help.

JP pulled out some cigarette papers and a soft leather pouch containing tobacco. He began to deftly roll a cigarette as he spoke.

"My old Pappy, he always did say that there aint no such thing as bad people. Just regular folk that had made bad decisions. Well let me tell you, that man could track a bird flying, could tell you what was going on in a bear's head just from lookin' at its paw prints but he knew damn well all about bad people." JP tapped the photograph of Erica, her hair cut and tossed on her naked form while a shining steel blade hovered a breath away from her throat. "That there, the shitheel holding the knife to that lovely girl's neck, that's a bad man." He popped the rolled cigarette in between his lips.

"You light that thing in my house and I'll end you, old man," Sondra growled.

"And you, you're a bad woman," JP cackled, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. "Fair nuff. Point I'm makin' here Victor is that bad decisions don't make bad people, bad people just is. Same fer good ones. Now you following the law like you are, that's probably a good decision. That don't make you a good person though. Doing all you can to help your friend, that's what a good person does."

Victor nodded thoughtfully and Arlene gave JP a nod of thanks. The old man levered himself out of the chair and took a few steps towards the door, stopping beside the low table to pick up the printed picture of Erica.

"I'll jes step out fer a moment, light me up this smoke." He tossed the photo towards Arlene. "Funny, all you smart detectives and college studying and it's the old backwoodsman who figger'd it out."

"Figger... I mean, figured what out you old reprobate," Arlene asked looking at the picture.

"The quote. 2K93536, it's there printed on that there picture."

"Quote?" Sondra asked puzzled.

"Oh, it's heathens I am surrounded by," JP lamented. "Second book of Kings, Chapter 9, verses 35 and 36. Know it? 'And they went to bury her but they found no more of her than the skull, and the feet and the palms of her hands. Wherefore they came again and told him. And he said this is the word of the lord. Which he spake by his servant Elijah the Tishbite, saying, in the portion of Jezreel shall dogs eat the flesh of Jezebel,"

"What does that all mean?" It was Victor asking now, worry for Erica etched on his face.

"Means we need to find that girl 'fore them that took that picture do," JP said before he stepped out.

Chapter Three - Two weeks later "O God that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains" - Shakespeare

The bottle of scotch tottered momentarily on the surface of the kitchen counter, half empty it didn't tip over as it would have at the beginning of the evening when it was all but full. Arlene's hand snaked out to grab the neck of the bottle. She was drunk but she'd need to finish the bottle before her reflexes were dulled enough to spill any of the smoked amber coloured liquid. Bottle secure, the woman picked up the glass tumbler that was set beside the bottle, lifting it in a salute to the framed picture sitting on the dresser in the kitchen.

As she raised the glass to her lips, Arlene fancied that the eyes of her late husband in the wedding picture were following the path of her hand as she tipped the glass back, taking a large swallow of the peat flavoured alcohol until the sting of the drink caught the back of her throat. The glass dropped back onto the counter top, half drained.

She knew that she was wallowing in self-pity right now, not a quality she liked in anyone never mind herself. The self-recriminating thought though only made her feel sorrier for herself. Sleep didn't come easily these days. The waking hours where she managed to get through her job, her life, were hard enough and having the bliss of dreamless sleep denied to her was wearing her thin, physically, mentally, emotionally.

Since her husband's passing things had gotten tough. Then Erica had come into her life, the fire and passion, the thrill of the hunt for a serial killer had settled Arlene, giving her a purpose, a reason for being.

Killing the two men who had attacked her, executing them without judge or jury had hurt her soul. It was a hurt that would have healed, given time but then Erica had gone missing and a small niggling voice in her head kept repeating over and over that it was a karmic balancing for the evil that Arlene had perpetrated.

It was a ridiculous thought, she knew that but then the seemingly endless quarrelling with Sondra, the passion with which the black woman kept second guessing Arlene's decisions, insinuating that Arlene's slow response that day had somehow caused Erica to disappear... well it wasn't helping.

She had hoped that Sondra leaving for a time might give her some respite, some peace and sleep but no such luck. Hence the scotch.

The photographs taken by Trent hadn't yielded any results. Victor had reluctantly run it through a facial matching program at his FBI office's but it hadn't thrown up any hints. Thank God the young army veteran had had the presence of mind to obtain the killers fingerprints.

Again, there hadn't been any identification made from them, whoever the Hockey Fan was, he hadn't been arrested so far in his criminal career. He had however had some brushes with the law, seemingly in his youth. The fingerprints had been linked to some old burglary cases, unsolved, in Brooklyn NYC. These break ins had been from the early 2000's so it seemed the killer had taken to a life of crime before he'd ever needed to shave.

Sondra, Trent and Lincoln had travelled to NYC, photos in tow, with a plan to canvass the areas the crimes had been committed in. There was a chance the killer had taken to committing crimes in his own neighbourhood given his young age. Maybe someone there could supply a name to go with his picture. They would also tie in with the NYPD, Lincoln having a friend on the force. Maybe some of the more veteran officers would be able to provide names of criminals active at the same time and place as The Hockey Fan, there was a chance an identification could be made through that channel.