INCURSION: Knightmare (Knight's Bane Trilogy Book 1) Page 12

  The police chief slightly raised his hand. "I believe your victim intel is wrong. We had another body show up this morning, same 'm.o.,' same weird animal marks. I believe the coroner's got the body now, doesn't he John?"

  The sheriff nodded slowly and looked at Six. "Bill, our M.E., should be opening the victim up now."

  Six nodded his thanks to the sheriff and looked around the room. "Alright, does anyone else have any questions?"

  When he realized that no one was going to ask another question, he dismissed the impromptu meeting and began walking out to the MRAP. As the rest of the town's officials filed out, he asked the sheriff to wait for a moment.

  "Sheriff? Any chance I can get an escort out to the latest crime scene? I'd like my team to take a look at it. I'm going to have a few of them head over to the hospital to talk to your coroner, as well."

  The sheriff nodded, and radioed for a deputy to come to the building. "I've got one of our rookies on the way over here to escort you guys," he explained to Six. "Bill, our coroner, is over in the hospital. The morgue is in the basement."

  The sheriff's eyes narrowed and became serious. "Are you going to level with us, or will you just piss all over this town and wait for the next victim to be snatched and killed?"

  Six paused for a moment and looked at the sheriff, carefully considering what he could say. "Sheriff, I cannot divulge any classified information about the threat; however, my team is here to handle it. I do honestly expect to wrap up this in just a couple days." Six reassured the sheriff.

  The sheriff looked at the crew in and around the truck. He then looked back at the DHS agent and asked, "Just what kind of special team are you running? I don't believe I've ever seen a stranger advanced team."

  The leader of this rather odd crew followed his gaze. "Officially? We are here to investigate and verify the threat and resolve the matter to keep the community safe. Unofficially? We expect to file this case under 'Case Closed. Suspect Deceased.'"

  A patrol car pulled up in the parking lot, and a young deputy got out. The rookie walked over to the sheriff and said, "Sheriff? Dispatch said you wanted me for escort duty?"

  The sheriff nodded and replied, "Deputy Folsom, I want you to escort this Homeland Security team to the last crime scene. I'm sure that they'll take their truck. Guide them over, and make sure that our folks help them out." The sheriff turned to Six and continued, "Agent Holstein, this is Deputy Folsom. He'll be your guide today."

  Six nodded and shook the young deputy's hand. Slightly taller than the DHS agent, the deputy was very young and had that clean cut, all-American, blond-hair-and-blue-eyed look that was made for a recruiting poster. He looked the deputy up and down before he spoke. "Good to meet you, Deputy. I need to talk to my team briefly, and then we can get going. If you want to get your car ready?"

  The deputy was smart enough to take the hint and walked over to his car. Six spun on his heel and walked toward the truck. Upon reaching the truck, Six gathered everyone around into a small group to discuss his new information. The rest of the team had already checked their equipment, put on their armor, and donned the throat microphones and secure radios.

  Six began his briefing. "Alright. New intel. Yet another victim last night. The feedings are getting closer together, so we need to set up shop and take care of this thing quick. God, I want you on the roof of the hospital, as we discussed in the briefing. It's the tallest building in this area, and you'll be able to see most of town, as well as provide overwatch for this location. This building is our new command post."

  The team leader turned to address everyone else as he continued, "Spooky, I want you to launch the drone. Look for cold spots. Help God with overwatch duties. Doc, Boomer, go talk to the coroner. His name is Bill. Doc, it's your specialty. Find out what we're hunting.

  "Spooky, once you launch the drone, you and I are going to follow the deputy in this war wagon to the latest crime scene."

  Spooky grinned and started laughing. "Ooh. I like that. This big bad MRAP is now officially 'The War Wagon.'" The others chuckled along as they could hear the capital letters that Spooky used.

  "Everyone clear on their job?" Six saw nods all around. "Ok. We all have radio communications. If anything pops up, call it out. Don't worry about using 'military' language or 'tactical' signals. Use plain English. These are scrambled and secure enough to use."

  God grabbed his rifle bag, Boomer slung her shotgun over her shoulder, and the two accompanied Doc as they walked across the parking lot toward the hospital's main entrance.

  As they walked away, Spooky climbed back into the newly christened War Wagon and emerged with a large remote controlled drone. The young analyst started the small engine and threw it in the air, and the drone took off, climbing into the sky. Reaching down, Spooky grabbed a controller and began to pilot it in a perimeter over the town. The electronics expert climbed back into the truck, sitting in front of two screens set up where he could monitor the drone's flight. The team leader climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine, and waived the waiting deputy onward. As the deputy pulled out, Six pulled out behind him, the War Wagon dwarfing the police cruiser like a hunter on horseback following a hound.

  The vehicles rolled away while the three remaining agents all walked toward the hospital. Walking through the main entrance, they made quite an imposing sight: two figures wearing SWAT armor and a woman wearing a cassock and a clerical collar. The older security guard at the main desk stared in shock for a couple seconds, then rose to his feet as he stammered, "Can I help you?"

  Doc opened her credentials and showed them to the guard. "Homeland Security. Can you please point us in the direction of the morgue?"

  The guard shakily pointed in the proper direction and then weakly raised a hand in protest when the two women went in that direction. The larger gentleman in armor and toting a rifle case looked around, seemed to find what he was looking for, and headed for the stairs. The guard reached down and grabbed the phone. He knew the sheriff's cell phone number, and he was sure he should probably check on the strange trio.

  After a couple of rings, the sheriff answered his phone. "What is it, Uncle Ron? I'm kind of in the middle of something here."

  The security guard's reply was bemused. "I think part of whatever you stepped in just walked in my doors, heading for the morgue. What's going on, John? Have we been invaded?"

  "I'm sorry, Ron," the sheriff began. He sounded slightly abashed. "I forgot to call you and warn you. We're stuck with Homeland Security for a couple days while they figure out that our murders aren't terrorist related. Just let them go about their business."

  "Alright," the older man conceded. "Heck, I only have a few minutes 'till I go home anyway. I'll let the kid deal with them tonight."

  The two women walked down the hall to the bank of elevators. Seeing the signage that declared the morgue was in the basement, they boarded the elevator and descended. When the doors opened, they followed the hall until they were in a cold, sterile entryway.

  With cold remains storage, two autopsy bays, and a viewing area, the morgue occupied almost the entire basement. Walking through the first set of doors, the two women found an office door that proclaimed, "William Stewart, M.D., Chief Medical Examiner." Doc knocked on the door and heard a muffled "Come!" from inside.

  The priest entered first, while Boomer followed, closing the door behind her. Before them was a short, overweight man who was balding on top and smelled like cigarette smoke. An unlit cigarette was perched between his lips as he bent over paperwork behind his clean, orderly desk.

  "Doctor Stewart?" Doc spoke up first.

  "Yes? What do you want? You can tell the sheriff that he'll get the paperwork as soon as I get it done," the annoyed man snarled without looking up from his handwritten notes and partially-filled forms.

  Doc looked at her partner and frowned. "Doctor Stewart, I'm Doctor Noelle Sorenson from the Department of Homeland Security. This is my partner, Special Agent Rebekah Cal
lahan. We have some questions that we would like you to answer."

  Stiffening, the rude retort on Doctor Stewart's lips died out when he looked up at the two agents darkening his doorway. Seeing one in a collar and cassock, and the other carrying a shotgun and dressed in a flak jacket, made him lose track of what he was going to say. The pause became uncomfortable, and the coroner recovered his voice. "I'm sorry about that. What can I do for you ladies today?"

  "We're here investigating the recent series of deaths," the priest said. "I understand you had one last night as well? Have you already performed the autopsy?"

  Doctor Stewart switched to an ingratiating smile. "Yes, I've done the post-mortem. I believe that the sheriff has all the files, except for the one I'm literally finishing right now."

  Doc nodded. "I've read the reports. I would still like to see the remains myself. I'm not questioning your work, Doctor, but I am a medical doctor and would like to see the bodies and evidence first-hand." Doc's voice seemed to chill the air. "Do you have a problem with me looking at the remains?"

  Dr. Stewart visibly blanched. "No. Of course I don't have any problem with that. However, all but the last two have been either buried or cremated, according to family wishes. We'll have to get a court order to disinter the bodies..."

  "That's fine," Doc said as she nodded. "If we need to see the other bodies, I'll get the order. In the meantime, let's pull out the other two." She and Boomer turned to leave the office. The doctor quickly followed them.

  The three people walked into the cold storage room. They prepared two gurneys, and then Doc and Dr. Stewart moved the two bodies on to the gurneys, one by one. As they wheeled the bodies into the autopsy room, Boomer shivered in the cool temperatures. Watching from the other side of the room, the explosives expert winced as each body was laid bare on an autopsy table.

  The priest grabbed a mask and face shield and bent over the first body. This was the newest victim. A male, in his early twenties. He looked empty. Glancing at the incision on the chest, she turned to the doctor. "So, you've completed post-mortem. What was the cause of death?"

  The doctor looked at her and said, "Organ failure, due to exsanguination. I have no real cause for the blood loss. The wounds on the arms, thighs, and throat all are from predators indigenous to the area—probably wolf or mountain lion. All the wounds are post-mortem."

  Doc looked even closer at the wounds. She pulled out a small spiral-bound notepad and began recording her findings. Seeing the doctor trying to interfere with her partner, Boomer walked over to the doctor and began asking him some basic questions.

  She noticed that the doctor was glancing back and forth between the clock and Doc. She began to see beads of sweat form on the man's forehead, despite the chilly room temperature. She wondered what he was hiding.

  Boomer sought his attention. "So, Doctor... Stewart, was it? Did all the bodies have these kinds of markings?"

  Dr. Stewart turned to face Boomer who was encroaching on his personal space. Putting on his best clinical voice, he said, "Of course. All the markings were the same. Wherever they are hiding the bodies, there are some pretty fierce predators. Some have come in chewed up worse than this kid."

  The demolitions expert looked straight at the M.E. "What's got you so nervous, doc? Anything else we should know?"

  Boomer saw a momentary flash of panic in the man's eyes. "No, Agent Callahan. Why would I have to hide anything? Why am I nervous? On top of some crazy killer running around town, I have two Homeland Security agents on my doorstop, questioning my work. I'm about done for the day, and I would like to finish up."

  Doc suddenly looked up from the second corpse. "That's ok, doctor. I'm done here as well. I thank you for your time, and I look forward to helping you out on this case." The priest peeled off her gown, mask, and gloves and strode toward the door. "Come on, Rebekah. Let's go tell the boss what we saw."

  As they walked out, the doctor stood there glaring at the backs of the ladies' heads. He wondered who was going to help him put away these bodies. Then he began wondering what he was going to tell Zachariah.

  15

  CONTACT

  TRINIDAD, COLORADO.

  The deputy's cruiser and the large black truck pulled up to the curb in downtown Trinidad. Both sides of the street were lined with police cars, and a forensics van sat at the end of an alley that was blocked off with crime scene tape. Six nodded to Spooky and jumped out, following the deputy toward the alley. The DHS agent pulled his credentials from his inner pocket and showed them to the officers near the edge of the tape.

  The team leader spoke up. "Special Agent Burt Holstein, Department of Homeland Security. Who's in charge here?"

  A man and a woman, both wearing suits, came to the edge of the crime scene tape. The man was tall and thin, dressed in a wrinkled suit, with a stained tie and mussed hair. The bags under his eyes and the stubble on his face told the agent that it had been some time since he had seen a shower or a bed. His partner was about six inches shorter than the man, despite her two-inch heels. As a contrast, her suit looked pressed and clean, and she looked more composed. "Detectives Young and Toursier," she said as she introduced herself and her partner. "What is Homeland Security doing down here?" she quickly inquired.

  Six ducked under the crime scene tape and extended his hand to shake hers. "Detective Young, we're here to make sure that this isn't some case of a deeper threat against the nation. What can you tell me about this scene?"

  Eyeing the large black armored truck and eschewing the proffered hand, Young stepped in front of him and looked him over. "Since when is DHS interested in serial killers? We've got the FBI's BAU on the way to help us. Frankly, it looks like you're going to screw things up."

  Six smiled and said, "Hey look, we're all on the same team. I promise: we're not going to interfere with your investigation. Our job is to help solve the problem." The agent stepped around the detective and continued toward the alley.

  Young's frosty tone drove the warmth from the area. She began rattling off facts from her notes. "Same routine as last time. Pick an alley without cameras, knock out the street lamps, and then drop off the body. In. Out. Done. Clean and simple."

  Six looked up at the detective and asked, "So they are not killed here? Hmm. Any clues about who might be going a little nuts in your town?"

  The detective looked at the brusque agent with a mixture of hostility and disgust. "I'm sorry we're not omniscient. This is my sixth crime scene in as many weeks. Of course we don't have any idea who is doing this. Do you and your mighty DHS?"

  Six looked a bit chastened. He softened his tone as he replied, "We have a couple good guesses, but nothing I can point you to. But that's what we're here for." He turned as he heard another large vehicle pull up behind him.

  Climbing out of a black Suburban were three men and a woman. With nearly identical dark gray "power" suits, sunglasses, and attitudes, the FBI had arrived. The leader of the team walked up to Six and held up his badge. "Special Agent Grant Taylor, FBI. Who are you and why is Homeland Security here?"

  Six smiled and pulled out his own badge. He could see the hostility on the agent's face and tried to calm the situation. "Special Agent Burt Holstein. We're here because we believe this is one of our cases. Although you and your team will be working the serial killer angle, we'll be working another. And before you ask—it's classified above your pay grade."

  Agent Taylor angrily shook his head and stalked past the agent and toward the detectives. Six approached the War Wagon; he glanced back and saw the BAU team congregating around the lead detectives. Keying his secure radio, he subvocalized, "God, this is Six. Any signs of our targets?" The radio attached around his throat picked up the minute vibrations and sent them out over the radio.

  A few seconds later, there was a reply. "Six, God. Negative on targets."

  The team leader climbed up into the truck and glanced back at the young man who was mesmerized by the screens in front of him. "Any signs of our t
argets, Spooky?" Six's voice was hopeful.

  Without looking up, the young man shook his head as his gaze passed from screen to screen.

  The older gentleman sighed and keyed his radio again. "Nightmare, this is Six. Let's regroup at ops center in ten minutes. I'll run and get us some food on the way back. I want to figure out our next move." Six received a chorus of affirmatives.

  The team leader climbed into the driver's seat and glanced back at his electronics specialist. "Spooky, contact the mayor, and the sheriff. Have them meet us at the ops center in an hour. And have them contact the press. We'll have a press conference in two hours." Spooky gave him a thumbs up as his other hand reached for his phone.

  ELEVEN MINUTES LATER, Six pulled the War Wagon into a parking spot in front of the South Central Council of Governments building. As he climbed out, he saw the same three agents who had been at the hospital walking across the parking lot, the two women in a very animated conversation. His hands full with the bags of food, he told Spooky to grab the city map and walked inside the community center and into the conference room that he had appropriated.

  Laying out the fast food, Six accepted the map from Spooky and tacked it up on the large corkboard. He then grabbed a sandwich and coffee and started to eat. As the rest of the team filed in, they each took their food and drinks and began to eat.

  "Alright. Let's get this party started," Six said as soon as he finished swallowing his last mouthful. "Quick review. I visited the crime scene and talked to the lead detectives. Basically, it's the same m.o. every time. Killed somewhere else and dumped in an alley with broken lights and no cameras. These newbies are being smarter than the average killer. Doc?"