Authors: M.Z. Kelly
We were scheduled to meet with the FBI at Hollywood Station at ten the next morning. Since I was unable to get much sleep and got up early, I took the opportunity to stop by my mother’s house in North Hollywood on the way into the station. I found her in her kitchen reading tea leaves.
Mom, who considered herself a part-time psychic, had a history of odd behavior. In recent months, she’d been calling herself Rose. Her behavior had become so strange that I’d convinced her to go to therapy with me. The therapist explained that she was suffering from something called a dissociative personality disorder brought on by the way she’d handled me finding out that she was not my biological mother. The fact that Mom had withheld that knowledge from me for years, and that I’d recently learned she’d had an affair with Ryan Cooper before he’d murdered my love-dad, had all weighed heavily on our relationship. I tried to focus and push all that history aside as I sat down for coffee with her in the kitchen.
After discussing the Reaper case for a couple of minutes, Mom mentioned the upcoming family reunion she had planned. “Amanda called last weekend. She thinks they’ll be able to make it, but can only stay for one night. Geoff has some kind of business deal pending in Europe.”
“That’s nice,” I lied. “It seems like years since we’ve all been together.”
I wasn’t looking forward to seeing my sister or Geoff, her little nitwit of a husband who had inherited the family fortune. Amanda and I had been at odds for years, having little in common. She didn’t seem to care about Mom’s strange behavior in recent years and she wasn’t sympathetic to what I’d learned about my love-dad who was her biological father.
Mom went on. “Amanda wants us all to go to the Beverly Hills Hotel for dinner. She’ll pay for everyone.”
Just shoot me now.
“It sounds lovely.” I took a breath and changed the subject. “There’s something I need to ask you about, regarding Dad’s death.”
Mom’s gray eyes became unfocused, her gaze drifting off. “Not again.” She shook her head. “I don’t really have anything more to say about the matter.”
We’d had several discussions about my love-dad’s death at the hands of Ryan Cooper. At one point, Mom even mentioned that she thought she might know who my biological father was. As it turned out, she didn’t, and she hadn’t been very forthcoming about everything that had happened during the time when my love-dad had been murdered.
Mom did know about my earlier suspicions that the Revelation had been involved in my love-dad’s death, along with Ryan Cooper. She also knew that Collin Russell had given me the letters my bio-mom had written.
I pressed on, despite her reticence to discuss the issues. “I recently had dinner with a woman who knows about the Revelation. She said that Collin Russell and Harlan Ryland were originally involved in the secret organization, but that it eventually splintered and they formed the Tauist Society.”
Her gray eyes found me again. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Russell and Ryland have made millions from their followers. I think they may have also had a hand in the deaths of Jean Winslow and my father.”
She sighed. “If that’s the case, I don’t know anything about it.”
I studied her for a moment. I was frustrated, wondering if this was more stonewalling, or if she was telling me the truth. “But you have been to the Tauist Retreat.”
The skin around her eyes grew tighter. “So what?” She now studied me. “Why is it that you think I might know more than I’ve already told you?”
Maybe because you lied to me before.
I did my best to deflect her anger. “It’s just that…you know how important this is to me. If there was someone else behind Dad’s death, I need to know about it.”
She shook her head, not looking at me.
I waited a moment, then treaded back into deep water. “What about Ryan Cooper? Could he have been working for Russell and Ryland?”
She looked back at me. It took her several seconds to answer. “I suppose it’s possible. He knew a lot of people back then.”
“Like Donald Regis, the head of Wallace Studios?”
She nodded. “Yes, from what I understood, they were close.”
The discussion continued for several minutes, without me getting anything more. I finally asked the other question that had been consuming me for several days. “What about my lieutenant, Ozzie Powell?”
“What about him?”
“I recently found a photograph of him with Jean Winslow and Dad. Ryan Cooper and Kellen Malone were in the same picture.”
“Malone?”
I nodded. “Russell’s son.”
Mom stood up and walked to the sink. She poured out her coffee before turning back to me. “What did your lieutenant have to say about all this?”
“I haven’t talked to him yet.”
Her eyes remained fixed on me. “Then I think the answers to your questions need to come from him. He and your dad were pretty close at one time.”
I stood up and walked over to her. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Mom sighed, and her gaze moved off again. “I don’t know what, if anything, Ozzie Powell had to do with what happened. All I know is that he, your dad, and Leo Kingsley were all good buddies. Maybe you should also talk to your partner.”
***
As I drove to the station, I thought about what Mom had said. I’d known that my love-dad, Leo, and Oz had all joined the department around the same time and had hung out together. Now I wondered if Leo might also know something more about my dad’s death that he’d kept from me. If that was the case, it was inexcusable. Leo knew how consumed I’d been with finding out who was behind my love-dad’s death. If he knew something, maybe even something about Oz being involved, I was determined to get to the bottom of it, even if it meant the end of our friendship.
Unfortunately, when I got to the station and saw the dozens of media vehicles surrounding the building, thoughts about my dad’s death drifted away, and I began to focus on the task at hand.
“What’s the latest?” I asked Leo as Bernie and I arrived at my desk.
“Everyone’s been ordered to meet downtown at ten. Word has it the chief wants to use the national media spotlight to get some face time, maybe use the publicity to further his political ambitions.”
I put my purse in my desk. “If we do that, we’ll waste the entire day and lose any chance we have of stopping Macy.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He stood up. “Let’s go talk to Oz, see if he’ll give us a pass.”
Leo and I spent the next half hour pleading our cause without any success. The lieutenant looked exhausted and out of breath as he took his coat off the rack and gave us our final marching orders. “I’ll see you both downtown at ten. Don’t be late.”
We were back at our desks, me still fuming about having to waste our day, when Joe Dawson called me. “Looks like the press has you surrounded, Buttercup. Come out with your hands in the air.”
“I’d love to, but our chief has other ideas.” I explained about being summoned to the press conference.
“Tough break. I thought I’d go by and pick up Rosie, see if she has any thoughts on what our boy’s planning next.”
His mention of the former profiler brought to mind what had occurred to me last night. “I’ve been thinking a lot about these crimes, what Macy and Brown have done in the past. I think we need to concentrate on the ritual aspect of the cases. Maybe she can help with that.”
I glanced around the station, seeing the detectives that were heading out for the news conference. Leo was standing in the hallway and glanced over at me, a message that it was time to go. I made an impulsive decision.
“I’m not feeling very well,” I said to Joe. “I think I’m going to go home sick. Any chance you can drive me to the doctor?”
“Pick you up in half an hour.”
After ending the call, I walked over to Leo with Bernie. “I’m feeling a little under the weather. If you see Oz at the press conference, could you tell him I took sick leave?”
Leo regarded me. “What gives?”
“It’s a strange thing, but when I think about the chief, the press, and the cameras, I suddenly get sick to my stomach.” I tugged on Bernie’s leash. “See you later.”
Bernie and I met Joe in front of the station. After getting my furry partner situated, I buckled in as Joe said, “I hope this isn’t going to get you into any trouble.”
I showed him my phone. “I’ve got one of those
shop a doc
phone apps. I’ll ask them what they’ve got for a giant bureaucratic headache and I’m covered.”
He put the car in gear. “I could use your prescription.”
“Problems with Greer?”
“And the profilers. They think they can catch our bad guys by sitting around a conference table and talking about how someone wetting his pants as a kid turned him into a killer.”
I laughed. “I need to introduce you to a lawyer I know.”
As he drove us to UCLA, we chatted about how we’d spent our evenings. I told him I was planning to see Noah over the weekend, then added, “I think I should have been more understanding about the events surrounding his injuries and the breakup with his fiancée.”
“Maybe he never got over the girl.”
I took a breath. “It’s a possibility. We’ll just have to see how things go.”
We drove in silence for a couple of minutes before I mentioned the morning’s conversation with my mother. “She thinks both Leo and Lieutenant Oz might know something more about my dad’s death, since they were all buddies back when they joined the department.”
“Leo seems pretty straightforward to me. Why don’t you talk to him first?”
I glanced at him and smiled. “I’ll try to work it into my schedule.”
As we turned off the freeway in Westwood where the UCLA campus was located, my thoughts drifted to my sister and our earlier conversation about her. “I’ve been thinking about Lindsay, your thoughts that she might have willingly gone with The Swarm to try and stop them.”
“You think I’m crazy?”
“I have no doubt about that.” I laughed. “But I think you could be right about what happened. And, if she is working underground to identify those involved, I’m just hoping at some point we’ll hear from her.”
“I’ve got lots of sources working on it behind the scenes.” He met my eyes. “As I told you before, this is personal. I won’t give up until we find your sister.”
I was grateful and felt my emotions surfacing. “I appreciate that.”
We found Rose Castillo finishing up with one of her classes in the department of anthropology. We waited outside until she came out of the classroom.
When she saw us, she said, “Good news?”
“Wish it was,” Joe said. “We thought we might do a little brainstorming session with you, if you got a few minutes.”
“Let’s go to my office and talk.”
When we got upstairs, I took a moment to settle Bernie into a corner of her office. I noticed that she had a photograph of herself when she was much younger with a young woman, and asked her about it.
“She’s my niece, Amelia,” Rose said, coming over to me and examining the photo. “She works for a police department in South Florida now.” She chuckled. “The photo was taken on her twenty-first birthday. As you can see, I haven’t aged at bit.”
Joe chimed in from behind us. “Rosie and me get younger and smarter every day.”
We took seats on the other side of her desk and I gave her the latest. “As you’ve probably seen on the news or the Internet, Dr. Moore was forced to murder Macy’s mother. He also made threats that he’s going to kill again tonight.”
She seemed shocked by what I’d said. “I spent a quiet evening at home doing some research and didn’t see the news. Can you show me the video?”
I took a moment, found the video on my iPhone, and played it for her. After the horrific scenes of Dr. Moore bludgeoning Alice Macy to death, her son appeared in the video. I was struck by his calm, even tones as he described what he had planned next.
“I have a message that some of you may be interested in hearing,” Macy said, standing in front of his mother’s dead body. “I have a certain need that will not be denied. Therefore, at precisely midnight tomorrow night, I will kill again.” The monster leaned closer to the camera, his tawny eyes glowing in the dim light. “It will be a remarkable event that is not to be missed.”
The screen faded to black and I closed the app. “As you can see, he’s feeding off the public hysteria.”
Rose agreed. “That’s been his goal all along. This is as much about ego and fear as it is about killing.”
“But killing is what meets his so-called need,” Joe said. “And the posings are his way of displaying that need.”
“Whatever he has planned will involve a ritual, as with the other most recent murders. I think that should be our focus.”
“What are your thoughts about Macy using Dr. Moore to murder his own mother?” I asked Rose. “That’s about as depraved as you can get.”
She concurred, adding, “There was likely some kind of trauma in Macy’s childhood that involved his mother. Killing her was his way of trying to bury that pain.”
I took a breath, feeling frustrated. While we had lots of theories, we knew that Macy and Brown would strike again in a matter of hours, and we had no idea where to even begin looking for them.
“Maybe we need to backtrack,” I said. “Look at Brown and Macy’s crimes from the beginning and see if they can tell us anything about what they’re planning next.”
Joe groaned and set his briefcase on the desk. “I’ve got enough paper on the murders to keep us busy all day.” He looked at me. “I’m starting to feel like Greer and the profilers. Not sure this is going to get us anywhere.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
He shook his head and we all dug in, each of us taking a stack of paperwork and summarizing what we knew about each victim. The crimes had started in 2006, with the murder of a girl taken from a fast food restaurant near a freeway onramp. The killings then became increasingly sophisticated, with posing and staging taking place in the later murders.
I then summarized what we knew about April Lynn Thomas, the victim that had resulted in Macy being declared criminally insane and committed to Berkshire State Hospital.
“Thomas was taken in the parking lot of a bookstore in Scottsdale, Arizona, where she worked as a clerk. She was nineteen and living with her parents at the time. He kept her for six months, and…” I took a breath, pushing down the bile rising in my throat as I reviewed the crime scene photos. “There were multiple cuts inflicted on her body, some that were healed. It resulted in the branding of her skin with dozens of religious and other symbols associated with death.
“He was perfecting his art when he was caught,” Rose said.
Joe looked at his old friend. “Some fucking artist. Tell me something, why are artists always crazy?”
Rose shrugged. “Some people think there’s a fine line between genius and madness. Van Gogh is probably the best known example. He had bouts of mental illness that may have assisted his creative impulses before he eventually committed suicide.”
“Too bad our guy doesn’t follow his example.”
My phone chirped. It was a message from Lieutenant Oz, asking me how I was feeling. I texted him, telling him that I was still feeling under the weather and would be in touch. I felt guilty about what I’d done, but justified it by telling myself that at least I was working the case, instead of listening to a news conference.
I then got back to the issue at hand, telling the others, “I’m feeling like we need to summarize things. Sometimes it helps me put things in perspective.”
“I’m the same way,” Rose said.
Joe exhaled. I had the impression he thought this was another waste of time.
“Let’s hear it, Buttercup.” He looked at Castillo, explaining my nickname. “A term of endearment.”
I smiled and took a moment to gather my thoughts. “About ten years ago, a man known as the Interstate Killer began picking up girls along the highways and murdering them. We know from a DNA match to one of those early victims that our killer was Joshua Brown. He worked as a truck driver at the time and found easy pickings along Interstate 40 where he operated.”
“Around that same time, April Lynn Thomas was taken,” Joe said. “Macy’s torture party lasted about six months before he was caught and put in the nut house.”
“And we have to consider the possibility that Macy was already working with Brown during that same time period.”
Joe agreed with me, adding, “After that, Brown’s method of operation began to change, something that probably confirms he was partnered with Macy, even while he was hospitalized. The killings continued, but the victims were now being posed, some of them dressed up and heavily made-up.”
Rose held up a couple of photographs of the later victims who were posed. “If someone didn’t know better, they would think these later victims were the work of a different killer.”
I agreed with her and said, “That’s why it seems likely that Macy was behind what Brown did, even while he was in the hospital.”
Joe nodded. “Macy was the dominant and Brown was the submissive, acting as his surrogate.”
I agreed. “Macy, no doubt, encouraged his killing partner to eventually become a security guard at the hospital where he’d been committed. After Brown was hired, they eventually came up with a plan for Macy to escape, using Dr. Moore and the clinical trials to facilitate things.”
I saw that Joe’s gaze had drifted off. “What’s on your mind?”
“I think we’re missing something.”
“As in?”
He took a breath and released it slowly, gathering his thoughts. “We think Macy and Brown bonded years ago, when Macy was on the outs. Then Macy gets arrested and is hospitalized. Despite that, they somehow stay in touch, with Macy probably orchestrating the killings, before Brown went to work at the hospital. If Brown did continue the murders at Macy’s direction, how did they communicate while our nutty buddy was in lockup?”
“You’re thinking there’s someone else involved?”
He nodded. “This was a three-way, and I think we’re missing someone who’s been at the party all this time.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Rose said. “As we know, Macy was in the hospital.”
Joe regarded her. “We know the guy’s manipulative, and smart as hell. Maybe he threatened a staff member and used them as a go between.”
“Or maybe it was a visitor, someone who was having regular contact with Macy.” I picked up my phone. “Let me see if Selfie and Molly can get the visitation records.”
A half hour later, the visitation logs going back to Macy’s initial hospital commitment were in my phone. I found that his mother had visited him at least once a year, along with a couple of cousins, and his attorney, but nothing looked remarkable.
“I think it’s a dead end,” I said.
“Then maybe it was somebody already on the inside, a staff member at the hospital,” Joe said.
I was frustrated and agreed. “I think we’re out of options. Let’s go visit the looney bin.”