Authors: Day Rusk
Ray and Bryan exited the newspaper building and paused on the street.
“So what do you think?” asked Ray.
“I think there’s more there than he’s telling us,” said Bryan. “I’ll check out his alibi; why don’t you look up his story; see if Harry and Morgan really did hurt his family.”
“Revenge after all these years?”
“Weirder things have happened,” said Bryan.
“True, but even if his story doesn’t completely check out, do you make this guy as a potential serial killer; let’s not forget the financial guys; the similarity in all the murders. He just didn’t strike me as someone like that. Sure, he’s someone who’s holding back some information, and not exactly telling the whole truth, but not a serial killer.”
“Like I said, weirder things have happened. Guy’s too smart to try what he said he did. Something’s just not right. Who knows. Anyway, I’ll see you back at the Precinct.”
Bryan set off to check out the alibi, as Ray continued to analyze the interview. He often went with his gut, and it told him that no matter how dodgy the Harry Madwin story was, this newspaper guy wasn’t their serial killer.
It had been another long day. Ray put his feet up on his desk and closed his eyes. Bryan had left hours ago; said it was time to forget everything and unwind at home with his family. Good for him; Ray had once had that, but he hadn’t discovered the secret of balance fast enough to save his marriage. Bryan had spoken briefly with Gail Russell and Leslie’s alibi had checked out. He added that this artist woman was quite a looker and quite a character. Usually a visit by the police intimidated people in some way, but not her. She had actually asked Bryan if he could take the time to describe the crime scene for her, which he found odd, until she explained her first ever gallery show were portraits of famous killers and serial killers. His partner had a way of cutting to the chase and not wasting his time. If Ray had of been there he would have questioned her as to the motivation behind just such an exhibit; it always fascinated him that others were fascinated by killers; when you spent a lifetime trying to put them away, it was just hard to see what was so interesting about them, or why some even seemed to worship them. Of course, he didn’t know the nature of the paintings, whether they glorified these killers or condemned them; if it was the latter, he’d be all right with it. The fact of the matter was he wasn’t there and these questions would never be asked. What really mattered was the fact she’d confirmed Leslie’s alibi.
Ray liked the squad room at this time of day; less hustle and bustle. Night seemed to calm things down a bit, at least in his world; he knew all wasn’t calm because he was often called to help clean up the mess when the sun came up. But for now, he’d enjoy what was.
Today the streets went quiet; that was standard operating procedure for all the lowlifes out there when a crime was committed involving Morgan Neil. If he didn’t loathe Morgan as much as he did, he’d almost have to admire him; he was merely one lone man, yet the fear he inspired in others - and so many others - was truly impressive. Even with the law breathing down their necks and threatening them, they still honored his code of silence; if only the police could threaten as effectively as Morgan.
The Joe Weldon case; it would never be closed. Ray knew that and his superiors knew it as well. They all knew who was responsible, but no one was talking. Even the Feds, who had a task force looking to make a RICO case against Morgan and his organization, haven’t been able to do so; they were compiling information, just like the Lakeview Police Force, and have been doing it for years, but it was now a race against time; could they get enough information to take him down, before natural causes finally claimed his life. According to a Fed Ray had known for some time, Morgan, who remained low-key when the papers weren’t reporting a crime committed by his men, stressed a code of silence, stressed honor among thieves. He said they’d actually caught him on tape once waxing poetic on deceased New York Mob Boss John Gotti.
Morgan had been explaining to his cronies the importance of respect and staying low-key. He’d said Gotti became a number one target of the U.S. government because he was flamboyant; he earned himself the moniker Teflon Don and enjoyed getting his picture in the papers. He made the same mistake Al Capone and Bugsy Siegel did; Capone liked to get his picture in the paper and in the newsreels of the day, and Bugsy did the same when he went to Los Angeles, enjoying being photographed with starlets of the day; by doing this they were thumbing their noses at the authorities and as such made themselves high priority targets. Whether the authorities got them, like Gotti and Capone or the Mob took care of them, like Bugsy, they had to be removed from power. In Gotti’s case, Morgan said, he was undone by his own rise to power, in which he feigned respect for the old guard of Mob Bosses, who were in power at the time, but really didn’t; he sold drugs against Paul Castellano’s wishes, and when it was looking like that was going to blow up in his face, he had Castellano, a Mob Boss killed. This was unthinkable; minions didn’t order the assassination of a Mob Boss unless the heads of the other families sanctioned it for one reason or another. By not showing the proper respect for his organization's hierarchy and knowing his place in it, he demonstrated to his own men that the days of honor were over; as such, a high ranking member of his mob, Sammy “The Bull” Gravano finally turned on Gotti and testified against him; something that was unthinkable in the olden days of organized crime. This was the theory Morgan had developed, and as such, he made sure he brought back the value of honor to his organization; anyone stepped out of line, even a small infraction, they paid the price. Ray’s F.B.I. friend was telling him this during a casual conversation when they were talking about how tight Morgan’s organization was, and how they weren’t turning the amount of informants they expected and had in other cities with other crime families.
Morgan ran a tight ship and that ship was constantly banging up against Ray’s and the Department’s. He wasn’t even hopeful they would catch a break in the Harry Madwin murders. The wagons were once again circled. As for the Financial District murders? The killer hadn’t been sloppy. He’d spent several nights in both bars, the last place anyone had seen the two victims alive, but had come up with squat. This killer was organized and careful and that wasn’t good for them.
Over the course of almost thirty years on the Police Force he figured he’d done some good; he’d closed a lot of cases and there were a few he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. Some of them haunted him from time to time, but he also knew you just had to accept that that was the case. It had all seemed so simpler back in the day; or maybe it wasn’t, it just seemed simpler when you filtered the memories through the passage of time. It just seemed that in today’s day and age, the killers, at least those who didn’t kill on emotion, were getting smarter and smarter; he could probably blame it on forensic-based TV shows, or the growing interest in the
True Crime
section of bookstores, but that would be taking the easy way out. What truly changed everything was the flow of information today; with the Internet, reams of information were at everyone’s fingertips if they just wanted to take the time to do some research; as such, criminals were getting craftier and learning how to cover their tracks.
Ray took a deep breath. He wasn’t as young as he’d once been; he wasn’t as naive as he had once been; and, he wasn’t as willing to just let go as he’d once been. The fact he couldn’t bring the Joe Weldon case to a close and the fact he’d have difficulty with the Harry Madwin murders, and the fact that they really needed the Financial District murderer to strike again and get a little sloppy (they still weren’t ruling out that that killer was involved with the Harry Madwin case, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine how) bugged the hell out of him. He was having trouble letting the fact go and that was a problem. The job had eaten him up many times over the years, and he’d bounced back, but how many bounce backs would he get in one lifetime?
He knew he should go home; maybe put on some Tim McGraw and lose himself in the healing properties of country music, but getting up off his ass seemed like just so much hard work. He also knew he should get on the computer and download the Department’s Retirement papers and start thinking seriously about taking his pension and getting the hell out. That also seemed like a lot of effort, but right now, if he had to pick between the two that seemed like the most likely course of action.
leslie
HAD
a friend; his name was Marvin, a likeable guy, but somewhat eccentric. In college, Marvin whom they all liked was considered a God for his ability to cook; if you found someone in your fraternity who could take a box of Kraft Dinner and turn it into a meal (more than it ever could be), well you’d found someone special. Marvin was a great guy, but never good with the ladies. Because he and Marvin’s other fraternity brothers liked him, they were constantly trying to set him up on dates, each time hoping that that girl would be acceptable for a second date. They never were. Marvin would always have an excuse and often a petty one. “She’s overweight,” or “She smokes,” or “She doesn’t appreciate Sinatra,” or something else like that would be his excuse for never going out on a second date and never developing a steady meaningful relationship with anyone. Secretly, after a while, they all began to suspect he might be gay, which was fine with them, that wouldn’t affect their relationship with him, although he might not know that. The point of all this and what got Leslie thinking about Marvin as he walked along Jarvis Street was that where Marvin was so picky about women, Leslie obviously wasn’t. For instance if the answer as to why you wouldn’t take a woman out on a second date was because she was a serial killer, that seemed a lot less petty than Marvin’s excuses. Actually, Leslie was sure if he spoke with a relationship counselor, they’d probably tell him that was one great big fucking red flag for a relationship. He couldn’t see how he could argue against their logic. Nonetheless, here he was, on his way to see Gail. Why? Because she called and he was an idiot. God must have been laughing when he made the brain in men’s penises much stronger than the one in their heads.
It had been sometime after Detective Bryan Stork had left Gail that she had called him. He didn’t know how he felt about that; subconsciously he must have known, however, because he hadn’t called an end to their relationship right then and there. Something about her intrigued him, and even though he knew it would probably be his downfall, he was heading straight for trouble.
At the same time, Gail knew his pain. She’d discovered his past quicker than he had. It troubled him that he’d never researched his family – his Father. He had no immediate or distant family members to approach, but he must have known the murder of his family would have been reported in the newspapers of that time; he worked at a newspaper in the same city, how hard would it have been to go through the archives?
The only excuse he could reach regarding his ignorance was that deep down he knew the truth was unpleasant. Maybe when he was being shuffled around by F.B.I. agents after his family’s murder, he’d overheard some grumblings amongst the Police and Feds as to his Father’s reputation. He’d adored his Father and maybe wasn’t ready to hear such talk so he drowned it out; after all, losing his family and finding out his Father was a monster in such a short time was too much for any ten-year-old to handle. Maybe he’d never delved into his family’s murder and his Father’s past, because it ruined his memories of his perfect family, taken from him by monsters. If he’d taken the time to research them he would have known it was his Father’s fault his mother, brother and sister were dead; he had decided to live by the sword and die by the sword, but they sure as hell hadn’t. It had been just so easy to bury it all and live with his illusions; Walter had been right.
Walter knew about his past and so did Gail; he knew exactly what had fucked him up, and now he really wanted to know what Gail’s personal pain was. What drove her to kill? He was sure it would be horrifying, but maybe she needed someone to share it with; she had killed Harry as a favor to him, maybe this was her way of reaching out to him; maybe she was ready to let him in. He’d probably regret it in the long run, but needed to do this; his dance on the dark side of life wasn’t over yet.
Once more into the breach,
he thought as he made his way to her hotel.
As well as,
God help me.
“Who are you?” Leslie asked Gail as they sat down for a drink in the living area of her hotel suite.
“Who am I?” she parroted back at him.
“Gail Russell, well, something tells me she’s who you’ve become, but is not who you originally were,” said Leslie. “You’re an enigma.”
“You want to understand me, is that it?”
“We’ve fucked,” he said. “And we’ve killed. It doesn’t get any more intimate than that.”
“So you want to know me and you want to understand me,” she said getting up and moving to the window to look out at the lights of the city.
“Is that a problem?” he asked.
She stood there in silence, taking in the night; Leslie didn’t have a clear look at her; her back was to him, but he hoped she was contemplating opening up to him. If he was to see her as anything more than just a cold-hearted killer, he desperately needed to know more; after last night, he needed to humanize her in
some way.
“I doubt you’d understand,” she finally said.
“Maybe I won’t. Maybe it’s not for me to understand. But I ask you, have you ever been able to share your story with anyone? What is it you’ve been carrying around with you for however long you’ve been carrying it around?”
Gail turned and looked at him; a big smile slowly played its way across her face. Leslie was puzzled.
“You didn’t say you
would
understand,” she said.
He just looked at her as she made her way back to her chair and sat down.
“Why no bullshit?” she asked.
“Bullshit.”
“To get what you want. You could have lied to me; played it more sympathetic, assured me you would understand; whatever it took to get me to open up to you. You could have lied. Men do that.”
“Is there any point in lying between us?” he asked.
“Why aren’t you scared of me?”
“I am,” he said. “I’m afraid of you; I’ve read what you’re capable of and seen what you’re capable of. I’m afraid of the idea of you; what you represent and what that stirs within me. I’m also afraid of what I’ll be left with when we part ways. It would be so much easier if you just killed me. Lights out and no more worries. But, if not, how badly will you leave me changed, and what will it mean for my moving forward. You all ready know I’m fucked up, it’s only a matter of degrees now in how fucked up I am or become.”
“Honesty again,” she said.
“Tell me something about yourself, Gail. I may never fully understand you, but I do want to know more.”
He watched her, just looking at him, as if sizing him up; or maybe she was just wondering at what points on his body she’d be cutting him apart; visualizing his death scene.
Gail felt somewhat uncomfortable; she liked Leslie; she’d killed for him. She attached herself to him because of her loneliness; she’d been alone for far too long and something told her he was safe – he was sincere. Yet even so, revealing too much about her past was dangerous. She wasn’t worried about him going to the police or anything, she was just afraid if she said too much she will have given too much of herself away in the process; she couldn’t afford to lose herself. She had taken everything her Daddy had taught her and refined it; she had accomplished what he hadn’t and not only continued punishing the wicked and the evil, but built a comfortable life for herself; unlike her days with Daddy, she didn’t have to go hungry or scrounge around for food from time to time, because they were running low on funds. Of course, that wasn’t Daddy’s fault; he had spent more time than her in punishing those who were evil; he didn’t have time to build anything while accomplishing that. In many ways, she had neglected her duty in following in his footsteps and only killed from time to time.
“Tell me something Gail,” asked Leslie, breaking her out of her thoughts. “Tell me something.”
“My Daddy was a great man,” she said.
Leslie just watched her; he didn’t want to say anything, hoping she’d continue.
“Nobody understood him and what he was trying to do,” she continued, getting up from her seat and pacing back and forth. “I don’t know how many lives my Daddy saved by doing his duty and taking care of the evil ones. They were hiding amongst us, playing a part, but he could see them and he took on the responsibility of taking care of them.”
She stopped pacing and looked at him; it was almost a challenging look. He said nothing.
“My Daddy did good in this world and taught me how to do good. He took on evil wherever he found it without hesitation and because of that, evil eventually took him from me.”
Leslie could see the pain on her face, as she remembered. She looked as if she were ready to cry. Again he remained silent.
“The evil finally caught up to him and killed him; I watched it happen. All we’d ever had was each other; for the first time in my life I was alone and it scared me,” she said.
What Gail was saying was the truth or at least the truth interpreted through her mind’s eye; the truth she was willing to tell to someone else. Even as she talked in general terms about her Daddy, she couldn’t help reviewing in her mind the tragic night her life had changed. It was all so unfair.
Gail and her Daddy were is some town somewhere; the name was lost on her, as most towns just seemed to blend into one another after a while. They had put some distance between themselves and the last city in which her Daddy had punished at least three women and their families. Of course, he hadn’t done it alone; she’d been properly initiated and helped him with the stabbing chores whenever he needed it. Needing work to replenish their funds – some of these evil people just didn’t have enough cash on them when they were punished to serve them right – her Daddy got a job with a contractor doing some renovations in a rather affluent neighborhood. It was while working that job that her Daddy said he’d found their next sinner, a woman who lived a few houses down from the one they were working on.
Her Daddy’s research began; he was able to go to work and make them some money while at the same time keeping an eye on this woman. She appeared to be a stay-at-home mom, dotting on her teenage daughter, who appeared to be around fourteen or fifteen-years-old. Her Daddy could see that the daughter was as evil as the mother and would also need punishing; it was always a big deal when they found a household where they could eliminate more than one evil person; like killing two birds with one stone.
While her Daddy went out to work, Gail often just stayed in whatever cheap hotel or motel room they were renting; the cities were great because they often found places that rented out on a month to month basis; low rent places where nobody asked too many questions, or generally paid attention to the comings and goings of those around them. Her Daddy had discovered her doodling one day, several years back, and had encouraged her to draw; he said she had a natural talent and shouldn’t waste that talent. He bought her sketch pads and that helped her pass the time. He told her she was to work on her art and rest; rest her body so that maybe it would be ready to give them both the baby they wanted.
Gail was now 18-years-old and fully developed; her Daddy told her she was a beautiful girl and that necessarily wasn’t a good thing. That beauty would only draw the sinners to her, so she had to be extra careful around others; not so much the evil women but definitely the evil men. So she was cautious.
She remembered one time, in one cheap hotel she had moved down to the lobby and taken a seat in one of the chairs, sketching the world outside the hotel’s window. It was late in the afternoon and she was just enjoying watching people pass by on the street outside; one of the hotel’s patrons noticed her and approached her; he admired her drawing and in a funny way, she kind of liked the attention he was paying her. She would have never gone off with him, up to his room, like he had suggested, but it was still flattering that he was interested in her; as of yet, she hadn’t discovered her own way to tell the evil people from the good people, so she had no idea how to properly read this guy. As he was chatting her up, her Daddy came home from work and noticed the two of them. Her Daddy didn’t even make small talk; he just went into a rage and attacked the man. When her Daddy was finished, he was limp on the hotel floor, a bloodied mess; they had to rush up to their room, pack their things and leave the hotel using the fire escape. Her Daddy told her the man was evil and until she could tell the difference he didn’t want her going near any men; it was for her own good.
Her Daddy took his time researching this woman and her daughter; there was a man involved, her husband, but he was a hard worker and seemed to put in long hours at his job, as he left early in the morning and often returned home extremely late at night. This was perfect for them. All that remained was for her Daddy to decide when to dish out the punishment.
Because of the all the activity on the street, with neighbors and the workers showing up to work on the house her Daddy was working on, he’d decided it was best they made their move in the early evening; the first night they’d plan to punish the woman and her daughter, had been a bust as that day at work her father had hurt his leg, and it required several days of rest to get back into shape. Those were a rough couple of days; when her Daddy decided it was time to punish a sinner, he wanted to do it right away; being forced to wait wasn’t something he accepted readily. He was always hard to live with when things like that happened. They spent the time working on making a baby; her Daddy had shown her a different way to make a baby. If she used her mouth on his thingy and swallowed the white sticky stuff, he told her, it could also work; after all a baby would grow in her stomach and anything she swallowed would go to her stomach. Her Daddy was smart that way and seemed to enjoy her efforts.