One
The Dignam Estate
Upperville, Virginia
October 18th, 2011
Lieutenant Vincent Dignam, United States Navy SEAL, didn't often read newspapers; he had little time and cared little for what was going on in the world unless it came across him in the form of DIA, CIA or one of the other many intelligence reports that came across his path as a SEAL. But stuck on two month leave, both for his wounds received during the Second Russian Civil War and for stopping the Ultranationalist plot to nuke the entire Eastern Seaboard of the U.S. (some thank you he thought, his sister and her son both lost their lives in the conflict and he gets two months off, woopie fucking do), and finding himself alone for once on this early fall morning, he went out to Winchester for some breakfast and came back with coffee and a copy of the New York Times.
He was only half reading it, still chuckling at how a little burg like Winchester carried such a high end and very un-local paper (they had the Washington Post, naturally, but he hated it, too much drivel dealing with poli-think and crouch sniffing rumors of which Senator was getting head-for-votes and the amount of fiber in the President's shit) until he gets to the National section.
It was the size of the headline that got his attention, not what was written, that is until he read it and he felt cold sweat suddenly, like magic, drench his arms:
CHILD KILLER CLAIMS FIFTH VICTIM; DERRY GRIPED WITH FEAR.
Nine large, black words was all it took to bring genuine fear into his heart. Derry . . . On his recruitment form he filled out in 1988 he listed his residence as Philadelphia; not a big lie because he was living in Philly at the time, him and his brothers and sisters, under the care of their father's older brother Howard, a retired Marine lieutenant colonel. But the truth, a truth that he covered up without even knowing he did until he had to refill it out six years later, was that Vincent Andrew Dignam was, like hiss brothers Michael, William, Elliott and Francis and his two sisters Maureen and Rebecca, was born much farther north.
They were born in Derry, Maine. Born three houses down from house that author Bill Denbrough was raised in on Witcham Street. Vincent was born there in 1976 on July 3rd, and raised there until he joined the Navy in 1988 and since then never had and never wanted to return. Not after what he saw in 1985, not after he almost became the victim himself of another spree of murders that year.
His children knew he was born there, but they knew better to ask him to take them to see his hometown; not after an incident in 1996 when his late wife Kyle had asked to go. Kallen, his oldest, was old enough to remember that it was the first and last time she could ever recall her Daddy yelling at her mother. The details are sketchy to her, but what she remembers is that Kyle asked, Vincent said no and she kept at him for maybe three or four minutes until he exploded, yelling and screaming at his wife for a solid minute.
Kyle was brought to tears then the two made up and it was never brought up again until 1999, when Kallen, now seven going on eight, asker her Daddy why he yelled at Mama when she asked to go to Derry. She still remembers his cryptic answer and the naked terror that clouded her Daddy's eyes, a terror that not even his straight face could hide; later when she was in high school she had the idea that the terror in his eyes was so sudden and powerful he didn't know it was showing or if he did, assumed his little girl was too young to notice it.
"Derry's an ugly place sweetie; something ugly lies just underneath it and it has been known to devourer anything pretty or innocent. You don't need to see it, trust me."
Vincent remembered what he told her too; what a great Daddy you are he thought, didn't even have the balls to tell your own daughter the truth, well not the whole truth. Kyle knew the whole truth; that was what he told her the night he yelled at her. It was the only thing to do, the only way to explain why he reacted the way he did. Her knowledge that something in Derry had terrified her husband, a SEAL who looked death in the face as an occupation, who could be dropped into the middle of Syria with only a pistol and a knife and come back with no ammo, a dozen scalps line across his belt and a smile on his face; terrified him to the point of never mentioning or visiting his birthplace made her feel like a heel for trying to force him to go back.
But he had no zeroed out Derry; far from it. He kept an eye on his hometown from a distance, gathering every horrid, bizzar and out there item of intel that he could get his hands on; that also every detail of Derry's storied past from its founding til today. And that was why the headline filled him with terror; this was not the first time a child killer had stalked Derry.
The first time was 1958; his father was the one who carried little George Denbrough back to his home, a little boy in a yellow rain slicker missing his left arm.
The second time was 1985; the year Vincent was almost erased from existence.
What scared him was the notion that this killer was not some new sick fucker with a taste for the blood of small children. But that it was the same killer from 1958 and 1985; a killer Vincent swore was killed long ago in 1985.
Two
Police Administration Building
Los Angeles, California
October 15th, 2011
Detective Harry Bosch was working at his desk when his boss, Lieutenant O'Toole, walked up to him and his partner, Detective David Chu.
"Bosch, you have a visitor." He said.
"Who?"
"Are you familiar with the name Lieutenant General Thomas Marriott?"
Bosch's eyebrows went up at the name. "Who isn't; Deputy Director of the CIA, a three star General and the richest man in the world, among other things." Said Bosch. He didn't continue; O'Toole was a simple man with a fixed mind set on the world around him. Bosch assumed it would do no good to tell him that as a boy in school he did two reports on Thomas Marriott; the first was his actions at the battle of Monmouth and Cow Pen's during the American Revolution and his actions as a Major in the 1st Infantry Division at Normandy in World War II. Trying to tell this man that Thomas Richard Marriott was, if Bosch's math was correct, close to nine hundred and forty four years old seemed moot.
"He didn't say what he wanted you for, just that he did. Chu comes too; he's waiting in the conference room." Finished O'Toole and left' Bosch could assume that he was not told why by General Marriott why he wanted to see two of his detectives and it smarted. Asshole, thought Bosch; your lucky he didn't just wisk us away, being a General and the second in command at the CIA. Bosch and Chu got up from their desks and walked the short distance to the conference room, entered and closed the door.
Thomas Marriott looked just like he did the day he matured; six one and slim with a deathly handsome face, pale skin, long jet black hair and green eyes that could read anyone like a children's book and freeze blood if they had to. He was wearing a charcoal grey double breasted suit, light blue shirt and matching tie.
"Sergeant Bosch; it's been too long." Said Thomas.
"I haven't been a Sergeant in decades Colonel." Said Bosch with a touch of humor in his voice.
"You two know each other Harry?" asked Chu.
"We do; when I was a tunnel rat with the First Infantry Thomas was a full colonel in the Green Berets, attached to MACV-SOG. He had his own little band of jungle warriors they called SIGMA ZETA, real killers; Animal Mother, Dandy, the Comedian, Talmeck, Kregore and Shere Khan."
"What kind of names are those?" asked Chu.
"Sorry Chu, force of habit; Animal Mother and Dandy were Major Mugen and Major Jin, Comedian was 1st Lieutenant Geoffrey Kelty, Talmeck was Chief Warrant Officer Two Mike Brown, Kregore First Sergeant JJ Vinson and Shere Khan was a Recon Marine, a Gunnery Sergeant Byakuya Kuchiki. They operated all over Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. When they were in the First Infantry's sector they would borrow two or three tunnel rats. I went with them a few times. What brings you to LA?"
"Your current case, the Tomlinson murder, '93 I believe." Said Thomas.
"What about it? The investigating detective ruled it a suicide but his families influence kept it alive, they don't think it was suicide."
"Do you two do?" he asked them.
"Yes, a rather elaborate suicide but a suicide." Answered Chu. Thomas nodded.
"Well you're not wrong, but there is more to it than that. The murder book say where he was from?"
"Portland, Maine, according to his tax returns."
"Figured they would Detective Chu, seems to be a recurring habit to those who are born, raised then move away from Derry." Said Thomas.
"Derry?" asked Bosch.
"Derry, Maine; a small but not to small city in southern Maine not too far from Bangor, a rather unfortunate city I'm afraid. To understand why Phillip Tomlinson took his own life and erased Derry from his history, you need to see and experience it firsthand."
Bosch was feeling a little uneasy; something in his investigation brought out the Raven himself, something that he couldn't ignore. "What about Derry makes it unfortunate?" he asked.
"That, I cannot tell you; however, there is someone who can." Said Thomas; from the leather bound briefcase Thomas removed a shef of paper with a photo on it and a plane ticket. Bosch looked at the paper and the picture.
"Lieutenant Vincent Andrew Dignam, United States Navy?"
"Lieutenant Dignam is a Navy SEAL Bosch, one of the best. He's currently with DEVGRU, SEAL Team Six, and was born in Derry himself. The ticket is to Richmond, from there you will be given instructions to his home in Virginia. Take these to him; his orders, signed by me, the Chief of Naval Operations and Colonel Jin, commanding officer of the Office of Paranormal Activities and Enforcement." Said Thomas, handing Bosch the sealed manilia envelope.
"Why the heavy hitters?"
"Because Bosch, if asked, Lieutenant Dignam would rather set himself on fire than go back to Derry if he is given a choice. But if it is orders, signed by men of higher rank then him, he'll bitch, he'll complain and he will most likely break things but he will go. When you hand these to him, make sure he's far away from anything than could kill you."
Three
The Dignam Estate
Upperville, Virginia
October 17th, 2011
Bosch was not expecting the size of the house to surprise him; he knew that Lieutenant Dignam was wealthy, but not to the extend he lived in a massive home on a plot of land almost the size of Compton. The driveway alone was almost two miles long and ended in a circled driveway that went right up to the front doors. He parked his rental and exited it and walked to the front door, a large oak and polished metal number so large it was split into two doors.
He rang the doorbell and I was answered by four nearly identical sets of eyes; two blues, one grey and one with a blue and grey eye. Other than their eyes, the four young girls at the door were nearly identical.
"Can we help you?" They all asked in unison; it through Bosch for a loop so he didn't answer right away.
"I'm Detective Harry Bosch, is your dad in?" he asked.
"What did he do this time? Did him and Stevie Wonder get shitfaced and set someone's house on fire?" asked the grey eyed one.
"Stevie Wonder?"
"Not the singer, a friend of Daddy's, his name is not Stevie or Wonder but he won't tell us his real name." said the one of the blue eyed ones in a purple blouse. "I'm Annabelle, and these are my sisters, well my three identical sisters; Euphemia, Spencer and Dylan. Daddy's out back on the weight pile, hard to miss him."
Annabelle motioned for him to come in and just walk straight thought the house (marveling at its size and comfort) and out the glass doors leading to the back yard. Walking past a sauna and pool (and outdoor bar) he found the weight pile and knew what his daughter meant; he was not hard to miss. Lieutenant Dignam was shirtless and in jeans, his tattooed arms and chest striking against his skin.
He was lying on a weight bench, pressing what looked like four hundred plus pounds of plate like they were made of paper Mache. "Lieutenant Dignam?"
"Whose asking?"
"Detective Harry Bosch, LAPD." Said Bosch; Lieutenant Dignam did three more reps, replaced the weight and stood up. Bosch was not prepared for the size of the Lieutenant. He was six foot six, and his lithe frame was nothing but corded muscle, not an ounce of fat on him. His physic was finished off by his long, strait black hair that went to his waist. Steam was rising from his body, the sweat and heat radiating in the cold Virginia air. Bosch felt rather weak in his jacket while the Lieutenant was shirtless and seeming not to notice the cold.
"And to what do I owe the pleasure of the LAPD? Last time I was in LA I didn't do anything illegal, well unless you count the time me and Duck Foot scaled LAPD's Hollywood Division building in '95."
"That was you? Shit I remember that, you pasted the window in the squad room. Pissed the Division Commander off that the climbers weren't caught. But I'm not here for some ten year old antics; the General ask me to give you this." Said Bosch, handing over the sealed envelope; Bosch watched as the Lieutenant opened it and read what was inside. He also watched as fear and rage passed thought the slate grey eyes of the Lieutenant.
Dignam bunched up the orders and before Bosch could say anything he reached behind his back, whipped out a small pistol and shot dead eight birds than were flying overhead. Bosch was about to reach for his own weapon but stopped when the last casing (and the last dead bird) hit the ground.
"Sorry . . . fucking Captain Fantastic strikes again."
"May I ask what was in the orders or are you going to shoot me?"
"Detective if I was going to kill you you'd be asking that question to St. Peter: I am to assist you in your investigation by escorting you to Derry. Mother fucker . . . mother fucker! Give me a few minutes to get dressed, get some fucking clothes and get a hold of someone to watch my house." Grumbled Lieutenant Dignam as he set off for the house. Bosch watched.