Chapter Six – Dark Impulses

She had 'user' written all over her, no different than any of the others.  He saw through her pathetic manipulations.  All women were deceivers…liars.  He had killed her in a bloody frenzy, yet it was less satisfying than the last.  It was always over too quickly.  He relished a good fight.  Before totaling overpowering them, the look of fear in their eyes and the desperate thrashing to live excited him, aroused him physically.  She had not been much of a fighter, which had enraged him.  Sandra Kensington was a mousy little thing.  She deserved to die, like all the others.  Her big mistake was playing up to him, hoping he would be the one to change her miserable life.  Well, he did just that.  He selected her, controlled her destiny, then killed her at will.  No one could stop him.   He had the power over each of them.

The bitch even looked like her.  He hadn't thought about her in a while but maybe that wasn't entirely true.  Deep down, he knew his thoughts were of her every time he killed.  His mother was a lying whore.  She had cheated on his father every chance she got.  Finally, when he was 15 years old, his father had enough and left home.  It was the last he saw of him. 

Good riddance, loser!  He made a vow never to be that pathetic.

Only being in New York City for the last two months, he had been renting a cheap motel room by the week.  You never knew when a fast exit was in order.  He had driven from Oklahoma, having worn out his welcome there.  It hadn't taken him long to find a mechanics job.  In a town this size, the garage had been a target rich environment for single women looking for his help, to put them out of their misery.  Over the years, he had developed a sense of charm that he used to ensnare his prey, not unlike wearing camouflage gear when hunting for deer.  As a tool of his trade, the more he captivated them, the easier it would be for him to isolate them for the kill.  He reached into the small refrigerator in his room to grab a beer, sat down in front of the television set on the worn, brown plaid sofa. 

His thoughts returned to her.

The men of Byron, Texas found his mother to be attractive with her long, straight dark hair and light eyes that changed from blue to green every time the warm, dust-filled winds blew through the small town.  Her petite frame was the envy of the other women of hicksville.  As a small child, he only remembered the cruelty in those eyes as she raised welts on his bare skin thrashing him with the thorny tree limbs of the mesquite tree before locking him in the darkened root cellar, many times without food or water.  Not wanting to confront her, his pathetic father would ignore the abuse, turning a blind eye to his suffering.

As he got older, he took out his frustration on the small animals he'd encounter on his family's property, discarding the burned or mutilated bodies in a heap at his secret hideaway fort near the creek.  One summer, the bitch caught him setting fire to a live rabbit and locked him out of the house for a week.  Dirty and hungry, he survived the Texas heat by drinking the filthy creek water and eating that damned rabbit.

As he grew older, living in backwater Texas had almost driven him crazy with boredom.  His favorite distraction was imagining the many ways he could kill her.  The fantasies grew more vivid every day.  Walking up behind her as she washed her hair in the sink, he often dreamed about struggling to hold her head under water until there were no more air bubbles.  The illusions would come to him any time of the day or night.  He would be chopping wood out back and imagine walking into the house, hacking her into small bits with the axe he kept so sharp.  His mother thought she was in control of his father and him, but she was wrong.

The last fantasy he had came when he was 19 years old.  It was the best one of all.  She had been ragging on him to get a job or move out.  He had been coring an apple in the kitchen.  Her voice filled his head, blocking out all else.  Over and over she would harp at him.  As she turned her back, he grabbed the butcher knife that lay in front of him, and with both hands, plunged it into her back to the hilt.  She turned to him with a look of disbelief in her eyes.  Staring right back, he drove the knife deeper into her with each plunge.  The intimacy of the moment excited him.  His face was so close to hers as he thrust into her over and over again, inhaling her last breath into his lungs as he shuttered with a consuming orgasm.  Her blood baptizing his face, granting him the power he now possessed.  That had been the best, most vivid fantasy of all.  Having lived in this illusionary world for so long, it took him a while to realize he had actually done it.  Her blue-green eyes those men found so attractive stared back at him, dead cold eyes now.

He finally gained control of his senses, buried the butcher knife out back, cleaned himself up, and made it look like a break in.  He casually walked over to an elderly neighbor's house and volunteered to do some chores for her.  He convinced her that he had come after lunch when it had actually been several hours later.  The postman had found the body as he looked through the open screen door at the front of the house.  It took the Sheriff's office a while to find him next door at the neighbor's.  The ignorant deputy really believed his crocodile tears.  It was presumed the work of a drifter, for as he soon learned and would come to count on, the small town mindset was to blindly assume 'it couldn't be one of us'.  The case was filed 'Unsolved'.

It didn't take him long to sell the family property and move out of town after the funeral.  There was nothing holding him back now.  He had been moving from state to state for the last ten years.

He already had his next user picked out.  He needed this one, like a drug addict needs a fix.  His fantasies consumed him.

"…Captain Bruno Dante of the 11th Precinct…Press conference…Lonely Hearts Killer."

That caught his attention.  The local news station pulled him from his past.

"Sandra Kensington…victim number three…Police now say they have a witness that has seen the killer.  The witness is being held under police custody at a new cardiac wing of the St. Elizabeth's Hospital…mild coronary…expected to fully recover."

What the hell are they talking about?  There was no witness.  His anger engulfed him, drowning him in his rage.  He threw the beer bottle across the room, unable to control himself.

"…APB issued for a large man…short brown hair…scar on his left cheek."

He now paced the room, his heart racing.  He knew he was too clever for them.  His next deceiver was ready for his taking.   Nothing would get in his way.  St. Elizabeth's would be only a slight detour.  

*****

With Dante's knowledge and Sara's encouragement, Danny had submitted information on the three murders to the VICAP database, the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program of the FBI.  Through the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit and its National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, the autopsy reports, photos, witness reports, and any evidence collected had been assessed to determine a profile of the killer.  Captain Dante would have been livid with their admission to the FBI that they needed help, but he had been receiving extreme political pressure from the mayor to 'find this sick bastard'.  So Danny and Sara agreed to work with the FBI in this manner.  It was not something they relished since they had hoped to solve this on their own, but they knew they needed help before the killer struck again.

Danny had the profile with him when he walked down the corridor of the hospital the next morning.

He was surprised to find Nottingham lying face down and shirtless on the cot to his right, with his partner sitting next to him.  Sara had evidently just finished cleaning and bandaging countless wounds on his back.

"What the hell happened to you, Nottingham?" Danny did not know Irons like Sara did.  His concern was apparent.

Nottingham raised up on one elbow and turned to Danny, shaking his head.

"Do you think this would be covered under workman's comp?"  Nottingham's attempt at humor was not reflected in his face.  It was clear he did not want to talk about it.

"Are you going to be able to help us with Annie, Ian?"  Danny had not used his first name before.  His regard was genuine.  He was beginning to accept Nottingham as part of their team.

Nottingham's injuries were extensive, but Danny figured they were his own business.  He was curious about who could inflict such wounds on someone as skilled as this trained mercenary but soon realized Nottingham would allow only one man to get close enough to inflict such harm.  Finally, understanding the workman's comp remark, he chose to give Ian his privacy.

"I am here, Danny…for Annie."  Nottingham looked pale but resolute.  Danny nodded in agreement.  A wounded yet determined Nottingham was far superior to a whole platoon of healthy soldiers.

"Don't know if you're up to it, but I brought us a caffeine fix and some assorted pastries for breakfast.  I just received the VICAP report and the FBI BSU profile.  Let's talk."

Rather than leave Annie alone, they huddled up near Nottingham who sat up on the edge of the cot, catching his breath with the pain.  To Danny's surprise, Sara assisted a wincing Nottingham to shrug into and button his shirt.  Danny felt like an intruder in an intimate moment between them.  Last night must have been significant for he could see their growing bond, even if they could not.  The more he was around Ian, the more he could see his partner's attraction, but it still unnerved him to see them together knowing their future was going to be uphill or nonexistent.  The two detectives pulled up the two chairs towards the cot and spoke quietly as they sipped coffee and ate their breakfast.

"We are most probably looking for a white male, age 20-30.  He is most likely a blue collar worker or laborer.  His modus operandi in all three killings is stabbing.  Using the victim's own butcher knife to kill could show he is in control and has no fear, or it might be an indication of poor planning or disorganization."  Danny read the profile slowly to allow Sara and Nottingham to understand the implications.

"There are indications he is a power seeker, killing at will.  He kills to show dominance and control over their life and death.  This is why he brutalizes them without tying their hands, killing them at their own homes, to demonstrate his superiority.  There are some indications he is a Mixed Presentation Killer since he appears to start out with a certain degree of organization that seems to deteriorate with the brutal nature of the crime.  He targets his victims in advance based on a certain profile and sets up dates with them denoting a certain level of organization, but then shows a disproportionate level of brutality."  Danny stopped for a moment.  "We call it 'overkill', Ian."

Looking toward the little girl in the hospital bed, Danny was reminded once again that Annie had witnessed her own mother's death first hand.  Sara knew what he was thinking as she reached over to grasp his hand.  Ian watched the exchange, knowing Sara was being supportive of her partner for reasons he did not need to fully understand.  Nottingham's eyes intently looked into Danny's to encourage him to read on.  Danny took a deep breath and continued.

"Victim commonality appears to be single women, dark hair, slender, light eyes, in their 20s, with modest incomes.  Since all three victims look similar, we can assume he is reenacting a significant event in his life.  Killing repeatedly a notable woman from his past, perhaps a mother or an old girlfriend.  In all three cases, he has committed the crime in apartment buildings, with others nearby.  In two of the cases, he left the apartment door open for discovery, which may be his way of taunting police, having no respect for them."  Danny took a sip of coffee before proceeding.

"This part was interesting.  They noticed the home addresses did not indicate a pattern but the victim's work addresses did.  See this map.  The home addresses are marked in red, but the work addresses are here in blue."  He flipped the report over so Sara and Nottingham could see the map clearly.

"Yes…Why didn't we see this before, Danny?  We have to interview coworkers who knew the victims again.  What do they have in common besides work area?  Did they go to the same lunch spot?  Did they use the same dry cleaning service?  Things like that."  Sara speculated.

The two detectives studied the VICAP database report, which listed similarly reported crimes nationwide over the past decade.  Striking similarities existed between their cases and killings occurring across the country during this time period.  It would take a great deal of time to investigate it, but there appeared to be a probability that their killer had been nomadic over the years and may have been responsible for over twenty other deaths in at least six other states.

Nottingham had been watching the interaction between the partners but had grown quiet and introspective suddenly.  Sipping on his coffee, his mind slipped away to a place he had grown accustomed.  It took a while for Sara to notice this.

"What, Ian?  What are you thinking?" She asked.  She had to grab his knee to bring him back.  The familiar touch shocked him back into the moment.  Looking bewildered into her eyes for a moment, confused by her intimate contact with her partner in the room, he suddenly realized she had asked him a question.  To his embarrassment, she had to ask the question again.  With downcast eyes, it took him a moment to regain his composure.

"Just a gut feeling…after seeing what Annie has shown me…He's killing his mother over and over…he will never be satisfied.  He hated her…disdains all women."

"What do you think he will do with the witness he thinks is here at St. Elizabeth's?"  Sara asked.

"He would have no respect for the police…or their ability to control him.  He will come…He will not be able to resist."

"How do you know this, Ian?"  Sara persisted.  Danny shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I understand him." He replied simply.

The Homicide Detectives were stunned to be reminded that they were sitting across from a trained assassin.  Danny's only recent tolerance of Nottingham had been tenuous at best.  This guiltless declaration from a suspected executioner brought a cold edge to their tentative alliance.  It brought back to the surface his anxiety for his partner Pez and her obvious involvement with Nottingham.  When Danny reminded himself that Nottingham was risking his life to help Annie, it seemed to smooth over his initial reaction to Ian's disclosure, but it would do nothing to alleviate his concern for Sara's heart.

Sara had been forced to accept many things since the Witchblade had chosen her as its wielder.  She understood the warrior in Nottingham and his acceptance of death as part of life.  This innocent affirmation by Ian would be a constant reminder of the differences between them.  Yet, he sat before her and her partner willing to risk everything to protect an innocent girl.  Without taking her eyes off Nottingham, Sara asked Danny for a favor.

"Could you please give us a moment, partner?"  Sara had locked eyes with Nottingham.  He returned her stare with the same intensity.

"Yeah…sure, Pez."  Danny knew this was personal between them.  As her partner and friend, he was licensed to worry about her, but in the end, he respected her judgement and her ability to make her own decisions.  It did not call for his intrusion.  He stepped outside, walking down the hall, willing to give them privacy.

"What did you mean by that?  'I understand him'."  Sara kept her voice down for Annie's sake.

"Just what I said, Sara.  I do understand him.  It is hard to explain but Annie's nightmares have given me a certain insight into his mind…his emotions.  I feel a connection to him."  He wanted Sara to understand the type of link he had with this heartless killer, but he was not sure he understood it himself.  He just accepted it.

Nottingham's tone then grew colder and dispassionate. 

"My understanding him may prove to be important if the opportunity presents itself."  Through clever wording, Nottingham had all but admitted he would kill this man if given the occasion. 

"We are bringing him to justice through the court system, Nottingham.  You are not going to go vigilante on me.  If you are thinking that way, you can just leave right now."  Sara's eyes flashed with her anger, she pointed toward the door with conviction.

"Sara…I am here for Annie.  I will not leave her side.  I will be her shadow just as I am yours.  Besides…who is to say your brand of justice is better than mine?  Justice will be rendered either way." 

"You are saying this to an officer of the court.  I enforce the law in all cases."  Stopping abruptly, Sara knew this strategy would not work with Nottingham.  She had to try another way to reason with him.

"With the coming of the Periculum, when the Witchblade and I became one, I vowed to seek justice.  If you wish to serve me as the wielder of the blade, do not put yourself between that killer and me.  Promise me you will let me do my job…and keep my oath to the blade.  Promise me, Ian."  She reached for his right hand, demanding his vow with her eyes.

"If you promise me…I will believe you.  I do trust you, Nottingham.  Promise me."

An interminable silence passed between them.

"I promise I will not come between you and the killer of Annie's mother." 

With cleverly crafted words, Nottingham made his promise to Sara.  He had learned such shrewdness from his years with Kenneth Irons.  You had better hope to get to him before I do, Lady Sara.  For if he and I face each other alone, it will be my brand of justice he will encounter, Ian thought to himself.

*****

Kenneth Irons sat behind his desk peering out one of the large windows to his right. The office décor was very austere, modern and cold.  The security monitors for the Vorschlag building and his own cable network station VCN were muted and played mindlessly on the flat-screened monitors placed strategically around the room. The high tech lighting was indirect and made the room appear dark. 

Seated, he could only see the dismally, dark gray sky, an appropriate color given his disposition.  He had sat alone in this office many times before, but knowing young Nottingham had left the estate perhaps never to return, left an unexpected emptiness in him.  Ian was his advocate in all things, regardless of how insipid.  There was no pretence of civility, no attentiveness to being politically correct.  Irons' relationship with Nottingham was as close to companionship as he would enjoy in his lifetime.  Irons mindlessly hit one of his speed dials.

"Captain Dante."  The call was answered on the second ring.

"Oh, Captain…My Captain."  Dante recognized the voice of Kenneth Irons.

"Yes, Mr. Irons.  What can I do for you this morning?"  Irons was a necessary evil.  Dante did not have to like him.

"Tell me…What is fair Sara up to these days?"  Irons thought himself clever not to ask about Nottingham directly.

"Besides being a constant pain in my ass?"  The Police Captain replied.  Dante was such a crude man, Irons thought.

"I presume we can infer that…from your perspective.  Tell me more."  Irons was finding it increasingly more difficult to conceal his irritation and contempt for this idiot.

"She's been at St. Elizabeth's hospital, protecting a young girl who witnessed her mother's murder.  The kid's catatonic.  Why?"  Dante was sensing Irons had other motives.

"Is she defending this poor child by herself?"  Ah, here it comes, Dante thought.

"No, she has her partner with her."  Dante deliberately omitted the name of the third participant, making Irons jump through his hoop for a change.

"Any one else, Bruno?"  Irons was getting perturbed with this game of Dante's.

"Why, yes…I believe your boy is there…that freak, Nottingham.  Do you want me to send him home to you?"  The sarcasm in Dante's voice was unmistakable.

Dante was enjoying this, the fool.  Irons knew that Nottingham would have loved nothing better than to eradicate the Captain from existence.  Dante did not know how dangerous Irons' lethal weapon could be, but he may one day find out first hand.

"No, Captain Dante, but I would appreciate it if you would keep me personally informed of his activities.  Would that be too much to ask of you?  I didn't think so."  Irons did not wait for his response, demonstrating who was in charge.

Dante hung up the phone, cursing Petzini.  Now she had Irons and his mutant muscle involved in this case.  Things were coming to a head…and she was going to take the fall.