Author's Soundtrack:
Marked Man by Mieka Pauley
Chapter One
The entrance to Domery Park was blocked off by several police cruises and armed officers. Detective Joan Kelley slipped beneath the bright yellow crime scene tape stretched across the gates, pointedly ignoring the onslaught of camera flashes and invasive questions from reporters. Fifteen minutes since she'd gotten the call and already the media swarmed the area like a pack of hyenas.
Officer Blaine Ballinger was waiting for her, a welcoming smile plastered on his handsome face. His partner, Trevor Callahan, and another officer were escorting two men towards the cruisers in handcuffs. Both sported black eyes and bloody noses, spewing insults at one another.
"You motherfucker-"
"And a damn good one, according to your's."
"Fucking prick! I'm gonna break your nose all over again!"
"Will you two shut up!" Trevor snarled, shoving his charge forward. Barely standing at 5'7" with shoes on, Trevor didn't look like much, but he was built like a bull and could tackle like a linebacker. Without much trouble, he threw the man in the back of his cruiser before another fight could break out.
"Those bodies look a little fresh for Homicide to be involved, Blaine." Joan wrinkled her nose as the stench of booze, vomit, and blood wafted her way. "Smell like it too. They suspects?"
"Isn't that for you to figure out, Detective?" Blaine asked with a playful smirk. Were Joan a weaker woman, she might have swooned. "But I don't think so. Got an anonymous tip about the body five minutes before witnesses from the bar down the road said that lovely pair got kicked out for turning their verbal spat into a brawl. They thought the empty park was the best place to settle things. Only got a few punches in before me and Trevor arrived."
"You were the first on the scene?"
"Yeah. Cuffed those assholes and waited for backup to arrive before canvassing the area and finding the body."
Blaine waved for her to follow him and they walked deeper into the park. After crossing an open field towards a densely wooded area they stepped onto a well-travelled path.
"We found the body not too far off the main trail. Honestly, not sure how our caller even found it."
A couple of theories sprang to Joan's mind, but she kept them to herself.
After several minutes of walking, Blain led her off the path and into the trees, his flashlight lighting up the brush. In the distance, she could see lights set up by the CSI team, beaming around the trees and illuminating the scene of the crime. In the center of it all was the blanketed body of the victim.
Dr. Melinda Carter knelt beside the body, fishing around her medical bag for her tools. Normally the picture of professionalism, Joan was surprised to see her looking particularly frazzled. When Mel spotted Joan, she greeted her with a tight smile before running a trembling hand through her salt and pepper hair.
"Have I told you recently that I need to retire?"
"You may have mentioned it the last time we spoke." Joan studied the doctor's tense posture. "That bad?"
Mel chewed on her lower lip, glancing back at the body with trepidation. "It's been a while since I've seen something so brutal. You know I don't like to guess at the killer's motives, but whoever did this truly hated this man."
Joan's eyes fell to the victim's body, her stomach knotting into a tight ball of nerves as she wondered what lay beneath the cover. Rather than waiting for the sensation to wear off, she used it to propel her forward. With a nod, she indicated for Mel to begin her examination.
The blanket was lifted.
Joan sucked in a breath.
Blain heaved into a bush.
It was an understatement to say the killer had not been kind. Every inch of the male victim's body was covered in lacerations, precise strokes with a blade that left tissue and muscle damaged and exposed. Heavy bruising and abnormal protrusions scattered across his limbs indicated brutal beatings and broken bones. What was supposed to be his face was nothing but a swollen mass of lumps and blood. His scalp had been removed, leaving few strands of faded gold to catch on fallen leaves.
Joan's heart clenched as she etched the carnage and feelings they evoked into her mind. There would be photos to remind her of the devastation the killer had wrought, but there was something lost behind the filter of a camera. She wanted to remember it, for the victim and his family.
"His legs are broken in several places," Mel stated, managing to slip on the mask of a long-serving forensic pathologist. "Same with his arms. The skull is exposed and looks like it may have several fractures as well."
A CSI proffered a wallet found several feet from the body. Joan slipped on a pair of gloves before taking.
"License belongs to an Alec Génial, age 37."
A severe looking man gazed up at her from the state issued picture. With sharp features framed by blonde and an intense gaze, Joan got the feeling the man was passionate about everything he did. He didn't carry much cash but had a credit card, gym membership, and a couple of rewards cards for several well-known health bars. Judging by the height and weight listed on the license, Alec was very much into health and fitness. If the man before her was the same Alec, the body he cherished had been decimated.
A theory declared itself: the killer wanted to destroy what this man took pride in piece by piece.
"We'll want to confirm his ID. Let's make sure to run dental-"
"Teeth were removed," Mel informed her, continuing to log information she observed about the victim.
"Of course they were," Joan said with a sigh. "We'll try the DNA database. With any luck, he's in there."
Teeth were often removed to prevent positive identification, but in this instance, Joan wasn't so certain that was the case.
"T.O.D. looks to be around a week ago. As for what killed him," Mel draped the blanket back over the victim and stood, "my guess is Blunt Force Trauma. He's got a real nasty contusion on the back of his skull. I'll have more conclusive information once I've finished the autopsy."
"You'll call me when you're done?" Not that Joan needed to ask.
"I always do. Joan," Mel pulled her aside, out of earshot of Blaine and the other CSI. "Please be careful chasing this one."
Joan offered Mel a comforting smile. "I'm always careful."
"You're careful like a newborn foal is graceful," Mel replied bluntly.
Joan pursed her lips, not finding the comparison appealing.
"Don't give me that look. You have a real knack for getting yourself into all kinds of situations."
Seeing she was about to argue, Mel gave Joan a look indicating she had a very long list of evidence she had no issue providing.
Snapping her mouth closed, Joan decided to focus on her job. There was a man who had lost his life. Finding his killer took priority over her ego.
"I'll try to be careful," she offered.
Finding this acceptable, Mel nodded and began the process of having the body removed and taken to the morgue.
Joan looked back at the crime scene, still alive with CSI. It was going to be a very long morning.
It was nearly 8PM when Joan stepped out of the elevator and into the long white hall leading to the morgue. The overwhelming smell of bleach hit her like a wall and she crinkled her nose in distaste. It was meant to smell clean and sanitary, but over the years she had come to associate it with the sickening sweet rot of human decay. Mel worked hard to keep the bodies from sitting out too long and, perhaps, relied a little to heavily on bleach, but years of working around bodies and hospitals had married the two stenches together. It was impossible for her to smell one without imagining the other.
Inside the morgue, Mel was leaning over the body of an elderly man, chatting away her findings to the technician working opposite her. When she spotted Joan walking through the double doors, she signaled for her to wait.
"Further examination of the bruising on the chest and lungs reveals asphyxiation from something heavy being placed on the torso, making it impossible for the lungs to expand. Bruising doesn't indicate what kind of object or objects were used."
Mel turned off the mic clipped to the collar of her scrubs and motioned for Joan to follow her to a slab further down the room. The technician gave her a nod before he went to work preparing the other man for the fridge.
"McCoy's case?" Joan asked out of curiosity.
Mel nodded. "The findings are rather interesting."
"Suffocation by placing a heavy weight on the chest, huh?" Joan recalled something she heard during her years in high school. "Reminds me of the old methods of torture and execution - Peine forte et dure. Stones would be placed on the defendant's chest until the weight became too great that they either confessed or suffocated."
"Lovely," Mel replied flatly. "Archaic just system, another reason to enjoy our current era instead of longing for the old days. No idea why people are so desperate to live in the past."
Joan smiled. "I don't blame them for romanticizing history. There is something appealing about living in a time before technology ruled our lives, when things were simpler."
Mel snorted. "Please, I give them five minutes before they realize there's no cell service or data and panic."
Joan couldn't help but grin, though it fell as Mel set to work and pulled back the sheet covering the victim. Her lunch turned into a heavy stone in the pit of her stomach.
"DNA confirmed this is Alec Génial," Mel informed her. "Cause of death was asphyxiation through strangulation. Fractures on the larynx and hyoid bone confirm this." Mel pushed aside some of the loose flesh and revealed Alec's neck. "It's difficult to see, given all the other damage to his body, but there are several ligature marks that don't match the patterns of the other bruises. Judging by the striations, my guess is the killer used a type of rope."
"So he survived everything else the killer put him through." Joan stared in astonishment.
With a grim expression, Mel nodded. "And he survived quite a lot. The autopsy took a little longer than expected - there was a lot to process." Mell moved to the lower end of the slab. "Your killer started with his feet. I don't know what he used, but it broke nearly every bone. Then he moved to the hands, followed by legs, then arms, and then his ribs. It'd be easier to count the number of bones that are still intact than the broken ones."
"Shit," Joan breathed. "He was destroying him piece by piece."
"And day by day. Several bones had already started the healing process, though I doubt he would have been able to use his body the same if he had survived. I would estimate he was held captive and tortured for nearly a month."
Joan's mind and stomach turned equally, her lunch stirring dangerously as a theory solidified. In the hours since arriving at the crime scene, Joan had looked into Alec Génial and discovered a man who prioritizes his health and appearance. He built a career as a wrestling performer before establishing his own agency focused on health and betterment for performers.
The puzzle pieces were gathering, some connected to create the beginnings of a solid picture, but nothing she could make out just yet. But she needed more.
"There's something else," Mel continued.
Pulling back what little remained of Alec's hair, Mel revealed a deep gouge carved into the swell that was his forehead.
"I wasn't sure what it was at first, thinking it was just another laceration, but when I started cleaning it up I noticed it was different from the rest."
Taking a napkin from one of the trays, Joan pressed it to the wound. Blood seeped into the paper, revealing something similar to the number "7".
"Joan." She looked up at Mel, who had grown pale and tense. "This isn't the first time I've seen this mark."
"Where else have you seen it?"
"It wasn't one of ours. A few years ago, one of my friends was working on an unsolved case. He asked me if I had this something similar before. The victim had been tortured, her face removed and never found."
Joan tried to focus on the mark and not the phantom sensation of a knife cutting away at her layer by layer. "I haven't heard about any of this in the papers."
"They kept the mark from the media, even limited the amount of information about her death."
"How long ago was this?"
"Maybe five years?"
Another piece was on the board.
The door to the morgue swung open and the technician returned. Mel covered Alec's body and finished providing Joan with the other information she had found.
Joan left the hospital feeling in dire need of a hot bath and a deep scrub. Taking a deep breath of cool night air, Joan considered her options. She could head to the precinct, do some digging, and fall into an awkward sleep at her desk that would probably leave her sore for the next few days or she could head home, take a scalding hot shower, and get some decent sleep in her own bed leaving her prepared for the next day.
Both were tempting in their own right, but as much as she wanted to keep running through the evidence, Joan was no good to Alec brain dead. Hoping he would understand, she climbed into her car and headed home.
At 6AM sharp Joan slipped into her uncomfortable office chair and logged onto her computer. While she waited, Joan took a long drink of her coffee and savored the injection of caffeine she desperately needed.
The night had not been kind to her, leaving her sheets nearly soaking and her gun pointed at the shadows. Sometimes she wondered whether it was a good idea to keep a loaded gun tucked her pillow, but considering she hadn't brought anyone home in over a year the chances of accidentally killing a lover were nil.
As soon as her computer was up and running, Joan accessed LEIS and began her search for previous cases resembling Alec's.
Soon after, she found herself regretting the donut she'd nabbed on her way to the office.
There was more than the case Mel mentioned. The victim from five years ago, a woman by the name of Hannah Barclay, was just one of many other victims. At least nine other cases had nearly identical patterns. Each case was disturbing in its own right, each victim having suffered at the hands of their killer before having the number carved into their forehead and then killed.
The very first victim had been a young woman, Nicole Michaels. Ten years ago her body had been found discarded beneath a bridge, her skin removed and then stitched back on inside out. She was followed by Nell Smith, then Brian Dower, Cecil Boris, Hannah Barclay, Charles Franks, Mark Brussels, and Chad Garrett. Each bore the strange marking Mel found.
Joan had to immediately discard several theories surrounding the number "7".
"Working on a particularly difficult puzzle?"
Lieutenant Grace Donahue was standing beside Joan's desk, studying her carefully. A tall woman who walked with a long and powerful stride, the lieutenant challenged anyone who got in her way, earning herself a reputation as a hardass. And she was. Officers and Detectives earned their keep under her supervision or they found themselves another department. Not a lot of people could work under her, but those who survived found themselves a powerful ally who was willing to go to bat for them when it counted. For Joan, she found an unexpected friend and confidant.
"One that's more than ten years old, apparently."
The lieutenant's brows arched in surprise. "Sounded like the body was a bit more fresh than that."
"This victim was only the killer's latest. We may have ourselves a serial killer."
"Nothing like good news to start your morning." The lieutenant tapped her finger on her cup of coffee. "How many cases?"
"Including ours? Ten. It looks like he's been killing someone nearly every year."
"That we know of."
Joan cringed. It would be imprudent to assume they had found all the victims. Although most of the dumping grounds were fairly public areas, it didn't mean everyone had been found. Joan hated the idea that there were those who had been missed, but given how long the killer had been active, it was likely.
"Looking through all those cases is going to take you forever. When Ballinger gets in, you can have him."
"Don't let his fans hear you say that."
The lieutenant just rolled her eyes and disappeared behind her office door. As soon as Blaine came in, Joan wrangled him into helping her.
But after nearly nine hours of scouring through a decade's worth of files, they were no closer to finding their killer or a connection to the victims than they had been that morning. Blaine was a great asset and help her solidify her theory that the killer was focused on destroying something valuable to the victims, something only a person who knew them personally would know.
They weren't targets of convenience. They had been chosen. What Joan couldn't figure out was why they had been chosen. Their economic classes varied widely. They spanned genders, ages, body types, and hair color. Nothing seemed to tie them together.
Growling in frustration, Joan leaned back in her chair and rubbed her tired eyes. It was naive to think she could find something more experienced detectives couldn't just 36 hours after working on the case, but she had still hoped.
If the pattern held, there wouldn't be another victim for almost a year, but she needed to find him before then.
The scent of cheap department coffee had her smiling up at Blaine. Although it wasn't the best, a jolt of caffeine was certainly needed. Thanking him, she took the warm cup and took a reviving sip.
"Any luck on your end?"
"No," he said, sounding as frustrated as she felt. "I thought I found another case on the Eastern Star, but there was no carving."
Joan frowned. "Signs of torture?"
"Yeah, similar to the Cecil Boris case, though not as extreme. Detectives never found the killer, but that's where the similarities end as far as I can tell."
Pulling up the case file on her computer, Joan read through the notes. It was a 12-year-old case with limited similarities, but it put a thought in her head. So far, they had been focused on cases from the Western Star, but there was no reason to assume their killer hadn't travelled between planets.
Chewing thoughtfully on her lip, Joan searched the Eastern Star's database for the marking.
There were dozens of results, but all of them were gang-related.
"Worth a shot," Blaine offered with a sympathetic smile. "Maybe we'll find something in the morning. Wanna grab a bite to eat before heading home?"
The mischievous glint in his eye and slight curve to his lips hinted at something more than a desire for food. Blaine was known to have his way with any woman he wanted - and some men. When she'd commented on Blain's fans, she hadn't entirely been joking. Good looking and fun to be around, Blaine was very popular, even with previous conquests. It would be a lie to say she wasn't curious, and it had been some time since she'd had a good roll in the sack. But, she needed clues not a lay.
"Thanks but you go on ahead. I'm going to finish up some work."
It was clear he was disappointed, but Blaine shrugged it off with a friendly pat on her shoulder and a wave goodbye.
With a sigh, Joan hoped she wouldn't regret her decision. Shifting uncomfortably, Joan tried to refocus her attention.
She jumped when her phone rang. Briefly, she contemplated ignoring it. Whatever it was could likely wait until morning.
She picked up anyway.
"Kelley," she answered.
"Detective Joan Kelley?"
"Yes," she stated patiently, considering how to refine her search further. Gut instinct told her she was on the right track with looking into the Eastern Star, the question was, what did she look for?
The man on the other end sighed in relief before charging into his introduction. "Sorry for the late call, but this is Detective Mitsu Akatsuki of the 13th Precinct in Tokyo."
Fingers stilled on the keyboard. Was it was divine providence that resulted in a detective from the Eastern Star calling her or just luck?
"What can I do for you, Detective?"
"You recently discovered the body of a victim who had been tortured and a number carved into their forehead."
"The investigation is still ongoing." The reply was automatic and she flinched at the cold tone. The man on the other end didn't seem offended.
"I can imagine. Not to make your job any more difficult, but I believe your killer has now decided to take up residence here on the Eastern Star."
"Oh?" Search forgotten, Detective Akatsuki had her full attention. "And why do you think that?"
"This morning, we discovered the body of a man who showed signs of torture and had something carved into his forehead - a digital '8' and a 'V'. Mean anything to you?"
She wished it did. Slumping in her chair, Joan took a drink of her cooling coffee. "Unfortunately, they don't. The carvings for my victims are different, and the timeline is much longer than yours."
"So we're probably looking at a copycat."
A thought occurred to her. Eight followed seven. What if the numbers weren't related to killings themselves, but the killer? Perhaps seven indicated the line of succession. . .
"Maybe more like a protege," Joan voiced her thoughts aloud. "The carving was never released to the media, so the only way your killer would know about it would be if he was a part of the original murders or knew the killer."
"Do you think they could still be working together?"
"I don't know." The beginnings of a headache had Joan pinching the bridge of her nose. Maybe that's what the "V" meant, that the protege had yet to earn the right to use the number alone.
"Maybe it's a test."
The corners of Joan's lips rose slightly as his train of thought followed hers.
If it was a test, would that mean the master remained nearby?
Perhaps Alec was his farewell killing, his last before moving on and training another in his place.
Was her killer now on the Eastern Star? Would she need to follow after him to put an end to his legacy?
The warmth drained from her face. The last place she wanted to be was the one place she needed to go.
"Detective Akatsuki, I know it's rather unusual, but would you be open to me joining your case?"
"I was actually hoping you would say something like that. We'll need to jump through some hoops, but I think it would be worth the effort. I don't want this protege taking up his master's mantle."
Considering the speed with which the new killer was working, the protege would easily outpace the master.
"Neither do I."
Eyes falling to a framed photo on her desk, Joan took a shaky breath and hung up the phone. It had been nearly 11 years since she was last on the Eastern Star, nearly 11 years since her world had been upended and her friends taken from her. Death had chased her away, but now it was dragging her back. For Alec and the others, she would put aside her own issues and return to the place that haunted her dreams to find their killers.
Author's Notes:
Whew! You guys have no idea how many times I've rewritten this chapter! This is my first time writing a mystery story and it's been tricky figuring out how to lay out all the pieces and information.
Thanks to all those who favorited and followed this story after the first chapter! I know NtF doesn't get a lot of love, but this is a story that I've been looking forward to writing. I hope you all continue to enjoy it as we start to really dig in. Please R&R, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Until next time!
