Chapter 7
The prosecutor for Craven's case was Peter Novak, a glib self-satisfied asshole with tons of gel in his hair wearing an Armani suit and shoes. His shirts were starched so much that Don wondered how the fellow could move in them at all. The two were anything but friends. Again and again they had argued with each other and once in a while Don came close losing his temper. Don had a gut feeling that his request to continue the investigation was destined to fail. The hostile facial expression of Novak's secretary spoke volumes.
"Hi Trish, I have a date with your boss." Don gave her a friendly smile - he knew her from when she had been secretary to one of the instructors in Quantico.
"Hello Don. He's waiting for you. Be brief - he has a meeting with people of the colonel court of justice. I've squeezed you in."
If she had said 'Go and fuck yourself' it would have had the same tone, Don thought.
"Trish, enchanting like always", he replied as he entered Novak's 'inner sanctum'.
The office appeared Spartan in black and grey. It had all the charm of a freezer compartment in a morgue.
Novak gave him a false smile, baring two rows of flawlessly bleached teeth. "Agent Eppes, nice meeting you again."
They shook hands and Don thought it felt like sticking your hand into a cold, shaking pudding. Disgusting.
"The pleasure is all mine," Don replied, getting into the game.
"Please, have a seat."
Don sat in the seemingly fragile, uncomfortable post-modern visitor's chair. Novak sank into a luxurious split cowhide executive chair opposite, the seat raised slightly so the prosecutor appeared to be looking down on him.
"So you came here to obtain a list of the inquiries in Craven's case?" Novak inquired and raised his left eyebrow. "This is based on the what?"
"You'd know the reason if you've read the report I faxed you earlier this morning." Don wasn't up to explaining everything in detail again.
Novak pulled a piece of paper out of one of his designer letter trays. Don got the impression that he was worried about being infected with Ebola or something by the way he was touching the sheet. Novak skimmed it quickly.
"Do you really think you do a favor to our taxpayers?" He looked at Don expectantly.
"What if there's a grain of truth in it? What if another serial killer is cruising around LA? Wouldn't it be our duty to protect the taxpayers then?" Don retorted.
"Nice argument," Novak admitted, a little bored. "And this is based on the statement of a lunatic who feels called upon protecting the city from Demons and therefore had butchered people at random? When was your last appointment with a shrink, Eppes?"
"I still think that where there's smoke, there's fire," Don said, unaffected.
"Any proof? The MO of the last two killings was different from the others. Any 'new' victims since Craven is behind bars?" Novak drummed with his fingers on the glassy desktop impatiently.
"None so far" Don admitted.
"Then all we have is your gut instinct?"
"No, not at all. It was how Craven had talked about Raphael and his vehemence..."
Novak lifted his hand. "After Craven's arrest the papers were full of pictures and articles about him, but this was months ago. Meanwhile it's gotten quiet around the 'Aura-Killer'." The patronizing smile appeared again, "And there is his upcoming trial. I think all he wanted with these theatrical acts was attention - at any cost. Believe me I won't do him the favor! Imagine if Craven were out of his cell, pointing at a real monster. This time it's not about innocent people. This time he would betray someone of his own kind. The media would trip over themselves to make this lunatic a hero. Not to mention our citizens would be seized with panic. Do you still think it would be worth it?"
"What if you're wrong and there IS another killer and all we do is watch? What would people think if the FBI and other authorities simply leaned back and twiddled their thumbs? All I asked for was another week. It's not asking too much."
Novak glanced at his Breitling wrist watch, irritated.
"In my opinion it's exactly one week too much. Probably one of Craven's followers is the killer. What makes Craven responsible indirectly. He already has enough influence on his 'Legion of Doom' of misguided individuals who unconditionally obey him. He should not be able to draw our institutions into his influence. Do you have the slightest idea what's going to happen if this trial proceeds? His followers will besiege the court day and night."
"It is really great talking to you, Counselor," Don hissed, "You have such a keen perception of this case. I'm already looking forward to return to your office. If we start piling up corpses of young fair-haired girls in the morgue, then obviously they can't go on Craven's account."
Novak frowned. "Are you threatening me?"
"Maybe, but it's more likely that all I want is to illustrate what would happen if Craven weren't cooking up stories," Don replied, nearing the end of his patience.
"You still don't have your emotions under control, Agent Eppes," Novak sneered. "You should keep working on that. Anti-aggression therapy wouldn't be a bad idea either. How many did you already complete?"
Don's gritted his teeth. Novak wasn't going to agitate him this time. "In a nutshell: does this mean you're not going to obtain a list of the new inquiries in Craven's case?"
Novak shook his head, confused at Don's cool response. "Definitely not. And if I hear any rumors about you or your team not following my instructions, you can expect legal measures."
"Alright, Sir, I accept your decision," Don spat.
Novak approached him and stretched out his hand. "I'm glad you're in complete agreement."
Without a word, Don turned and left the office.
Outside the glaring sunlight stung his eyes. He put on his dark sunglasses and got into the car. His fears had proved well-founded and the realization depressed him. Perhaps it would have been better to wait a day? Perhaps his team would have been able to unearth new evidence? Or perhaps Novak was just an ignorant asshole on a campaign against agent Don Eppes? He fumbled for his cell phone and switched it on. No messages. He stared at the display until it went dark. He should inform Craven about the prosecutor's decision. Don had done everything in his power. He called the director of San Quentin.
"Agent Reeves! Agent Reeves!" Theodore looked like a hamster on acid as he hurried toward Megan's desk. "I think I've found the trigger for Craven's irrational behavior."
Megan looked up from her screen, removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She had gone through Craven's file and had compared the individual murders with each other again and again. A quiet suspicion that the last two hadn't been Craven's doing crept into her mind. She couldn't be sure, but…
"Take a look at this ma'am!" Vasquez banged a sheet of paper on her desk.
Megan put her glasses back on. "With this handwriting you should've become a doctor, young man. Who's going to decipher this?"
"Sorry. I always write that way when I'm excited."
"As long as you can read it yourself there's no need to worry," Colby grinned as he and David entered.
The area around Megan's desk grew quiet. "Tell me what you found out," she prompted Vasquez.
"Approximately one year before Craven came to Los Angeles he had a car accident in San Diego. It wasn't his fault. He had the right of way and somebody crashed into his car. Craven suffered from a severe concussion and his optic nerve was damaged. I have a copy of his medical file here." He presented more sheets to Megan.
Colby shook his head. "And Junior here is the first to find out? What have all the others done? This is a case of sheer negligence!"
Megan chewed on her fingernail thoughtfully. "No, not at all. Junior has only gone another way. A little unconventional, but it worked. Look at the name on the form."
David read aloud, "Thomas A. Kuszinski. Could be a coincidence."
Megan shook her head, "I don't think so. We know him as Adrian Thomas Craven. The date of birth is identical."
"Coincidence," David insisted.
Megan shook her head firmly, put the fax aside and accessed the data for Craven's family on her computer, "Look here: Kuszinski is the maiden name of Craven's mother. Great Vasquez! You've done a good job," she praised her new colleague.
Colby patted the young man's shoulder appreciatively, "You can look after getting all the files on Craven from the hospital."
"Yes Sir!" Vasquez' ears glowed with excitement.
"If we should have a black out, we can use his ears as emergency lighting," David joked.
None of them had any clue as to the horrible consequences Don's talk with the prosecutor would have in the near future. tbc
Special credits to my beta ritt! You do such a tremendous job!