Night Mask (16 page)

As the dog days of summer struck in full force, so did the Ripper and Dick Hale. And this time, for the cops, it was very close to home.

Tony Moreno was two years away from retiring from the Sheriffs Department. He had decided to pull the pin after twenty-five years behind a badge. He and his wife, who worked as a bookkeeper in a local factory, had just put their last chick through college. Tony was going to work part-time as security for a local firm for a few years, and then he and his wife would really retire and do some traveling.

His radio crackled. “HC 135.”

“HC 135,” Tony responded.

“See the woman, 11074 River Oak Drive. Signal 34.”

“Ten-four.” Prowler, Tony thought. Not good, but a damn sight better than a domestic disturbance. Cops hate domestic disturbances. You separate the man from hammering on his wife, and the wife many times will turn on you. Tony still carried the scar on the back of his head where, after he'd pulled the man off his wife, who was doing his best to rearrange her face with his fist, and doing a pretty good job of it, the woman had picked up a Big Ben alarm clock and smashed it against the back of Tony's head. Then after all that was straightened out, the woman dropped the charges against her husband.

River Oak Drive was way to hell and gone out in the country. The house was dark when Tony pulled into the drive.

“HC 135 dispatch.”

“Go ahead.”

“I'm 10-97.” Arrived at the scene.

“That's 10-4, HC 135. Zero three three five hours.”

“Where was the woman supposed to be?”

“Inside. Said she was afraid to come out.”

“Ten-four.”

That was the last voice communication anyone ever received from Hancock County unit HC 135.

When repeated attempts from the dispatcher failed to get a response from Tony Moreno, every deputy in the county was alerted, as well as the La Barca PD.

Deputies found the unit at ten o'clock the next morning, parked in a ravine about ten miles from La Barca. At four o'clock that afternoon, Sheriff Brownwood got a phone call.

“Listen, Sheriff,” the electronically altered voice said. “Listen to your deputy scream his life away.”

Brownie became physically ill listening to the tortured screaming of Tony, as the call was being traced. He finally had to leave the room.

“Pay phone out on 168,” he was told.

“Roll!”

But there was nobody there. Only the phone taped to a tape recorder with the tape on a continuous loop, and an envelope containing a very profane and mocking note printed in large block letters using a ruler, which eliminates a handwriting expert's testimony. The deputies, including Leo and Lani, Brenda and Ted, followed the directions and found the remains of Tony Moreno about an hour later. He had been completely skinned, from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

“I'll go tell his wife,” Brownie said, his voice choked with emotion, both sadness and anger.

For the first time since the Ripper began the barbarity in California, a civilian was allowed to see just how savage the attacks were. Stacy Ryan was brought to the scene and allowed to view the remains of Tony Moreno. She passed out.

* * *

The newly appointed chief of police of La Barca opened his personnel records to Leo. On that same day, three officers abruptly quit the force and dropped out of sight. Sam Bolling, Mark Jeffreys, and Anita Rush.

“Run them all the way back to the moment of conception,” Leo said. “And put out an APB.” Some departments use what is called BOLO. Be On the Lookout.

The three former La Barca police officers vanished without a trace. Leo and Lani tossed their apartments and found damning evidence of their involvement with the Ripper, and the theory that it was a killing club proved out. Books and magazines of the most perverted type were found: S & M, child pornography, torture, and depravities so horrible they were unspeakable in nature. They found address books and immediately started alerting other departments nationwide. But of the several hundred names, only a few were picked up for questioning. The others had been tipped off and had split for parts unknown.

Leo and Lani flew to Indianapolis, a city that had recently reported several copycat murders, and where one of the names found in Sam Bolling's address book had been picked up. A team of Indianapolis cops had sweated the suspect, and he finally broke.

“You're not gonna believe this guy,” a detective lieutenant told Leo and Lani, after picking them up at Indianapolis International/Weir Cook Airport. “This is something right out of a horror story. We've got people digging right now, and so far we've uncovered the remains of a dozen people. And he's a DJ, too,” he added softly. “Local hard rock station.”

“Have you made that public yet?” Lani asked.

“No. I figured you guys would want a lid on that.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“The Bureau been notified?”

“Yes. But we can't expect much help there. I guess you haven't heard the news. It just broke. Big plot was just uncovered to kill the President and half a dozen senators and representatives and members of the Supreme Court. Every federal agency you can think of is busy working on that. This perverted mess we've got is pretty much going to be in the hands of locals.”

“You notified the FCC?” Leo asked.

“Right. Inspectors have already begun working to pull the tapes with subliminal suggestions on them.”

“It's nationwide then,” Lani said, as much to herself as to the others.

“We think so. Already a dozen departments have responded to our private calls, and discovered cells, or would-be cells, in their cities.”

The DJ, who looked as freaky as the music he played sounded, was defiant and sullen. “Motherfuckin' pigs from California,” he snarled at them. “And a cunt, too. How'd you get here? Ride your surfboards?”

It took every fiber in Leo's being to keep him from backhanding the punk out of the chair. Tony Moreno had introduced Leo to Virginia.

“Death is the ultimate high, man,” the freak said. “I dig death. Can't wait for it.”

“Hopefully you won't have a long wait,” Leo said, knowing full well that even if convicted of his heinous crimes, and even if Indiana had the death penalty, the freak might be on death row for years before he was gassed or juiced or given a lethal injection, the latter being one of the most ridiculous things Leo had ever heard of. People like this freak showed no compassion to their victims, so why in hell should society show mercy or compassion to them?

Most cops Leo knew shared that opinion.

The freak had admitted the existence of a killing club in the city; he'd admitted his part in altering the tapes at the station; and he had freely and openly admitted his part in several killings. But he would give no names.

“I hope you do torture me,” he said with a grin. “I groove on pain, man. We all do. If it feels good, do it.” He looked at Leo. “You ever been fucked up the ass, man?”

Leo grimaced at just the thought.

“It's neat, man. There ain't nothin' like a dick up your ass. I told the pigs here to put me in with the meanest, big-dicked nigger they got locked up. I—”

Leo tuned him out and left the interrogation room to go wash his face with cold water. When he stepped out of the men's room, Lani was leaning up against a wall in the corridor, her face shiny with sweat. Her breathing was ragged. Leo put a hand on her shoulder. “Steady now, Lani. Stand tough.”

She nodded her head and said, “Leo, there might be
hundreds
of these perverted sacks of freaky shit out there.”

“I know it.”

“Did you see all the S & M paraphernalia they got from that ... thing's house?”

“Yeah, I did, Lani.”

“Leo, I wanted to kill that bastard. I wanted to pull iron and shoot that son of a bitch.”

“I know, Lani. So did I.”

“So did all of us on this case,” the lieutenant said, walking up and hearing the last. “Wanna hear something rich? This punk says if we put him in isolation, he's going to sue the department. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that we just picked up two of his equally freaky friends. Now we have two more places to dig. You want to come along?”

“That's why we're here,” Leo said.

* * *

The stench was so foul, all in attendance had to wear protective masks. No one could work in the cellar of the long-abandoned farm home for very long. It was just too much to ask of a normal human being. Several street-hardened cops had fainted at the uncovered sight. All present had puked their stomachs empty. The smell of rotted tortured death permeated the clothing of the living. Holes were knocked in the walls, and generators set up to pump in fresh, clean, outside air. It helped, but not much.

The freak had been brought out from jail. He was excited at the sight. “Yeah, yeah!” he hollered, pointing as much as his belly-cuff chains would allow. “See that little cunt kid there? I done that. I cummed all over myself just before she died. I never cummed like that before in my life! It was wonderful!”

One cop had to be physically restrained by other cops. He was mad as hell, climbing out of the hole with a shovel in his hand, fully intending to hammer the freak's brains out. He had been the man who uncovered the badly mutilated body of the ten-year-old girl, so eloquently eulogized by the freak.

Lani and Leo drove to another dig site. This one, like the one they'd just left, was far out in the Indiana countryside. This one had been pointed out by another just-arrested geek friend of the first freak, who was riding in the lead car.

“I got a bad feeling in my gut,” the Indiana cop said. “I got a hunch that before this is all over, this is going to be the worst rash of killings this nation has ever seen.”

“So do we,” Lani spoke for both of them.

“Thirteen bodies so far,” a very tired-looking cop said, taking a break from the digging. “This is an old one. The bodies are badly decomposed. It's grim in there, Al. I mean, real grim.”

“Lemmie see, lemmie see!” the second freak hollered. “Man, I love the smell of death. Can't you dig it? Oohhh—I think I just cummed in my shorts.”

The weary and dirt-stained cop's hands tightened on the handle of his shovel.

Al gave the punk a shove away from the hard-eyed cop. “Move, asshole. You want to see this place, let's go see it.”

Lani paused for a moment to look at the cop with the shovel. She jerked a thumb toward the manacled geek. “How do they get that way?”

The cop shrugged tired shoulders. “God, I don't know. Luckily my kids hate heavy metal and rap and shit music. Believe it or not, they both like jazz and big band. Hell, I don't even like jazz. Sounds like half a dozen musicians each trying to out-blow the other!”

Lani chuckled and patted the cop on a sweaty shoulder. She walked toward the dig site.

“Brace yourself,” the cop called.

“I got nothing left to puke up,” Lani said.

“Me, neither,” the cop replied.

Leo blocked her way into the old barn. His face was pale. “Forget it, Lani. There is no point in you going in there. We'll soon have our share of digs back home, I'm thinking.”

She ducked under his arm and stepped inside. She was back in under a minute, a tad green around the mouth. “Gimmie a cigarette, Leo.”

“We both quit, Lani. Remember?”

“So I started again. I gotta find a cigarette.”

“You don't need a cigarette, Lani”

“Goddamnit, Leo!” she flared. “I'm a grown woman. If I want a goddamn cigarette, it's my goddamn business. Goddamnit!” she added.

A nearby cop held out a pack. He and Leo exchanged glances, both of them sensing that Lani was near the breaking point for that day. And both of them knowing they were very near that same breaking point. The breaking point knows no gender. When enough is enough, the mind closes down.

Lani took the cigarette and the light. The cop held out the pack to Leo. Leo sighed and took one. “Why the hell not?” He lit up and looked at the uniform. “You been smoking long?”

“I quit five years ago. I just started up again this morning. Out here.”

Leo nodded. “I sure don't blame you one little bit. I think I'll get drunk tonight.”

“I
know
I'm gonna get drunk tonight,” the uniform said. “But before I do, I'm gonna make love to my wife and hug all three of my kids. In that order.” He gave Leo the nearly full pack. “Take them. I went into town and bought a carton.” He toed out his smoke, picked up a shovel, and with a sigh, reentered the old barn turned death house.

“Do we want to go to the third site?” Lani asked, puffing furiously.

“I don't.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go home, Leo. There is no more we can do here. Al says he'll fax us the freak's statements ASAP.”

“There's a flight out at 6:55 in the morning. We can be on that one.”

“Anything this evening?”

Leo took a timetable pamphlet from his jacket pocket and checked the flight times. “No. We missed the last one.”

Lani puffed. Coughed.

Leo glanced at her. At least the smoke was helping to kill the terrible stench of rotting bodies. “I have a hunch we'll just be jumping from one bad situation to another equally bad situation.”

“We're gonna have to set up a task force, nationwide. And we're gonna have to do it quick.”

“Agreed.”

“The FCC is gonna have to work with us on this. They're gonna have to assign as many inspectors as possible. We've got to convince them of that.”