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  Donovan was dead, but that didn’t matter, no one would ever miss that sorry piece of shit. Especially his mother, who was living down in Jacksonville, Florida, with her sister. His mind still hovered on Donovan, he’d been a force of nature in Leslie’s young life. He’d irrevocably influence Les.

  To this day, Donovan still haunted Leslie in his dreams. Les likened it to PTSD, having lived most of his young life in a war zone. He shook the dark thought away. He took down the contact number of Chief Skilter and reached for the phone.

  “Hi, this is Les Pigg, from the Cooper Sentinel newspaper. I’m calling for Chief Detective Skilter.”

  “Detective Skilter is on another line, would you like to leave a message?” the female voice said, heavily southern.

  “I’ll wait, it’s important.” He said, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He wiped his hands on his trousers, and used the back of his hand to dab at his upper lip. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous, perhaps because this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to get it right. He couldn’t fuck this up.

  “One moment.” The female voice said. Music came on, the annoying kind. Les didn’t know why that kind of music was used. Perhaps to encourage the caller to hang up. He looked at his watch, five minutes had passed. He sat back, figuring it would be a long wait, when he heard the click on the other end, it brought him forward.

  “This is Detective Skilter, how may I help you?”

  “Hi Detective Skilter, this is Les Pigg, from the Cooper Sentinel newspaper. Rachael Weaver had been in contact with you about a new task force that you’re forming. Unfortunately, Rachael Weaver passed away and I’ve been tasked with her assignments.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. My condolences. Alright, I had an appointment with her at 2pm tomorrow. Would you be available for that meeting, Mr. Pigg?” Skilter asked, and Les thought the man sounded like a three pack a day smoker.

  “Absolutely and please, call me Les. I’ll see you then sir.” Les smiled and hung up the phone. He sat back and laughed. Wow, he thought again. A real goddam, honest to goodness serial killer in Charleston! Holy shit, this was great, not for the victims, but man, for him, this was fanfuckingtastic! There weren’t many that could claim to get the inside scoop on a story line like this.

  Les sat back and clasped his hands behind his head. He wondered at the possibilities of who the killer might be? Maybe some crazed doctor? Like Hannibal Lector. Or maybe like the BTK bastard. He laughed, this was such an awesome chance for him. He couldn’t say he was sorry that Rachael was dead, he’d never liked her and she’d always called him Pigg, and not pronounced it Pijj. She seemed to forget and always apologized sweetly. The pruned-up bitch. He sniggered, he was just that happy about the bump up.

  Now to get to business, he’d need to look back on articles relating to murders in Charleston. Do a little background, which he saw that Rachael had not. He’d be better prepared once he met with Detective Skilter tomorrow. Though the Sentinel put out the physical paper, their articles were stored in computer files. He’d go back over the last five years, and start from there. He’d look for any murders and notate them down. He’d build up his own dossier and work from there. That way later, when he wrote his book, he’d have everything the way he wanted it.

  He sniggered again, tapping his feet quickly and shook his head. He couldn’t believe his luck and put it down to straightening out his life over the last few months. He’d found the trick to it was going to bed early. No later than 9pm and he was in bed. When he woke in the morning, though he was a little tired, he felt refreshed. He’d started exercising again, short walks. Calisthenics and a little yoga. He’d stopped the booze, though that had been difficult. He was lucky, he’d been well on his way to becoming an alcoholic.

  He remembered, some time ago, when he’d had trouble sleeping, and had taken sleeping medicine his doctor had prescribed. He’d then realized that he’d been sleepwalking from the sleep medication. One time he found himself outside his apartment, naked as the day he was born. The next time, he found himself at a drive through. He’d bought and eaten half a serving of french-fries when he woke up.

  It had frightened him badly. It was the same when he went on a blind drunk. He’d only done that a couple times, right after he and Val had separated. He’d woken up at the Charleston Battery, his car nowhere to be found. He was lucky he’d not hit and killed someone. He’d eased off the booze, but had not quit. Over three months ago, he had, once and for all.

  He now only took sleeping meds if he missed several days of sleeping in a row and only one pill at a time, instead of the two. He didn’t use the alcohol to help him sleep. His mother had complained about such sleeping issues, but she’d said it was due to menopause. He didn’t have that, he snorted to himself, but he did need to take meds only now and again. He’d not found himself sleepwalking again. With getting off the booze, he was getting better at sleeping through the night. The exercise helped as well.

  No, he was now in control of his life and things were looking up. He could now look forward to a wonderful life, or at least a promising future. He’d make sure Ross didn’t regret his decision. He’d bust his ass on this task force. He’d make sure that one day, his name would bring honest journalism to mind. He smiled at the thought. He knew he was getting ahead of himself. He’d no longer be a mediocre writer, he promised himself.

  TWO

  Les sat in the outer office of Chief Bart Skilter. He’d spent quite a few hours on the computer, the day before, looking for murders in Charleston over the last five years. There were in total, eighty-two murders in the last five years in Charleston and North Charleston. Out of those, there were ten murders that were being looked into, some cold cases, though he had no clue as to which ones they were. He was anxious to see what was going on and why the Charleston detectives thought the ten victims were killed by one person.

  The office door opened and a large bluff man popped his head out and looked at Les. He had a florid compl exion, and pale blue eyes that looked like steel through round rim glasses. He waved Les into his office.

  When Les walked in, he saw a woman sitting in a chair, he thought she was a detective, her wavy red hair was short and brushed the bottom of her collar. She wore a lightweight jacket and white shirt, with dark blue trousers and flats. She appeared to be near his own age. She smiled up at him and nodded. He found her expression to be open and friendly.

  “Les, please have a seat. Les, this is Detective Olivia Shin, she’ll be your liaison with this task force. She’ll brief you in on this. For now, we ask that you run all your articles through us, before you publish them in your paper. Some of the information you’ll be privy to, is extremely sensitive. It will not be for publication. If I see one word in print, that we’ve not agreed upon, you’ll be out.” Bart Skilter said in a no-nonsense tone.

  “I understand, I’ll ensure that you’ll not worry on my part. I thank you for this opportunity.”

  Skilter stood and stuck out his meaty hand and shook Les’s hand. Detective Shin got up and Les and the woman detective left the office.

  “You can come on into my office and we can sit down and I’ll tell you what we’ve got so far. Then we’ll head over to our office where we’ve set up.” Shin said, smiling.

  “Thanks, I appreciate you working with me.” Les said.

  They walked into Shin’s office and he looked around. She had photos scattered around the office, of what looked like her family. A husband and two children, girls. Several photos of a dog and a fat cat. He sat down in a chair across from her desk. She sat down at her desk and typed in a few words in her computer and then turned to him.

  “Okay, so, I’ve been looking into some cold cases. We had three murders this year, all the same. This raised red flags and was brought to our attention. There are seven other murders in the past five years in particular that we have zeroed in on. All male victims in their mid-twenties to late thirties, all of them white. It appears that all were blud
geoned to death, and looking over the old files, I found that in all cases, the same possible weapon was used.” She said, turning her screen toward Les. He leaned forward and saw ten different pictures of wounds. Each picture had the ruler that was used to measure the wounds.

  There were numerous strikes on the skin. However, on each photo, there was one clear wound. The wounds were circular in nature, roughly the size of a quarter. Perhaps from the end of a barbell? He thought.

  “These are the clearest photographs of the wounds. In each of the cases, the face is completely beaten in. Dozens of strikes. Whoever did this was mad as hell, it was personal. We think the murder weapon in each case, was a hammer of some kind. In each of these murders, bits of bone and teeth were all over the place. Some of the victims had to be identified by an odontologist. In each case, however, it would seem, that a single tooth was missing, or taken. This skipped notice, since most all of the victims had their teeth busted out as well.” She said.

  “Wow, so because of the identical wounds, and missing tooth from each of the victims, this leads you to believe that it is all being done by one person? Add in the fact that the victims are white males of a certain age range. And you’re calling these serial murders?” Les asked, writing this down into his notebook.

  “Yes, also, the hands were nearly destroyed, there wasn’t much left of them as well. The information about the teeth, and the thoughts on the murder weapon are not to be released. Nor the locations of the wounds, the bodies received. Also, the most recent victim, Roger Peach, age twenty-seven, was beaten to death outside his home. His family was gone to the grandmother’s home for the weekend. He was beaten in the middle of the night, but a neighbor heard someone screaming over and over, “You hate niggers?” That also is not to be printed. I’ve spoken to an FBI profiler and he suggests this is unusual. The profiler suspects the killer may be a black male, between thirty and fifty. Traditionally, white serial killers kill white men and so on. There are of course variations and exceptions.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that. There haven’t been many women, or black or Asian serial killers. Historically white males are usually the perpetrators. Middle to upper class.” Les said, still writing.

  “Correct.” Shin said.

  “Do any of the victims have anything in common, like going to the same gym? Or some such?” Les asked.

  “We haven’t found any yet. I’m going to allow you access to all ten files. You and I will go through each one. As I’ve said, this year, there have been three murders, last year there were two, the year before that, two. Four years ago, there were two, and one, the first year, five years ago. We think he is escalating.” Shin said.

  “That’s a scary thought, not that it isn’t in and of itself.”

  “Yes, it really is. I’m trying to find some kind of correlation between all of these men. Or some kind of similarity, other than being their age and their ethnicity. I don’t know if these murders are random or personal. I think the more we can find out about the victims, we might have a chance of finding the killer.” Shin said, smoothing back her hair.

  “Any DNA, finger prints?”

  “No DNA, we got a partial print, but it seems that it was from the left pinky and was from the first murder. It wasn’t enough for an identification. This man was careful, and we’ve not gotten anything since. Not only were the faces of the victims destroyed, but as I said, also the hands. Specifically, the knuckles.”

  “Jeeze man. It sounds like this guy is mad as hell. And you think the killer may be a black male?” Les asked, writing furiously. He could have recorded it, but he was old fashion and had learned to take excellent notes.

  “Honestly, no, I think he’s a white male, middle class between the ages of thirty to maybe forty-five.” Shin said. Les thought she had intelligent eyes, thoughtful. Her manner was very professional and he liked her.

  “I have two other detectives that will split up the victims. You and I will research and dig into the last three victims that were killed this year, after we’ve gone through the other files. The last three murders are the freshest and I also want your input. Sometimes we detectives get caught up in our own assumptions. Sometimes we over look things.”

  “This investigation and task force will also be treated as an in-depth documentation into procedures. Later, we’d like to take a step back and see how all of this worked out. I want to make sure our dissection of this case is on point. That we’ve looked at every angle and taken it apart and put back in quantifiable procedure. That is where you come in, as an outside observer. We missed this one, and we should not have.”

  “Thank you, Detective Shin, I appreciate this chance and I’m honored to help. I will do my very best to put forth clear cut and concise transcript.”

  “Call me Olivia, Les, we’re going to be working some long hours together. Now, I will take you to the task room. Again, we need to keep the details confidential. I don’t want anything getting out to help this killer. Not only that, when it comes to his, or her trial, I want all our ducks in a row.” She reiterated.

  “You got it, Olivia.” He said and stood up, when she did. They left her office and went to the second floor, and down a hallway. The hallway was permeated with coffee fumes mixed with copier ink. There were bulletin boards scattered along the walls, along with inspirational pictures hung here and there. There were also photos of officers. The floor was a nondescript gray linoleum, and their footsteps clicked along softly.

  Olivia opened the door for him and he stepped on in. The first thing he noticed was the smell of strong coffee and saw a large pot, and all the cups and condiments that went with it on a long table. There was also a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. He smiled, South Carolinians loved their Krispy Kreme, and why not, they were the best doughnuts anywhere around.

  He saw that a long wall had hundreds of gruesome photographs of each of the crime scenes, as well as the victims. His stomach lurched, it was all graphic and brilliant colorful gore. Two other detectives came over and she introduced them to Les.

  “Les, this is Detective John Littleton, and Detective Peter Brightwater.” Les shook both men’s hands and nodded. Olivia walked him over to a separate wall, she indicated that he should look at the pictures that were on the wall.

  “These are our victims that we will be working on, Robert, or Bobby Patterson, age twenty-six, Samuel Anderson, age thirty and Roger Peach, age twenty-seven. You see their photos, given to us by their families as well as their driver’s license photos. All young men, in their prime.” Olivia said.

  “Were any of these men sexually assaulted or anything done to them that would lead you to believe it had been something sexual in nature?” Les asked and he studied the faces.

  Each man had brown hair, though each had different eye color. Each man had nothing remarkable about their appearance. Neither too handsome, nor too ugly. Average. That was the word that came to Leslie’s mind.

  “No, nothing what so ever. All bodies were found with clothing on. Two of the victims, Patterson and Anderson had been killed around three am, Anderson was still in his car. He’d been out to a bar. Patterson was found by his front door, again, having been out with friends. He’d been at a poker game.” She said, pointing at the crime scene photos.

  “For Peach, he was killed outside his home at one in the morning. He’d been out drinking and had come home. It looks like someone either followed him, or was there at his home, waiting for him. Each of the victims was hit hard, the first blow stunning them so badly, that they went down, unable to fight. There are no defensive wounds.”

  “Jesus.” Les breathed and shivered.

  “Yeah, this guy was serious about killing.” Olivia said, shaking her head.

  “Were any of the family members harmed? Did the killer go into their homes?” Les asked, worry edging him, he’d hate to think what this bastard would do to the families of these men. The faces of the men were absolutely unrecognizable. Only shards of bone and meat and brain matte
r. The hands looked like chunks of hamburger with fingers.

  “Thankfully no. God, I don’t know why, but no. It is just too horrible to think of, if he’d wanted to go in. He had access to the house keys, but no.” Olivia said and he watched as she walked over and poured herself a cup of coffee. He followed her and poured himself a cup.

  “It’s just unimaginable.” Les said, taking a sip of his coffee, hoping it would dispel the chill that had filled him, from seeing the victims.

  “It is, but that’s our world. People do crazy things, and just when I think I’ve seen it all, something else pops up.” Olivia said, shaking her head.

  “So why did it take so long to connect the dots?” Les asked.

  “Other departments had handled each of these cases, here and over in North Charleston and different detectives. When we got these three within a short span, it was like a fog horn went off. Two different detectives were working the cases, and then one mentioned something similar about how three years ago, he’d had something similar. Chief Skilter had me look into it and when I started looking, I found ten victims with the same injuries that went back five years.” She said, picking up a doughnut.

  Les picked one up also. He bit into the pastry and it was fresh. He almost rolled his eyes, if he could, he’d die a happy man, if he fell into a vat of doughnuts and chewed his way to the bottom. To die happily, gluttoned to death on the glazed doughnut. He looked at Olivia, and saw she too was a Krispy Kreme devotee. He hid his grin when she picked up another. He did so as well.

  “So that’s when Chief Skilter set up the task force?”