Dead of Knight (16 page)

“Jack, what’s up? Is there a leak in the department?”

Staal paused. “Yeah, maybe.” He hung up.

“You gonna check that kid’s claims before you stir it up with the Inspector?” Fraser asked him.

“Yeah, good call,” Staal dialed Maxwell Barnes’s cell phone.

“Max, need you to be straight with me; is there anything about a B.B. victim in the States?”

Barnes paused. “Nothing, Jack. Rachael ran everything through their Federal database, and nothing solid came out.”

Staal hung up. “You’re right, Kenny; that Pierce kid was just fishing with bullshit for bait.”

“Yeah, interesting story though.”

The detectives were silent for a few minutes.

“If I sent those DFA photos to your personal e-mail, could you send them to Rachael...so she couldn’t tell they were from you?” He turned to Fraser.

“Yeah, I could set that up. Why, what are you saying?”

“Send Gooch the photos. Let her think it’s a tip.”

Fraser looked concerned. “Jesus Christ, Jack!”

“Can you do it or not?”

“Yeah, man. I can do it.”

Sour garbage stench wafted from a dumpster when Staal parked the Impala behind the precinct house. He pulled out his cell before leaving the car and called Madison Cox, a crime reporter from the
Sun
. Over the years, Staal had built a reporter/investigator relationship with the journalist and trusted her work. Fraser nodded to Staal and then climbed out of the Impala.

“Maddy, it’s Staal. Got a minute?”

“For you, Jack—sure,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Two questions. First, do you have a Paul Pierce working the crime beat there?”

“Nope, it’s still just me and Oscar. Wait a sec, Pierce—ah, he might have sold us some freelance stuff last year. What else?”

“Okay. You hear anything about the FBI looking into the Birthday Boy case?”

“No, nothing like that. Is that true?”

“Doubt it. Anyway, ask around and get back to me. Talk to you soon.” He hung up before Cox launched her own inquiry.

Staal felt his spirits lift during the walk to the squad room as the possibility that they had a new suspect sunk in. Francis Hennessey was messed up. The photos on his walls and the occult connection showed his perversion. However, Staal had a lot of work to do before Hennessey could seriously be considered as the man who had killed Walker and the others. He walked past Gooch, headed for Inspector Benjamin Ross’ office, but hesitated a second before knocking.

If the FBI had joined the investigation, their people would work with IHIT. Most of the assistance would involve intelligence and sharing files of similar cases Stateside. The Bureau’s unlimited finances, its manpower and the latest technology could be a huge advantage to the Integrated Team.

Staal needed this case for his self-confidence and peace of mind. The park shooting had him continually questioning his ability to function well enough to make a difference. He wouldn’t allow a hotshot like Chin or an American federal agent to take the case from him.

He knocked on the door and then entered the Inspector’s sanctuary. The room was twice the size of Sergeant Barnes’ office. Inspector Ross sat behind a dark cherry wood desk in an enormous leather chair. He was fifty-eight, with short, cropped gray hair. Despite many years of desk duty he still looked in good enough shape to work in the field.

Ross was on the phone and he made Staal wait for more than minute. When Staal became impatient, the Inspector swiveled in his chair away from him.  

Ben Ross’ disinterest in Staal’s presence stirred an anger that Staal could not contain. Before he could stop himself, the words spilled out.

“What the fuck is going on, Inspector?”

Ross still had the phone to his ear. “Something’s come up,” he whispered into it. “I’ll call you back.” To Staal he commanded, “Watch your tone, Detective!”

“Screw my tone. Word is I have a ghost on this case. A fuckin’ FBI ghost!”

“What the hell are you talking about, Staal?” Ross stood.

Staal stepped closer to his boss’s desk. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. The Bureau has been on this case for weeks, maybe since day one. What I want to know is, why the fuck weren’t we told?”

When Ross began to speak, Staal cut him off. “Gooch, the others and I are legging out this case and the Americans are sitting back waiting to swoop in on any suspect with their big-budget manpower and gadgets. They aren’t doing shit, and they don’t have to, ‘cause they know our every move, and why is that, Ross? ‘Cause someone is updating them straight out of my homicide book! ” Staal’s throat was raw from yelling and his breath was short.

“You finished, Staal?”

He nodded.

“Yes, a SAIC contacted me after the second victim,” Ross said.

“And?”

“It’s nothing, Jack. Every time a high profile case from here makes their news some cheese-dick agent thinks it’s a guy he’s tracing down in Hicksville, Alabama.”

“And nothing came of it?”

“The Birthday angle caught interest from the field office in Jacksonville, Florida.” Ross opened his e-mail. “Turns out the guy they want was estimated at 300 pounds. Uses an eight inch knife with a serrated edge.” Ross waited for his words to sink in. “I hear anything from the Bureau or any other agency, foreign or domestic—you’ll be the first to know.”

Staal nodded. “I’m—I apologize for my outburst.” He had no reason to disbelieve Ross.

“Jack, are you okay? Is this one getting to you?” He looked Staal up and down.

Staal took a long breath. A knot caught in his stomach. One of the key symptoms of PTSD is uncontrolled rage. Ross, as well as all the Command officers was well trained for spotting the signs. Staal had just given Ross sufficient reason to take him off the case. “I’m good, Inspector—just a little fatigued.”

“I want this one—I need you on this, Jack—your experience,” Ross paused. “Hanson is our town and that little fuck is tearing it to shit!” His eyes were intense, his face tight with emotion.

Staal nodded.

“Detective, I understand you were in on the tip line?” 

“Yeah, glad to help out.”

“Anything there—the Team or our people?”

“Yeah, we have an angle. The Team went in another direction.”

“What’s your next move?”

Staal told the Ross everything he had on Francis Hennessey. He mentioned that someone from Hennessey’s building called in a tip as well as sent an anonymous e-mail of some extremely disturbing photos of his apartment.

“And the Team has no interest in this Hennessey?” Ross’ face turned from mild curiosity to one of concern.

“Nope, they’re still investigating Douglas.”

“Douglas? Isn’t he clear, unless...”

Staal’s mind began to race. Why was the Team still on Matt Douglas? “Yeah, they have a co-worker at the book store reporting hearing Douglas boast about beating the shit out of some girl at a party.”

“What’s your take on that?”

“Can’t imagine Douglas hitting on anyone.”

Fraser, Hayes, Gooch, and Wakamatsu all glanced at Staal when he returned to his desk. Staal took a long breath, held it and then exhaled as though the action could blow out his embarrassment over the scene with Ross. 

“That shit Pierce said is true?” Fraser asked.

“A SAIC made some calls after Haywood. It’s nothing. Pierce was just trying to get us to give something up.”

“Detectives, I have an e-mail from an anonymous sender,” Dana Donovan said. “You won’t believe this shit!” Donavan was a detective in the General Investigations Section. She and Staal had carried on a mild flirtation before he and Hayes began dating. She handed several printed pages to Rachael Gooch.

“Jesus,” Gooch said as she read. She handed each sheet to Staal as she finished.

Staal glanced at the photos, and then paused to read the letter from
concerned citizen at gmail.com
. The note told of Francis Hennessey and how odd he was and referred the attached photographs. It mentioned his strange friend Raven, loud satanic music, and the weird clothing they both wore. It also insisted law enforcement check out a website called DFA. Staal passed the material to Fraser.

“So what do you think, Jack?” Gooch said.

“Seems kind of convenient, doesn’t it?”

“Huh?” Gooch’s expression turned to mild confusion. “Staal, this is a damn good tip.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s the break we need.” Staal glanced at Fraser. His plan had worked and Gooch was now charged up about going at Hennessey.

“We could ask the sender for more info,” Hayes said. “Find out how they got these photos.”

“I’ll return the message,” Gooch said. “I doubt they’ll respond.”

“The e-mail doesn’t give much on Hennessey. We need to watch him, learn his routines, and if he looks good, get him to come in voluntarily on some bullshit charge,” Fraser said.

“I agree, let’s get back to running Hennessey. Kenny, I want to know who this Raven is. Gina, maybe you can run Death From Above, the cult, and whatever Ded Can Dance is.” No one seemed to notice anymore that Staal, instead of Sergeant Gooch, took the lead on the case. Staal had gained his colleagues’ respect.  

Fraser nodded and rose from the table.

Gooch stood, and said she would start work on obtaining a warrant to tap Hennessey’s phone line. She left the table to track down an available Judge.

Staal sat at his desk and thumbed through his message notes. Of the eight on his blotter, only one caught his attention, a note from Harrison Tate at Global news. The newsroom was leading the evening news broadcast with the Birthday Boy story and footage from the convenience store. Tate wanted a quote from Staal. 

Staal thought about the photos on the walls of Hennessey’s bedroom and felt a pang of disgust in his stomach. The scenes from the photography reminded him of the park dream. He shook off the memories.

Fraser made eye contact and signaled Staal to meet him at the coffee machine. “When you were grilling Ross I looked at what I pulled from Hennessey’s PC.”

Staal nodded.

“That Raven dude who called when we visited Hennessey’s place,” Fraser said. “Real name is Abdul Mohammed, got a local address. Hennessey’s other online buddies—a Stephen Posh and Dwight Shultz—I’m still working on those two. All four are deep into this DFA shit. I’m set up to be alerted when any one of them come online.”

“Good work, Kenny. Rachael is working on a warrant request for a phone tap. I’ll tell her to include Mohammed, as well,” Staal said.

Phone taps had come a long way since the days when an investigator had to commit a break and enter in order to insert a tiny electronic listening device into a phone receiver. Nowadays the phone company’s Police Services System could be activated from a cop’s desk. Once a warrant is produced, TELUS could tap and record a suspect’s line twenty-four hours a day, or allow a detective to listen in over a precinct phone. Staal returned to his desk.

“I found a crap-load of info about DFA. Mostly old stuff from their hey-day. I haven’t come across any law enforcement agency currently investigating the cult or any of its members,” Hayes said.

“Members? You mean it’s active again?” Staal asked. He shook his head.

“Yeah. There’s an official website, with a member’s area that you need a secret code to open,” Hayes said.

“Jesus, maybe it’s just a web thing for losers who got bored of Lord of the Rings and Star Trek.” Staal paused. “But, man, if Birthday Boy is actually a group of killers...” He rose to walk around the room. It helped him to think. “It would make the stalking easier. A couple guys find new vics, while a few more follow the current prey.”

“They could be using this secret site to coordinate their movements,” Fraser said. “Shit, I gotta get into that site, man.”   

“The Birthday Boy MO doesn’t follow the old DFA methods, though. Back then, some females joined the cult and were committed members, while others were brought in only for murder in ritual killings,” Hayes said.

“That’s right. I remember my old man talking about it when I was a rook,” Fraser said.

“Okay, let’s say Hennessey, or one of his crew, stumble onto the DFA site,” Staal theorized, his mind racing. “They all get into it big time. Talk about killing someone like what they see on the site. Finally, Hennessey finds Stephanie McKay at the DMV, and Hennessey or the group watch her and then take her out at the park.”

“Nice theory, Jack,” Gooch strode to the table. She had returned from her search warrant request with Judge Matheson. “But we didn’t find any evidence of a group at the park, and I doubt a gang was waiting for Haywood in the townhouse basement.” Her eyes were intense. “And does the Damian Knight book connection fit with the DFA angle?”

“I’m working on that part,” He paused, his mind racing. “They could take turns killing. Shit! The murders could be an initiation,” he said. “The Knight books thing could be...one guy’s deal...the leader.”