Rise of The Iron Eagle (The Iron Eagle Series Book 1) (6 page)

The Eagle spoke, “I hold before you the full and complete confession of Mr. Roskowski, signed and dated. My only regret is that I did not find him sooner. Mr. Roskowski, you have confessed to the rape, torture, and murder of seventy-seven children.” Steve’s team looked on in shock. Jim leaned toward Steve and asked, “I thought only sixty-three.” He nodded and then replied, “I guess there are more.” The DVD continued. “They weren’t children,” Roskowski cried out, “I’m sick. I have a mental illness. It’s a compulsion that I can’t control. I told you that. I’m not responsible for my actions.” Roskowski may have been uttering the words, but his facial expressions, wild eyes, and body language told a different story. One of Steve’s CSIs commented, “He’s lying. He knew damn well what he was doing.” The voice of The Eagle continued to press Roskowski. “Yes, you did tell me that, Stew. You also told me that they were your ‘pets.’ You and I know that you knew exactly what you were doing!” Roskowski screamed at The Eagle, “They were my pets; I had the right to do whatever I chose to do with them. I take good care of my pets and only discipline them when they are naughty.” His voice was deliberate and convincing. Jim turned to Steve and said, “The Eagle is a pure psychopath.” Steve waved his hand in a gesture of silence and at the same time shook his head no.

There were a few moments of silence, and then the camera was raised so that the viewers could see the whole face and body of Roskowski covered by a white sheet with numerous devices on a nearby table. They couldn’t make out all of them, but they all recognized several as instruments of torture. “Jesus,” Janet cried out, “this is one sick person.” She was the newest member of the team. She had just graduated from the academy at Quantico, and this was her first field assignment. Jim replied, “Which one?” No one replied; they just kept watching.

The Eagle spoke again, “The instruments and tools you see on this table are the property of Mr. Roskowski. They are the tools that he used on his victims, and they are the same tools that have been and will continue to be used on him.” Roskowski started screaming as a hand, presumably that of The Eagle, took a circular knife and laid it under his chin. “That looks like a scraping scalpel used in abortions or D&Cs,” one of Steve’s team members said. The sheet lifted off of the victim on its own, drawn as a magician would remove a covering from a levitating assistant. The nude body of Roskowski was exposed, bloodied and bruised. His genitals were swollen and discolored as if they had been beaten. The hands of The Eagle moved the tool slowly and deliberately. He used the instrument like a pen, moving it slowly from Roskowski’s neck down his chest and abdomen until it came to rest on his penis. A small line was being carved into the full torso of Roskowski as the instrument was moved and a line of crimson lay in the wake of the blade. All the while Roskowski was screaming, but he remained still as the steel tool was descending toward his genitals.

The voice of The Eagle rose above the screams of his victim. “Mr. Roskowski, you have admitted guilt in the torture, rape, and murder of all of your victims. I hereby sentence you to endure the same long and brutal death that you inflicted on them. May God NOT have mercy on your soul.” With that, The Eagle took Roskowski’s penis and scrotum in one hand and twisted and pulled them straight up. Roskowski’s screams continued as The Eagle used the tool in his other hand to emasculate Roskowski. The scream was deafening; arterial spray struck the camera lens. Several of Steve’s staff looked away; one ran to a nearby sink and threw up. Steve, Jim, and most of the others just watched as two huge arms covered by white sleeves with hands covered in black gloves drove a solid stainless steel rod into the hole that once held Stewart’s penis and testicles. Smoke rose as the unit cauterized the wound, and the screams of Stewart Roskowski echoed through the room. “Oh my God…I can’t believe the cruelty I’m witnessing,” said one of Steve’s profilers. Jim piped up, “I know this killer; you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

The Eagle grabbed Roskowski and flipped him onto his stomach. His ass was bloody and bruised, and The Eagle moved out of camera range for a moment and then returned with an oscillating device with a large rubber penis on it. The screams of Roskowski continued as The Eagle drove the dildo into Stewart’s anus, and the decibel level of his screams rose as the screen began to fade to black. The blood curdling screams commenced until they, too, faded out.

There were a few moments of silence broken eventually by Jim. “Well…that was interesting. So where do you think we’ll find Mr. Roskowski and his junk?” He asked it in such an off-the-cuff manner that Steve started laughing. It became infectious, and the entire room broke out into laughter. They knew it was wrong but couldn’t help themselves. Only Janet remained silent with a look of horror and disgust on her face. “So, do you still think that The Eagle isn’t a psychopath?” Steve turned to the room’s other inhabitants. “Look people, I know that this is a new phenomenon for this killer, but we see this type of thing every day.” “The hell we do,” said Janet, “we see corpses, we see photographs, but we don’t see a serial killer kill his victim before our very eyes.” Steve remained standing. “Mr. Roskowski didn’t die as a result of what we just witnessed.” Janet looked confused. “What are you talking about? This sicko just sentenced Roskowski to death and cut off his genitals. He’s dead.” Steve let out a little chuckle. “Janet, I know you’re new to the field, so I’m going to give you a little latitude here. Mr. Roskowski was still alive and screaming when the video ended. Now, we all know based on The Eagle’s past behavior that Roskowski is most likely dead.” Jim quipped quietly under his breath just loud enough for all to hear, “I sure as hell hope so.” “We just haven’t had the… opportunity… that’s as good a way to put it as any… to witness The Eagle at work. This opens a whole new window into the mind of The Eagle, so let’s try to learn from this without hysterics. We are professionals. Our focus needs to be on catching The Eagle and finding Roskowski.”

Janet sat back down, and Jim looked over at the clock. It was half past twelve. “Well, guys, it’s been fun. Thanks for dinner and the bloody movie. I’m going to take myself home and get some sleep. Next time we all meet, let’s try to watch something a little more upbeat, huh? Like the
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
.” He chuckled and started to walk toward the office door. Steve followed. The two stopped in the hall; Jim took a cigarette out of his top pocket and placed it behind his ear. “Jim, you asked me if this proves that The Eagle is a psychopath. No way. He’s a sociopath, pure and simple.” “That’s crazy. Sociopaths aren’t violent by nature.” “You’re right, but this is no normal sociopath we’re dealing with. I’ve suspected for some time that The Eagle isn’t your run of the mill serial killer.” Jim laughed, “Ya think?” “I think he’s one of us.” “Are you saying that you think The Eagle’s a badge?” “Yes…” Jim looked around with a sneaky stance. “So, do ya think it’s you…or me?” A smile grew across his round face. Steve couldn’t help himself and started laughing. “Stop being a smart ass. I’m serious. I really think this guy’s brass.” “Well even if he’s not local, state, or federal, I have to admit he thinks his balls are made of metal. Too bad Roskowski’s weren’t.” That sent them both into hysterics and brought Janet out into the hall to see what the commotion was all about. They tried to act cool, but Janet wasn’t amused. She leaned back against the wall in the hall as several of her fellow agents were exiting for the restrooms. Jim and Steve spoke out of ear shot for a few more minutes, and as the last of her colleagues returned to the lab she asked, “Why do they call him The Iron Eagle?” Jim was suddenly interested again and followed Steve and Janet back into the lab, so he could hear the story, or more exactly, explain the story, of The Iron Eagle.

Chapter Six

‘His heart was pounding, and
he lowered his weapon when
suddenly he felt an arm reach
out and grab him by the throat,
disarming him with the other hand.’

I
t was a quiet night at Coston Middle School. Jonnie Stokes had just put his flashlight on his desk after doing his rounds of the school grounds and buildings; it was just past midnight. He had taken the graveyard security shift to make ends meet while he was finishing up his senior year of college. He pulled up his belt, and his pepper spray canister fell to the floor. He reached down to pick up the canister as it rolled across the floor, and a shadow rose up from behind him. He went to make a defensive move, but it was too late.

When they had gotten situated in the lab, Steve had everyone sit down. He looked at the young faces staring back at him. This was a whole new generation of field and special agents. He was feeling old looking at the faces of twenty somethings. “Okay, before we get into the history of The Iron Eagle, by a show of hands, how many of you have JD degrees.” Six of Steve’s team members raised their hands. “How many of you have a masters degree or higher in accounting?” The other four hands went up. Jim snickered, “No wonder you can’t catch a killer.” Steve snarled at him, but Jim was unmoved and asked, “What do you call 100 lawyers at the bottom of the sea?” The question was met with silence. “A good start,” he laughed. Steve just shook his head. “No lawyer jokes tonight, Jim.” He got quiet and sat down in a corner of the room; the story of The Eagle never got old.

“Janet just asked a great question about how The Iron Eagle killer got his nickname. Does anyone in this room know the answer?” Before Jim could finish clearing his throat, Steve shot him a look. “Anyone other than Jim…who better keep his mouth shut.” Bob Walters raised his hand. He had more seniority than anyone else in the room. “Bob.” He stood up. “Well, the way I understand it, it started off as a joke out at the Camp Pendleton Marine Corps base in San Diego in early 1999.” Steve nodded, “So what’s the story as you know it, Bob?” “There was a Marine who was found murdered in his barracks. It was an extremely violent killing with no apparent motive.” “What made the killing so violent?” Steve sat back in his chair. “The killer had stripped the victim, and he was found face down with an iron fireplace poker sticking out of his rectum.” “What’s the significance of the poker?” “That’s how the nickname originated. There was an eagle’s head on the handle protruding out of the victim. It was a hooked poker, and one of the investigators from the JAG’s office made a joke about the poker and The Eagle’s head.” Steve remained relaxed in his chair, “So is that it? Is that the whole story of how The Eagle got his nickname?” Bob shook his head. “No…a few weeks after the killing, the JAG’s office received a manila envelope with a written confession in the dead soldier’s handwriting. The note confessed to the rape and murder of several young boys from the San Diego and Los Angeles areas. A search of missing persons at the time turned up the names, and the confession gave detailed directions to all of their remains. The bodies were found in shallow graves in the deserts outside of San Diego and on the base. The autopsy report on the soldier reported that he had died as a result of blunt force trauma.” “Well, then what was the deal with the poker?” Jim got a smile on his face as Bob continued. “The medical examiner determined that the poker had been inserted into the victim’s rectum while he was still alive, and that the poker had been heated to nearly 900 degrees based on the cauterizing effects on the bowel.” “So, in essence, it cooked his colon.” “Yea…” “Anything else about the case at the time?” Bob shook his head and sat down.

Jim stood up and Steve didn’t try to stop him. “I was one of the lead investigators for the Sheriff’s Department on the case since the crimes happened off base and most of the victims were from LA County. We would learn only after the confession of the dead soldier that he, in fact, was a serial killer that had been preying on young men and boys between the ages of fourteen and twenty-four. The first missing person’s case had been filed in 1988. The killer was extremely savvy and was able to go undetected until his own murder in 1999. While I was investigating the case, several letters were received from the killer denouncing the investigation and stating that he did it for the protection of the public. The military didn’t want the issue to get out into the mainstream media for fear it would tarnish the Corps, so the JAG’s office buried the reports until 2002 when they were retrieved by the local media through a Freedom of Information Act request.” Janet asked, “Why would anyone ask about the case so many years later?” “There had been five similar killings between ‘92 and ‘99. A reporter with the
Times
received an anonymous tip that there had been killings of a similar nature covered up by the military. The documents were declassified and released to the media. When the reporter working on the case started to do more investigating, she ended up finding me. When she called me for an interview, I saw no problem with speaking to her. She interviewed me, and, a week later, a front page article appeared in the
Times
with the heading. ‘The Iron Eagle, Serial Killer or Vigilante?’ While I was misquoted several times in the article, the comparisons drawn by the reporter to the behavior of The Eagle was rife with accuracies, so I didn’t request a retraction. Since then, The Eagle has killed several more times, but it doesn’t receive the press that it did then.” Janet stood up and said, “So the bottom line is this guy is some kind of vigilante?” Steve chimed in, “The Eagle has…to our knowledge… only killed other serial killers. He has never killed anyone else.”

Jim interrupted, “That’s not true Steve. We have been able to connect him to the recent murder of U.S. Marshal Jill Makin and to the murder of Barry Mullin who turned out to be her grandfather.” There was a moment of silence, and Janet spoke again, “So this guy kills indiscriminately? If he had killed others, then they seem like random acts of violence. Perhaps it’s only a coincidence that the people he has killed, with the exception of the last two, turned out to be serial killers.” Steve chimed in, “No…while it is true that the two most recent murders attributed to The Eagle are non-serial killers, his motive is vigilante style justice, and his killings, to him, are justified.” Janet flung her head back, flinging her long black ponytail with it, her brown eyes glaring at the whole room but fixed mostly on Steve. “How can this guy know that his victims are serial killers? We don’t know that we are dealing with serial killers a majority of the time until links or patterns start to appear.” Steve stood up and shrugged his shoulders, “Janet, that’s a hell of a good question, and I wish I had an answer for you. All we know for certain is that he has gotten to several serial killers that local and federal law enforcement have been looking for, or he located them before we have been able to connect the dots. Sometimes law enforcement didn’t know they existed at all.” She got an indigent look on her face, “I have to say that the nonchalant attitude given to this killer is disturbing to me.” “It’s not nonchalant…we have been actively seeking him for over a decade. I inherited him from my predecessor, and I hope that I catch him before I hand off the assignment to the next behavioral science investigator.” She sat down.

Jim stood up and said, “Well, it’s been fun kids. It’s always nice to take a walk down memory lane; I have been hunting this killer from day one. I can tell you that I have had and I have heard many, many ideas of who the killer is, or who he might be, and so far none of the ideas have panned out. As the person in this room with the most experience with this guy, I can tell you that he is going to be one hell of a hard guy to catch.” He started toward Steve and muttered loud enough for the room to hear, “Like we ever want to catch the guy; he’s doing us a favor.” That brought a great deal of anger from those in the room including Steve. He settled them down and walked Jim out. “Did you really have to go there?” Jim pulled the cigarette from behind his ear as the two men entered the parking lot. He pulled his Zippo from his pocket, and the flame lit his round face as he bent his head forward to light the smoke. The cherry on the tip of his cigarette was all that Steve could see as he stood there in the dark. “Someone had to say it, Steve; the guy’s doing us a favor.” “What about Barry and Jill? They weren’t serial killers, and he killed them.” Jim took a drag and exhaled a white cloud into the night air. “Well, I figure they either did something we don’t know about yet, or they got too close, and he had to eliminate them.” “Jesus Christ, Jim…do you know what you’re saying? You’re saying that this son of a bitch will kill anyone who tries to stop him.” Jim opened his car door with his smoke clenched between his teeth. “True dat.” He was just getting into the car when both his and Steve’s cell phones went off simultaneously. They both answered and said the same thing when they hung up, “Coston Middle School!”

Steve and his team arrived on scene at the same time as Jim’s. The school was abuzz with police, state, federal, and county law enforcement. Police and news choppers flew overhead. Police choppers shined nightsun lights down on the school and its surrounding neighborhood. Steve and Jim walked into the main entrance and asked for the first officers on scene. One pointed to three men off in the corner; there was a paramedic attending to one of them. As Steve and Jim approached, they could see that they were two WCPD officers and what looked like a school security guard. The medic was attending to the guard’s head. The reason for Steve’s presence was obvious; he was wearing his blue windbreaker with bright yellow FBI letters on it. Jim was in street clothes; however, he had his badge on his belt clip and his gun in a holster over his shoulder. Steve asked who found the body. The guard raised his hand, his head still down with a compress on the back of it. He asked what happened. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know. I had just come back from doing my rounds when I saw a shadow behind me, and the next thing I know I come to, and I’m in Mr. Roskowski’s office, and Mr. Roskowski…or what’s left of him… is sitting in his chair.” Jim asked the direction to the office. The guard pointed behind him, and both men told him to stay put. They would need to interview him.

The two men entered, and, there, sitting behind his desk, was Stewart Roskowski. He was nude, eyes wide open in a look of sheer panic. His mouth was open and blood had been dripping down onto his chest. Both of his arms had been skinned, and as Jim and Steve moved around to the back of the desk they could see that he was impaled on some type of long instrument, but they couldn’t tell what. Burned deep into the middle of his chest was an eagle. “Well, we don’t have to look too far to see who did this, huh?” Steve just stared at Jim. “Well…it’s true!” Jim asked if the coroner had been called and was told someone was en route. Steve instructed his team to start investigating. “This is federal jurisdiction now. We take the lead; all reports to me and cc other parties as needed.” “Well, a cause of death is going to be a tough one,” Jim said in a serious tone. “What? No smart ass comments? You were so certain on Barry’s cause of death. This one has you confused?” Steve was looking at Roskowski’s face. He studied it for a few seconds and then said, “He died from suffocation.” “How the hell did you come up with that one?” He pointed to his mouth and the blood that had dripped onto his chest. Upon closer examination, the two men could see that there was an object inserted into his throat. Steve chimed in this time, “It would seem that The Eagle forced him to ‘deep throat’ his own junk.” Jim saw it, too, “Oh man…so all the rest of this shit is premortem. Mother fucker!”