The Predator and The Prey Read online

  “Okay Father,” the waitress replied, glaring at the two pickpockets. “It’s your credits.”

  “Why is your name Father? Do you have lots of children,” Anna asked innocently.

  "Well, that's an excellent question," the man replied. "I'm the new parish priest here. Not that many people care." Father Nathan looked closely at the pinched mouths and hollow cheeks of his two guests.

  "Tell you what. Promise me you won't steal from me again, and I will buy the two of you breakfast here every Friday morning. Just wait outside for me AND, this is important, do NOT steal from any of Joe’s customers or we won’t be welcome here. While we share breakfast, I’ll tell about what I do and why I’m here.”

  “You’re not some sicko perv are you?” Toby demanded.

  “No. I’m not. I’m here to help people. Particularly people who have a hard time helping themselves,” the priest replied, staring harshly into Toby’s eyes.

  “You going to turn us in to the law if we show up Friday morning,” Toby demanded.

  “No. That would prevent me from helping you, though if you insist on stealing from me or Joe’s customers, I will certainly change my mind.”

  "How do we know we can trust you," Toby asked as the hot food arrived. Father Nathan smiled at the waitress and remained silent as she served the food. He sighed again as Anna plowed directly into her food the instant it was set before her, grabbing a piece of toast and stuffing it into her mouth.

  “Child, don’t do that, you’ll choke yourself,” Father Nathan warned. Toby and Anna watched as he closed his eyes and his lips moved, but no words came out.

  “What are you doing,” Anna asked.

  “Praying for all of us, especially your brother,” the priest replied. “Toby, I’m going to trust you. But I’m going to verify you are worthy of trust. When you and your sister meet me this Friday, I’m going to search the two of you before we come inside. You and Anna may think of a way to verify that you can trust me and we will discuss it Friday. Now eat up before your food gets cold.

  I GLANCED AT JOSEPHSON. The young detective was a grayish white; the color drained from his face. He stood standing with both hands in the pockets of his greatcoat, his eyes giving the impression he was far away, somewhere other than in the morgue of Capital City.

  “You don’t have to be here,” I said firmly.

  “No, I want to,” my young partner mumbled without looking up.

  I pushed him roughly, snapping Josephson’s attention back to the present.

  “What did you do that for,” he snapped.

  “To get your attention,” I growled back. “Look, you said you dated this girl a few times. You’ve seen enough. You don’t want to see any more. Leave. You can’t unsee what you’ll see if you stay.”

  “I can handle it,” Josephson said bravely.

  “No, you can’t. Want to know how I know that? Because I don’t even know this officer and she’ll haunt me in my nightmares just like all the other murder victims I’ve seen haunt me. Now get out of here. That’s an order. You can read my report and the coroner’s report later. I want you to start organizing a report on the evidence found at the crime scene. Write down everything you observed, no matter how trivial.”

  Glaring hatefully at me, Josephson turned and walked away in silence, slamming the door to the morgue as he left.

  “He’ll thank you later,” the coroner replied. “But not until he’s been on the job long enough. What’s your name? You’re new.”

  “Sullivan, Thomas,” I replied.

  “Dr. Smith, Bob Smith. But call me Bones. Everyone else does.”

  “Bones? Really?”

  "Yeah, I know," the white haired coroner replied. "It's cliché, but I like it well enough. Let me guess; your friends call you Sully?"

  “What few friends I have.”

  Bones pulled the white sheet covering Grace's body back and shook his head. "Let's get this over with. Now, what secrets do you have to tell us, young lady? What secrets do you have?”

  I DON'T LIKE BEING kept in the dark about things I should know. The fact there was an active serial killer loose in Capital City, and I was an expert in catching these animals meant somebody was playing games. I smelled a rat.

  Just because I knew it would irritate him, I burst in Chief O'Brian’s office without knocking. I found him and Captain Markeson sitting there, discussing who knows what. Seeing no point in beating around the bush, I made my point right away.

  "When did either of you plan on telling me an active serial killer is working in Capital City?"

  I watched the Chief swallow uncomfortably and glance in Markeson’s direction, indicating the shifty captain was to do the talking.

  “We have no confirmation of such a thing, that’s why Sullivan,” the slick haired detective answered with his smooth, oily voice.

  "Really. I find that hard to believe. The guy brands his victims with a unique star shaped brand, and you can't tell whether or not a serial killer is working?"

  “How do you know that for a fact,” Markeson snapped back at me.

  “Bones told me the cop killed today is the fourth one he’s autopsied that had that brand on her hip.”

  “See, it’s like this,” Markeson said smugly. “The locals around here like to get branded, you know? Like getting implants or a tattoo.”

  “The brands were all fresh,” I said as calmly as I could. I decided to ignore Markeson and directed my attention at the Chief.

  “I have the distinct feeling the two of you are purposefully keeping me in the dark about a lot of things. A lot of things! Not just the fact there is a serial predator working in this city. Just to let you know, so we’re all on the same page, I resent that. I’m not going to get played again.”

  Before either of them could speak, I turned and left, slamming the door for good measure behind me as I left.

  I was sickened still by what I’d seen while Bones had worked on the young beat cop, looking for “secrets” as he called it. Whatever it takes to keep your sanity in our line of work.

  I made my way to my desk and sat down. My thoughts were so clouded with the horrible vision of the young woman's body in the morgue I decided I needed a little down time, a distraction to clear my mind. I set the timer on my watch for thirty minutes and began reviewing CCTV video again, looking for my stowaway. Within ten minutes I'd been able to find enough footage from the spaceport to enter her primary image and metrics into a search request. I quickly stored the video on a flash drive and pocketed it.

  I turned my attention back to the passenger manifest. It didn’t take long for me to conclude she wasn’t listed. Stowing away was hard to do on a spaceliner like the St. Gabriel. Maybe she was crew deadheading to the planet. I sent a request for the crew roster, knowing it would not arrive until sometime before the start of my shift in the morning.

  BONES LOOKED AT THE images on his screen, moving several to create the exact order he wanted them to appear in for his final report. He saved them and closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It would be awhile before he could get this one out of his mind.

  Death had been by exsanguination. Officer Grace Joleson had put up a fight. Her arms covered in defensive wounds. It was impossible to tell which laceration had been the one to cause her to bleed out. Both her right brachial artery and left femoral arteries had been severed, either, of which would have been enough to cause death.

  Those wounds were not enough to bother Bones. It was the others, inflicted both pre- and post-mortem. Something had enraged the killer, causing him, Bones was certain it was a him, to lose control. Grace's body was covered with stab wounds, deep lacerations, as well as shallow incisions, premortem wounds designed to create pain, not death.

  On the left hip was the tell tale brand, an imbalanced five-point star. The flesh surrounding the brand was still red, inflamed from the burn that had created the scar.

  Of all the injuries, it had been the evisceration, the opening of the a
bdomen that troubled Bones more than anything else. This was a new development. Positive the officer was the fourth victim of this particular monster; she was the first to have her intestines splayed open and draped on her thighs. Fortunately, there were no signs of sexual abuse or activity.

  Her face had few lacerations but had taken a horrible beating. The nose broken, teeth knocked out and the left cheekbone crushed. Both eyes would be swollen shut if she were still alive. The end of her tongue had been bitten off during the beating.

  Another disturbing deviation had taken place, indicating the killer was developing, changing. For the first time, the monster had taken something, a trophy as forensic psychiatrists liked to call the practice. Joleson's right hand had been hacked off and taken from the crime scene.

  Of all the autopsies Bones had performed, this was the worst, the most troubling he had ever done. He shook his head and sighed, pulling up a blank screen to begin typing his report. Working from his handwritten notes, Bones referenced each image, providing the precise data he had collected. Nearly two hours later, he hit save a final time. Pausing for a moment, Bones decided to violate protocol. With a few quick clicks, the entire report, images and all, was sent electronically to Inspector Sullivan. The hard copy would officially be delivered in the morning to Chief O’Brian and Markeson.

  The delay did not trouble Bones. Markeson wouldn’t do anything till the morning duty shift came on anyhow.

  MY PORTABLE COMM BUZZED. I pulled it from my pocket and glanced at it before putting it back. It was a large file from Bones, the medical examiner. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was hungry. I had just dropped Josephson off at his apartment before returning our pool hover car. If I read the autopsy before I ate, I would lose my appetite.

  Of course, if I ate first, I might lose my dinner, but it was a chance I was willing to take.

  I caught the underground back to my neighborhood and walked the short distance to Joe’s. The two bouncers nodded as I entered and respectfully stepped aside without searching me. I noticed my cabbie of choice Ralph sitting at the bar eating a sandwich of some sort and talking to his waitress wife. I had finally learned her name, no thanks to Ralph.

  Alice, that’s her name, smiled and grabbed a menu and began making her way toward my booth. I sat down and took the menu, not that I needed it. Alice smiled again and without a word left to get my beer.

  I watched the priest I had seen in the neighborhood enter and talk briefly with the bouncers. He smiled and nodded pleasantly and then looked in my direction. The smile vanished as he purposefully made his way to my booth.

  He stopped short of the booth and extended his hand. “Inspector Sullivan? I’m Father Nathan, do you have a minute?”

  I sensed there was no avoiding this conversation. I took the man’s hand, surprised at how cold it was. The hand was rough, like that of a laborer in the mines.

  "Take a seat, Father. What can I do for you?"

  He sat down and covered his mouth with both hands, blowing on them to warm them before speaking.

  "I understand we are both new to Capital City. You're the new Inspector for Beta Prime, and I'm the new Anglican vicar for Capital City.”

  “So,” I replied, not impressed, “we’re both new to town.”

  "And we both work with a lot of the same people. Your job is to lock them up; mine is to redeem those that can be redeemed. Both of us want to protect the innocent from evil."

  I laughed. I had to.

  “Those that can be redeemed? I’ve not had the pleasure of knowing a lot of priests in my day. But if you don’t mind my saying Father, those I have met don’t hold your view. They think everyone can be redeemed.”

  “Bleeding heart liberals,” the priest replied. “Scripture says the road to hell is wide while the path to salvation is narrow. I’m paraphrasing of course. Not everyone wants to be redeemed.”

  I couldn’t help but like the man.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No,” the priest replied.

  “Join me,” I offered.

  "Thanks. I want to talk to you, and I appreciate the offer.”

  Alice returned and took our orders, quickly departing to leave us alone.

  “Inspector, I’m less interested in saving the hardened criminal than I am in preventing young criminals from becoming hardened. It’s been my experience the professional criminal has no desire to change. Many of those I have dealt with use faith as a tool to con their way into an early release or parole. There are legitimate conversions, I won't deny it, and I have a responsibility to work with them."

  I nodded in silence, not wanting to interrupt the man.

  “I am much more interested in helping the innocent, those whose lives are troubled, often through no fault of their own. Youths embarking on a life of crime who have not yet become hardened.”

  Our food arrived to my surprise. Alice looked at me and smiled. “Father Nathan is a regular too. You both order the same thing. Joe had Cook get your meals ready before you came.”

  Father Nathan didn't ask for permission; he simply prayed over our meal. I had to like the guy even though I wasn't overly religious. He didn't ask for permission. If it were a problem, he would beg for forgiveness.

  “So, Father, I take it you are aware of the gang of juvenile pickpockets who work our neighborhood?”

  “Those happen to be the little hoodlums I wanted to talk to you about Inspector.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I ENTERED MY APARTMENT. It was cold. Not as cold as outside, but cold still. I took off my gloves and great coat and tossed them on the battered couch before turning up the heat in my apartment. The place left a lot to be desired still in terms of interior decoration, but the location was perfect for my needs.

  Kicking my boots off, I sat down at my rickety desk. I probably should get a new one, but this old relic had followed me from planet to planet and served its purpose. I don’t know why I ever thought about replacing it. I always found a way to repair it enough to allow it to remain functional for my needs. I guess I liked it because it reminded me of me, battered but still functional. In fact, a lot of my few possessions fell into that same category, scarred but still capable of further use.

  My computer was a newer model and heavily modified. I transferred the file from my comm piece and paused before I opened it. I wasn’t sure I was ready to see what was inside. Knowing there was no time like the present, I decided to get it over with.

  The images in the file somehow were worse than seeing the wounds myself. I forced myself to read the entire file. Once was enough, it was all I could do to finish. I had worked some hard cases, seen and done some hard things, but what the animal had done to this poor young woman was obscene.

  I took a long hot shower and tried not to think about the crime. I got out and dried myself off quickly as the still cold air chilled me quickly, bleeding off the warmth from the hot shower. I dressed for bed.

  As I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, I felt tired again. Not tired from a long day or a good workout. It was the kind of tired that came from a never-ending series of horrors I had witnessed in life, some by my own hand. I was sure of one thing. I agreed with Bones; the killer was a man. Whoever he was, he was not going to stop.

  Predators like this one never stop until someone stops them.

  THE TROPHY LOOKED BEAUTIFUL. In fact, it looked like the real thing because it was the real thing. The taxidermist was a true artist. He could see the agony in the hand as he severed it from the prey’s still living body. Like him, the taxidermist appreciated collections of an unusual nature. That along with the handsome fee and the threat of adding him to the collection insured the taxidermist’s silence.

  As he looked about his private room, the predator decided the mere collection of images was no longer enough; trophies were a necessary addition to the hunt. He stood before the mirror and brushed away an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder of his suit. A quick adjustment to his necktie finish
ed the grooming rituals. On the way out he retrieved his walking cane as he pulled the door closed behind him and locked it.

  Unfortunately, he did not have time at the moment for another hunt. There was business to attend to, the little matter of increasing his wealth. He frowned at the thought of the extra work required for him to earn the income to support his lifestyle. It annoyed him considerably that his position in the planetary government did not provide him with the income he required.

  It troubled him not at all that he engaged in less than legal activities to bolster his income, all at the expense of the citizens of Beta Prime. It was only fair he thought. Dominant predators lived at the top of the food chain, and he had yet to meet another predator of his caliber on Beta Prime. It was his right to take what he wanted.

  What troubled the predator was the fact he had to go about his illegal activities in a clandestine matter. It angered him that if caught, the prey would judge him, the predator. He calmed himself, feeling the anger lessen as he reminded himself to treat the enterprise as a game, a means to practice his stealth and sharpen his mind for the hunt.

  I WOKE UP IN A COLD sweat, images of the dead officer burned into my mind’s eye. I glanced at the chronometer in my cybernetic eye, two hours till I needed to get up to report back to duty. It was pointless to try to fall asleep again. Not wanting to look through the autopsy report and view those images again, I decided to go through the video I had collected looking for my mystery girl.

  The police database had access to nearly all CCTV video in Capital City. Having located enough images of her in the spaceport, I created a digital profile and asked the computer to search for her in the database. Removing the flash drive from the pocket of my greatcoat, I inserted it into my computer and accessed the police database and set the parameters for a search.