The Torso Murders Read online

  “I hear a but in there….”

  Jordan opened her eyes and sat up, “But someone cut off his head, an arm, both legs and his genitals.” She stood and crooked an eyebrow at her over their monitors, “This is no simple crime of passion and so far, we have no leads and no trail to follow.” She clicked through her notes on her monitor, “Maybe I can get something more out of his cubicle buddy.” She picked up her desk phone and dialed the work number for Lester Morris. She watched Catherine return to her own screen and when she heard Morris answer she said, “Yes, Mister Morris, this is Agent Hawkins, we spoke about Paul McConnell earlier today?”

  “Uh… yeah.” She heard him fumble with the receiver, “I still have your business card, I’ll call you back in a minute.” He abruptly hung up and Jordan looked at her phone is surprise.

  “Okaaaay.”

  “What?”

  “He hung up on me.”

  Catherine peered around her monitor, “How come?”

  Jordan shrugged, “Dunno. Maybe he needs privacy to talk.”

  “That sounds hopeful.”

  “I guess we’ll find out.” Jordan said just as her phone rang and she answered, “Hawkins.”

  “This is Lester, sorry, after you left my boss made it clear I shouldn’t talk to you again.”

  “Why?’ Jordan’s brow wrinkled and she quickly began typing a transcript of the call on her workstation. “Are you in a safe place to speak to me now?”

  “Oh yeah,” he scoffed, “I’m outside the building on a break… The company was in no hurry to rehire behind Paul. That’s why no one was sitting in his cubicle when you came out here.”

  “And why is that?”

  “For one, they make plenty of money and second, it’s SOP; anyone who leaves, no matter what the circumstances, the company always preserves his hard drive in case he turns up at another exchange and they need to sue him for violating confidentiality.”

  “Like stealing or otherwise taking company secrets with him.”

  “Yeah, that kind of thing. It wasn’t until you contacted Matt about coming out here that he had a tech power up Paul’s workstation this morning so he could wipe it, and after you and your tech left Matt had his workstation removed.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s all gone, the computer, screens, keyboard, mouse. Just the desk and chair are still in there.”

  “Okay so, you were Paul’s friend, do you know if he had any enemies?”

  “No! I mean, Paul was a good guy, did his job. If someone was out to get him he never told me.”

  “Would he have?”

  “I… you know, I don’t know. I like to say we’re all friends here, but all we do is go out for drinks together after work; we talk to each other about our personal lives and stuff but other than throwing back a few at the bar we don’t hang out…”

  Howell Township, NJ

  He idly regarded his catch where he lay with his upper body positioned on the black rubberized drip pan, placed strategically near the drain in the middle of his garage floor. The drunken man groaned, groggy and disoriented and he tilted his head to one side, listening to him. He could feel the sweat on his forehead that began to bead and run into his dark eyebrows and he wiped it away with the back of his thumb, pausing to regard it with some curiosity before wiping it on his jeans.

  He had tried abducting Darrel Lesous, another ex-coworker nearly two weeks before. He and Darrel were hired in the same year at Superior Alternative Exchange, he as a technologist and Darrel as a trader. Darrel was driven and ambitious, and when he became a corporate executive it became his job to push the techs incessantly to increase the speed of the algorithms that made SAEx a high frequency exchange to rival the top rated stock exchanges in the country. He remembered how much he hated Darrel, the badgering emails he sent filled with insults to his intellect, and he parked his car in the same parking lot across from Artie’s bar, just two spaces away from Darrel's car. He stood in the shadows for hours, waiting and silently chanting his mantra until Darrel finally emerged from the bar, laughing, with his arm wrapped around a woman. He had ducked his head and returned to his car, infuriated that he had failed to consider such a potential variable. He went home, chastising himself that he had assumed buying a taser online was preparation enough.

  He spent hours defining his strategy on the whiteboard he kept in his living room and then another sixty hours honing and refining it. Not sleeping and barely taking time to eat, he structured it like an algorithm; a step-by-step plan of automated reasoning in order to create a predicted outcome with ninety-nine point one percent efficacy. He realized he needed to research and target more than one high frequency trader at a time, thereby increasing the likelihood of a successful catch. He began by searching the internet for the most successful high frequency trading firms in New Jersey and made a master list. At the top was the Getchell Exchange, he hacked his way in and set about researching the successful “star” traders. He selected five potential targets and began by hacking their email accounts and social media pages. He narrowed the field to three individuals who posted pictures and bawdy comments about their exploits and conquests both in the workplace and their favorite watering hole, The Devil’s Due. After much studied online consideration, he purchased more tools, including pepper spray and a small .38 revolver. The first target, Paul McConnell had emerged alone from The Devil’s Due, and when he silently recited his mantra, he felt renewed with confidence and he was smiling when he tasered and easily tossed his small, drunken catch into the trunk of his car.

  That was then, he smiled, and this is now. He checked the zip ties on Chris Thackeray’s wrists, thighs and ankles. Satisfied he was secure; he returned to his worktable and unrolled the canvas where he now kept his specialized blades. The two-handled cheese knife, by Bourgeat is a nonflexible stainless steel blade with two riveted handles on either end…. He held the blade up to the bare bulb and turned the gleaming blade this way and that. He had christened the two-handled knife across Paul McConnell’s throat, reciting his manta aloud so he could drown out the gurgling sounds of his catch drowning in his own blood. He set the long knife to one side and picked up the next tool, the fixed-blade hunting knife; When you require a dependable multi-tool, the Desert Tracker fits that bill… He silently recited the memorized product description and pulled the knife from the leather sheath, This burly blade will allow you to perform nearly every required chore around camp or on the trail; chopping, carving, splitting, sawing and as a drawknife. This fixed blade has a curved drop-point blade with modifications that will serve you well in survival situations such as camp chores and combat situations. It features an offset saw that will give you extra heavy-duty cutting and sawing capabilities. In a world where machines make more and more of the things we buy, it is refreshing to find a product as finely finished as this Damascus steel knife and know that it was hand-forged with the same tools and techniques used centuries ago…

  Chris Thackeray opened his eyes, he could only see black and he tilted his head ever so slightly. He blinked again, trying to clear his vision and vomited abruptly. He cried out, groaning at the cramping convulsions and the discomfort he felt in his arms and shoulders, “Hey!” He cried, “Hey! What’d…” Water suddenly splashed in his face and he cried out again when he was grabbed by the back of his shirt collar and jerked to one side. He realized dimly he was lying on very cold concrete and he coughed and sputtered as more water splashed his face.

  His nose wrinkled in disgust at the acrid smell of alcohol and vomit and he fought against the bile rising in his throat as he squirted more water from the spray nozzle attached to the hose. He tilted the black drip pan on its side and hosed it off, taking care to rinse it down the drain.

  Once he had properly prepared and distributed McConnell’s remains he began again, and when he turned to look down at his latest catch, he realized what he was doing was akin to fishing, That’s it, you know; I am achieving retribution by feeding my cat
ch to the fishes... That’s what I’m really doing. He replaced the rinsed drip pan back on the floor and again grabbed Thackeray by his shirt collar and dragged him back onto the black plastic tray.

  He had followed his new itinerary to the letter; once he had chosen his targets he researched the bar they frequented, the Ticker Bar and Grill and performed a dry run, driving to the location to inspect the bar’s parking lot and lighting. He even parked and inspected the area for security cameras, deciding he would reject any bar located on a street with hard-wired cameras, but wifi cameras could be easily jammed with a program on his phone. He also practiced with his new taser. He had watched the instructional YouTube video with keen interest before training with a target in his backyard, familiarizing himself with the laser spot and the clacking sound the taser made while firing. He believed it sounded similar to a driver trying to start a car with a dead battery and estimated he could safely discharge the weapon briefly enough to incapacitate his catch without drawing undue attention.

  Thackeray belched and winced at the acrid, unpleasant taste in his mouth, “Wha’ the fug is happnin?” He slurred, looking blearily around him. In spite of his resolve to limit himself to only two drinks that evening he had surrendered to the pressure of his buddies and left the bar with five Turbo Diesel cocktails swimming in his gut.

  Jonas retrieved the two-handled knife from his workbench and returned to stand over the drunken man, “Do you know me?”

  “Unh…” Thackeray blinked and licked his lips, “no?” he said, sounding uncertain.

  “I am a Peaceful Being,” He smiled reassuringly; “I am Accomplished. A Gift from God, a Wise Old Friend…” He knelt on Thackeray’s chest and placed the blade across his throat.

  Thackeray’s eyes flew open, “HOLY FUCK!” he cried, suddenly feeling sober. He struggled but he leaned on the blade and silenced him permanently.

  “I am a Gift from God…” He pushed down on the handles, making slight movements to encourage the blade edge through the windpipe and between the vertebrae, “I am a Wise Old Friend.” When he felt the blade’s progress stop at the thick fibrous spinal cord, he stood and carefully pulled the cheese knife free. “I am a Peaceful Being…” he repeated and flipped the lifeless body facedown, careful to keep it on the tray, “I am Accomplished….” He knelt and placed the blade on the back of the neck and leaned his weight on the two handles again, “A Gift from God,” he continued until he cut through the spinal cord and the head rolled free, “a Wise Old Friend…” He stood, “I am Jonas Alden.” He declared, and returned to his workbench for the hunting knife.

  New York City, NY

  Lianna’s eyes narrowed slightly, “How about dreams?”

  She shrugged, “Nothing… lately, Jordan just got a new case… I guess I’m waiting for something to show up for that.”

  “You don’t sound terribly enthused by the prospect.”

  “I just thought I’d be farther along by now.”

  “Farther along how?”

  “I…” She sighed heavily, “I don’t get it, I was able to speak directly to Helga Lynch in my dreams…”

  “That rich elderly woman who passed away?”

  “Yeah, I just don’t understand why I could see and talk to her in my dreams…”

  “And?”

  “And I… I can’t…” Catherine’s chin trembled and she shook her head.

  Lianna sat quietly with long legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap, “You have seen your daughter Chelsea in your dreams.”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat, “That last time Helga appeared to me I saw her and my mother, but it was only at a distance, I didn’t speak to them.”

  “And?”

  “What and?” She sputtered, exasperated, “If I’m so psychic how is it I can speak to a complete stranger psychically but not my mother and daughter?” Lianna waited patiently and Catherine bit her lips together. “I just… every night I say it’s okay for people to speak to me in my dreams but not through me.” She drew in a calming breath, “I call to my mother to come to me…” Lianna said nothing and Catherine’s voice broke, “silently, you know… but she hasn’t.”

  “Is that a reflection on you? Or your psychic abilities?”

  Catherine shrugged and cleared her throat again, “I don’t know…” She added, her voice dropping to a strained whisper, “but I wish I knew.”

  “Okay then,” Lianna smiled, “I’m going to ask a friend of mine to attend our next session. Her name is Susan Barlow and she is a physical medium.”

  “And what’s a physical medium?”

  She snickered, “Good question, Susan is currently working with a retired homicide detective and together they help people bothered by lost or otherwise distressed souls…”

  Catherine’s brows arched high, “You’re kidding”

  “I am not. It sounds intense and from what she’s told me, that’s an understatement. We met in college and I can tell you she is the real deal.”

  “And she can help me?”

  “Maybe. From what I’ve read, people with psychic abilities go through the same process of questioning themselves, maybe she can help you, we’ll see, okay?”

  “Yeah,” Catherine nodded, okay.”

  She made a tentative appointment for her next session and when she returned the office she shared with Jordan, she found a note stuck to her monitor,

  “Got another torso in NJ, on my way to it. I’ll call you. Love, J.”

  Cranbury, NJ

  The neighborhood was industrial in spite of the trees and green pastures; God only knows what’s being manufactured around here. Jordan could see FBI Scene Investigation Unit and police vehicles ahead and she pulled the bureau car over to the curb and parked.

  A state trooper approached as she exited the car, “Are you Agent Hawkins?”

  “I am.” She nodded, holding up her badge wallet.

  “There’s an Agent Fielding waiting for you.” He pointed to a cluster of people further down the road and she nodded her thanks.

  “Hey Mare,” she greeted her, “long time no see.”

  “Okay,” the bureau’s SIU supervisor looked disgusted, “this is gross.”

  “What,” Jordan looked over her shoulder at the tarp on the ground, “you say that like you’ve never seen gross stuff before.”

  Mary emitted a sound of disgust, “Yeah, but I’ve never seen a body with most of the limbs cut off.” They walked onto the short grass and each lifted a corner of the tarp.

  “Jeez…” Jordan sighed, “It looks like the first one, only a whole lot fresher.”

  “You’re kidding; you got a serial killer here?”

  “The first one had everything cut off just like this one, everything but the right arm, so I’m gonna’ go out on the one limb this torso has left and say yes.”

  “You know it’s technically not a torso if it still has a limb attached.”

  Jordan snorted and gave her a lopsided grin, “Oh, okay, so every time I reference it I should say, the trunk of a human body with a still attached right arm?”

  “Well,” Mary shrugged, “it sounds silly when you say it.”

  Jordan snickered and gazed at the ruin under the tarp; the torso lay on its back, the right arm extended at a right angle from the body. “It really is awful though…” the humor faded from her voice, “It does look pretty fresh, huh?”

  “Yeah, although it looks like he was drained before he was dumped here.”

  “So it would weigh less?” Jordan added, “Or so it’d be less messy to move around?”

  “Who knows?” Mary dropped her corner, “Lucas will pin it down but I’d say this guy was killed not more than forty-eight hours ago. And…” She pointed with her free hand, “See the wrist?”

  Jordan squinted down at the thin encircling bruise, “He was tied up.”

  “Yeah, that’s really all I can tell you… that and his junk is gone.”

  “Sliced off his genitalia…”

 
; “We’re still doing a ground search but we’re not finding any of his missing pieces tossed anywhere around here.”

  Jordan dropped her corner and looked around them as they walked back to the road. “I understand the commuter traffic is pretty brisk, so he had to have been dumped here during the night.” She turned a slow three-sixty, noting how trees lined the small pasture on two sides, the tall office building behind just visible above their tops. “All of the buildings are set really far back from the street around here.”

  “Some commuter in a high profile SUV saw it driving by this morning, I’m guessing it was her higher point of view that made her recognize something was off about the lump on the grass.”

  “Yeah…” Jordan sighed heavily, “good thing there’s not a lot of trash or god knows if anyone would have noticed it.” She shrugged, “Okay, well, I’ll be looking for your emails on this one; I’m gonna go interview the witness who called this in before I drive to his house. Wanna come with me?”

  “Sure, my guys can finish up here.”

  Millburn, NJ

  She lay awake for several minutes before deciding to get up and go the bathroom, and when she got back to their bedroom, she stood at the window and pulled the curtain to one side. Long minutes passed while she stared out at the dark shapes of the trees. Since their last case, Jordan had moments when she caught glimpses of deep sadness in Catherine’s eyes. Something’s bothering her… she worried. Once they were both in bed she would pull the petite form in her arms and ask what was wrong, but Catherine always shrugged it off to a long day, And then she distracts me with sex… Jordan grinned at the darkness beyond the glass. But now we’ve got this new case… her smile faded, and she’s helping Bea on a big project too so we can’t take any time off right now… She let go of the curtain, letting it fall in front of the glass and went back to bed, sliding back under the covers.