When they arrived at HQ, Detective Timothy Brooks slipped into a docent role. The five-story red-brick Public Safety Headquarters, with its curved mirrored glass façade, depicted the best-in-class public safety and judicial center. “Being centrally located near City Jail, Municipal Court and the Fulton County Courthouse was the reason this site was chosen,” Brooks said, opening the huge mirrored glass door for Homicide Detective Sergeant Kendall Parker.
“See that marble? It comes from Italy,” said Brooks, letting loose another of his annoying facts as they flashed their IDs to an officer before passing through one of the twin tempered-glass doors either side of the central hub headed for a bank of elevators. “City spared no expense on this showplace.”
The elevator’s polished chrome doors closed in a hush. Not one person bothered to glance up from the glowing screen of their smartphone until the doors slid open. Parker and Brooks exited on the third floor and stepped into a sleek reception area teaming black leather tub chairs with accompanying wooden side tables. A curved-glass desk with a female officer sat before them. Flashing their IDs yet again, Brooks led Parker to the door on the right.
“No separate employee entrance,” said Parker, sounding irritated. “What’s the point of bringing me all this way?”
Brooks’ smiled sardonically, another characteristic that bugged the shit out of Parker. “You told me you’d prefer not to see your buddies. I figured going through the lobby would lessen the chance.”
The rookie may be a pain in the ass, but he used his brain when necessary. “For the record,” Parker said, “they’re not my buddies.”
Brooks navigated them through a large rectangular room with walls adorned with APD Homicide Unit memorabilia. Divided into multiple sections, the area was filled to capacity with work-cubicles and row after row of chest-high filing cabinets. Most of the stations housed two work surfaces positioned at ninety-degree angles. Matching side by side storage bins, rolling chair and two-drawer linear filing cabinet filled each cubicle. Everything smelled fresh and new, and decorated in muted shades of charcoal and gray.
Parker glanced in the cubicles of his colleagues as he passed, yet most were staring at their monitors, chatting on their phones or focused on case files, oblivious to his presence. The people working here were officers and not the detectives he wanted to avoid, all away from their desks, likely in the field investigating new cases from the weekend. Breathing a sigh of relief as they reached the lieutenant’s office, Brooks double-tapped his knuckles against the modern frosted-glass partition.
“Come in!”
Parker swallowed and entered Lieutenant Markus Russell’s office a step or two before Brooks. The hair at the nape of his neck prickled when he spotted two men in dark suits fronting the commanding officer’s desk, their heads turned toward him.
“You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?”
“Sergeant Parker, come in,” Russell boomed, bounding up from his chair with the speed of a man far younger than his fifty-eight years. Russell halted Brooks from entering with a hand signal. “You can wait outside, son.”
Brooks turned on his heel without a word as the door closed.
“Thanks for coming in. I do appreciate your time considering you’re on leave.”
“Did I have a choice?”
The big man flashed a brusque smile, a stunning contrast to his ebony skin. Refrigerator-wide shoulders and hands the size of dinner plates made him imposing without effort, not to mention his physical size. The man towered above them both and matched Parker in bulk. He heard rumors the lieutenant once played football for the University of Alabama with dreams of going pro, however he had suffered a career-ending injury two months into his junior year. Undeterred, the man graduated with top honors, spent six years in the US Marine Corps—including a tour to the Persian Gulf where he earned two commendations and a bronze medal—before returning to civilian life as a police recruit. As with college and the military, the man had tackled his career in law enforcement by working three times harder than his peers to achieve recognition for excellence in a society wrought with prejudices.
Parker sized up the Feds as he stepped into Lieutenant Russell’s office. Both men stood over six-foot, one larger than the other in bulk; no blubber on these fellows. Each wore fitted charcoal pinstripe suits and starched white button-down shirts offset by conservative blue ties. The thinner of the two sported a shaved head, more to hide his balding crown than current fashion trend, Parker surmised. A thin gold band rode the man’s left hand. The bulkier one stood closest to Parker. He had blonde hair, styled in a tight crewcut, and steel-blue eyes that softened and disarmed his otherwise imposing posture. Parker noted the man’s ring-less hand. His lover died only eight months ago and the fact he’d noted the ring finger of the most attractive of the two mules took him by surprise.
“Sir.” Parker nodded to his new commander. He noted how diminutive his hand was in comparison to his boss’s, and Parker wasn’t a small man by any measure. “Good to finally meet you sir.”
If the agents were surprised by the revelation, they showed nothing in their stoic stares. Parker remained standing, awaiting introductions.
Lieutenant Russell referred to the men. “Supervisory Special Agent Delvecchio and Special Agent Hales, FBI CID, Atlanta Field Office, Century Center.” Russell moved behind his desk and prepared to sit.
“Gentleman.” Parker assessed the dark-suited strangers from the FBI’s Criminal Investigative Division out of Atlanta, shook each of their hands, smiling respectfully. Delvecchio’s palm was rough and waxy; Hales’ hand felt smooth, but firm. “I haven’t passed any bad checks that I know of, so what’s this about? You here on a recruiting expedition?”
Russell curled his lip and glared at his charge. “Knock it off, Parker. This ain’t no social call.”
Neither man reacted to Parker’s rough humor. Russell pointed to a chair against the wall with a grunt. “Pull up a seat, Parker and hear these men out.”
Making a show of his discontent, Parker dragged the black leather armchair up to the desk adjacent to the lieutenant and the Feds. He glanced at the agents expectantly. “Nice weather we’re having,” Parker said. He offered a wink and a grin as he sat.
Lieutenant Russell scowled, and motioned for the men to sit before taking his own seat. If Parker’s effort was to make a bad first impression with the new lieutenant, he was succeeding.
Russell motioned for the men to begin. Baldy opened the blue folder in his hands and began paraphrasing the facts within. “Three days ago, a male, age thirty-four, 6’2″, a Caucasian married father of two from Memphis, Tennessee was discovered beneath the bed in a downtown Atlanta hotel. Victim was gagged and bound, strangled with a nylon cord believed to be cut from the drapes. Autopsy revealed ligature marks on the wrists and ankles. Incised wounds inflicted to the victim’s torso, face and legs were pre-and post-mortem.” He flipped a couple of pages forward without modifying his dull expression. “Hotel Regency located at 254 Cortland Street.” He returned to the original page in the folder. “The man was in town attending a convention booked in the hotel. The body was discovered by a security guard after being alerted that the guest hadn’t shown for scheduled meetings. APD Evidence Response Team dispatched to the scene found no evidence of forced entry, or any sign of struggle.” He glanced up at Parker with an intense expression in his eyes. “No witnesses to the assault. Nearby guests in the hotel reported hearing nothing unusual. No perpetrator has been identified.”
Special Agent Delvecchio cleared his throat and continued forth in a monotone. “Two weeks ago, the body of a male, age thirty, 6’1”, Caucasian, one hundred and seventy pounds, was discovered behind a facility’s bathroom in a park off Interstate 20. Again, no signs of a struggle. Autopsy identified death caused by ligature strangulation. Victim suffered repeated trauma to the head,” —he flipped a page— “possibly injuries from a ‘slap-jack,’ or some similar type object. Lacerations to the left side of the head above the ear resulted in significant external bleeding. ME ruled the death a homicide. Pool of blood located near the body indicates the victim died in the same location.”
Having no idea where this was leading, Parker had little choice but to afford his full attention to the man droning on about the deaths. Parker readjusted himself in his chair, cleared his throat and continued to listen to the agent.
Delvecchio’s cheeks glowed red as he read from the page. The bluish jugular vein on the side of his throat bulged grotesquely. “Late last month, a Georgia Department of Transportation mowing crew discovered the mutilated body of a Caucasian male in the woods near Interstate 75 outside of Tifton, Georgia. Coroner’s report recorded the victim’s age at thirty-five, height 6’1”, weight one-hundred-eighty-five pounds. Cause of death was asphyxia by ligature compression. Several shallow incised wounds noted to the face and upper torso. Penis and scrotum excised antemortem. All wounds indicated torture prior to death. Instrument used to inflict incised wounds and removal of the privates is unconfirmed at this time.”
“Emasculated before death?” Parker’s thighs twitched. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be insensitive, but why does any of this require my presence here today?”
Special Agent Hales spoke for the first time. “Four more victims died of similar manner, one each in Macon and Valdosta, Georgia and the other two in Florida, Jacksonville and Orlando. There may be more we have not connected to the same perpetrator yet. These killings all happened within the last six months. Victims were male, Caucasian, 6’0” to 6’4”, between twenty-five and thirty-five. All tortured, sodomized, and mutilated to some extent. Most were known or suspected homosexuals, or at the very least, witnessed frequenting businesses that cater to the community.”
“What the hell?” Parker shot up from his seat, seething, his ears burning. “Is this some sort of sick attempt to get me to resign?” He reached the door in two strides. “You’ll hear from my rep before you even make it back to your field office.”
“Sit down Sergeant Parker,” the lieutenant boomed, smacking his large palm on the desk. The room fell eerily silent. “You’re not leaving, and you’re definitely not contacting the IBPO. The reason you’re here will become quite clear.”
Detective Sergeant Kendall Parker searched the faces of the FBI agents staring back at him. Reluctantly, he returned to his seat. When the two men finally finished tag-teaming their known facts about the murders in question, along with their insights, ending with an invitation to assist in the investigation. Hales, the more muscular of the two special agents asked, “So, what do you say?”
Parker glanced at the lieutenant. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Hear them out, sergeant,” Lieutenant Russell said, his eyes boring into Parker.
“On the contrary.” Special Agent Delvecchio said. “I assure you, Detective Parker, we are dead serious. My team is forming a Special Task Force focused on these and similar murders that have occurred in the last eight months or so, possibly longer.” He smiled broadly, displaying a set of crooked, nicotine-stained teeth. Parker sat silent, noncommittal in his demeanor.
“Sergeant,” Parker corrected.
Delvecchio continued. “My apologies. Sergeant, we’ve tapped members of the Florida Bureau of State Investigations, and APD and GBI as well, to assist with tracking a serial offender we suspect is working in or around large metropolitan areas of the southeast. Evidence recovered from the murders, including the similarities, suggest the work of one perpetrator.” Delvecchio evened his tone, and curled his lip at Parker before expelling a heavy breath. “Basically, a violent offender has come to your town, sir. It’s only a matter of time before more bodies start turning up. We’re asking for your assistance in identifying and catching the UNSUB, or unknown subject.”
“You want me to join the Special Task Force?” Parker suppressed his stunned expression, glancing between the two men warily. Something seemed off.
Delvecchio seemed increasingly uncomfortable, squirming in his seat like a child forced to hold his bladder. His eyes flitted around the room before finally aiming directly at Parker. “In a manner of speaking, that’s an affirmative, sergeant.”
“And what manner would that be?” The heat kicked up a notch beneath Parker’s shirt, but he fought the urge to dig at his collar. “How does my involvement helping you apprehend a suspected criminal differ from the assistance of others in the squad? I’ve been on leave since my last case. Surely, you can find someone else. I’ve had more than my share of negative publicity this year, thank you very much.” Parker pushed up from his chair. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
Special Agent Hales shot to his feet, his commanding baritone tone slicing through the blanket of humidity in the room. “Sergeant Parker, sir, if you please. Just hear us out, at least, before you make a final decision.”
Parker hesitated despite his better judgment, but the young agent impressed him. Enough to give him pause. Parker found the FBI agent’s plea tough to ignore, especially in such close proximity. Parker regained his seat and folded his hands on his lap, legs spread wide, feet flat on the floor.
Hales stared right at Parker and said, “In addition to the possibility of a serial killer, victim number four was the grandson of a well-known public official. That last bit is not for public consumption.”
Parker blanched. “Seriously? Nobody has the kind of clout needed to keep all this out of the headlines.” Parker started, but the expressions of the agent’s faces bore warning to tread carefully. His heartbeat hammered in his chest.
Neither agent blinked.
“You’re serious. Who is it?” Parker asked.
Hales tilted his head slightly to the right in a self-conscious gesture, making him all the more attractive. Parker found it hard to peel his eyes away, to give each man equal attention.
“That’s a need to know at this point, sergeant,” said Agent Delvecchio. “The official ordered as much, and it turns out, he can be quite persuasive.” The Feds glanced at each other as if contemplating which details to reveal. Delvecchio continued. “He’s managed to keep his family’s tragedy out of the news thus far, so I have to believe he’s capable of just about anything. The official appears to have connections inside of connections, enough to make your head spin. He’s not someone you’re going to want to piss off.”
Hales leveled his eyes at Parker, kneading his forehead. “Sir, you may not realize this yet, but you have the ability to offer unique expertise to our investigation, a perspective severely lacking within our unit, and one we need to capitalize. The perpetrator has already proven he’s calculating, cunning and very vicious. A disciplined killer. He’s smart, doesn’t leave a trace behind. Victims were of similar type: white males, tall—six-foot or more—well-built; ages ranging from twenty-five to thirty-nine. Targets were clean-cut, professionally accomplished and somewhat affluent.”
“What convinces you the murders are connected? Homicides often have similar characteristics, even county to county and across state lines. What are you not telling me?”
The agents glanced at each other again before Hales finally offered, “The UNSUB leaves behind a distinct item with each of his victims; his signature. All found with a piece of deadwood lodged in the throats.”
Parker winced unconsciously, and contemplated this oddity. “What’s the significance?”
“We don’t know yet.” Hales played his hands out, palms up.
“Ransom? Any calls for a payoff, demand for money?”
“Not a single ransom request was received by family members or local law enforcement agencies for any of the victims.”
Parker chewed the inside of his cheek and mulled over the details. He refused to let these goons, even his new lieutenant, think he wasn’t sharp enough to catch the obvious reason for his recruitment they clearly were expecting him to see. Glancing away from the men, he cycled through the facts again before turning back to them.
“I fit the killer’s type.”
“Bingo.” Delvecchio snapped, clasping his hands together with a big smile.
Parker shot his eyes toward Lieutenant Russell. “Is this a joke?”
“It’s no joke.” Agent Hales said. “We really need you on this with us, sergeant. We’ve got to get ahead of this psycho or he’s just going to go on killing.”
The agent had moved into Parker’s personal space. He had obviously tried a more reassuring stance in his bid to gain Parker’s confidence but Parker wasn’t buying the charade. He wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there and back to sanding his floors.
Hales clasped his hands together and cleared his throat. He looked at Parker expectantly. “You may be the only person able to help us catch this guy before he kills again.” Bright eyes sparkled in the dull fluorescent light. “Before he has a chance to select his next victim.”
“Then you don’t think he chooses his victims at random?” Parker said.
“We don’t. We know he is choosing upper middle-class victims but we don’t know why because there hasn’t been a ransom demand.”
“Let me see if I understand what you’re proposing here,” Parker began, leaning back in his chair and gazing at the new stainless ceiling. “Your aim is to offer me as bait, and hopefully, lure this psycho out into the open, to make a move on me, so that you can apprehend him?”
“That would be the point, yeah.” Agent Delvecchio spoke in a matter of fact tone, dry and dull. The man clearly expected Parker to accept the assignment without complaint or further debate.
“Because I’m gay,” Parker said, flatly. He’d tried not to sound bitter or confrontational, but the expression etched across his lieutenant’s face told Parker that he’d failed spectacularly.
Agent Hales’ bright eyes bored into Parker’s own and sparked a fire in his belly that caught him by surprise. Parker tried to mask his expression, and hoped to hell he wasn’t blushing.
“To put it bluntly, Sergeant Parker, yes. Plus, you’re a big mother fucker.” Hales curled his lip and grinned wide. “You can take care of yourself should the need arise.”
“Size didn’t help the others,” Parker said, flatly.
Bio Jon Michaelsen is the author of the Kendall Parker Mystery series of which the first novel in the series, Pretty Boy Dead, was selected as a Lambda Literary Award Finalist for Gay Mystery. The second novel in the series is The Deadwood Murders, was recently released. He lives with his husband of 34 years, and two monstrous terriers.
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Buy Links:
The Deadwood Murders – a Kendall Parker Mystery – Book 2
Pretty Boy Dead – a Kendall Parker Mystery – Book 1
