Mysterical-E

He Said, She Says

The Olympic Murders
by Michael Saks

Inspector Clarke had just spent two weeks in Jamaica visiting family when he got the call from Dougherty." Reggie, go down to the docks. There's a homicide involving a swimmer down on Pier 4. He was handcuffed and drowned. I don't have any more details than that, but I know today's the 10th and I have a plane to catch."

Clarke put on his ball cap, lit a cigarette and headed down to the pier. He had promised his ex he would give up the cancer sticks, but never did.

When he arrived, he went directly to Greg Peterson, a reporter for KMX news, who seemed to be at crime scenes before the police and got the scoop on what went down from the other detectives. He was a relentless reporter who dug for answers and had no problem sharing his theories with Clarke.

"What is this about?"

"Atypical homicide," said Peterson.

"Did you say atypical or a typical homicide?"

"You’ll have your hands full with this one. I've covered drownings before, but never this involved. The swimmer is Mario Lugo."

"Mario Lugo, the Olympic swimmer from the Seoul games?"

"The very same."

"He was seen earlier today with Simone Simmons, a swimmer on the women's team who now seems to be missing. There are divers in the river looking for her as we speak."

There wasn't much for Reggie to do. He spoke with the detectives who reported no witnesses, just a vagrant fisherman who spotted the body floating on the horizon. He decided to go home and unpack and wait for the coroner's report.

At 1AM he was awakened by a call. Simone Simmons' body was found. She too was handcuffed and drowned.

"Reggie, we've got more problems than just the two homicides,” said the monotone voice of Captain Gerald Ryan, head of the 15Th precinct. Reggie remembered how even keeled Ryan was, even on 9/11. That was his make up.
"The Feds are now involved due to pressure from the USOC. We've got to stay on top of this. If they solve this case before we do, we'll have them in our backyard forever. Let's grab a cold one and discuss our next move.”

Brad Geary was waiting for them when they arrived. Geary was a detective who, unlike most cops, liked Clarke and his Jamaican culture. Most Jamaicans were treated like second-class citizens. The prisons were full of Jamaican drug dealers.
Geary startled them by first telling them to shut up. " Hey barkeep, turn up the television, "he yelled.

"This is a report from ABC News. Olympic high jumper Eldridge Buckley was found dead at the base of a ravine outside of La Jolla, California. He was 21. Details to follow.”

"This is no accident. Clarke, get your butt over to the coroner's office and find out about the drownings. Geary and I will call the Sheriff in La Jolla and find out what we can about Buckley's fall."

The coroner's office was headed by Jun Ho Wing, a Chinese man who worked diligently at his craft.
“Reggie, this is a strange one. There were bite marks on both swimmers under their armpits. They didn't die from drowning. They died from the bites."

"You mean something like a stingray or eel?"

"This was no fish. This was an insect, more like a spider or mosquito."

"Jun, the species are dissimilar. Can't you narrow it down?"

"I'm afraid I can't. In all my years of doing this kind of work I've never run into this. The marks are perplexing. They're too big to be a mosquito, yet too small to be from a spider. Hopefully, I'll know more when the toxicology report comes back."

Ho Wing phoned Clarke that afternoon. “It's definitely a scorpion bite, probably from an Arizona Tree Bark Scorpion. I'm not really familiar with them. They're indigenous to the Southwest, not found here in New York City."

Clarke thanked Ho Wing and headed back to the precinct where he asked for a sit down with Ryan.

Ryan sat there stone faced as he addressed Clarke and Geary. "The La Jolla sheriff said Buckley didn't die from the fall, but from…" His words were interrupted mid sentence by Clarke.

"Let me guess, a bite left by a scorpion, an Arizona Tree Bark Scorpion to be exact, right? That’s the same finding Jun came up with. Which leads us gentlemen to the question of what these creatures are doing in New York and California."

"Didn't the Olympic Team just have their trials?" inquired Capt Ryan.

"I'm on my way Cap'n Boss.

"Where to Reggie?"

"Phoenix of course, where the trials were held."

Phoenix was the last place Reggie Clarke wanted to be in the dead of summer. The pilot reported the temperature to be a "dry” 110 degrees. Dry heat or not, Clarke knew he could fry an egg on the streets of Phoenix.

At the airport, he noticed a familiar face, Greg Peterson. "Irie Mon. What brings you to Phoenix? Sinus problems?"

"No, I have a feeling it's the same reason you're here. Where are you staying?"

"At a Motel 6, five miles north of Phoenix. And you?" Clarke inquired.

"At the Marriott in the center of town. Some things never change, my friend. Reggie, why not come to the Marriott. We can discuss the case and eat at the hotel. Dinner is on me. Let's say 6:30. "

Clarke agreed, but warned that if he got pulled over for being an illegal, he might be late. They both laughed, but in reality, they knew it was a very real possibility.

Greg Peterson walked in the room as if he hadn't a care in the world. Confident, yet not cocky or smug, he approached each story as his own. He would finish reporting the story that others had started. He had the ability to solve cases, but preferred reporting them rather than investigating them.

He eyed Clarke. "I can see you haven't been arrested. Not forcibly, anyway."

"No, the only one who approached me was a homeless guy who asked me for 10 bucks to buy a meal. Hell, in New York the going rate is 20 dollars."

"Tell me what you know about the murders, Reggie, particularly the cause of death."

"The drownings?"

"The bite marks. I thought we worked on enough cases together to know that neither one of us would have come to Phoenix if these homicides involved simple drownings."

"You're right. No more games. I'll come clean. I know these three victims,"

"Four victims, detective. Leroy Caldwell was found dead at the Lincoln Memorial in DC. He was a decathlete. It was reported by Sportsworld this morning. That makes four and counting. Let me break it down for you, detective. This is what
I've come up with so far.

All four victims were minorities on the US Olympic Team. All were killed by a scorpion sting from an arachnid associated with the Southwest. All Olympians were from areas not in the Southwest."

Clarke took off his cap, scratched his head and winced.

"What's the matter Reggie?"

"It makes no sense. Why would the killer give us clues as to his whereabouts? It's only in the Southwest that this species is found."

"Unless he wants us to think he's from the Arizona area. He got us to come here, didn't he? “If you want my advice, check anyone who has access to scorpions, whether it's lab workers, exterminators, or arachnologists. Only certain people would even approach this creature. Include people working in the Northeast and West."

While the FBI concentrated in the Arizona area, Reggie took Greg's advice and headed back to New York. That night when his plane landed he heard about the fifth victim, Viola Cruz, a beach volleyball player from Tallahassee, Florida.

Clarke was given complete control of the case by Ryan, which didn't sit well with the other cops save Geary and two others. "I don't give a rat's ass what you assholes think of Clarke. You will give him your full cooperation and attention. If you don't, there are plenty of shitters that need cleaning at Rikers. Do I make myself clear? Now that we have your attention, I'll turn things over to Detective Clarke."

After briefing those gathered Clarke split the men into teams." Harris and Collins, get started on gathering the names of every arachnologist and entomologist who deal with poisonous insects."

"Could this be a terrorist organization?" inquired Collins.

"I ruled that out. Terrorists wouldn't go to this trouble. They'd sooner use a bomb or chemical agent. No, I believe this to be a sicko or a group of sickos drawing attention to themselves to make some kind of statement. Terrorists commit murders like they did in the Munich Olympics. They don't use bugs like this creep.

Carter and Marucci, I want you two to investigate where the swimmers were the day they were murdered."

"We already traced their whereabouts. We'd only be wasting our time."

"Do it again. We had to have missed something. Who did they meet? Who was in the area? Did they have any friends who they contacted that day? Brainstorm, Mon. Think outside the box.”

When he finished his briefing Reggie went to his apartment and phoned Peterson, but got no answer. He found it strange that a reporter who depended on leads didn't have his message machine on. He decided he'd go to Peterson's office the next day, but for now he'd get some rest. That night he dreamt of creepy crawlers invading every inch of his body. He woke up in a cold sweat scratching his way to the shower.

He drove to Peterson's office and spoke with Sandra, his secretary.

"I 'm glad you came, officer. Nobody's heard from him. It's not like Greg to be late and not even call in."

"Give me his address. I hope my hunch is wrong, but I don't feel good about his not contacting anyone."

When Clarke reached Peterson's apartment he pounded on the door and rang the bell several times. There was no answer. He was ready to kick the door in when Peterson appeared several doors up the hallway.

"It helps if you knock on the right door, unless you came to arrest Mrs. Leventhal, a ninety year old woman."

"But Sandra gave me Apt 9C" "That 9 is a 4. That's how Sandy makes her 4's"

"When nobody heard from you I thought…"

"You thought I had a date with a scorpion. Actually it was a lovely lady. Reggie, you've been reading too many mystery novels.

“I'm glad you stopped by, though. I looked up cases involving murders by venom. There is an arachnologist who killed his wife by using a black widow spider. He got out of prison last year after serving twenty five years. Here's his address.
You might want to check it out.”

"Do you really think he's worth seeing?"

"Can't hurt."

Thomas Stinson was a huge man who worked with bugs his whole life. His was a marriage that went bad, leading him to kill his wife. He loved his son and wanted custody of him. An argument ensued and he returned that night with a
bunch of black widow spiders.

"Look, I've done my time. I regret my actions, but in the state of New York a man doesn't stand a chance of winning a custody battle. Never liked guns, so I turned to what I knew best, spiders.”

"Can you tell me anything about scorpions that might help catch this killer?"

"They feed on mice and spiders so your killer must have a laboratory to breed the food source. Otherwise without this source the Arizona Tree Bark Scorpion would die. In the wild the scorpion has plenty to choose from but in captivity he would have to rely on his keeper. One other thing, if you ever need to kill one, keep it away from water. They constantly need water. Lack of water, would kill it."

Clarke thanked Stinson and left thinking about all he had said. He now knew his murderer had to have access to a laboratory for the food source.

A private meeting was called by Clarke with Ryan, Geary, Collins and Harris present.

"Collins what did you and Harris find out?"

"There are eight thousand entomologists registered with the United States Government. Five thousand of them only teach. Fifteen hundred work as consultants .One hundred ten of them are exclusively involved with flies and mosquitoes . The rest are government subsidized for a variety of studies."

“What about arachnologists?”

"They are primarily involved with scorpions."

"Of those, which ones have a plethora of mice and spiders?" interrupted Clarke.

"I'm not following. Why mice and spiders?"

"You don't have to understand. Just find out, Collins. You have two days. I suggest you get started. We'll meet again on Thursday."

Reggie briefed Captain Ryan on his meeting with Stinson and how he had gotten the lead from Greg Peterson. The Captain wasn't thrilled with Peterson's involvement but better him than the FBI.

In the meantime Reggie received a briefing from the other two detectives, Carter and Marucci.
"Seems like Simone Simmons broke up with David Pearce, a sprinter on the Olympic team, a week before the murders. Her new boyfriend was Mario Lugo. David and Simone were seen having an argument by several members of the team. He even threatened to kill her if she dumped him."

"Bring him in for questioning. He's probably not involved but let's check him out anyway."

Thursday's meeting started out like any other. First there was coffee, then donuts, followed by one of Collins' off color jokes.

"What more can you tell us about the Scorpion entomologists?" asked Ryan.

"They're not entomologists,” Collins answered. “They are called arachnologists. There seem to be seventy-five who study scorpions, all of whom have spiders and mice. Here's a list.”

Clarke perused the list and ran across the name, Henry, not Thomas, Stinson. His laboratory was on
6 TH Avenue connected with New York University. He figured he'd pay a visit to him first.

"How can I be of assistance officer ...."
"Clarke, Reggie Clarke. What relation are you to Thomas Stinson?"

"He's my brother, I'm ashamed to say. Of course, you know he killed his wife, Laura. She was a fine woman who always thought of her son first. It was a tragedy. The boy was never the same."

"You study scorpions."

"As do several arachnologists"

"You breed mice and spiders to feed them."

"As do other arachnologists. They must be fed to live. Did you ever see a scorpion devour its prey, detective?
Scorpions use their pincers to capture and demolish prey. They use their stinger to inject neurotoxic venom into their victims. As a result, their prey becomes paralyzed, making it easy for the scorpions to eat without any difficulty. Sometimes, scorpions can kill prey without any injection of venom at all. Scorpions use a small, claw-like structure that protrudes from their mouths called chelicerae. Chelicerae are very sharp, simplifying the act of pulling small amounts of food off the prey. This is also used to dispose of any solid matter, since scorpions can only ingest liquids"

"It seems you know a great deal about the species."

"They're my first love and means of support. I have to know them."

"Mon, you are freakin’ me out. I think I'll head on back. Just one more question. You keep your Scorpions confined. Who else has access to them?"

"Come now, my lab isn't suspected of any wrong doing detective, is it?"

"It's just a question. You can choose to answer it or not."

"I have nothing to hide, my nephew, Lloyd, has access to the lab. Why not come back at feeding time?"

"I'll be back, but not at feeding time. I'll pass on that."

Reggie spent the better part of two weeks interviewing the other 74 scientists. They seemed knowledgeable but all the interviews were uneventful.

When he returned from the last interview, Clarke had a recorded message from Peterson. " I need to see you as soon as possible. I can't discuss this matter on the phone." His voice sounded urgent.

Reggie hurriedly ran to the stairwell and stumbled down the seven flights of stairs. He fumbled for his keys and somehow found the ignition. It normally took him fifteen minutes to get to the reporter's pad, but he managed to get there in eight. When he arrived in his apartment the place was crawling with scorpions. Greg had been stung several times.

"This is Detective Clarke. Get an ambulance over to 16 Park Place. Apt 4C, immediately. He then managed to drag Peterson's body to an elevator and evacuate the floor.

Peterson lay in the ambulance half conscious. He got up enough strength to point to his inside breast pocket. Clarke unfolded the papers. There were two stories Peterson had found in the New York Ledger. One was about a boy who was institutionalized when his mother was killed and his father incarcerated. The other article told the story of a man dismissed from the Olympic Team for steroid use. Both articles were about Lloyd Stinson.

A troubled man, a troubled family he thought. Clarke realized that Peterson questioned Lloyd about the articles.
Lloyd then panicked and paid him a visit.

"What are his chances of survival?" he asked the attending physician.

"Lucky for him you got the antidote to him on time."

"I gave him no antidote. Maybe the EMT gave it to him."

"No, they wouldn't carry an anti venom for a scorpion sting."

The police picked up Lloyd at his apartment. There they found hotel and motel receipts from La Jolla, California, Washington, DC and a speeding ticket given to an L Stinson in Tallahassee, Florida.

Henry admitted it was a mistake giving Lloyd access to his laboratory. The young man had gone through so much disappointment in his life. The steroid test was his final disappointment. Henry loved his nephew and would go to almost any extreme to help him. The antidote given to Peterson was Henry's only redeeming factor in a plan that went terribly wrong.

The next day Clarke visited a recovering Peterson in the hospital. "I guess KMX is going to pay for my hospital stay, rather than my funeral"

As the two shook hands, Clarke thanked Peterson for helping to solve the case.

"No problem. I'm just glad I'm alive to tell about it."

Just then Reggie’s phone rang. It was Collins. "Clarke, there's been a murder at the Hilton Hotel."

In the Big Apple, there's never a dull moment he thought to himself.

-----

Bio

Michael Saks is a graduate of Penn State University. He spent his working career in the Manufacturing Industry and, now retired, has turned to his first love, writing short stories and flash fiction.