Six Degrees of Lust (2 page)

mouth. He pulled up his swim trunks and gave another look at

the two tangled bodies inside the cabana.

He knew there was no point in staying now. The little lamb

wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon and even if he did, the

wolf would be with him.

He didn’t want to talk to the wolf. He’d be destroyed soon

enough.

Not him, though. The lamb was going to be saved, no matter

how long it took… no matter how many sacrifices had to be

made.

After one more look in their direction he turned and ran.

April 21, 2009

New York City

It was cold. Thanks to the freak front that had just passed,

the temperature was in the low twenties. It was windy and it

looked like it would start snowing again any second, making the

recovery process slower than it would have been under normal

weather conditions. Those NYPD divers currently braving the

murky, freezing water of the Hudson River in search of possible

clues or evidence had Sam’s deepest sympathy.

The tourists on the other hand were royally pissing him off.

Battery Park was usually a busy area. Not only was the US Coast

Guard building at one end, but several ferries departed to a

number of touristic destinations as well. Add the Staten Island

Ferry Terminal at the other end and chaos was to be expected.

But not on a Tuesday at almost six o’clock in the evening; not

when it was this cold and all waterfront tours had been suspended

a good three hours ago, due to police investigation.

But there they were, every single one holding a digital or cell

phone camera, recording what they most likely hoped would be

the next viral sensation. Why they thought a body being recovered

from the Hudson was worth their time was beyond him. After all,

the poor guy was already dead. The locals certainly didn’t give a

shit. They just went about their business as usual. But the tourists

didn’t. Did they think the NYPD would bring the body over to

them for closer inspection if only they waited long enough?

Samuel Shaughnessy turned away and gave his full attention

to the body once again. Blond, Caucasian, slim build, five foot

six max, maybe late twenties. He was naked; his belly button was

pierced, a little sparkling numeral eight resting on his abs. The

admissions stamp to Tangerine, a very popular gay club located

8 Taylor V. Donovan

in the South Street area, was faint but still visible on his left hand.

The stamp was the reason why the NYPD had contacted

Sam. It pretty much identified the victim as gay, and the uniforms

on the scene had been smart enough to put a halt to the NYPD/

FBI pissing contest as soon as they saw it.

“This will do for now.” After taking one last picture of the

victim, Bobbie Simmons reached for her case and put the camera

away. “Looks like Lev didn’t take it easy on this one.”

Lev was the name Sam’s team had given to the serial killer of

young gay men with a penchant for Bible passages condemning

homosexuality. The book of Leviticus appeared to be a favorite

of his.

Sam nodded. “Going by what we’ve seen in the reports, he

seems to have the most physical trauma so far.”

So far actually meant out of seven victims over a six month

period. One in Jersey, one in Pennsylvania, one in Connecticut,

and four in NYC.

“So all the victims are NYC residents, Caucasian, male, blond,

short, slim, and in their twenties,” Sam said, focusing on the

guy’s lower back. “Four…five, if our guess is correct, have been

physically abused. And all of them were openly gay.”

He took a closer look at the canvas in which the victim had

been wrapped and stared at the details painted on it. His team had

been on the case for only two days. They were working nonstop,

but Sam had yet to form a concrete theory based on what little

evidence they had seen.

Other than sexual orientation, a sparkly belly button ring in

the shape of a numeral eight that was obviously courtesy of Lev,

a painting on a small canvas, and a Bible verse, all found on or

near the victims, the team really didn’t have much to go on. They

had studied the evidence from the previous crime scenes at least

four times, but had not been able to connect the victims through

their jobs, friends, hobbies…nothing.

“This is significant.” Sam tugged the canvas. “The sparkly

numeral eight is the same he left on all the other victims, but the

six DegRees of Lust
9

other pieces of canvas were as big as a napkin. Take a look at this

one. It’s huge.”

“He left a different Bible passage as well,” Bobbie said.

“Which means the message he’s sending is different this

time.” Duncan Kowalski, Sam’s second in command, observed.

Duncan was one of the smartest men Sam had ever met. His

knowledge on about every possible subject was mind-boggling

sometimes. “Looks like the divers are coming out.”

“Might as well,” Sam said. “I highly doubt they’ll be able to

find anything else.”

“Lev’s been extremely careful thus far,” Bobbie agreed.

“Whatever he wanted us to find, the victim had it on him.”

“Like this huge canvas,” added Duncan. “You’re right,

Sam. We have to figure out what the killer’s trying to say.”

“Something’s definitely changed.” Sam took his cell phone

out of his pocket and hit speed dial, getting an immediate answer.

“Are we good to go?”

“Yeah. We’ll meet with the M.E. in the morning. How are

things by you?”

“Normal chaos, courtesy of three hundred tourists and

their cameras,” Logan Brandenburg, the team’s primary human

behavior analyst, said. “I’m pretty sure they got several close ups

of you, Bobbie, and Duncan. Some of those babies are state of

the art with very powerful zooming lenses. No suspicious activity

otherwise.” He sounded so disappointed it made Sam smile. “I

assume the divers didn’t find anything else?”

“Your assumption is correct, my friend. Bobbie and Duncan

are bagging the evidence now. We’ll be at the pier in ten minutes

and we’re freezing, so hook us up.

“You got it.”

He disconnected the call and walked over to the detective in

charge of the crime scene, a clown with a big mouth that Sam

had known since his days with the NYPD.

10 Taylor V. Donovan

“Shaughnessy.”

“Wilson.”

“We pulled the divers out.”

“I noticed,” Sam said, doing his best to resist a sudden, very

childish impulse to roll his eyes at the detective.

“They stayed down as long as they could,” Wilson told him.

“I don’t think having them freeze their asses off will help you

any. What are they going to find that your fine team hasn’t?” he

asked with the most annoying mocking laugh Sam had heard in

a while. “I mean, it’s been what? A year? It isn’t like you haven’t

had plenty of time to find some clues and leads.” He gave Sam

an obviously fake, “It happens sometimes” sympathetic look.

“Think you’ll catch the bastard? Looks to me you’re losing your

touch.”

Trust this idiot to leave out the fact that his team had only

been assigned the case days ago.

He really wanted to beat the smirk off the detective’s ugly

mug, but in the interest of professionalism Sam settled for

piercing the guy with his cobalt blue eyes.

His voice was firm and clear when he answered though; no

indication as to how much this smug asshole was getting on

his nerves. “Yes, we will catch him.” He stuck his hand out and

shook Wilson’s briefly. “We have everything we need. Can you

please arrange transport for us?”

Without waiting for an answer he went back to his teammates.

Five minutes later they were boarding one of the NYPD speed

boats used to patrol the Hudson and East Rivers. It only took

a few minutes to go from Ellis Island to the Battery Park pier

where the rest of his team was already waiting, along with the

damn tourists and their cameras.

“Here you go, boss.” Alexander Kostas—though everyone

called him Zane—offered him a cup.

“Thanks, man.” Sam took it and raised an eyebrow at the

sight of a familiar green logo.

six DegRees of Lust
11

Duncan reached for his own cup. “Oh, yes!”

“If I find flavored and foamy you’re dead,” Sam said, making

eye contact with Logan.

“Just plain ol’ black, no sugar,” Logan assured him. “Dark

and bitter to match your personality.”

“Bite me.”

“Not tonight, sunshine. I’m working late.”

“They wouldn’t get you anything else.” That came from

Bobbie, who was on permanent conciliatory mode since she had

become a mother five years ago. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“’Cause they know you’ve no appreciation for the finest

things in life,” Duncan finished with a laugh.

“There you go again, Kowalski, showing your roots.” Sam

teased him. “Only a Seattle native would think Starbucks’ pseudo-

coffee is fine.”

“Or that PC is better than Mac.” Emiko Takahashi, or Mik,

was their in-house computer expert and hacker extraordinaire.

“If you make such a false statement in my presence ever again, I

will hurt you.”

“Let me know if you want help, girl,” Zane volunteered.

“Starbucks is the best,” insisted Duncan, obviously with no

regard for his physical well being.

“You guys shouldn’t be drinking coffee anyway.” Logan

pointed at his own cup. “Chai tea latte is the way to go.”

A collective groan was heard as the team made their way to

the two black SUVs waiting for them.

Silence prevailed on the way back to Federal Plaza as everyone

gathered their thoughts. It continued once they were surrounded

by the controlled chaos that was their split-level squad room. Up

a short flight of stairs were the personal, individual offices they

hardly ever used, but the first floor was the place where the job

got done.

They had computers, assorted electronics, boards with

12 Taylor V. Donovan

pictures of victims, their files, evidence, theories, profiles, and

notes all over the place. There was a huge conference table,

snacks and drinks station, and a sleeping couch.

This room had been theirs from the moment Sam was given

the order to put a highly specialized team together for the Hate

Crimes Division of the FBI; a team that specifically dealt with

crimes of a religious nature or against the LGBT community.

Sam had personally handpicked his teammates six years ago,

and not once had he found reason to regret his choices. They

worked like a well oiled machine and had a perfect score solving

the cases that landed on their desks. Their most recent assignment

seemed to be a hard one to crack, but Sam was confident his

team would be able to make some significant progress, hopefully

before any more victims turned up.

Sam took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, getting

comfortable for at least an hour of brainstorming. He knew his

team well enough. They needed an idea of why, after six bodies,

all found naked, the perp had decided to wrap victim number

seven in a gigantic canvas with a new drawing and his preaching

stenciled all over it.

“So, even though this canvas is so big it could be used

for maritime purposes, I’m going to take a wild guess and say

it’ll match the ones Lev’s used before,” Sam said to no one in

particular.

“I agree,” Mik said. “Once I get the report from the lab and

confirm they’re the same I’ll trace its origin and speak with the

maker. Maybe they keep records of their buyers.” They all knew

canvases could be pretty generic, but Sam had no doubt she

would find the maker, at the very least.

“See if our victim has been reported missing,” he ordered

Bobbie.

“On it, boss.”

“That canvas was treated and stretched and definitely prepared

for paintings, not to cover a boat,” Logan said, glancing at Sam.

“I remember this from art class.”

six DegRees of Lust
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“Lovely,” Sam muttered.

“What’s lovely?” asked Zane. “What am I missing?”

“Nothing.” The whole art thing hit a nerve or five on a very

personal level, but Sam wasn’t getting into it. “Our Lev has gone

Van Gogh on us.”

“Or he was Van Gogh and decided to go Ted Bundy at some

point,” added Duncan. “The canvas is not paint by numbers by

any stretch of the imagination. It’s a detailed work consistent with

Lev’s religious theme and although I’m not an art connoisseur,

I’m going to say he’s pretty damn good.”

“Mik, how are we doing with the footage collected from the

toll plazas? Do you have any suspicious vehicles yet?” Sam turned

around and addressed her back because, as usual, she was giving

her full attention to her computer screen.

“After watching hundreds of hours of footage I’ve narrowed