The Immortal Harvest (11 page)

“I understand that you and your team are investigating the murder of Senator Baker,” Ms James said as she began unclipping her satchel. She slipped in her hand and pulled out several sheets of paper from the satchel and slipped them onto the desk. She spun them around so that Baxter could read the writing.

Baxter ignored the sheets and glared at the woman. He stood and leant forward on his desk.

“How the hell do you know what my team are investigating?” he said angrily.

Ms James sat back in her chair, taken aback by Baxter’s outburst.

“I saw the news reports. They mentioned your name.

“I have some information and I was hoping your team might be able to help my department,” she said quietly at first and then as a reflex she reflected Baxter’s anger.

“Look, why don’t you just take a look at the report I just gave you, I don’t appreciate the whole third degree thing.”

Baxter sat back down and flipped through the pages as he gave them a cursory scan. He stopped suddenly and read through one of the pages more carefully. He looked up at the woman who sat motionless, an expectant look on her face.

“According to this report, you claim to have an eyewitness to the Senator’s murder. A six year old boy named Justen Peters.

Where is this boy? Where are his parents? I need their details so I can bring them in for questioning.”

“If you take the time to read a little further you can find the answers to those questions,” Ms James said as she pointed to the report.

“How about giving me the Reader’s Digest version Lady, I’m a bit short of patience and time,” Baxter said as he shoved the report back at the startled woman.

She grabbed the papers and shoved them back into the satchel.

“Very well, the simple truth is we don’t know.”

“What do you mean? How did you get this statement?”

“I got that statement from the boy’s Mother. She had been brutally assaulted and was admitted to George Washington General hospital. She was badly hurt and was placed into a chemically induced coma.

I was summoned to the hospital at the request of her Doctor who was concerned for the welfare of her son.

When I came to see Ms Peters she had awoken from her coma and she told me what her son had seen. She was very upset.

She must have realised that her son had witnessed the assassination of Senator Baker. She was terrified that the man who had killed the Senator would kill her son as well.”

“Well that’s no problem, we can offer her and her son protection. I’ll send someone over to interview her, and in the meantime I would appreciate if you could bring Justen in here to see me.”

“I’m sorry Agent Baxter. You see the thing is, both Justen and his Mother have disappeared.”

“Well that’s just great,” Baxter moaned sarcastically, “Another fucking dead end!”

“Excuse me?” Ms James asked with a puzzled look on her face.

Baxter shook his head as he picked up his coffee and took another sip.

“Never mind, look just tell me Ms James, you said that you hoped my team might help your department. What did you mean by that?”

“Well as you could probably imagine Agent Baxter, my department is stretched pretty thin. We don’t have the resources to track down missing people. Our main concern is the welfare of children that we do have.

You see Agent Baxter, from what I understand, one of the roles of the FBI is to find missing people.

Considering the information that the boy and his Mother have concerning the Senator I thought….”

“Yes yes, alright, we’ll look into it. Give me that report, I’ll get my assistant to make a copy,” he said as he stood and held out his hand.

“There’s no need, you can keep this copy. I have the original back in my office,” Ms James said as she handed the pages back to Baxter and stood up preparing to leave.

She held out her hand as an offering to Baxter. Baxter leaned over his desk and shook her hand and then sat back down.

“I suppose I should thank you for coming in to see me,” he said as he smiled perfunctorily.

“That’s ok. Could you please let me know if you locate the boy?” she asked as she turned and began to walk out the door.

Baxter nodded and started to flip through the pages.

“Yeah sure, you’ll hear from us. In fact, please don’t leave Washington, we might need you, ok?” he said to her back as the phone began to ring.

He waited until the woman had left his office and then glanced at the caller ID. He recognised the caller as Senior Detective George Johnson from Washington Police Department Homicide Division.

He punched the button to enable the speaker phone, sat back in his chair, put his feet up on his desk and folded his hands behind his head.

“George, how are you, you old coot?” he said as he finished the cold dregs of his coffee.

“Not so good Derek. Do you know an old couple named Bob and Betty Stringer?”

Baxter coughed as he inhaled part of the cold coffee. He sat bolt upright in his chair as he gulped hard to suppress the gag reflex and winced from the searing pain of the coffee tearing through his lungs.

“Derek, you ok?” George asked.

Baxter realised that he must have heard his coughing fit. He swallowed hard and struggled to reply.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine…I just sucked some coffee into my lungs. You really threw me for a loop George.

“How the fuck do you know about the Stringers?” he asked as he rubbed his chest, trying to alleviate the throbbing pain.

“I don’t know them, they’re both dead. I checked their phone. Your number came up. I just put two and two together. I thought you knew them.”

Baxter felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“I called them to arrange a meeting, George. They were helping me with some investigations.

What do you mean ‘
they’re both dead?
’

“They’ve been murdered Derek. Look, we’ve got the place sealed up for forensics. If this is part of your case you better get your shiny arse down here pronto.”

“I’ll grab some of my team. We’ll be there as quick as we can.”

Baxter hung up the phone. He slouched back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair and then slammed his fists on the desk.

He took deep breaths and contained his rage so that he could summon his team. He slammed his index finger onto the interphone button on his commander system.

“Buck! I want you to contact Arnold and Alicia and tell them to meet me at the Stringer’s home immediately!”

Baxter didn’t wait for the reply. He threw his chair back and gulped another handful of pills before storming out of his office.

The piercing pain in his head caused the rage to course through him as he made his way to the underground car park.

This day just keeps getting better and better
, he thought to himself as he slammed the car into gear and howled the beast out of the car park and onto Hoover Road and headed in the direction of his latest dead end.

Baxter reined in the power of his 1970 Plymouth GTX 440 as he pulled into Kennedy Street.

Brightview Park was your typical sleepy suburban enclave. These villages were unaccustomed to the throaty growl of a muscle car.

The streets were usually filled with station wagons or people movers that bobbed up and down synchronously as they traversed the obligatory speed humps.

There were the usual dog walkers and women with prams out enjoying the day, oblivious to the carnage contained within the modest white and blue double story, detached home of Bob and Betty Stringer.

Apart from the two police cars, Baxter could see the familiar FBI issued black van in which his team had arrived. He parked behind the van and after pulling on a pair of latex gloves, made his way inside the house.

He ducked beneath the Black and yellow ‘Do not Cross’ – crime scene tape which criss-crossed the living room.

The home furnishings were scattered like the remnants of some wild frat party. The home was a standard bottom floor open plan with the kitchen, living room and dining room downstairs and the bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs.

Baxter could see that his team was in the kitchen deeply involved in some heated discussion with his old friend Senior Detective Johnson.

Even from behind, he recognised the straggling patch of flame red hair that clung to the skull like some furry starfish. The bulging torso and hunched shoulders were also a giveaway. He was a stark contrast to the athletic pair of young FBI agents.

Baxter felt an affinity towards the detective who resembled a bulldog being bailed up by a couple of whippets.

He nodded his head towards Agents Thompson and Cambridge and smiled at the red faced detective who spoke first.

“Haven’t you shiny arsed dunderheads ever heard of professional courtesy?”

“Listen up George, you told me to get my team down here. Here we are, now, what’s your problem?”

“My problem Derek is that your precious pencil pushing people here want to butt in and take over from my forensics guys.

I won’t have it. This is a straight forward fucking homicide case. I only called you out of courtesy and respect. I’d appreciate your reciprocation.”

Baxter shot an angry glance towards Thompson and Cambridge as he draped an arm around the detective’s shoulders and led him away to continue the discussion privately.

He gestured with his other arm towards his team for them to start looking around surreptitiously. He watched as they moved towards the police forensic team.

“I can see that you’re pretty upset George but what you don’t seem to understand, is that this case is of national security.” Baxter said quietly, trying to calm down his friend.

The detective shook the arm off his shoulder and stepped away, his face became redder as he pointed his finger towards Baxter.

“That’s bullshit Baxter and you know it. You’re just pissed because you’ve lost another lead.”

Baxter’s smile evaporated as he could feel his own level of anger begin to rise. He paused and took a breath before speaking.

“Ok ok, maybe you’re right George. We just need to find out what happened here, Can you at least show me through the crime scene and give me your take on it?”

He watched as the detective considered his proposal and then shrugged resignedly.

“All right, follow me,” the detective said as he left the kitchen and headed towards the stair case.

Baxter followed as the detective made his way up the stairs and then turned into the main bedroom.

The room was quite large considering the size of the house. There were several photographs in frames scattered and smashed on the floor. There were the typical forensic markers scattered throughout, as the scene had been properly photographed and documented.

The main thing which took Baxter’s attention was the smell. It was that peculiar mix of urine and crap. He held his hand over his nose as he made his way further into the room.

“Whoever did this was a disturbed son of a bitch,” the detective said as he moved across to the other side of the room.

“What makes you think the
‘unsub’
was a male?” Baxter asked as he crossed the room. He watched as the detective swung open the walk in wardrobe door.

“Do you think a woman could do this?” he said as he pointed towards the contents of the room.

Baxter stuck his head in the wardrobe and immediately noticed that the smell grew stronger and it was then that he noticed the grotesque mask of pain on the corpse that hung from a peg in the wardrobe. Its facsimile of a face was bruised and battered beyond description.

It was the bizarre visage of a real life Picasso. The head was blue and bulbous, a gross blackened tongue lolled from the mouth like a four day old piece of crap. The only thing that betrayed the victim’s humanity was the fact that it was naked; a stream of faecal matter snaked its way down the woman’s bruised and swollen legs.

No one ever tells you about the shit
.

Baxter thought about all of the horrendous murder scenes.

They all crap themselves.

Ignoring the sudden urge to vomit, Baxter moved closer to study the bondage that had brought about Betty Stringer’s demise. He could see that she had been strung up by one of the bed sheets. Upon closer inspection he noticed that the sheet was yellow and wet.

He put on a pair of latex gloves and ran a finger over the sheet. He sniffed his finger and crinkled his nose at the familiar ammonia smell.

“Piss, this sheet has been soaked in piss!” he said as he looked at the detective who was standing in the wardrobe doorway.

“Who needs forensics when you’re around Derek,” the detective said sarcastically as he moved toward the three quarter bathroom door.

“She got off lightly; do you want to check out Mr. Stringer?”

Lightly?

Baxter thought as he left the wardrobe and closed the door, even in death he thought the old woman deserved a modicum of privacy.

He strode towards the three quarter bathroom and squeezed past the detective’s gut to enter the room.

Oh my God!

Baxter thought as he surveyed the carnage in the room. It reminded him of a scene from some low budget cut and slash horror film, only this was real life.

The room was glistening with blood. It covered everything. The stench was horrendous. Baxter could no longer control his gag reflex and swallowed a mouthful of bile. He refused to vomit in front of his friend. He knew he would never hear the end of it.

The outflow of blood splattering came from a single source. Baxter moved closer to the huge lump of bloodied flesh which hung from urine soaked sheets over the bath tub.

The sheets were twisted and looped around the victim’s neck. The head and face looked like it suffered a similar fate to the other victim. The bulbous bloodshot eyes stared fixedly at the wall.

Every square inch of the victim was covered in long gashes as if someone had tried to gut him. The blood had streaked from the victim’s torso and pooled in the bath tub. Baxter was speechless by the utter level of sheer brutality.

“Now do you believe me? No woman could have achieved this level of violence. This guy was a total fucking animal.”