Belladonna Dreams Read online

  “Why?” Lucas asked.

  “First, she is a woman. Second, she is been waitressing at that shithole for a long time. She might look like a woman in her twenties, but she is older than that. Third, her boyfriend is a serial offender. The bruises were faded, but she has obviously taken a few blows in recent weeks. It is unlikely they came from a bar fight and she is not bouncer material, so that leaves her boyfriend. Fourth and finally, she had access to the drinks. She might have had access to their medical histories as well. Humans have a few drinks and start telling anyone and everyone that will listen about their problems. There is a reason bartenders and waitresses are good with people. They have the same skills as a psychologist, but without the pay and formal training. She might have picked that group because they said something to her about taking meds and how they should not be getting legless on them.”

  “No one says legless anymore; trashed, wasted, drunk as hell, but not legless,” Lucas corrected me.

  “Well, whatever they call it, Amber would have been in a position to know about it,” I continued.

  “Do we start with the Tall Man or go back to Amber?” Fiona asked.

  “I don’t think interrogating Amber for a second time is going to be helpful,” Gabriel said. “She didn’t set off any killer alarms with Ace. So, while she’s the best suspect, she’s probably not a suspect at all. We’ll wait for her to go home before we talk to her again. It will give Ace an opportunity to size up the boyfriend. How many tall men did you find?”

  “Forty-three are over six feet, ten inches. Over half were eliminated because they aren’t white, leaving just twenty men.” Fiona handed Gabriel a printout. Gabriel skimmed it and smiled.

  “The universe loves you, Aislinn Cain, and is giving you a present, wrapped in a big, cosmic bow.” Gabriel showed me the printout. His thumb was next to a name and address. I didn’t know the name, but the address was familiar. It was the home address of Amber Braun.

  “The universe does not love me. It must really hate Joe Johnson though.” I smiled. “We should visit him first.”

  Seven

  “Are you going to tell me about your new crusade?” Gabriel asked as he smoked his cigarette. The house in front of us was small with blue siding, some fake brick, paving stones that were broken leading up to the porch, and sheets over most of the windows. It was out of place in this neighborhood of small, neat, starter homes. The yard needed mowing and neighbors had installed privacy fences. They were probably peeking out their curtains at this moment, hoping we were there to rid the neighborhood of thugs, hoodlums, and people who used sheets as curtains.

  “It is not a crusade,” I answered, “but it did start with an epiphany. I have never been a fan of abusers; they are bullies and cowards. However, when we were in Texas, and I was looking at the body of Nathan Jones, I realized that Nathan was a victim of a serial killer because Nathan was a victim of his father. Men like Joe Johnson are filling the prey pool by creating women like Amber Braun and children like Nathan Jones. A quick look at the food chain tells us that when prey is plentiful, predators reproduce at a much higher rate. Therefore, the more victims created by assholes like Joe Johnson, the faster the pool fills for the real predators. In the long run, thinning out abusers will not do much to the serial killer population, because everyone is capable of being a victim, but it might save a few lives. If someone had stopped Jones when Nathan was young, he would probably still be alive. If we can stop Joe Johnson from beating on Amber Braun, then maybe Amber lives to have children and grandchildren and even a few great grandchildren before she dies of old age.”

  “The abused often become abusers themselves and a portion of them even become serial killers.”

  “True, but what are the chances that Amber will become a serial killer? Little to none, it is far more likely that she will fall victim to a serial killer. Some killer will come along and see in her the same thing I did, she is already a victim; easy to target, easy to manipulate, easy to eliminate.”

  “That’s very deep and disturbing,” Gabriel tossed his cigarette butt out the window, “especially coming from you.” He opened his door. I climbed out my side and stifled a giggle. If Gabriel and I wore black suits, we’d look like the elusive and elite Men in Black. It would be even better with Malachi, since he was a Tall Man. In a black suit, he was positively grim looking. Add sunglasses and a government issued SUV, and his status as an MIB would be nightmarishly freaky and cool.

  “Mr. Johnson has a history of resisting arrest,” I reminded Gabriel as we began walking up the sidewalk. “As well as car theft, armed robbery, and domestic assault.”

  “Are you telling me to stay out of your way?” Gabriel asked.

  “No, I am suggesting you not stand directly in front of the door when you knock on it.”

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. This wasn’t his first meet and greet with a felon. He knew what he was doing. I knew this, but sometimes felt the need to remind him. Gabriel dead was not a good thing for me. My next team leader might not be as understanding. The previous one hadn’t been.

  “Mr. Johnson, US Marshals, we would like to talk to you about an incident at the bar where your girlfriend works,” Gabriel shouted through the closed door after knocking firmly on it twice. There was noise from inside. The scurrying of feet, as if someone was running. I sighed and moved off the porch, walking to a position where I could see the side and backyard.

  There was a loud popping noise. Despite the common understanding that guns go bang, they actually sounded like a very loud firecracker going off. I drew my gun and rushed back to the front of the house. Gabriel was standing on the porch, gun drawn. He didn’t appear to be injured, but that didn’t mean much. We were all capable of hiding our pain.

  “You injured?” Gabriel asked first.

  “No, you?”

  “Nope.” We both stared at the door. The scurrying noises had stopped. In fact, all noises had stopped. Gabriel pulled out his phone as he stepped off the porch. There was no guarantee that Joe Johnson had just shot himself, but it was the most likely scenario.

  This was a first for me. Plenty of people had shot at me over the years, but no one had ever shot themselves just because we had knocked on the door. Unsure of what to do, I walked towards the SUV. Once there, I leaned against it, lit a cigarette, and waited.

  A tactical team, several uniformed officers, and a couple of detectives answered Gabriel’s call. Lucas, Xavier, and surprisingly, Fiona, also showed up on scene. The tactical team was checking the doors and windows for surprises before making entry. In my opinion, it was taking an exceptionally long time for them to do this. If Joe Johnson had eaten a bullet, it wasn’t just because some Marshals knocked on his door. He had to have been into something, something bad enough to make him think Marshals were there to arrest him.

  However, it did rule him out as our serial killer. Few serial killers committed suicide. Their narcissism wouldn’t allow for such a thing. They were more likely to go down in a hail of bullets, which some might consider suicide by cop, but in reality, they actually believed they could get away. Being a sociopath or psychopath was like being the Incredible Hulk, without the whole turning green thing. We thought we were invincible.

  Finally, the tactical team breached the front door. The dark, armor clad figures moved from room to room, guns in front of them, multiple voices barking commands. It wasn’t exactly how we did it, but it was close. The noises stopped and a few members stepped back out into the light of day. Their expressions were hidden behind their masks and helmets. Gabriel started walking towards them, so the rest of us followed. I stubbed out my cigarette on the bottom of my shoe and put it in that little useless pocket that exists on all girls’ jeans.

  “One dead, back room, looks like he might have had a little bit of a problem,” one of the men in tactical gear told us.

  Xavier muscled his way past the tactical unit. He disappeared inside the house. Gabriel and I followed.

  As US Mar
shals that chased serial killers, we were pretty unflappable. We thought we had seen it all. Joe Johnson surprised me though. It was unusual for people to kill themselves by putting a gun under their chin, but that’s exactly what he had done. The gun in question was a handgun, but the mess should have come from something bigger. Blood and gore dripped from the ceiling, landing on his nude body. Most of his skull was in tiny pieces, scattered by the force of the shot. Everything behind him had been sprayed with a fine mist of blood. I didn’t know enough about guns to know the make and model, or why it had done this kind of damage. It was something I kept meaning to study, but never did.

  The computer caught my attention. The situation with Joe Johnson finally made sense. Pictures of children stared unblinkingly back at me.

  “I’ll get Fiona, maybe she can track the site,” Lucas offered.

  “I will leave the room, before I get arrested for desecrating a corpse.” I followed Lucas out into the yard. After a brief discussion, Fiona went into the house. Lucas stayed outside, watching me for several minutes before approaching me. I knew the look. He was sizing me up, trying to figure out if he was about to push my buttons or not. My temper could be explosive.

  “You aren’t fully back to your old self,” he finally said.

  “Yes, I am,” I answered. “I am frustrated with people. Lucifer sits in Hell, shaking his head and cringing, because humanity is viler than he could ever be.”

  “Crisis of faith?”

  “No, I left because I was angry and I did not figure shooting Joe Johnson’s corpse was going to do much good.” I held his gaze and waited for a response that would supposedly make me feel better, calmer.

  “We deal with violent people. It only makes sense that we would find violence even when we weren’t looking for it.” His response didn’t make me feel better, it made me angrier. I huffed and walked to the SUV. At one time, I had maintained good control over my anger. That ability seemed to have slipped away, or maybe the situations had become more extreme. I had been fine in Florida, but that had been an adult killing other adults. In Texas, I had dealt with a teenager killing other teens and a psychotic bitch unleashing Bubonic Plague. Now, we had a dead guy who liked child porn. Maybe it was the time that I was spending with my family.

  “I have been spending more time with Cassie,” I told Lucas.

  “And you are wondering if that is why you’ve become so reactionary to offenses against children?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s possible. I don’t think it’s a bad thing either. The rest of us get angry about things like this. It makes you human that you do as well. Consider it a form of personal growth.”

  “I tend to Taser things that piss me off.”

  “Yes, well, that may not be personal growth. That sounds more like sociopathic reactionism. Sometimes, even you fail to see or understand the consequences of your actions and reactions.” Lucas thought for a moment. “Hell, I’m just excited to know that you are capable of personal growth. It has always been my understanding that sociopaths and psychopaths are unable to have such important changes in understanding.”

  “Well, I am glad I could make your day. Someone is going to have to tell Amber Braun that not only did her abusive boyfriend kill himself, but that he did it because he thought he was about to be busted for child pornography.”

  “That sounds like a me job, not a you job,” Lucas told me.

  Eight

  Gabriel and Lucas had left over an hour ago to fetch Amber Braun and deliver the bad news. I thought there might be some benefits to it. She could rebuild her life away from an abusive boyfriend; maybe hang some curtains over her windows. Xavier and Fiona were still doing things inside the house. I refused to go back inside for fear that I would Taser the body or shoot it.

  My cell phone rang as I lit yet another cigarette. I was going to regret the extra cigarettes in the morning, but right now, I had nothing better to do.

  “Cain,” I answered.

  “Amber Braun is dead. Billy Thomas is in the hospital along with two others,” Gabriel didn’t say hello or worry about formalities.

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t an accident.”

  “No, statements are still being taken, but it appears that they are reporting Amber started to stumble around, became incoherent, broke out in a sweat, started shivering, then she just passed out and didn’t get back up. Billy Thomas is doing better. As he called an ambulance, he started having some of the same symptoms. While the paramedics were working on Amber, they thought she has having an allergy attack and gave her epi, but then two more waitresses began to show symptoms. One has already lapsed into a coma. The other isn’t doing well.”

  “Have that stupid tea tested.” I remembered the face Amber had made. “If it is belladonna, there should still be trace amounts in the container, even if the tea has been changed.”

  “Already on it. We also have a forensics team on their way. Can you smell belladonna?”

  “I am sure you can, but I do not know what to tell you to smell for. It is sweet, but I do not know much more than that about it. Distilled, it might have a very strong odor or no odor.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked. I asked if you could smell it. I smoke, so I can’t hardly smell a damn thing.”

  “I smoke and I can smell all sorts of things,” I replied. “As for the belladonna, if I knew what it smelled like, I might be able to, but I do not, and that is a problem.”

  “We are going to have the entire bar tested, not just the tea jugs, but the alcohol, glasses, tables, chairs, doorknobs, the bar itself, and anything else they might have touched.”

  “You are going to be there a while. Once they remove the body, I will start searching the house.”

  “Are you still standing outside?” Gabriel asked.

  “Yes, I am still pissed.”

  “I will catalog that information for later use.” Gabriel hung up on me.

  “Hey, Cain,” a guy, whose voice I recognized said behind me. I turned around and stared at the wire-framed glasses of Christian Hunter, US Marshal, computer geek, and psychopath. Behind the glasses were very dark blue eyes and a giant, damaged brain. I was fairly certain Hunter had Borderline Personality Disorder with psychopathic tendencies. It had no impact on me, other than to make me wonder what made him so screwed up. Some people were born with it, but Hunter had been made. I was always curious when I ran into a psychopath that had BPD. There was a story behind it.

  “Hunter,” I nodded as I said his name.

  “I came to help Stewart track down the host site,” he told me.

  “The computer is inside.” I stopped the chitchat. I did not do small talk very well. It was not my thing. Also, Christian Hunter bothered the shit out of me. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was there, oppressive and omnipresent, like a migraine looming in the distance.

  I called Gabriel back. He answered on the second ring.

  “Maybe I should go look through Billy Thomas’ house. Hunter just got here to help Fiona track the host site. It is going to be hours before we can actually search this place.”

  “I was about to head that way. Lucas is going to stay here, see if he can make sense of anything they are saying. I’ll pick you up on the way.”

  “That seems inefficient. I do have a driver’s license.”

  “Do you know Sioux Falls?”

  “No, but isn’t that why they invented GPS? How are you getting there?”

  “I’ve been here many times,” Gabriel said. I wanted to scratch my head. Gabriel had grown up in the southwest, not South Dakota. It seemed odd that he had been here enough to know the streets. “Have an officer bring you. I’ll text the address.” He hung up before I could ask any questions, of which my brain was formulating many. My Google search regarding the state had brought up stuff about tribal lands. A huge portion of the state had been turned over to Native Americans. Perhaps it was in South Dakota that Gabriel ran into the wendigo. Perhaps his boogeyman lived here an
d not in his native state. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t seemed real keen on coming back here.

  Of course, it was equally possible that his crazy aunt had lived here, and after she died and all her millions of cats were sent to new homes, he’d vowed never to return to the place. Even though we worked as a unit and lived close to each other, our pasts were for the most part our own. They were discussed when they were pertinent to a case or when we were feeling exceptionally chatty. Otherwise, we always looked at the present or future. Collectively, the skeletons in our closets would fill a very large cemetery; only some were metaphorical.

  My phone gave a shrill screech alerting me to a text message. I showed it to a young female in uniform and a detective while asking for a ride. The detective agreed and I climbed into his car. I would have preferred the female uniform cop, but it wasn’t as if I had a choice in the matter. While I rode, I sent a text to Xavier about the plan. The detective was quiet, which earned him all sorts of points.

  Billy Thomas’ house was in a poorer section of town. The houses were smaller and run down. The yards were barren except for grass, no flowers or decorative shrubs. The cars were older. A few kids pedaled down the road on bicycles, heading for a make shift ramp that some very tired father had reinforced with a lot of small pieces of lumber and far too many screws. If I had to guess, reinforcing it had happened after someone broke an arm. That was usually the way it went, the kids built the first ramp and after someone got hurt, some poor father got pushed into making it somewhat safer.

  The black SUV was parked in the driveway of one of the smallest houses on the block. However, it had curtains. The yard was mowed. A small garden gnome had faded almost to white near the porch. His upkeep of the house was better than Amber’s. It needed some new siding, projectiles either from a lawnmower or thunderstorms had punched holes in it. The porch needed new sealant.

  The detective parked and we both got out of the car. Gabriel was standing in a corner on the porch. If I had jumping instincts, his stepping out of the shadows might have spooked me. As it was, I didn’t. The phone was pressed to his ear. We all had Bluetooth headsets, but we almost never used them. Our life expectancy was short enough without having headsets as distractions. When we were raiding a house, we all wore communication units, but those were different. They didn’t ring at inopportune moments.