Hollywood Lust (9 page)

The glass booth where Janice Taylor sat waiting for us was across an otherwise empty visitation area. In the shadows of the room, and from a distance, the prisoner looked small, almost childlike and vulnerable. As we got closer to her, I drew in a sharp breath. Taylor lifted her head, her gaze coming up to me. I had to force myself not to visibly react.

I glanced at Dawson and whispered, “What the hell?”

The big FBI agent was never one to mince words or lower his voice. “She looks like the fucking devil got ahold of her.”

We stopped a few feet from the glass booth. The creature in front of us looked nothing like the woman I’d once known. Janice Taylor was in her mid-thirties and at one time had been attractive, with high cheek bones and soft brown hair. Now, most of her hair looked like it had been pulled out, leaving uneven strands dangling from her nearly bald head. It reminded me of a doll I’d once had as a child with patchy clumps of hair remaining after most the hair had fallen out.

I knew that make-up wasn’t allowed in the prison, but noticed that Taylor’s brows had been shaped, maybe by tattoo ink, into twin mountain peaks above eyes that seemed even darker than I’d remembered. A large red and black tattoo, with images of ghostly figures covered half her face and left eye. When she smiled at me. and then made what was probably meant to be a seductive gesture with her tongue, I was revolted. The appendage had been split in the middle, each side moving independently and giving her the appearance of a strange reptilian-like creature.

I glanced at Dawson again before drawing in a breath as I sat down at the glass booth. I picked up the receiver and then locked eyes with Taylor, who already had the phone in her hand.

When she spoke, Taylor’s once polished, confident tone seemed even deeper, more ominous than I remembered. “Nice of you to drop in, Detective.” I was about to respond when I saw her dark eyes shift in the direction of Dawson who had remained standing. “I made it clear that you were to come alone.”

Before I could respond my FBI partner took the receiver and said, “Guess what? It’s BOGO day here at supermax. You get two of us for the price of one.”

Taylor brushed back a strand of shredded hair that was dangling above her forehead. “You need to leave.”

Dawson shook his big head. “Go to hell. You got something to say, you talk to both of us.”

The prisoner shot darts at my partner. “I’m going to hang up the phone now and not say another word. If you leave, I’ll talk to her.” She glanced at me, smiling. “If he stays here, you won’t see it coming.”

Dawson still had the phone in his hand. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Taylor didn’t respond, instead hanging up her phone and then folding her arms, she sat there staring at us.

I stood up and asked Dawson to follow me to a corner of the room. When we were alone, I said, “I think she means what she says.”

“I’m not going to let her dictate the rules of the game. I’m staying.”

I shook my head. “It’s her game, Joe.” I glanced over and saw that she still had her arms crossed and was smiling at us. I found Dawson’s pale eyes again. “I’m a big girl. Let me give it a shot. She’s behind glass. If I need anything, I’ll come get you.”

Dawson huffed out a breath and glanced over at the prisoner. “She’s fucking crazy.”

“I know, but I’ve done crazy before.” I touched his arm. “I’ll be fine.”

Dawson looked at me for a long moment, finally nodding.

When he was gone I walked back over to the glass booth. Despite my assurances to Dawson, my feelings of trepidation spiked as I got closer to Taylor. I saw that she still had an odd smile on her face as I picked up the receiver.

“Let’s talk, Ms. Taylor. What’s on your mind?”

The prisoner lifted the receiver and said, “Murder.”

Her seductively perverse smile was still there as I said, “I think you’ve already accomplished that.”

She cocked her head slightly. “How does that old saying go? You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

I took a breath and made an attempt to engage her in a rational conversation. “Tell me why you wanted to see me, what you want.”

“You’re here because you’re a murderer…” I started to respond but she went on. “You killed my lover. Azazel was the chosen one, the first of seven. His death must be avenged.”

Azazel was the monster who had worked with the woman named Myra. Together, they’d orchestrated the killing of several people. Before he’d died, Azazel had told me he was the first of seven disciples, chosen to seek vengeance in the world. Taylor had previously said she was Azazel’s soul mate and the second of the seven disciples.

“The others, the five remaining disciples, who are they?”

The mad creature laughed and leaned closer to the glass window. Her tongue flicked at me like a snake in a cage. “They’re closer than you can imagine.”

My eyes shifted, noticing her arm. I saw the Latin phrase
Sorores Sanguinis,
Sisters of the Blood. It was the same tattoo worn by a group of women who had gone on a killing spree in the name of Azazel.

My thoughts drifted to Janice Taylor’s background. During our last encounter, she’d told me that she had been gang raped when she was ten, by boys in her school. A few years later, she began taking revenge on her attackers, torturing and killing them one by one. Taylor had told me those killings had unleashed her power and that killing had become a sexual act for her.

I decided to again try to get some answers. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you doing this?”

The smile still played on her lips. “Do you remember when we talked previously?”

“Of course.”

“I told you that a change is coming to the world. It will signal my personal metamorphosis and the end of civilization.”

“This change that you’re talking about, what exactly does that mean?”

“I’m talking about The Swarm, Detective. Those who understand the true nature of our world have joined us. They are all out there, waiting for my signal to begin.”

“This group, The Swarm, where exactly are they?”

Her gaze moved away, taking in her surroundings. “Some of them are right here in this prison. Those who have been most disenfranchised by society are ready to change it.”

What she’d said made me again think about her followers being a group of radicalized killers. “How many…how many people make up The Swarm?”

This time her laughter was more intense. When it stopped, she said, “I will tell you about the game, Detective, but I won’t give you all the rules. Your job is to learn them.”

“The game?”

She nodded. “This is a game of life and death.”

I released a breath, thinking it was impossible to have a rational conversation with her. I was about to ask her more about the game when she went on. “Every game must have a beginning, a signal that it’s time to start.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The beginning, Detective. The game has just begun. All you have to do is look for the signal.”

With that, Janice Taylor hung up her phone and stood up. She began walking away, even as I called out to her over the receiver to come back. She stopped, turned back to me and smiled, but then left the room. I saw through the glass widows that a guard was using chains to shackle her and return her to her cell.

***

After filling Dawson in on what Taylor had said, we checked in at the ADX administration building and left the prison. It was just after three in the afternoon and I felt exhausted after my encounter with the mad woman. I knew that I needed to mentally shift gears and prepare myself for what was to come, but I had trouble finding the strength.

“I think she’s just a looney tune, gone off the rails,” Dawson said as he drove us. “I doubt anything she said has any credibility.”

“Maybe…”

He glanced at me. “What is it?”

I drew in a breath and released is slowly. We were on the main highway now, headed away from the prison. “Her last words to me were to look for a signal; a sign that her game has begun.”

“Any idea what she meant?”

I shook my head, looking out the window at the passing scenery. We traveled in silence for a couple of minutes.

Dawson must have sensed my anguish. “You okay?”

I glanced over at him and nodded. “It’s just…” I met his pale blue eyes. “Janice Taylor might be crazy, but I believe what she said. I don’t think…” My words drifted off as I glanced out the widow again and held on something. “Stop the car!”

“What for? What’s going on?”

“You need to stop and turn around. I saw something back there beside the road…I’m not sure, but…” I gulped in a breath, my anxiety level shooting through the roof. “Just do it, Joe. Turn around.”

He did as I asked. A couple of minutes, later we pulled off the highway in an area where I’d seen something a few yards off the highway. We both got out of the car and examined the brushy roadside.

“I think it was over there.” I pointed to a nearby area, at the same time hearing the dread in my voice and not wanting to believe what I’d seen.

Dawson followed me as we walked past some shrubbery. In a moment we were standing near a clearing about twenty yards off the main highway. My spirits sank as I took in the horrific scene in front of us.

“Son of a bitch,” Dawson said, now focusing on what I’d seen.

I blew out my breath as the realization hit me that this was the signal Janice Taylor had told me about. I counted the rows. Seven. I had a thought there might be some significance to the number, since there were seven original disciples. 

Dawson had his cell phone out and was cursing about not getting a signal as I walked over to examine the horrifying spectacle that the monster I’d spoken with a few minutes earlier had put on display. The sun was warm and I saw that insects had already begun to take advantage of what had been left for us.

I bent down to one of the offerings, realizing that a spike had been used in the perverse display. It was a woman with long blonde hair.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

Of course, there was no response. Her dead eyes just stared into the void. I stood up and sighed, thinking Janice Taylor had made good on her word. The signal she’d sent that would mark the beginning of her killing spree was in front of me. The second of the seven disciples, the woman who had loved Azazel, had left her calling card in the form of seven severed human heads.

I ended up spending the night in Denver after taking the rest of the day and most of the night processing the crime scene near Florence with Joe Dawson. I’d called Lieutenant Oz and explained what happened, telling him I needed another twenty-four hours to work with the feds. He told me to take my time and said he would see me back at Hollywood Station when I was finished. I’d also made arrangements for Natalie and Mo to keep Bernie for another day.

Of the seven human heads we recovered, four were female and three were male, but we had nothing to identify any of the victims. We spent the day scouring the area but didn’t find their bodies, telling us that the victims had been decapitated elsewhere. The area around the display had been raked, removing any footprints or other evidence. All we could hope for was that the medical examiner might be able to use dental records to identify them.

I had a long night and didn’t get much sleep, unable to shake the image of the field of severed heads from my mind. I even contemplated going back to Janice Taylor and demanding answers, although I knew I wouldn’t get much. The monster had set her game in place and it was up to us to now learn the rules.

I’d managed to pull myself together and steady my nerves by the time I met up with Joe Dawson at the FBI headquarters in Denver the following afternoon.

“How you doing, Buttercup?” Joe asked as we walked down the corridor to a meeting room.

I glanced at him. “As good as anyone can be after dealing with a monster and spending a day harvesting heads.”

We stopped outside the conference room and he turned to me. “Blue-eyed soul. We keep the faith and work this case like all the others.”

I took a breath and nodded. Joe Dawson had made a point of telling me once that, despite all the evil there was in the world, cops want to do the right thing and make the world a better place. But all the terrible things that you saw on the job eventually caught up with you and stole your soul. It was a running joke between us that his eyes were a pale shade of blue because of that constant battle he fought.

I knew what Dawson postulated had some truth to it. I’d seen it first hand with cops who’d suffered from alcoholism, broken marriages, and, just like with my partner Ted Grady, had spiraled into depression and committed suicide. I’d also felt it catching up with me over the years. The loss of the man who raised me and the killing of my birth mother at the hands of a deranged madman had only added to that sense of despair. In many ways I felt that my own soul had been permanently damaged by the horrific things I’d seen, both in my personal and professional life.

I met Dawson’s baby blues again, at the same time thinking about Ted Grady, the words he’d once spoken to me about finding love in the form of justice for the victims of this world. “I’m ready, Joe. We’ll send the bastards who killed those innocent people to hell.”

“That’s my girl.”

We spent the next couple of hours meeting with a federal taskforce, consisting of more than a dozen agents and civilian experts, headed by Dawson’s boss, John Greer. The FBI supervisor was in his early-forties, with brown hair that was peppered with gray. His eyes were hazel, about the same color as Natalie’s. He had all the usual FBI trappings, including the standard high and tight haircut and conservative dark suit.

After a discussion about what we’d found on the highway outside of Florence, and that the medical examiner was working to identify the victims, Greer told us how he wanted to handle things.

“The key to what’s been happening obviously rests with Janice Taylor. She’s orchestrating everything from her prison cell. At some point we’re going to need to go back to her.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” I said. All eyes swung in my direction.

“What do you mean?”

“I agree that Taylor is involved on some level, but she’s in a supermax prison cell without access to visitors or any means to contact anyone on the outside. That means someone’s out there working on her behalf.”

Dawson spoke up. “I agree. Taylor’s basically in isolation. If she set things in motion, it would have to have been set up well before she was incarcerated. It could be there was a prearranged signal. When Taylor got Kate to visit her, it triggered whoever else is involved to leave what we found by the highway yesterday.”

“It’s The Swarm.”

The words were spoken by Jeremy Spender, a civilian psychologist and profiler who was part of a Boston based think-tank, who Dawson and I had worked with in the past. Spender had originally come up with the theory that Taylor’s followers were radicalized killers, something that now seemed to be playing out. Despite his expertise, there was something about him that annoyed Dawson. The profiler was in his forties, bookish, and plain. The way he presented things also tended to grate on me.

“Let’s hear your theory, Sigmund,” Dawson said, wasting no time irritating Spender.

After a huff and a headshake, Spender said, “My group believes that we’re dealing with dozens, maybe hundreds of individuals, who are part of what Taylor calls The Swarm. These subjects are like members of a terrorist group. They are dedicated followers who believe Taylor’s rhetoric about a new world coming, which will overturn those in power. We need to track down anyone Taylor’s been in contact with in the past and try to begin to identify who else is involved.”

“So, where were
you
yesterday afternoon?” Dawson said with a grin.

The profiler looked at Greer. “I simply won’t be disrespected again by this...” He looked at Dawson. “This…blowhard.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Dawson said. “But I’m just getting started.”

Dawson’s boss looked at him. “Enough.” Greer then addressed the entire group. “This is obviously going to take a lot of manpower. As you are probably already aware, this case has eyes on it that go all the way to the top. We’re going to call in some additional resources from all over the country.”

An agent named Harold Charles, who was sitting next to Greer, said, “We’re also going to need to deal with the press on this. I saw where the papers have already picked up on what happened yesterday. I’m told the national media outlets are sending reporters to the area.”

Greer nodded. “Our media people are gearing up. I’m told the director will be scheduling a news conference for tomorrow.”

Another profiler named Kendra Collier spoke up. She was in her thirties, attractive, and blonde. “I agree with Mr. Spender. I think we need to also take a closer look at Taylor’s family, anyone she’s been close to in the past. It could be there’s someone out there who knows about The Swarm and is willing to talk. We’ve had some indications this group is communicating via the Internet and Twitter. It’s likely there are members of The Swarm in other states, scattered throughout the country.”

Greer agreed with her, adding, “I want you and Dawson to work that angle. We’ve also got our cybercrimes agents working on the tech side of things.” He looked at me. “What are your thoughts about going back to Taylor, see what else she’s willing to give up?”

I thought about what he’d said for a moment. Dealing with the insane woman again was the last thing I wanted to do. I also felt personally threatened by Janice Taylor. The only factor working in my favor was that she was, as Dawson said, basically in lockdown, unable to communicate with anyone.

“I’m willing to talk to her again, but maybe we should give it a few days,” I said. “Maybe some more time in isolation will weaken her resolve. From my contact with her yesterday, it was clear that right now, she’s running the show her own way, probably based on what she previously set in place with her followers.”

Greer agreed with me. His gaze then moved around the room. There were a handful of other agents and a couple of experts on serial crimes at the table. “Anything else?”

“I have something.” The woman who spoke up had introduced herself earlier as Ann Roper, an FBI profiler.

“Let’s hear it.”

Roper took a moment, glancing at some paperwork in front of her. She was probably around forty, with short dark hair and brown eyes. She had a solid build that made me think she worked out, lifting weights.

“I think Taylor’s motive for these crimes has a sexual basis.” She looked at me. “We know from the reports you completed on her prior crimes that she told you she was raped.”

I remembered how I tried to stall Taylor while I was being held prisoner in an earthen pit in the basement of a church a few months ago. She had volunteered the information about her past.

I confirmed what Roper had said, adding, “She told me she was gang raped when she was a child by a group of boys in her school. A few years later she began taking revenge, torturing and killing each of the boys involved. She said something about the killing becoming a sexual release for her.”

“Exactly.” Roper looked back at Greer. “Taylor’s crimes are a symbolic continuation of that early trauma but there’s another element, as well. We know that she previously also told Detective Sexton that she was in love with Azazel, the man who was the first of the so-called seven disciples. Azazel controlled Taylor at that time, and, while we don’t yet have anything to back it up, I believe there’s someone else, another male figure who has taken Azazel’s place.”

“You think there’s another devil out there who’s gotten ahold of Taylor,” Dawson said.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Jeremy Spender spoke up. “I disagree. As you said, there’s nothing to back up what you just said. Taylor’s the dominant, controlling a group of submissives called The Swarm. There’s no one above her.”

Dawson scratched his wide jaw and looked at Spender. “So you think Taylor’s the queen bee to a bunch of drones. I think you’re full of something, Jer, and it sure as hell ain’t honey.”

There were chuckles as Spender turned red and Greer headed things off. He looked at Dawson. “Let’s not go there again.” His gaze then swept over the room. “Let’s keep what Agent Roper had to say in mind as we work the case.” He turned back to me. “What are your plans?”

While I wanted to stop Janice Taylor and the others who were engaged in her killing spree, I felt torn, knowing that I had my own cases pending. I also wasn’t sure how much help I would be as an outsider working what was an FBI case. “I’d like to go back to my job. If you need me, I can be here in a matter of hours.”

“Fair enough.” He turned to the group. “Okay, let’s move on everything. I’d like to head things off before the press blows the lid off these killings.”

After the meeting adjourned, Dawson drove me to the airport. We were quiet during most of the trip, each of us lost in our own thoughts about the case. After turning things over in my mind for a while, I decided that what both agents Collier and Roper had said was probably valid. It did seem likely to me there were members of The Swarm scattered throughout the country, waiting for a signal to act. It also seemed likely that Janice Taylor’s actions were rooted in the sexual trauma of what happened to her as a child. Ann Roper’s theory that there was another figure out there who had taken up where Azazel had left off seemed plausible. It might even be that this new subject was one of the remaining five disciples.

I glanced up, my thoughts surfacing as I saw Denver International Airport in the distance. “So, what happens now, Joe?” I looked at him. “Where do you think this leaves us?”

“It leaves us with a queen bee and a hive, waiting to put the big sting on someone.” He looked at me as we arrived at the airport. “Probably lots of someones.”

“You don’t sound very hopeful.”

“I’m a realist, Buttercup.” He pulled to the curb. “There’s going to be more killings before this ends. In the meantime, we watch our backs, try to stay out of the line of fire.”

I met his eyes for a moment before opening the door. Something about him seemed different. I decided that it was the same resolve I’d seen in him before, when we’d worked other cases. Dawson was tenacious and single minded when it came to working a case.

“Be safe, Joe,” I said. “See you on the other side.”