The Poisonous Ten (23 page)

“Let’s just say I’ve had a full year when it comes to traumatic events,” Parks admitted.

“Year’s not over yet,” Jackie said. “Maybe it will pick up. You never know.” Jackie bit into a piece of toast. “You’re not Aaron Levinson. You need to realize that.”

“I know that. I do. Aaron was well-liked. A good detective. A good man.”

“Like you.”

“But not an honest man.” Parks stared off into a corner of the room, and Jackie ate quietly while she gave him space. “How do you tell people that a fifteen-year decorated veteran of the department who died while trying to save the life of a repeatedly-abused victim was also dishonest? I mean, I didn’t know. Never did. And I was his partner for five years. But I never had a clue.”

“How bad was it?”

“It’s never how bad is it but rather how bad can it get. I figure once you start down that path it can only lead to darkness. If you’re willing to plant evidence, how long until you’re willing to take the life of a man you deem guilty that you know won’t be prosecuted by the law?”

“Is that your decision to make?” Jackie asked, making Parks look sharply at her. “I’m not judging you; I’m asking if this is something you should let weigh on you. Other people’s ethics? I know it’s enough to struggle with one’s own values when working in this line of work. Is it worth your sanity to worry about others? How bad was it?”

“Kozlov was harming children. Levinson was expecting a child. It was too much for him. The chances of Kozlov getting off were too much for him.” Parks contemplated this. “That’s why we always worked so well together. We never gave up. Always worked a case until the bitter end. But where I’m detail oriented, Levinson was sloppy. Careless even, you could say. That was why they really partnered us up.”

“What did he do?”

“Kozlov was guilty. We had the evidence. But Levinson was in a rush. Always rushing through things. He forgets to do things in order from time to time. Warrants and the such. So the evidence we had, was worthless. So what did it matter if the new evidence was manufactured? As long as he was guilty. I don’t know. Kozlov was a bad man. We just wanted him off the street. But the way we went about it—”

“The way
he
went about it,” Jackie interrupted. “Right?”

“Right. We were suspended. That case was a mess in our hands. But it was a mess case to start with. Harming chil
dren. Everyone’s common sense just goes right out the window. Can’t help it. We’re a protective species by nature. But Levinson didn’t care. Once the suspension came down he decided to take care of Kozlov on his own. He called me. His partner. He knew I was the only one who could talk some common sense into him. That was my job. As his partner. To be there for him. And I failed. Even Hardwick’s called me on it. My need to be needed. My loyalty. But I blew it. I couldn’t save him in the end. Maybe it was karma.”

“You mean Levinson losing his life at Kozlov’s hands due to him planting evidence? You really think that?”

Parks smiled and shook his head. “If only it worked that way. No, I don’t. But what do I do? What does it matter now? Levinson’s dead. Kozlov is locked up. Along with his brother. For life. Case is closed. Is this just something I live with?” 

“Is it something you can live with?”

Parks didn’t answer, and a minute later Jackie leaned in and gave him a kiss.

“Well . . . if you ever need to talk about this or anything,” she said, going back to her food. “I’m here for you. I mean it. Off the record or whatever. I’m here. No judging. Only listening. It goes no further than these walls. I can promise you that if nothing else in life.”

“Thank you. But I think I’ve done enough talking lately.”

“Even though, apparently, breakfast foods were never brought up.”

“Considering the other things that I’ve been through, if only eating breakfast foods is a problem, then I’m not doing too badly.”

Both were quiet for a second.

“Sorry,” Jackie finally said as she burst out laughing uncontrollably.

Parks burst out with laughter as well and they both felt the tension in the room break.

“You forgot to add coffee and chocolate freak to your list of my weird traits.”

“You’re right,” Jackie said, still laughing. “And I’m so
rry, but what’s with all of those massive puzzles you have everywhere? There has to be at least fifty or so of them around this place. They’re huge.”

“It’s a tic I have,” Parks admitted. “They calm me. Make me forget about other things I’d rather be doing or
. . . whatever. Once I start one, I can’t not finish it.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackie said again, trying to control her laug
hter. “I don’t mean to laugh at it.”

“No, it’s no problem.” Parks laughed himself.

“I didn’t mean to start something. Or dredge up something uncomfortable for you. I was just wondering about it was all. Sorry.”

“No need to be. Never learn anything new if we don’t ask. I just don’t have any answers for you. Perhaps some buried childhood trauma I’ve yet to face.”

“You know, actually, all things considering I think you’re one of the most grounded people I know. Considering your upbringing, your past traumas, most men would be raging alcoholics or bordering on the edge of sanity or whatever it is men who experience similar things like that do. But you’re actually pretty normal. You’re not weird. Closed off a little maybe, but that’s not all that bad. I can understand that. Just as long as you don’t close yourself off from me, okay?”

Parks smiled and kissed Jackie. A few minutes later they made love for the second time that night. Afterwards, they were lying there enjoying the silence when Parks’s cell phone began to ring. He noticed that the sun had set while they were preoccupied, as the entire room was dark. He picked up his phone and saw that it said 5:43. It must have been Saturday morning. 

“Parks,” he answered into his phone. “What? Yes . . . what? What? Are you sure? Right away. Be there within the hour. At the latest. Call everyone else. Now.”

He hung up and jumped out of bed and stormed into the bathroom where he turned on the shower.

“Dave?” Jackie called out.

He popped back into the room, a look of excitement on his face.

“Let’s shower and get dressed,” Parks said.

“What is it?” asked Jackie when her phone began to v
ibrate.

“I’m trying not to get my hopes too high, but Milo thinks he may have just figured out why our killer’s doing what he’s doing.”

28

Milo Tippin stared down at the red-colored Converse he was wearing, squeezing his sweaty hands together, trying hard to control the nerves that swam through his body while the team assembled itself before him in the squad room. The conference room that Parks had started out using had become too small for the amount of murder board space needed to accommodate all of the victims and for all of the detectives he now had working on the case.

Parks looked around, satisfied that everyone was present and ready.

“You can begin, Milo.”

“Yes, um  . . . well, I’m sorry if I appear a bit on edge. I haven’t gone home since yesterday.” Tippin chuckled, but when no one else replied, he continued. “I think I may have discovered a few different things, and all of them may lead into what our killer’s doing and why. I’ll explain. I was loo
king around on the Internet at the different meanings behind ten, like Parks suggested, and found a few things. I also did a cross reference search into crime and punishment and—”

“Just tell us what you found, Milo,” Parks interrupted.

Tippin stopped as Amy Tanaka joined them, looking relaxed and fresh compared to everyone else.

“Sorry,” Tanaka said, grabbing a chair next to Hardwick, who looked questioningly at her. “Sorry, but I’ve been a part of this one since the beginning. I want to hear this.” Tanaka smiled at Tippin as if to say, Thanks for remembering me.

Hardwick turned back to Tippin. “Continue.”

“During the sixteenth century, the use of poison as a form of murder had become a sort of, uh . . . a profession, I guess you could say. There were actual schools teaching people how to use it. As a way to kill.”

“You mean like a college course?” Fairmont asked.

“Not exactly. More like . . . Jason Bourne style.”

“You mean assassins?” Parks asked. “Government trained?”

“Sort of. Yeah. Like that. Anyway, before this, there was a group of alchemists formed known as the Council of Ten.”

“Council of Ten?” Parks repeated.

“Yeah. Um . . . think like the Freemasons. Or Illuminati. But not. They were originally formed to help preserve the government from corruption as well as help intelligence se
rvices and military affairs. But they were also a group of assassins who carried out contracts for people who paid them enough money to do so. The way they killed was with poison.”

“Where was all this?” Hardwick asked.

“Venice. Mostly. Between the thirteen hundreds to the late seventeen hundreds. The Council was generally composed of ten members, who each served a one-year term. No member could serve for more than one successive term, and two people from the same family could not be a part of the group either. The leadership went to three members of the Council, known as Capi, who were elected from the ten members. They were only in position for one month though. During the month they served they weren’t allowed to leave their, like, um, headquarters, or whatever it was.”

“So you’re saying what, exactly? That this guy is a . . . he thinks he’s a member of this Council? Or that he’s formed a modern-day version of this Council of Ten?”

“That is a possibility.” Tippin shrugged. “Could be a good reason none of our victims have a connection. Because each one could be chosen by a different  . . . assassin, we’ll say. But I don’t think he’s formed a modern-day version of the Council. I think this is one person we’re dealing with here. It’s why he’s doing what he’s doing that we’re interested in. I think he’s using a bastardized version of the Council and what they did as an excuse for what he’s doing. No, that’s not right. Not as an excuse. As an inspiration for how he’s carrying out his murders. And why?”

“And what’s that?” Wilkes chimed in. 

“Punishing,” Tippin answered. “Like Parks suggested. He was right about that. We thought he was punishing the people he’s killing, and he is. He thinks he’s in the right. So then I got to thinking, who deserves to be punished?”

“According to him?” Fairmont asked.

“In general? We’re the police. The law. Who do we think needs to be punished?”

Everyone looked around the room, somewhat lost.

“The bad guys,” Parks said, smirking. “People who commit crimes.”

“Exactly. And what constitutes what is a crime or not?”

“The law,” Parks answered. “Criminal law.”

“Yes. But what laws? Who makes them? Which ones are severe or not? Think back. What are the oldest laws we know? As man.”

“Milo, I’m sure a history lesson is greatly appreciated, but right now?” Hardwick said, getting irritated.

“There has been law since before Christ walked the earth,” Parks said, going along. “Thousands of years before. There’s evidence of it. Maybe not the same as what we have today, but they had it. In one form or another.”

“Yes,” Tippin agreed. “But think back only as far as the Council of Ten. Think back to that time. Or, yeah, even before to when Christ walked the earth. What laws did they follow then? That might pertain to what we’re doing here. Think ten . . .”

“The Ten Commandments,” Moore blurted out.

“Yes,” Tippin said. “Parks actually came up with that idea, but I’ve no idea where.”

Several people turned to Parks.

“I was doing a crossword puzzle that asked about a gun-toting Moses. Or something along those lines. Mr. Heston. Then I got to thinking about the number ten . . .”

“You’re saying this guy kills based on the Ten Co
mmandments?” Hardwick asked, turning back to Tippin. 

“He is.” Tippin beamed for a moment, taking in his glory. “He’s picking and punishing people based on what co
mmandment they have broken,” Tippin said, flipping the white board over to reveal the Ten Commandments written on the backside in black erasable marker.    

Thou shalt have no other gods before me

Thou shalt not make for yourself an idol

Thou shalt not take the name of

the LORD thy God in vain

Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy

Honor thy father and thy mother

Thou shalt not kill

Thou shalt not commit adultery

Thou shalt not steal

Thou shalt not bear false witness

against thy neighbor

Thou shalt not covet your

neighbor’s house, wife, etc.

“Now these are just in my words, and there are several different versions of what the Ten Commandments are, according to which religion you refer to. But I think these are as close to what our guy is going by.”

“This is nuts,” Wilkes muttered.

“Hold on a sec,” Moore said, waving Wilkes quiet. “He just might be onto something.”

“Let’s take this one at a time,” Tippin continued. “So, starting with not coveting your neighbor’s wife or anything else that belongs to him
, we’ve got Ian Harris. He spied on Mrs. Bollinger. We know that. Found the roll of film with her picture. He coveted her. Or he coveted the husband’s life by wanting to be with his wife? It’s basically the same difference, either way you look at it.”

Parks nodded in agreement, as did everyone else.

“Two. Thou shalt not steal. Jason Bollinger was accused of stealing from his clients and was under federal investigation.”

“Continue,” Hardwick said, looking up from her notepad.

“Do not take the name of the Lord in vain. I rewatched Charles Wyler’s last broadcast from the night before he died. He used the name of God a lot to say how what the killer was doing was wrong and that he would be punished. He spoke for God.  I looked back at his broadcasts over the past few years and found he did this quite a bit. Condemning the guilty on behalf of God. So I think Charles Wyler broke this commandment.”

“And Kyle Oni?” Hayward asked.

“Kyle Oni played baseball. Lots of games on Sundays.” Tippin grabbed the marker and wrote Oni’s name next to one of the commandments. “Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy.”

“It’s fu—reaking baseball for crying out loud,” Wilkes bitched, catching Hardwick’s stony glare.

“Doesn’t matter. These aren’t my rules. They’re his. They’re why he’s doing what he’s doing. And this fits.”

“I thought he was killed because he was gay?” Wilkes asked.

“No,” Tippin replied. “It’s like Jackie said: the poison he was killed with was chosen because he was gay, but he wasn’t killed because he was gay. He was killed because he didn’t honor the Sabbath.”

Everyone around the table took in what Tippin had just said.

“Keep going,” Parks urged.

“Caroline Maddox. You shall not make for yourself an idol. I’m not sure if this was taken in the same spirit it was originally written, but I think it fits. She was worshiped. By millions. People idolized her every day. Everywhere she went paparazzi followed her around, invading her life. Ev
eryone loved her. Including her assistant, Nina Mendola . . . you shall have no other gods before me. You’ve talked to a few of Caroline Maddox’s previous assistants and her managers and agents, and they all confirm. None of them were as dedicated to Caroline as Nina was. She worshiped Caroline Maddox. Unconditionally. And it cost her her life. Now we know the chocolates were addressed to Caroline, but I think we can safely assume that our guy had something planned for both women. I mean, they were both killed, and I don’t think there’s any doubt that if he wanted both of them dead that either one would still be alive.”

“What about Allison Tisdale?” Moore asked.

“She’s the only one I can’t one hundred percent place.”

“See,” Wilkes said. “This is bullshit.”

“I didn’t say she doesn’t belong,” Tippin said cutting him off. “Just that I couldn’t concretely connect her to a particular sin. All we have to go off of so far is . . . Parks’s feelings of an affair. But we’ve no real evidence.”

“We didn’t find proof of an affair, but we did find a co
nnection between Allison Tisdale and another person on the list,” Fairmont offered.

“Who?” Parks asked.

“We looked through Allison’s portfolio of houses she’s sold in the past. She doesn’t use him anymore, but when she first started, guess who took the pictures of the houses she used to put up online when selling them?”

“Ian Harris,” Parks said, nodding as if he should have known all along.

“Si, señor,” Fairmont said, pleased with himself.

“That’s not all,” Tippin said as the group began to get
riled up.

“What else?” asked Parks.

“I think I know who his next victim is. Or rather victims.”

“How? Who?” Hardwick said, all but jumping out of her chair.

“He’s getting splashier. More daring. Making a bigger show of this. First Charles Wyler on live TV, then Kyle Oni, a national figure in the sports world. This was followed by Oni’s girlfriend, a multi-million-dollar actress. So far we’ve managed to keep a lid on most of these murders. Or at least the link between them. Where technology usually spoils things and alerts people to what’s going on in the world, this time it’s actually working to our benefit, and too much information leaked. No one knows what’s what. As far as most people are concerned, each of these events are just random events. They aren’t making the connection. Each person is such a superstar, people think they’re each their own . . . event. Which is good for us. But maybe bad for our killer. Maybe he’s feeling neglected. Like he’s not getting the publicity he desires. In which case, how does he go about changing that?”

“How?” Parks asked.

Tippin pointed to “Honor your father and mother” on the board.

“How’s that lead us to the next victim?” Parks asked.

“We’re looking for someone who’s dishonored their father and mother,” Tippin replied.

“So what?” Wilkes said. “That’s just about every damn teenager in this flippin’ state.”

“Think closer to home,” Tippin said.

“Is this someone off some reality show?” Parks asked.

“No,” Tippin said with a roll of his eyes. “Come on, guys. No one can think of this? None of you?” Tippin looked to Wilkes’s team when he made this last accusation. “Nothing?”

“What?”
Confused, Wilkes turned to Ramirez and Hayward.

“What have you guys been working on for the past few weeks when you’re not working on this case?”

The realization of what Tippin was talking about came to Wilkes.

“Cosway,” Ramirez muttered.

“Those two little shits who offed their parents?” Wilkes spat.

“You know of anyone locally more famous right now who’s known for not honoring their mother or father?” Ti
ppin asked.

“Where are they?” Hardwick asked, picking up a phone and dialing a number.

“Parker Center,” Wilkes answered.

“Here?”

“At the Metropolitan Detention Center. It’s where they’re locked up in-between days in court.”

“Wait,” Hayward said. “How do we know they’re next?
Couldn’t one of the other crimes be before the honoring parents one?”