Dark Purpose - II

Part 1

II.

It was once believed that the evil that men commit was borne within their own minds. That evil was inherent, that dark deeds and ill intent were ingrained in the fabric of a person’s soul. That a person was born evil. This is not the case. Evil is a disease. Invading the body of its host like a parasite looking for a nourishing meal. Evil inhabits the mind and the vessel of a human soul like a burrowing beetle eating its way through an elm tree. Hapless and a victim of circumstance.

Do you agree with that assessment Dr. Cairn?

Partially yes, I would have to agree with my colleague Dr. Harrison. I have read much of his research but his studies have been limited in my view. His studies seem to end at childhood, only looking so far as ten years in a criminals life then concluding that he has mastered the nature of evil. I simply believe that more is attributed to the growth of that evil. The evil of delusions. I discuss it in my book Gallery of Sleep.

What do you hope to learn from The Butcher when he is caught?

I plan to look into the eyes of delusion itself and ascertain the true nature of the evil behind. Great insights can be learned from experience gentlemen and a great experience is what I intend to achieve with this endeavor.

What about you Dr. Harrison, will you join Dr. Cairn in his assessments?

No. I don’t see the utility in speaking with a madman directly when the only words that fall from his mouth are the words of evil intent. No knowledge can be learned that can’t be sought through more meaningful ways. Dr. Cairn can be left to his devices. If he wishes to breath the same air as a murderer, let him. His career may or may not suffer from such encounters.

I intend to learn much from the source. Like I say, getting in the cell with the beast is the best way to know how the beast thinks.

We’ve been speaking with Dr. Eugene Harrison, PhD from the University of Chicago. And Dr. Lewis Cairn, PhD of Criminality at Boston University. After this commercial break we will answer your phone calls. Send a line to the number on your screen. 312-36…

“How many shows has this bastard been on since he showed up? Has he even been to the damn precinct? Looked over any evidence?” Officer Wilson flipped the television off in the back of the room. Detective Thorne sat smoking a cigarette eyes trained on the TV. He could see his reflection as he took a drag.

                “I for one am glad that he’s been scarce. I don’t need his pretentious finger wagging near me. What about you Greed? I bet he makes your skin crawl.” Thorne asked flicking the red bud off his cigarette.

                Greed sat with his feet up on his desk his hat over his eyes. He didn’t make a sound.

                “Either way the report from that room you found is in. I’ve got the details here for you.” Wilson tossed a folder on Greed’s desk. It hit his foot and sent papers flying around. Wilson cringed at the mess he made.

                “Stop goofing off Wilson.” Thorne said standing up chastising the beat cop.

                “Shoot.” Wilson scrambled to pick the papers up and put them on Greed’s desk. He hastily put them down and stormed off.

                “Young kid needs to learn how to behave. He’s too much of a goof.” Thorne said sorting through the papers.

                “Greed, wake up.”

                “I’m not asleep, you idiots make too much noise for that.” Greed peaked out from under his hat and gave Thorne a look.

                “Maybe if you slept at home with your wife you wouldn’t need to sleep at your desk.”

                “No use. She’s louder and more of an idiot than you.” Greed slammed his feet on the ground and adjusted his hat. Lighting a cigarette he shuffled through the mess of papers on his desk. He snatched the few from Thornes hand and sorted them. Thorne put up his hands and sat back in his chair. The serial murders were Greed’s case and he didn’t like it when the other detectives came snooping around, even Thorne, his oldest friend on the force. Thorne knew this but liked to push Greed’s buttons.

                “What does the file say?”

                “Don’t you have your own case to neglect?”

                “What do you think I’m doing right now? Plus nothing compares to these murders. The fact the captain gave it to you alone is a dig but that doesn’t kill my curiosity. I gotta know.”

                “Not much to say really.” Greed flipped through the reports. The examiners, at his behest after finding the second room, checked for any evidence. All they could find was the blood and random writings around the room. A few pictures were processed and added in with the report. Pictures of the words scrawled in the blood. Phrases that echoed the apparent guilt of the killer.

                “Most gruesome thing I’ve seen.” Thorne said reaching over to grab a picture. The words evil within were drawn out among some other words that couldn’t be made out.

                “You weren’t here for the fire out on Starcross Rd. Now that was gruesome.” Greed looked over the photos and the reports with a stoic gaze. He never exposed his emotions, never let known what he was thinking. Never let on what he knew.

                “Thank god for that. I heard the smell was worse than the sight.” Thorne tossed the picture back and lit another cigarette.

                “You have no idea.” While Greed’s eyes looked over the information his mind went back to the day he stood on Starcross as the factory burned. He could hear the screams of the workers trapped inside. The doors melted shut the windows jagged death traps. The ceiling buckled under the stress and collapsed. One man survived the accident, with no legs and no arms. He died two months later in his hospital bed. Sometimes if the wind was just right he swore he could smell the stench of burning flesh. He assumed it was just a hellish memory left to haunt him.

                “What’s the next step?”

                “Why do you care? This isn’t your case Thorne.” Greed looked up and his voice shared a tinge of his pent up frustration. All this talking was hindering his thinking.

                “I’m curious like a cat Greed, you know this.”

                “And with that attitude you’ll die just the same.”

                “Touchy, touchy. Fine I’ll leave you oh professor of crime.”

                “Did you just call me…I’m not like that hack.”

                “What hack?” A new mellow voice entered the fray. From behind Greed came the low town Boston accent of Dr. Cairn. Deep and resonant as if his nostrils were bellows. The stout and hearty man, much larger and stronger looking in person than on television stood with his briefcase of books, that he never left his hotel without.

                “Just saw you on the television. What are you doing here?” Thorne said shooting up in confusion.

                “They record the programs beforehand son. I haven’t been at the studio since ten. It’s nearly three o’clock.”  Cairn moved towards the desk beside Greed. It had been emptied for his use when the news came down he was going to help the investigation.

                Throne looked at his watch.

                “Damn you’re right. I gotta go. Can’t miss my meeting at the lodge. Update me later Greed.”

                “You know I won’t.”

                With that Thorne retrieved his hat and jacket smiled at Cairn and left the room. Only the two men were left. The stocky Cairn seemed to dwarf his desk as Greed’s lanky figure craned over his own.

                “Is that a report for the secret chamber?” Cairn asked.

                “Yes.”

                “May I see?” Cairn said rolling up his sleeves and retrieving a notebook and small audio recorder from his briefcase.

                Greed sighed and passed over the files he had already examined without looking at the other man. Breathing the same air as him made him tense.

                “Good, very good.” Cairn jotted down a note and began to dictate to his recorder.

Found one day ago by Detective Henry Greed, a series of etchings made on the wall in the secret room entail a great lamentation from the criminal. Phrases such as “it’s not my fault”, “the evil within me persists”, “the void calls to me”, and “I am nothing.” Repeat in intervals around the room. There does not seem to be a pattern to this train of thought by the criminal. Erratic finger strokes show these were made in haste though not from being rushed to complete his work but from an expedient penmanship. We should be looking for a man who writes fast but concisely. Showing a level of intelligence akin to a philosopher or a doctor. Quick witted yet obviously disturbed. Why pen in blood? Why not ink? These are questions we must uncover. That I intend to unravel.

                Cairn stopped the tape and rewound it a few seconds, played it back for posterity and turned off the machine.

                “Have examiners been sent to the other scenes to look for similar hidden rooms?” Cairn asked turning his attention to Greed.

                Greed let out a burst of air from his nostrils and sat back placing the papers down on his desk. He hadn’t had a partner for ten years and he didn’t like that his one was thrust upon him. He wished to fight the decision but the uproar wasn’t worth it. Any squabble would cause him to lose cases, to lose his whole drive for this work. So with a heavy heart he accepted the assignment to have this doctor tag along. Thankfully the doctor had been so busy accepting radio shows and tv spots that he barely had time to be in Greed’s way. Now that he was essentially issuing orders to Greed, the tension in his neck was growing.

                “Yes, I planned on going to the last crime scenes myself.”

                “I’m not sure you’ll be needed there Detective. They are fully capable of finding something, now that they have recourse to look.”

                They had recourse to look the first time, they are just lazy bastards. Is what Greed wanted to say but he bit his tongue.

                “We still need to find some link between the victims. To predict his next move, catch him before another victim is lost to us.”

                “The last three victims were dead three days before they were found. All women with no real connections, leading us to assume they were all prostitutes.”

                “Except that first one, on the northside of town. She was well to do.”

                “That’s called an escort. Better quality, more money, less disease. Still a tramp.” Greed stood up from his desk. He needed to get out, he needed to think. And having this professor fawning next to him did indeed make his skin crawl just like it did Thorne. With a quick turn he was headed down the corridor towards the stairs. To his dismay he heard shuffling behind him. The professor wasn’t leaving him alone this time. Greed gritted his teeth and sighed. He needed to find this monster fast, if only to regain his own freedom.

               

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