The Bay Area Butcher: (Quint Adler Book 2) Read online

  He eyeballed me as Ray and I made our entrance. Captain Lockett was by his side. They approached.

  “Hello again, Mr. Adler.”

  “Nice to see you, Captain Lockett.”

  “This is Alfred Ronson, our Chief of Police.”

  I extended my hand and was greeted with an overly ambitious handshake. I thought he was trying to tear my hand off. He may have been seventy, but I wouldn’t want to fuck with him.

  “Detective Kintner told me you suspected Tiburon. Why?”

  Officers milled around, but only the four of us were privy to this conversation.

  “I read the killer’s letter many times. I couldn’t understand why Tiburon was included in the cities mentioned. San Francisco, Oakland, and San Jose are the biggest and most famous in the Bay Area. They made sense. Similarly, Walnut Creek fit because he’d mentioned my articles in the Walnut Creek Times. Tiburon stood out. That being said, I was still shocked when I heard the murders occurred there. It was a total guess on my part.”

  The chief eyed me suspiciously. “Have you ever reported on a story from Tiburon? Or remember any articles pertaining to Tiburon?”

  I’d considered that on the drive over. “Nothing that rings a bell. We almost exclusively cover Walnut Creek.”

  “Those murders you got yourself involved in last year took place in Oakland,” Chief Ronson said. Not in an ironic way. More accusatory.

  “The first guy murdered was from Walnut Creek. So I followed the story.”

  “I’ve heard you like to follow the story.”

  Chief Lockett looked at me with some compassion. Who would have thought I’d come to see him as an ally?

  “I guess so,” I said.

  “You’re not trying to get your face back in the news, are you?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying,” I said.

  “Just seems peculiar that murder seems to follow you around.”

  That incensed me. I didn’t care that he was the Chief of Police. “If you’re suggesting I had anything to do with these murders, you’re even older than I thought. Better get that melon tested. Might be some early onset.”

  The slightest of smirks crossed Ray’s face. I continued.

  “Detective Kintner told me about the letter about three days ago. That was the first I heard about it. I helped the OPD with my articles and then texted him my suspicions about Tiburon. That’s it!”

  “Calm down, Mr. Adler. I’m not saying you are the actual killer.”

  Although that’s exactly how it sounded.

  I astonished myself with what I said next.

  “Listen, you old asshole, the OPD already falsely arrested me for murder last year. And now you’re trying to insinuate it again. Maybe I should sue your damn department.”

  “Calm down, Mr. Adler,” he said again. “Like I said, I’m not saying you are the killer. I believe what you say.”

  Somehow, he’d let my ‘asshole’ comment slide. By suggesting a lawsuit, I’d surely caused him to slow down.

  “You have a weird way of believing in someone, sir.”

  No one said anything. The four of us just stood there. The chief was staring at me and I wasn’t backing down. Ray and Captain Lockett looked on incredulously.

  The chief turned around to address the other officers in the room. “The meeting is in two minutes,” he yelled. “Start making your way to the conference room. It will be standing room only, so make space for everyone.”

  The assembled officers started heading that way.

  “Chief, if I may something,” Ray said.

  I didn’t need him putting his neck out for me. Although I knew it was coming. Ray was a very loyal friend.

  “What is it, Detective?”

  “Quint could be invaluable for this investigation. He’s a solid guy that I’ll vouch for. He didn’t have anything to do with these murders and you know it.”

  The moment stretched, unbelievably tense. None of us knew how the chief was going to react.

  “I always liked you, Kintner,” he said.

  Then he turned to me and extended his hand. I shook it.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. When someone from the public is a step ahead of us, I become suspicious.”

  “Apology accepted. And I’m sorry for the profanity.”

  “You’re not wrong. I am an asshole.”

  Lockett laughed. “I can attest,” he said.

  The tension began to subside like the air was slowly let out of a balloon.

  The chief added, “I hope you can still work with the OPD in this matter.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  He started to walk away. “Captain, Detective. I’ll see you in the conference room momentarily.”

  When he was twenty feet away, I finally exhaled.

  “You’re crazy,” Ray said. “Calling the Chief of Police an asshole?”

  Lockett looked at me with a newfound respect.

  “I didn’t start it. He was accusing me of being involved in these murders. After all that happened to me, did you think I was going to take that sitting down?”

  “No,” Ray answered. “But I wouldn’t suggest calling any more law enforcement types the A-word.”

  “Adorable?”

  “This isn’t a time to joke, Quint.”

  Captain Lockett nodded in agreement. “I talked to my friends in the Marin Police Department who first arrived at the scene. They said it’s grotesque.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, realizing the gravity of the situation.

  “It’s okay. Look, we have to go. But we’ll be in touch later today about your articles.”

  “Alright. Thanks, guys.”

  They both nodded at me and then headed toward the conference room.

  While I’d have to watch out for the Chief of Police, Captain Lockett was warming up to me.

  I decided to look on the bright side. Because if the murders were any indication, things were about to get dark.

  8.

  A few days passed.

  From news reports and talking to Ray, I’d gotten a pretty clear re-creation of the murders.

  The victims were Paul and Nadia Langley, along with their nineteen-year-old daughter, Mia, who lived at home. The murders occurred in a multi-million-dollar house yards from the San Francisco Bay, with a gorgeous view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Paul worked as head of marketing for a big dot-com company. Nadia was a housewife. Their oldest child, a son, had been away at college when the murders occurred. The cause of death was multiple stab wounds. Eventually. He had taken his time.

  There were no suspects at this time. Well, the man who sent the letter was the suspect, but no one had any clue to his identity.

  That was what I’d learned from the news.

  Ray filled me in on the rest.

  They believed the killer tied the husband and wife up first. They were found with gags in their mouths.

  Ray said he tortured the daughter first, with the parents surely hearing it. And possibly seeing it. I didn’t ask Ray how they knew this, but they had their ways. DNA and blood splatter and the like were amazing tools, and if Ray told me the daughter was killed first, I had no reason to doubt him.

  He killed the wife second, which meant he’d let Paul Longley agonize over his daughter and wife’s deaths before being killed himself. If this was personal, Paul was likely the target. His murderer had wanted to put him through the most suffering possible. And there could be nothing worse than seeing your loved ones killed.

  The police believed this went on for at least an hour, the killer obviously relishing his disgusting actions. A long knife, as well as a cleaver, were used in the murders.

  I tried not thinking of what the Langley family had gone through, but that was next to impossible.

  After several hours of trying not to think about the unthinkable, I decided I needed something to give my imagination a rest.

  I called Cara and invited her to dinner. It would be a n
ice diversion.

  I may have been involved peripherally because of my articles, but this wasn’t like the Charles Zane case, which had involved my father. I vowed not to become all-consumed.

  I was cooking up a breakfast scramble with eggs, goat cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes when Cara called back.

  “Hi, babe.”

  “Hey, Quint. I was thinking. How about we invite your mother to dinner tonight? I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

  I loved my mother dearly, but I’d been looking forward to some alone time with Cara.

  “We could do that,” I said, not too enthusiastically.

  “Just think of her. Living all alone in that house. No one to talk to.”

  She said it in a humorous manner, but she must have known she was pressing the right buttons.

  “How can I say no to that?” I asked.

  “You can’t.” She laughed.

  “Fine, I’ll call her. I’ll swing by and get you at 6:30 and then go get her. We’ll have to double back to the Walnut Creek Yacht Club.”

  The Yacht Club was one of our favorite restaurants, with a fabulous selection of fresh fish. The name was a bit misleading, however. It was in the middle of a landlocked city. There were no yachts to be seen.

  “She gave birth to you. We can double back.”

  “This birth thing is like a lifelong guilt trip.”

  “As it should be. You want to press an eight-pound human through—”

  “I got it,” I interrupted. “I’ll see you at 6:30.”

  If anyone had listened to our conversation, they might have thought there was an element of tension. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. The lighthearted back-and-forth exemplified a great many of our conversations.

  As I ended the call, Ray’s name lit up on the screen. I answered.

  “Nice timing,” I said. “I just got off the phone with Cara.”

  “How is she?”

  “Inviting my mother to what was supposed to be a dinner for two.”

  “Take one for the team. She gave birth to you.”

  I shook my head. “You guys are two peas in a pod. That’s exactly what she said.”

  “Listen, we need to talk,” Ray said.

  He’d abruptly ended the Cara conversation, so I knew something was up.

  “I’ll be honest, I’m tired of driving back and forth to Oakland all the time.”

  “We’ll come to you. Are you at your apartment?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll meet at your Starbucks in a half hour.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said.

  The Starbucks below my apartment complex had become a bit famous. Or infamous, depending on how you look at it.

  I’d been framed for murder partially using an old coffee cup that I’d left in the Starbucks trash. A few of the baristas had come to my defense, and thus vaulted themselves into a well-publicized Bay Area case.

  I was still a regular, and they told me that they'd get questions about it every few days. They seemed to enjoy the attention and after what they’d done for me, I was all for it.

  After looking at my watch and seeing thirty minutes had passed since Ray’s call, I took the elevator down and walked through the parking garage that led to my favorite coffee shop.

  Sarah and Fatima, two of the baristas who’d helped me out, were behind the counter.

  “Your usual?” Sarah asked.

  “Yeah. And let me get a Venti Pike as well,” I said, ordering for Ray Kintner.

  “Better make that two,” a voice said from behind me.

  It was Captain Lockett. He and Ray had sneaked up right behind me without me noticing. Another reason they were the cops and I wasn’t.

  “That’s on my card too,” I said.

  The two women waved at Ray, having been interviewed by him when they came to my defense.

  I turned to the officers in uniform.

  “Let’s sit outside,” I said. “Give us a little more privacy.”

  The drinks were made and I handed the two coffees over. They followed me outside and we found a table facing Treat Boulevard. A small bridge crossed over Treat and a paved trail wound only feet away, so there was never a lack of people-watching to do.

  It was one of the things I liked about it.

  We each took a seat.

  “Alright, guys, what’s up?”

  Captain Lockett grabbed something from his pocket. He unfolded the piece of paper, and I knew what it was before he handed it over. A second letter from the killer.

  I’d been shocked by what he wrote the first time, but this one hit even closer to home. I couldn’t believe what I was reading:

  Hello San Francisco, Walnut Creek, Oakland, and San Jose. Both police and media alike. I’m sure everyone will be reading my letters now!

  One down and four to go! Exciting, isn’t it?

  Hope you had a nice time squeegeeing the brains of Paul Longley and his family. I consider myself an elevated type of serial killer, but sometimes you have to get your hands dirty. And If I’m going to stake my claim as the greatest serial killer of all time, I have to master all disciplines. You can think of me as a jack-of-all-trades killer.

  But in all honesty, I’m not sure hand-to-hand killing will be my forte going forward. I’m not sure it’s all that necessary. After all, it’s not like Hitler was on the front lines of Auschwitz. And, as great as Ted Bundy or John Wayne Gacy was, Timothy McVeigh killed many, many more.

  So don’t expect any more home invasion murders. And are you kidding me this fucking nickname I’ve been hearing? The Bay Area Butcher? C’mon, you can do better than that.

  I’ve given you another hint, by the way. I’ve excluded Tiburon in the introductory sentence. For good reason. There will be no more killings there. But the other four are battling each other for what city is next.

  Once again, I will give you the date of the upcoming murder. Another Friday. May 19th. Not that far away. And the date is unlikely to help. I have already proven my brilliance and Bay Area cops are lagging far behind. It’s hundreds of officers vs. the lone me. And I’m winning. You guys are fucking pathetic.

  And one last thing, although I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. The ends of my sentences are accompanied with a 2-space break. Maybe I’m older than you think, huh Quint?

  And one last hint on the Quint front.

  As I said, I was mentioned in exactly one of his articles.

  But my first name is in every article that Quint has ever written. But only Quint will be able to find that one. It’s an inside joke that I can’t share just yet.

  I think that’s enough hints. Even a blind squirrel gets a nut and if I give any more, you might just stumble on to me.

  I promise to make my second set of murders even more elaborate than my first. And by elaborate, I mean brutal!!

  Happy Hunting.

  I took a deep breath and laid the paper back down on the table. I’d realized early on in the letter that he was using two spaces between each sentence. But it still hit me like a ton of bricks when he mentioned it. And me by name.

  “This copy is for you,” Lockett said. “Obviously, you are to share it with no one.”

  I folded it up and put in my pocket.

  Ray spoke next. “What the hell, Quint? How many people did you tell about your suspicion on the spacing?”

  “I only mentioned it at the meeting. No one else.”

  “Not Tom or Krissy or anyone at the paper?”

  “No.”

  “Not Cara?”

  “No.”

  “Not your mother?”

  “No.”

  “Then how the hell did the killer know?”

  I racked my brain and could only come up with one answer. They weren’t going to like it.

  “It had to be someone else in the meeting. One of your other officers.”

  “Here’s the thing, Quint,” Lockett said. “We considered that and contacted every one of them. They all swear down
the line they didn’t tell another living soul about our meeting. And I believe them. Just like I know Ray or I didn’t break protocol.”

  He looked at me and it felt similar to when the Chief of Police had been accusatory.

  “I didn’t tell a soul. I’ll swear on a stack of a hundred Bibles if you’d like.”

  “You don’t strike me as the religious type.”

  “I’m not. My Dad was the least religious guy I’ve ever met. My mother was Irish Catholic and tried to raise me under Catholicism, but that didn’t last much past puberty. Too restrictive.”

  Ray mustered a smile.

  “Listen,” I continued. “I’ll swear on my unborn children if you’d prefer. Just know that I didn’t tell anyone!”

  They looked like they wanted to believe me. But if they did, that meant one of their own officers had lied to them. That was worse.

  “I’m in a predicament here, Quint,” Lockett said. “I have to side with my fellow officers, which means you’d be lying.”

  “What do you think? I’m talking to this deranged killer? Or I accidentally told Cara, who relayed it to one of her students, who then told their father, who just happens to be the killer? This is insane! I didn’t tell a fucking soul.”

  I wasn’t prone to excessive swearing, but calling the chief an asshole before and saying the F-word at this point both seemed apropos. These accusations had to stop.

  “Well then, how do you explain it?” Ray asked. He was trying to take my side, but he was in a tough spot.

  I tried to think, which wasn’t easy considering I had a detective and a captain of the OPD staring at me.

  “Give me a second,” I said. I took a sip of my coffee, hoping the jolt of caffeine might make my mind a little sharper.

  I don’t know if the coffee deserves any of the credit, but something immediately came to mind.

  “This is a longshot,” I started. “But if everyone is telling the truth, then we’ve got to think outside the box. Ray, do you remember when Dennis McCarthy and Paddy Roark helped me listen in on Charles Zane?”

  “Of course. You think the killer planted a listening device in the conference room?”

  Captain Lockett adjusted his chair and moved closer to the table. This had gotten his attention.