The Wizard Murders (10 page)

"And?
And?
You know the rest, don't make me say it!" He rubs his nose forcefully and it's apparent that he's having trouble breathing.

Pitt grabs Clarence manfully by the arm and pulls him in close. "Clarence, come on. Pull yourself together, man. Just tell me... is there another body, and another painting in this damn house?"

Clarence nods, starts coughing, and excuses himself by running to the side of the house, out of view of the street. Pitt can hear him clearing his throat and spitting.

He turns to one of the officers by the front door, who's still fingering the trigger of a shotgun. "Have we got a sergeant here?"

"Negative," the officer responds.

"Well then how the hell did the coroner's office know how to respond? Did Clarence get on the radio or something? I want the Print Section down here first, before the coroner starts making things official. Who's in charge here?"

"You are, Detective. If you want me to remove the coroner's people, I will."

"Well no, let's- hold on. Clarence! Clarence?"

Pitt is startled by the speed in which Clarence reappears; he's putting what has to be a phlegm-soaked handkerchief into his back pocket. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Have you been on the phone with the sheriff's office yet?"

"Yeah, I told 'em to bring the Prints Section and also told 'em to get ready to take a whole lot of blood samples. And Munsell's on his way- with his Nikon," Clarence says, already anticipating Pitt's next question.

"Okay. Gentlemen, at this point I want you to fan out and search the immediate neighborhood," Pitt addresses the two armed officers at the door. "Clarence and I can take it from here and try to segregate the coroner from the prints guy when he gets here." The two would-be sentries give each other a quick glance, and depart.

"Clarence. Show me."

Both men cross the threshold of the front door. Immediately Pitt's nose fills with the stench coming from a litter box. Clarence takes three steps, stops right in front of Pitt and points to a frayed, gold tone fabric couch in the small, messy living room. A body lies crumpled on the cushions, its head slouched forward, the stains of what had apparently been a fountain of blood cascading down the front of its t-shirt. Pitt allows himself to take a breath through his nose and then exclaims the only thought that shoots through his mind and out of his mouth-

"It's a middle-aged man! Good God!"

...A copycat?
Pitt panics silently. He clenches his fists, then releases them.

"Clarence, you didn't tell me-"

"I know, man, I know! But does it really matter? I mean, it's
him!
" he shouts, pointing an accusing finger at the painting on the wall behind the body- the wizard, leering and staring, always as before.

"Well of course it matters! It-" Pitt stops cold as he suddenly becomes aware of what he thinks is a crackling sound.

After a quick beat, Clarence shouts back, his eyes bugging out imploringly, "What, man?
What?
"

"Shhhhh!"
Pitt hisses angrily, shaking a dismissive fist at him. His eyes dart around the room, and he's now unsure if he actually heard something. The cloud of confusion dissipates in an instant as he becomes suddenly aware- clearly aware- that yes, indeed, that is another painting of that freaky looking wizard on the wall. However, this time it seems to be more of a detail of the wizard's head and shoulders, his eyes apparently darkened and even given a ghoulish, green hue for emphasis while the star patterns remain the same.

Pitt's mind is racing. "Why didn't you tell me the victim is male?"

"I don't- I just-" Clarence is panting, stammering. "It didn't seem significant. What I first saw was the blood and then the paint."

Pitt nervously rubs his mouth with his fingers. "This means it's expanding, it's exploding, it's..." He and Clarence immediately lock eyes as they simultaneously hear a deep thumping sound. He takes a few swift steps back to the front door and steps out of the house. To his utter amazement, the sound of a helicopter approaches as a TV crew from Los Angeles tries to film the scene from above.
My God, we're all going to get entirely swallowed up by this thing,
Pitt thinks to himself as he watches the chopper begin circling in the pale sky.

"We need to lock this thing down," he mutters as he steps back into the house. "We need to figure out how to keep the press away and the neighborhood safe. Clarence..." He takes a deep breath as he tries to collect and focus himself. "Start interviewing the neighbors. Find out if anyone's seen any strange people in the area."

Clarence proceeds to speak without censorship. "You mean a guy with a straight razor and a bucket of paint?"

Pitt chuckles, then closes his eyes tightly and bites his lip as his laugh threatens to turn into something bigger. Much,
much
(and inappropriately) bigger. "I can't believe you just said that," he says, sniggering and shaking his head.

"Well?" Clarence exclaims, also starting to laugh but cringing at his incredibly bad timing. "I don't know what the hell else to start lookin' for. I thought we had someone who hated young girls but now it looks like he don't care who he's killin'." He nods at the body at the couch, and his expression quickly turns somber once more.

Pitt turns his eyes to the evil painting and swears under his breath. "You can't tell me that nobody saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. There
has
to be someone, there's gotta be-" Pitt is having to raise his voice as the sound of the TV helicopter grows louder. "I mean, we're right by an intersection. Someone has to have seen a vehicle or something-" a hissing sound combines with the blades of the chopper-"I mean, something doesn't figure here. Unless it was at night or something because that blood looks awfully dry..." He takes a couple of tentative steps into the living room and crouches a bit, his hands on his knees, as he tries to see the man's neck. "It's... it's more than just congealed. It's soaked in, it's dry. And this room, what's up with this room?" His gestures to the filthy living room rug, scattered with newspapers and dark stains that appear to be spilled coffee or perhaps even juice.

"I think he was a bachelor," Clarence sighs heavily. "We found utility bills on the kitchen counter addressed to an 'Andrew Williams'. The neighbors only knew him as Andy." Pitt looks at him. "Yeah, 'Andy'. He lived alone, was divorced, sometimes had his kid here on the weekends. That explains the Micronauts scattered all over," he says, gesturing to the shiny little action figures tossed into odd places across the living room.

"Well I'm a bachelor named Andy, too, but I don't live like a pig," Pitt mutters. He shoots Clarence a deadly serious look. "No pun intended."

Clarence snorts, again trying to suppress inappropriate laughter. "I don't think there was a struggle, I mean I don't think this guy ever got off the couch, really, I..." He stops as another high-pitched, whining, hissing sort of sound competes with his voice. This time it grabs more of his attention because it's much louder and the beat of the chopper blades has subsided for a moment.

Pitt remains crouched, unmoving. Clarence looks at him. The chopper's sound continues to fade and there's now the occasional squelching sound coming from one of the radio cars outside. Pitt takes a step forward and looks to the floor.

"What is it?" Clarence asks, unable to make eye contact with Pitt, who apparently is listening to something intently. "Andy? What is it?"

Pitt remains motionless for another ten seconds. Then, Clarence watches in confusion and horror as he sees Pitt take one more step, then reach out with a tentative hand and rock the victim's head from side to side.

"Andy! Wait! The coroner's people said not to touch the body until they determine cause of death!"

The hissing sound occurs again. Both men see a frothy mix of pink and white bubbles dripping from the gash in the man's neck.

The victim is still breathing.

Pitt screams. "Jesus Christ, why didn't you check....?" In an instant, the scene has turned not only foul but dizzy.

Reflexively, he slaps a hand to the man's neck in an attempt to apply pressure; a mixture of congealed and freshly oozing blood covers his fingers. "Get- call the hospital! NOW"!

Clarence dives for the front door, frantic. "Get on the radio! Get San Gorgonio!
Now!
" he bellows to the units outside, and turns back to Pitt. "Oh God, man, please, I- I didn't check for a pulse, man! There's so much blood, I didn't even think it was necessary!"

"Never mind that!" Pitt hollers. The blood is really starting to flow from the man's throat quickly now, his raspy, pathetic attempts at breathing seeming to push it out with increasing force. Pitt chews his own lip ferociously for a moment, turns to look at an obviously distressed Clarence, and makes a snap decision.

"We can't wait for an ambulance." He urgently and yet with great care lays the man on his back, whose blood is quickly seeping into the shag carpet and clumps of cat hair that now surround his head. He gingerly pushes his hands under the man's armpits, picking him up, while Clarence- who is about to be sick- grabs the victim's feet. They start scrambling out the front door just as more officers arrive, jogging into the front yard with great confusion. "He's still breathing!" Pitt practically spits his words out urgently. "Make a hole! Make a hole! Get out of the way! Open the damn truck!" he yells at two utterly bewildered reps from the coroner's office, gesturing with his head to their vehicle.

By this point onlookers in the distance have sensed the commotion and, thinking that the situation has devolved into something involving a barricaded suspect, start yelling and in some cases fleeing. In a few seconds, however, a few eagled-eyed observers spot Pitt and Clarence hustling a crumpled, bleeding body into the coroner's truck and start screaming.

As they place the unconscious victim into the truck, blood is now streaming from his nose and mouth, joining the congealed mess already covering his chest. "Who's driving? Stand on the gas, dammit!" he shouts at one of the still befuddled coroner's reps, who is frantically fumbling for his keys.

San Gorgonio Pass Memorial Hospital- the small hospital that lies between the cities of Banning and Beaumont- is called derisively by some locals "Pass Away Hospital," perhaps a bit unfairly due to a sometimes unlucky reputation for its patients. Nevertheless, a small team of medics are waiting as the truck arrives, having been alerted by radio.

The bloody body is placed on a gurney, and rolled into the emergency room. The victim is moved only a few feet into a hallway when IVs are put in place, and he's given oxygen as the medical team turns its attention on what appears to be a tracheotomy from hell.

For one of the very few times that Pitt can remember- there's never really been a need to do so in Beaumont- he takes out his badge and identifies himself. "Detective Pitt, Beaumont Police." Pitt hears himself saying the words- he can feel some of the man's blood seeped into his own shirt- but none of it seems real. "I need to accompany this man to the emergency room."

One of the young orderlies immediately shakes his head. "Sorry, sir. No unauthorized persons are allowed in the E.R. without physician's approval, and right now from the look of things they're going to be far too busy."

"Look," Pitt takes a moment to catch his breath as he again feels his own shirt sticking to him; he's unsure if it's due to his own sweat or the victim's blood. Mostly, he can't tell because he rapidly has developed tunnel vision on this young orderly. "There's gonna be a waiver on the rules. This man is the only material witness that we have in an ongoing homicide investigation, and-"

"I know who you are, Detective, but in this instance I can't help you and I'm going to have to ask you to step aside." The orderly turns his back on Pitt, who watches the team wheel the man out of the hallway and around a corner. He turns on his heel and immediately sees Clarence- who is also out of breath, and literally has blood on his hands.

"I... I didn't even think of checking for a pulse, man. To me, it was just obviously unnecessary." His sad eyes reflect the look of a man who knows full well that he's royally screwed up.