Chapter One
The report made for gruesome reading. Captain Oscar Ramino took a large sip of his bourbon before he was able to continue. The victim had been brutally attacked; her bones had been broken in various places by an old bat, had pieces of her cut out by a kitchen knife, and to the horror of the city, had been partially devoured.
Captain Ramino took another sip of bourbon. “Damn it all. Why does this shit always happen to me?”
The killer had been at large for four years. The killer had always been a low priority, because the killer had always gone after Hispanic women in the ghettos almost without exception, though Ramino suspected that the murderer had also killed several young men in hysterical stabbings. That changed, though, when the daughter of a prominent family in the city had taken a liking to one of the cartel thugs that lived there.
The memory of the case, almost a month back, brought a shudder to Romino. He went for a cigarette. The girl, according to his people, had been walking home. The killer had caught her at some point; taken a bat to her skull. It had viciously stabbed the woman. Had cut her stomach open and devoured…
Ramino banished the memory. He lit his cigarette and took a long drag. Ever since then, the media had been zeroed in on the ghetto. Worse, the place was a hotspot between gangs. Shootings were daily. In order to appear as if he had a handle on the situation, Ramino had put men on the ground there. He’d already lost three to shootings and five to transfers. And when Ramino had begun to reject transfer requests, two of them simply quit the force.
Ramino was halfway through is cigarette. Just past ten pace eight in the morning. The private detective--or whatever he was, Masters had not been too specific on that, would be there that evening. The damn media had found the seven dead girls almost as fast as his own police force. Worse, they had begun to dig through official records, despite Ramino’s orders to keep them sealed--and found a dozen more.
Ramino finished his cigarette. He put out the end in his ashtray. He was in the hot seat for sure. The top brass were furious that he had ignored the killer for four years. Ramino could put off at least two of those years on his predecessor and he could escape with the other two by blaming internal bureaucracy and political stonewalling for illegals.
Ramino swigged down the rest of his bourbon. He could avoid it with his position intact, he reckoned. Ramino had a good reputation with the local press. He had slipped them some good scoops over the years. Mostly to undermine his rivals within the department, but the boys at the papers still owed him. They were playing nice with him, but it would not hold out for long. Ramino intended to give them the story they wanted--so long as it was slanted in his favor.
Ramino opened the bottom drawer in his desk and pulled out the full bottle. He opened it and began to refill the glass with more bourbon. He wasn’t in the clear though. Far from it. He knew the boy that was behind it all...God did he know him. Ramino cursed loudly and drained the glass. He had hoped that it had not been him, but the bat--the bat that he had used to murder his victims had broken. Ramino alone had recognized it. It would be a scandal. He would lose his job...probably his wife too.
Ramino filled up his glass again. “Damn spoiled bitch.” he snarled.
The captain had been about to empty his glass when the phone on his desk beeped. A page. From his secretary, he supposed. He scowled, but put it on speaker. “What is it Alexis?” he demanded.
“Sir, there is a Mister Samuel Brand here to see you sir.” Alexis said.
Ramino straightened. “Mister Brand? Here? Already?”
“So you know him? I don’t see him in your schedule.” Alexis said.
Ramino quickly overcame his surprise. Why had the detective come so early? “It’s alright Alexis. He’s a private detective. I reached out to him for the Butcher case. Send him in please.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alexis demanded.
“His bus had arrived just last night, our meeting was for late this evening.” Ramino said, with only a brief pause. “I was going to stay to meet him after the day shift.”
“Well, why didn’t he call to let us know?” Alexis demanded.
“I don’t know,” Ramino said, his patience had begun to erode. “Just send him in.”
“Alright, alright. No need to get angry. He’ll be up in a moment.” Alexis said. She hung up.
Ramino cursed. He poured as much of his bourbon back into the bottle as he could manage, stuffed both the empty glass and the bottle into his desk. He opened all the windows to let in as much cool air as could be allowed and then set about ordering the papers from the Butcher case back into its manilla folder. He had almost finished when Alexis let Brand in.
Captain Ramino had not known what to expect. He had guessed that the man was some sort of weird, nerdy eccentric. Masters had told him that he did not own a car nor did he carry a phone or computer. Instead, the man who strolled into Ramino’s office was tall with dark blond haired, bright blue eyes. He had tan skin, similar to the skin of a man who worked in the field or on the road. He was dressed in a dark brown slacks and wore a white shirt, over which he wore a brown vest. Over this he wore a large brown tench coat and atop his head he wore a brown brimmed hat.
“You must be Mister Brand,” Ramino said. He gestured for the man to come in. “Have a seat, we’ll…”
“Captain!” It was the lieutenant. A man ten years Ramino’s junior and eager to please. Ramino knew that the lieutenant was looking at his spot, but even of Ramino were thrown out on his ears the next day, the brass would never promote him. Too eager and too green. He’d never hold in his job.
“What is it Dean?” Ramino growled.
Dean strolled into the room. He shot the newcomer a suspicious glare, then looked at Ramino. “Captain, I know this Butcher case has got us in a bad spot, but we don’t need outside help! Especially not from him. I’ve seen his type before boss, he’s trouble. He’ll…”
“Do you have the Butcher in custody?” Ramino snapped.
“No...no sir.”
“Then get the fuck out of my office!” Ramino roared. “I ain’t going to get my ass chewed out by the brass because you’re too damn arrogant to accept help when we need it!”
The lieutenant practically ran out of the office. Ramino cursed and sat himself down. “Sorry about that Mister Brand,” he said.
“Impudent as he was,” the newcomer spoke. His voice was low and hard. For the first time, Ramino noticed the strange bright light in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have spoken to him like that.”
Ramino stared at the detective, almost aghast. What kind of idiot lectured his boss? Ramino had half a mind to call Dean back in and have Brand thrown out of the station, but his sense prevailed. He needed Brand. He needed the private detective to put an end to the killings. He couldn’t trust any detective with brains on the force; they were all gunning for his job.
“Apologies Mister Brand,” Ramino said with a forced smile. “It’s the stress, you understand.”
The detective took a seat. “I understand. You said you had a case for me?”
“Er, yes.” Ramino fumbled with the mess on his desk. “I thought Masters said that you wouldn’t be arriving until this evening?”
“That was the plan, yes.” the detective said, “But the Lord spoke to me in a dream. I was to take the earliest bus I could manage upon waking and so I did.”
A dark shadow fell over Ramino’s heart. “You’re one of those mediums, I take it? Speak to the spirits of the dead?”
Brand’s eyes widened. He stood up, outraged. “I am no heretic, sir.”
Ramino let out a nervous laugh, surprising himself. “Please, Mister Brand. I was joking. Masters spoke very highly of you on the phone.”
Brand sat, but his eyes remained hard. “Masters is a good friend of mine. He said that a killer is on the loose in your streets. He said that you needed him brought to justice, by any means.”
Ramino eased. The man was a lunatic, he could tell, but he was aggressive. Ramino liked that. With luck, he’d put down the Butcher without a second thought. Ramino gave him a knowing smile “Well of course, I would like you to take the suspect in alive...but he is armed and extremely dangerous Mister Brand. I authorize you to use whatever force you feel is necessary in capturing him or in the defense of yourself or another. Whatever it takes, you understand me?”
Brand’s eyes penetrated him like cold iron. “Yes, I believe I do. Let me be clear Mister Ramino; I am here to bring those who have rejected God back into his light. By judgement or redemption. I am not here to sweep your mistakes under the rug.”
Ramino scowled at Brand’s tone, but kept his temper. “Understood Mister Brand, but also understand that I pay you based on results. Bring him in, dead or alive. I don’t care. Just take care of it, understand?”
The private detective eyed him still. He stood. “I do. Masters mentioned you had the file on this sinner?”
Ramino handed over the poorly organized file. “Here. Take it.”
Brand seemed not to mind the folder’s state. He opened it and skimmed through. Ramino took a bit of enjoyment when he saw the man’s eyes widen. He had made it to the pictures. His enjoyment evaporated though, when he saw the burning rage in the man’s eyes. He could almost swear that the man was angry enough to pull the trigger on any man responsible for such crimes. Ramino hid a smile; good, that was what he needed.
“He’s a sick man, Mister Brand.” Ramino told him.
Brand blinked. The anger in his eyes had vanished. He looked down at Ramino, as if he had forgotten that he were there. The detective face was empty of all expressions, but his voice was hard with anger. “You did well to contact me, Mister Ramino. You have my word, this man will not escape judgement.”
Ramino smiled. It seemed they understood each other. He stood and held out his hand, but he instead knocked over a picture of himself with his family; his blond haired wife and their two children. “Oh, damn! It cracked.”
“You have a lovely family,” Brand said.
“Thank you,” Ramino said. “And good luck, I’ll offer a prayer to the big guy upstairs for you.”
Brand nodded and his eyes fell to Ramino’s desk. Ramino followed his gaze to an ironwood rosemary on the desk. Brand’s eyes shot back up, sharp as knives. “You’re Catholic?” he asked.
Ramino flushed. “Uh, no actually. It was a gift from a friend. That’s all.”
Brand nodded and took Ramino’s hand. “Then treasure it well. Good day to you, Mister Ramino.”
The door closed and Ramino fell back in his seat. He immediately opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out his bottle and glass. He filled it, swallowed nearly half the glass in one gulp and sat back. He eyed the rosemary.
Ramino snatched the rosemary and tossed it into the open drawer, where he had found it buried earlier that morning.
The report made for gruesome reading. Captain Oscar Ramino took a large sip of his bourbon before he was able to continue. The victim had been brutally attacked; her bones had been broken in various places by an old bat, had pieces of her cut out by a kitchen knife, and to the horror of the city, had been partially devoured.
Captain Ramino took another sip of bourbon. “Damn it all. Why does this shit always happen to me?”
The killer had been at large for four years. The killer had always been a low priority, because the killer had always gone after Hispanic women in the ghettos almost without exception, though Ramino suspected that the murderer had also killed several young men in hysterical stabbings. That changed, though, when the daughter of a prominent family in the city had taken a liking to one of the cartel thugs that lived there.
The memory of the case, almost a month back, brought a shudder to Romino. He went for a cigarette. The girl, according to his people, had been walking home. The killer had caught her at some point; taken a bat to her skull. It had viciously stabbed the woman. Had cut her stomach open and devoured…
Ramino banished the memory. He lit his cigarette and took a long drag. Ever since then, the media had been zeroed in on the ghetto. Worse, the place was a hotspot between gangs. Shootings were daily. In order to appear as if he had a handle on the situation, Ramino had put men on the ground there. He’d already lost three to shootings and five to transfers. And when Ramino had begun to reject transfer requests, two of them simply quit the force.
Ramino was halfway through is cigarette. Just past ten pace eight in the morning. The private detective--or whatever he was, Masters had not been too specific on that, would be there that evening. The damn media had found the seven dead girls almost as fast as his own police force. Worse, they had begun to dig through official records, despite Ramino’s orders to keep them sealed--and found a dozen more.
Ramino finished his cigarette. He put out the end in his ashtray. He was in the hot seat for sure. The top brass were furious that he had ignored the killer for four years. Ramino could put off at least two of those years on his predecessor and he could escape with the other two by blaming internal bureaucracy and political stonewalling for illegals.
Ramino swigged down the rest of his bourbon. He could avoid it with his position intact, he reckoned. Ramino had a good reputation with the local press. He had slipped them some good scoops over the years. Mostly to undermine his rivals within the department, but the boys at the papers still owed him. They were playing nice with him, but it would not hold out for long. Ramino intended to give them the story they wanted--so long as it was slanted in his favor.
Ramino opened the bottom drawer in his desk and pulled out the full bottle. He opened it and began to refill the glass with more bourbon. He wasn’t in the clear though. Far from it. He knew the boy that was behind it all...God did he know him. Ramino cursed loudly and drained the glass. He had hoped that it had not been him, but the bat--the bat that he had used to murder his victims had broken. Ramino alone had recognized it. It would be a scandal. He would lose his job...probably his wife too.
Ramino filled up his glass again. “Damn spoiled bitch.” he snarled.
The captain had been about to empty his glass when the phone on his desk beeped. A page. From his secretary, he supposed. He scowled, but put it on speaker. “What is it Alexis?” he demanded.
“Sir, there is a Mister Samuel Brand here to see you sir.” Alexis said.
Ramino straightened. “Mister Brand? Here? Already?”
“So you know him? I don’t see him in your schedule.” Alexis said.
Ramino quickly overcame his surprise. Why had the detective come so early? “It’s alright Alexis. He’s a private detective. I reached out to him for the Butcher case. Send him in please.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alexis demanded.
“His bus had arrived just last night, our meeting was for late this evening.” Ramino said, with only a brief pause. “I was going to stay to meet him after the day shift.”
“Well, why didn’t he call to let us know?” Alexis demanded.
“I don’t know,” Ramino said, his patience had begun to erode. “Just send him in.”
“Alright, alright. No need to get angry. He’ll be up in a moment.” Alexis said. She hung up.
Ramino cursed. He poured as much of his bourbon back into the bottle as he could manage, stuffed both the empty glass and the bottle into his desk. He opened all the windows to let in as much cool air as could be allowed and then set about ordering the papers from the Butcher case back into its manilla folder. He had almost finished when Alexis let Brand in.
Captain Ramino had not known what to expect. He had guessed that the man was some sort of weird, nerdy eccentric. Masters had told him that he did not own a car nor did he carry a phone or computer. Instead, the man who strolled into Ramino’s office was tall with dark blond haired, bright blue eyes. He had tan skin, similar to the skin of a man who worked in the field or on the road. He was dressed in a dark brown slacks and wore a white shirt, over which he wore a brown vest. Over this he wore a large brown tench coat and atop his head he wore a brown brimmed hat.
“You must be Mister Brand,” Ramino said. He gestured for the man to come in. “Have a seat, we’ll…”
“Captain!” It was the lieutenant. A man ten years Ramino’s junior and eager to please. Ramino knew that the lieutenant was looking at his spot, but even of Ramino were thrown out on his ears the next day, the brass would never promote him. Too eager and too green. He’d never hold in his job.
“What is it Dean?” Ramino growled.
Dean strolled into the room. He shot the newcomer a suspicious glare, then looked at Ramino. “Captain, I know this Butcher case has got us in a bad spot, but we don’t need outside help! Especially not from him. I’ve seen his type before boss, he’s trouble. He’ll…”
“Do you have the Butcher in custody?” Ramino snapped.
“No...no sir.”
“Then get the fuck out of my office!” Ramino roared. “I ain’t going to get my ass chewed out by the brass because you’re too damn arrogant to accept help when we need it!”
The lieutenant practically ran out of the office. Ramino cursed and sat himself down. “Sorry about that Mister Brand,” he said.
“Impudent as he was,” the newcomer spoke. His voice was low and hard. For the first time, Ramino noticed the strange bright light in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have spoken to him like that.”
Ramino stared at the detective, almost aghast. What kind of idiot lectured his boss? Ramino had half a mind to call Dean back in and have Brand thrown out of the station, but his sense prevailed. He needed Brand. He needed the private detective to put an end to the killings. He couldn’t trust any detective with brains on the force; they were all gunning for his job.
“Apologies Mister Brand,” Ramino said with a forced smile. “It’s the stress, you understand.”
The detective took a seat. “I understand. You said you had a case for me?”
“Er, yes.” Ramino fumbled with the mess on his desk. “I thought Masters said that you wouldn’t be arriving until this evening?”
“That was the plan, yes.” the detective said, “But the Lord spoke to me in a dream. I was to take the earliest bus I could manage upon waking and so I did.”
A dark shadow fell over Ramino’s heart. “You’re one of those mediums, I take it? Speak to the spirits of the dead?”
Brand’s eyes widened. He stood up, outraged. “I am no heretic, sir.”
Ramino let out a nervous laugh, surprising himself. “Please, Mister Brand. I was joking. Masters spoke very highly of you on the phone.”
Brand sat, but his eyes remained hard. “Masters is a good friend of mine. He said that a killer is on the loose in your streets. He said that you needed him brought to justice, by any means.”
Ramino eased. The man was a lunatic, he could tell, but he was aggressive. Ramino liked that. With luck, he’d put down the Butcher without a second thought. Ramino gave him a knowing smile “Well of course, I would like you to take the suspect in alive...but he is armed and extremely dangerous Mister Brand. I authorize you to use whatever force you feel is necessary in capturing him or in the defense of yourself or another. Whatever it takes, you understand me?”
Brand’s eyes penetrated him like cold iron. “Yes, I believe I do. Let me be clear Mister Ramino; I am here to bring those who have rejected God back into his light. By judgement or redemption. I am not here to sweep your mistakes under the rug.”
Ramino scowled at Brand’s tone, but kept his temper. “Understood Mister Brand, but also understand that I pay you based on results. Bring him in, dead or alive. I don’t care. Just take care of it, understand?”
The private detective eyed him still. He stood. “I do. Masters mentioned you had the file on this sinner?”
Ramino handed over the poorly organized file. “Here. Take it.”
Brand seemed not to mind the folder’s state. He opened it and skimmed through. Ramino took a bit of enjoyment when he saw the man’s eyes widen. He had made it to the pictures. His enjoyment evaporated though, when he saw the burning rage in the man’s eyes. He could almost swear that the man was angry enough to pull the trigger on any man responsible for such crimes. Ramino hid a smile; good, that was what he needed.
“He’s a sick man, Mister Brand.” Ramino told him.
Brand blinked. The anger in his eyes had vanished. He looked down at Ramino, as if he had forgotten that he were there. The detective face was empty of all expressions, but his voice was hard with anger. “You did well to contact me, Mister Ramino. You have my word, this man will not escape judgement.”
Ramino smiled. It seemed they understood each other. He stood and held out his hand, but he instead knocked over a picture of himself with his family; his blond haired wife and their two children. “Oh, damn! It cracked.”
“You have a lovely family,” Brand said.
“Thank you,” Ramino said. “And good luck, I’ll offer a prayer to the big guy upstairs for you.”
Brand nodded and his eyes fell to Ramino’s desk. Ramino followed his gaze to an ironwood rosemary on the desk. Brand’s eyes shot back up, sharp as knives. “You’re Catholic?” he asked.
Ramino flushed. “Uh, no actually. It was a gift from a friend. That’s all.”
Brand nodded and took Ramino’s hand. “Then treasure it well. Good day to you, Mister Ramino.”
The door closed and Ramino fell back in his seat. He immediately opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out his bottle and glass. He filled it, swallowed nearly half the glass in one gulp and sat back. He eyed the rosemary.
Ramino snatched the rosemary and tossed it into the open drawer, where he had found it buried earlier that morning.
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