The Monocle Man Read online

Page 9


  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SATIN CITY

  SATIN CITY

  For one of the first times in his life, Jon Reynolds finds himself at a crossroads; a junction of uncertainty. It’s a manner he’s not accustomed to, being unsure of his next move. He just didn’t know what his next step should be. Last night on the wharf with his so-called new partner remains a strange one. They never apprehended the culprit. That man of considerable size. The one with the patchwork face. The one that Reynolds now thought might be innocent.

  But why?

  He remembers looking up into the window. Witnessing that… well… thing. There’s really no other way to put it. But he recalls it looking down on him. Their eyes locking. In that moment, his mind seized the opportunity to convince him the big man lacked a certain degree of malfeasance. The pieces of the mystery suddenly sat askew, far from fitting into the nice and neat puzzle they’d been led to accept. The thing was hulking, massive, even looked frightful. But the lack of malice in its eyes reminded Reynolds things aren’t always what they seem. Their modern-day Frankenstein had the size and strength to do many kinds of harm. But some things weren’t adding up now.

  For starters, if Reynolds removed his gut feeling about the thing… No! He had to stop it! It wasn’t a thing. Regardless of how peculiar it came across. It was just a man. But if he set aside this notion of the patchwork man and looked at a few of the facts, it all seemed wrong. The sheer, ungainly size of the man made Reynolds wonder. How could he apply such gentle death to these small girls? It seemed unlikely. He could see the man easily snapping a girl in two. Just by accident. And the way it moved. Lumbering. Without any sense of grace. And yet, the victims remained unbruised, unbroken. One agreed opinion of all involved was the care which had been taken in subduing and rendering the girls dead. The assault had been committed by someone who took their time. Enjoyed what they were doing. Didn’t need or want to rush. Not a mark of any kind, save for the empty corpse of a once healthy child, and a few indiscernible scars on or near the throat. Too large to be puncture marks from a needle. On one, they’d found something similar on the inside thigh. And even though there resided a vague similarity in the marks, the scarring suggested the wounds were made days or weeks prior to their abductions. Just another dead end.

  No, it seemed unlikely that this man would be capable of such subtlety. And there was the matter with John Dori. He always sensed the man was an odd one. Sinister in some way. Older in the eyes than anyone he had ever known. With the slightest ongoing veil as if he had many a secret he kept to himself. And what the hell was he doing in that office with the girls? After replaying the incident in his head, he’s sure it was Dori hunched over the two corpses. He recalls seeing the hand run the length of one of the girls’ thighs. He nods to himself. Dori’s hand. Even now the thought sends shivers up his spine. Turns his stomach. But he couldn’t make any sense of what the detective had been doing.

  A large part of him wants to believe Dori was merely checking for vital signs. But he doubts very much the man was looking for clues. Not in the dark like that. And there’s the other thing as well. Something inside Reynolds doesn’t want to give Dori the benefit of the doubt. To the bone, he knows the man is responsible for many bad deeds, even if he has no proof.

  But where to go from here?

  Reynolds sets a paper cup of steaming coffee to the side of his desk. Strips off his jacket and falls into his chair. The screen of his computer casts a hazy glow over the desktop and a handful of manilla folders lay next to the keyboard. His eyes immediately drop to the folder at the top the pile. A post-it note, attached to the folder with a paperclip boasts one single word in Reynold’s messy scrawl: Patchwork.

  In it, all his evaluations, assumptions and evidence are categorized in order of relevance. Also within, all details of each of the crime scenes, including statements from first responders, the witnesses who found the girls, as well as photographs. As organized as the file appears, the information inside is a haphazard patchwork of guesses. Reynolds laughs to himself. That word again… patchwork. All the crime scenes were scattered in and around the city. Some within city limits, a handful outside. This made it difficult to attach the concept of a serial killer to them. Though this is exactly the way Reynolds views the case. Most serial killers however, choose a hunting ground both familiar and close in proximity. The distance between each crime scene made others who looked at the case skeptical of the idea. But the modem operandi, at least to Reynolds, screams of one man; one sick obsession. All the girls were around the same age, within ten to fourteen years. All stripped of their clothing, though no apparent sexual assault. Either nearing death, or having just passed moments before the police arrived. Or in some cases, before the bodies were discovered. In many ways, that’s the thing that strikes Reynolds most, the times of death. As if those moments had somehow been crafted; orchestrated in some fashion for the benefit of discovery. Unfortunately, all of this kept the case at a standstill, without any concrete forensic evidence to go on.

  That was, until last evening, when the call came in, and he and Dori set out to the wharf. And they had confronted the monster responsible, even if Reynolds now thought the monster wasn’t the one the papers reported on, but rather, one who sat across the desk from him. Catching the big man sure would have helped in both regards. But he slipped through their fingers. The frustration shows on Reynolds face.

  “Patchwork,” a voice from over his shoulder says. “An interesting choice of words. Don’t you think?”

  Reynolds winces at his partner’s voice. He looks down at the folder and the quick scrawl of his handwriting on the note. Shakes his head.

  “What do you want Dori?” Without turning.

  “Now, now Reynolds. No need to be hostile.”

  “Dori, you’ve not yet seen me hostile.”

  “I think it’s best you put aside whatever notions of what you may have imagined there in that office, if you want to continue to work together.”

  “That’s just it. I didn’t want to work with you in the first place. I’ve seen enough.”

  “And what…” Dori starts, as he leans next to Reynolds’ ear. “What do you think it is you may have seen,? Hmmm? Do tell?”

  “Don’t push me Dori.”

  “Listen kid,” Dori spits. “I’ve not even begun to push.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Take it as you want.” Dori’s smile burns into Reynolds. He can’t help but notice that hint of malice on the man’s face again. Yes, they’ve been chasing the wrong monster indeed.

  Reynolds bolts from his chair and spins on Dori. One hand grabs the detective’s collar and the other cocks, ready to strike. Dori maintains his posture, sticking his chin out the slightest, almost beckoning for Reynolds to hit him.

  “Reynolds!” The sound of his name booms through the office. “Enough!” His Captain, Jim Nance crosses the office with a vigorous canter. Slams an arm in between Reynolds and Dori, separating the two. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Captain, I… I…-“

  “Exactly. Dori… go take a walk! And you Rey! In my office. Now!”

  Reynolds fumes through the space dedicated to the detectives on the Satin City PD. Jim stays put a moment, watching Dori saunter from the office and out into the hall, as if it were no big thing. He shakes his head as he starts back for his own office; let’s out a huge sigh. Ahead of him, the door closes behind Reynolds. He knows things are getting out of hand. He can’t guess why, other than Reynolds pleading not to be partnered with Detective Dori in the first place. He’s watched as things between the two continue to strain. He isn’t sure if it’s the case they’re working on, or something deeper. But Reynolds is fit to be tied. Though he can’t blame the guy one bit. Dori unnerves him as well. You didn’t have to be a grade A detective to know Dori gets up to no good on his spare time. He, himself maintains suspicions of indecent practices. But Dori has plenty of seniority. Even a few of t
he upper office somehow in his pocket. So even though it pains him, he lets Dori get away with whatever he wants. He tried several times to knock the man down a few pegs, in his early days as captain. But to no avail. Which is a shame. Because Jon Reynolds is a damn fine cop. An honest one to boot. Hard working, and relentless. He knew he’d eventually have to separate the two. He was hoping it would have taken longer.

  Jim Nance closes his office door behind him. As he rounds the two chairs set facing his desk, Reynolds stands up from one and begins. Jim holds a hand out, pausing the detective in mid-sentence.

  “Listen Rey, please don’t start. And don’t get hostile.”

  “Captain I-“

  “I said listen Jon. Don’t speak for a moment. Just listen,” raising his eyebrows, indicating to a seat. After Reynolds sits, Jim pulls out his own chair and sits down behind his desk. Sighs again. “I know Dori can be frustrating-“

  “Frustrating isn’t the word I’d use,” Reynolds snaps, then bows his head at the suddenness of his remark. Looking back up, “Sorry Captain.”

  “Listen Rey. I know you never wanted to partner with Dori. But lack of options at the time gave us little choice in the matter. And I know the two of you don’t really see eye to eye. But what I also know is, I’ve seen a different side of you the last couple of days. What the hell happened at the wharf the other night? Because something’s got your panties in a twist.”

  “Well… it’s uh…” Reynolds’ mind trails back to seeing his partner hunched over the two girls, his hand running the length of the girl’s thigh; the large patchwork man staring from the window; the strange man standing in the shadows within the office, his black hair; thick mustache, sideburns and antiquated clothing; the flash of blue lightening, or whatever it was. No. How can he explain these things to Jim, when he himself isn’t sure what to make of it? “I guess, it’s nothing really.”

  “Nothing? And you expect me to believe this bullshit Rey?”

  “Believe what you will Captain. I’m not ready to make heads or tails of it.”

  “Fine. Take a few days Rey.”

  “Captain I-“

  “End of discussion. You take a couple days to get your head right.”

  “But Jim, if you-”

  “Want to make it a week? I’m splitting you and Dori. Effective immediately. We’ll discuss what’s in your future when you get back.”

  “Jim?”

  “End of discussion.” Jim pulls in closer to his desk, lifting a file folder from it and glances up from under his brow. He motions with his chin to the office door. “Use it.” When Reynolds gets up to go, Jim adds, “At least two days Rey. Two days.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  ENGLAND, 1919

  ENGLAND, 1919

  “I can’t help you,” Samuel Mathers spoke once Jakob’s tale concluded.

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” Crowley questioned.

  “I know what it is you intend to do Aleister. And I simply will not be a part of it.”

  “You know my chances for success would be greater with you there.”

  “There are reasons plenty why such a ceremony has rarely taken place.”

  “Yes, yes! I understand the dangers.”

  “But do you Aleister? Do you really? The odds of you commencing beyond the preparations would be nothing short of miraculous. Let alone the operation itself.”

  “Operation?” Jakob questioned, eyebrows raised.

  “Yes my boy,” Crowley answered. “The Abramelin Operation.”

  Aleister Crowley turned to face Jakob, who had gone white. Obviously the terminology was beyond his comprehension. So, why would he look so frightened? And then it occurred to Crowley. His interpretation lay in another direction.

  Clarifying for the young man, “It is not a surgical operation to speak of. So there is no need to fear. I am a boisterous character to say the least, but even I would not dare to tamper with such things as medical science.”

  “No,” Samuel interjected. “But you would dare tamper with much darker, unseen forces. You are and always have been Crowley… a foolish individual.”

  “Ah, but Samuel! It is the fools that break down barriers. Make the great leaps for humankind!”

  “You’ve no intention of benefiting humankind. Your selfishness will one day be the end of you. And I will not be there when that occurrence unfolds.”

  “But think of it my old friend! This could be our chance! A chance to open real doors. Do real magic!”

  “I do magic plenty enough, Crowley.”

  “What? This?” Crowley gestured with a sweeping hand inches above the chess board. “This is play Samuel.”

  “How dare you!” Samuel Mathers jumped from his chair in an uproar, pushing the table forward a few inches, the chess pieces scattering across the board.

  A silence filled the room. Jakob took a few steps back, his heels bordering the shadows surrounding them. He could feel something stirring, something beyond the dark. Or was it the dark itself? It was as if someone breathed in his ear. Hot, humid breath. It surrounded them. The hairs on his arm stood. And gooseflesh invaded the back of his neck. He looked this way and that into the dark, but saw nothing.

  Crowley sat back a little in his chair. He looked all around, but shook his head, pursing his lips together. He let out a little sigh and slammed his hand down on the table. The chess pieces laying haphazard on the board danced.

  “Enough of this Samuel. Your little tricks will neither disturb, nor amuse. You are a disappointment as always.”

  With that, Crowley stood from his chair. He turned to go, but stopped a moment. Looked down at the chess board. Fished around in the jumbled pieces and found the light colored king. He picked it up and examined it. Then turned back toward Samuel. Somehow the threatening overtone in the air dissipated a little, replaced with disappointment.

  “This,” Crowley spoke, holding up the chess piece. “This might have been you my old friend. A shame.”

  Crowley tossed the piece at Samuel. It hit the man in the chest and tumbled to the floor and out of view. Samuel’s expression was scathing. He watched Crowley turn and grab Jakob by the arm, as he ushered the young man from the room. Across the vast darkness the light from the open door glowed a moment before fading black once the door was closed again.

  Sighing, Samuel Mathers sat back in his chair. Pulled the table closer to him. He ran a hand through his thick hair, not looking disgusted as much as saddened now. His hand swept across the chess board, taking up a dark colored piece. This he held up in front of his face. He looked nearly upon tears as his eyes fixed on the black king.

  “And this my old friend… will eventually be you.”

  2

  2.

  The carriage waited for Crowley and Jakob as they exited the building. Jakob stood in thought, while Aleister pulled himself up in. He turned one last time to take in the home they’d just left. His mind reeled.

  Had he really been witness to those things?

  Were such things possible?

  The never ending, cavernous room draped in total darkness. A man playing chess with an invisible opponent. A spirit? Then the ever-looming omnipresence of a great evil when Crowley unnerved Samuel. A week ago he would have thought such things were only possible in literature. The events with Lillian however, bolstered the reality that such imaginings could come true. That alone made the world seem like a much, much larger place to live, with endless possibilities. For surely man had only scratched the surface of what lie beneath.

  “Come Jakob,” Crowley beckoned, leaning forward on his cane, peering out the side door of the carriage. “We’ve much to discuss. And even more to prepare for.”

  Jakob nodded, then pulled himself up into the carriage. A tap of the cane on the roof inspired a hoot from the driver, and a snap of the reigns. The cobbled roads jostled the pair in the vehicle’s back. Jakob sat in silence. Still mulling over the events.

  “Don’t let yourself get too far into your own head, m
y dear boy.” Crowley insisted after observing the manner of deep thought Jakob was lost in.

  “But. But… such wondrous things!”

  “That? Ha! A simple display. Not even an iota of what could be accomplished should one prevail themselves to a higher standard of greatness!”

  “I don’t understand, sir. I never believed in magic as it were.”

  “No. Most do not. You are not uncommon in that regard. But don’t go chastising yourself because of it. If everyone knew true magic existed, why, this world might be a much different place. And not a better one I might add.”

  “It’s just… so much to absorb.”

  “Indeed. I gather it must.”

  “And you believe you can help my sister?”