Tracking Evil A Podcast Pt 04

Authors note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Tracking Evil, A Podcast -- Part Four

Recap:

It began with a series of deaths.

Different cities and states, the victims both male and female, black and white.

Some were ruled as homicides, others as accidents or misadventures.

One thing linked them all. A scrawled message found at or near each murder site, BILLIII.

A young investigative reporter. Erica Anderson, seeking her big break began to piece together the mystery. She collected a number of new friends, allies really, as she followed the clues. Most notably a young black man from Washington DC who had a passion for graffiti and street art and a Deputy Sheriff called Arlene McGuigan who became intrigued by Erica's findings.

Following up on a murder from over three decades ago, Erica stumbled onto the meaning behind the graffiti. That led her to a name, Gerry Butterman.

Episode 1: 'By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail'

As war councils go it wasn't the most impressive one.

Erica sat opposite Arlene at a tatty picnic table. They had been texting, emailing and talking on the phone for over two weeks with regard to the case and each of the conversations had swung around to the exact same conclusion...they had zero proof or evidence.

Arlene was adamant that any law enforcement agency they brought this to would ignore their findings. Everything was circumstantial or simply based on hunches. Not only that but the manner in which some of the 'leaps' in the case had been made were not exactly prime examples of good investigative work, from a policing or journalistic standpoint.

Erica's concerns were centred on further victims. She still wanted to bring the story to the world but more importantly she wanted the killer brought to justice before anyone else died. The fact that he didn't appear to be prolific in his murders did offer some hope that they had time to gather the evidence Arlene insisted they needed but still, Erica couldn't help but worry that the clock was running out on another body turning up.

Two days ago, Arlene had texted Erica to join her at her place in Virginia, the older woman wrote that she had a plan, an idea really, that she wanted to run past Erica.

The picnic table was at the far end of the large back garden. Arlene's home was five miles outside Chase city, set in six acres of land. It had been in her family for five generations and, while the landscaping needed a lot of work, it was an idyllic setting for their discussion. Most importantly it was a completely private one. A narrow creek flowed a few feet away, a boundary both to the garden and the property in general. As the two women sipped on cold beers straight from the bottles, the water gurgled and splashed behind them, a calming sound.

"Umm, so, a plan, yeah?" Erica didn't look up at Arlene as she spoke, instead she idly picked at the label on the bottle, working her fingernail beneath it. She had the random thought that if she could peel the label off without it tearing then it would be a sign that the plan would work. Irrational...yes, but that was the level of desperation she felt at ever closing out the investigation.

"Yes, I've been thinking about nothing else. We need to catch him in the act, nothing less will do. We can't put him under surveillance indefinitely, we don't have the equipment, manpower or money. We could watch him for a year and he mightn't do a thing. We can't apply for a warrant, we have no evidence to obtain one and even if by some miracle we did find a reason to go into his home, there's no guarantee there would be anything there to link him to a crime. Worse, it would tip him off to our suspicions and we'd never catch him then."

"I know, I know" Erica said, "We've gone over all of this before. You're right, you've been right from the start." She had a half inch of the label free now, the right corner of it yielding to her attempts. Erica ran her finger along the glass surface, gathering moisture to soften more of the paper.

"Well, if the mountain won't come to Mohammad..." Arlene replied.

"Huh?" Erica finally looked up at the redheaded woman sitting patiently across from her.

"Then we bring him to the mountain ourselves." Arlene finished paraphrasing.

Erica still appeared confused but she was paying attention now, the smile on Arlene's face showed that the deputy knew she'd piqued Erica's interest.

"We set up a sting, well... sort of a sting. We try to force his hand."

"Okay you are losing me here, what exactly do you mean? Walk me through it." Erica asked her.

Arlene got up from the picnic bench, she took a look around, more to order her thoughts than to check for eavesdroppers as there was nobody for miles. She paced slightly as she began to outline her plan, arms moving demonstratively as she spoke.

"I did some digging on our Mr Butterman. Seems that after he was released, he moved back to his hometown of Oxford NC. Not the home he shared with his late wife, he got himself a small place on the edge of town. Neither he nor his wife have any living kin, anyone even remotely connected to the case seems to have moved, retired or died. That means that by keeping his head down, his presence in the town has gone largely unnoticed. As far as the locals are concerned, he's kept his nose clean these last years which runs true with the period he spent incarcerated, no trouble, no fuss, just did his time. Basically, an unremarkable man leading an unremarkable life."

Arlene paused to swipe her bottle from the table, she drank and then went on talking.

"Something of note, he started a little business when he got out. Seems he took courses in prison and now he runs a small enterprise finding and restoring antiques and the like. Apparently, he travels to bid on storage sales and the like. Might explain the variety of locations that the murders occurred in. I haven't been able to trace and compare any purchases he made with murders, but if we do get a look at his records, it might be another nail in his coffin."

"Could we get a warrant to do that first?" Erica liked this plan, verifying his movements seemed a great idea.

"No, for the reasons we spoke about before. Besides its only supposition that he might have committed murders at those times, a half-asleep defence lawyer would tear that to shreds without more concrete evidence to back it up."

"Okay, so if that's not your plan, go on then..." Erica urged Arlene.

"It's as we said, we need to catch him in the act. My idea is that we force his hand. I want to set up a situation that he'll respond to, push his buttons in such a way that he'll have to react. Basically, I want to give him a target."

"A target! You mean you want to give him a potential victim, right? Seriously? It's too risky! You said yourself that this is off the books. So much could go wrong." Erica was shocked at the idea. As Arlene had said 'target' her hand had convulsed with shock, the fingernail that had been surgically removing the label now scored along it, tearing it. So much for good omens.

"Yes, I agree. There is more than a touch of risk associated with doing it this way. Yes, things could go wrong, badly wrong. Let's face it though, what choice do we have? Alert the locals? He hasn't done anything wrong. Alert the FBI? You said yourself that your friend in the bureau thinks you are wasting your time. Wait for someone else to die? Neither of us want that." Arlene's words were delivered with passion and Erica mutely nodded as the Deputy Sheriff finished speaking. There was nothing left to say. Arlene was right.

"First problem is help. As in getting help. I reckon our killer is going to spot law enforcement straight off. He's been so cautious and clever this far, some off duty cops helping us out will be tagged by him straight away. Luckily, I know a couple of guys. Strictly speaking my dad knew them, they were in his platoon. After my dad passed, they looked in on me from time to time. He'd taken them under his wing when he was the platoon sergeant and I guess they felt they owed him. Anyway, two good guys, both black, both tough and thankfully both willing to help. So that leaves us with the woman, now..."

"I'll do it!" Erica blurted.

Arlene shook her head. "Look I know how invested you are in this but this is dangerous. These guys were professional soldiers, they might be older now but that's a bonus, a young guy might put the killer off but these guys are of an age with the killer, he might feel cockier going against them. They can take care of themselves, you can't. I don't want you putting yourself out there as the target."

"You're right, but hear me out. I might have started this whole thing off, the investigation I mean, but that's not the point now. It's not about me wanting to be there at the finish. I met people affected by this guy, I've seen their pain. I've read the police files, trawled through the crime scene photos. What he has done sickens me to my stomach. It isn't about professional pride or getting my story. It's personal. I NEED to help. Please."

Arlene considered this. She saw the steely glint in Erica's eye, the fixed set of her jaw. She could tell the younger woman wasn't going to be turned on this.

"Fine. It's on you. We'll keep it simple. You and the others will make a show in front of him, make sure he understands that you are with these guys in the biblical sense. Drop some key words loud enough for him to hear, cheating wife, bitch, eleven inches, literally loving... you know what I mean. Get him so incensed that he drops his guard. I'll be on overwatch. When he makes his move, then I'll arrest him."

Erica looked at the torn label on her bottle, then back to Arlene.

"Simple but hopefully effective. One thing, I'm going to need another bottle of beer."

The three days later a white pickup truck pulled up in front of Arlene's home. Arlene had only returned herself a few minutes beforehand, she'd gone in to inform the department that she needed to take some personal days.

While they'd waited on Arlene's backup to arrive the two investigators had built out a profile on their quarry. Through Arlene's law enforcement contacts, they'd gleaned records and photos of Gerry Butterman. Arlene had also visited the town, scouting out his haunts and habits, selecting a location for the trap to be sprung. Erica had contacted a few of his clients and suppliers, posing as the personal assistant of a businessman interested in sourcing some goods through Mr Butterman. Under the guise of doing her due diligence for her 'employer' and checking up on Gerry Butterman's previous business dealings, Erica fished for gossip and any insights she could get from these conversations. She'd have much preferred going to Oxford with Arlene but if he saw her by chance then her opportunity to be the bait in the trap was gone.

The two women stood on the porch watching as the truck idled for a moment before its driver killed the engine. Then the driver's door and passenger door opened up and two men stepped out. Since the day before Erica had been wondering what to expect of her co-conspirators so she was relieved to finally get to meet them.

Both men were in their sixties but they carried themselves well. Backs straight, shoulders back and heads high. They had that military bearing about them. Both were in and around six feet in height, one seemed trim enough while the other was carrying some weight mostly around his stomach. The slimmer of the two still had a decent head of hair although it had receded some, the effect making his forehead look considerably bigger. What hair he had was grey speckled with black and was trimmed tight. His blockier friend had shaved his head completely but he had a goatee. Vanity had made him dye his beard, it's jet-black strands at odds with the weathered, aged face it sat on.

"Hey guys!" Arlene greeted them.

"Hey yourself Arli." the bearded man replied, "Get yourself over here and give me a hug."

Arlene skipped off the porch, face alight with the pleasure of seeing these two men. She threw her arms warmly around both men, delivering a chaste kiss to both of them for good measure. The greeting completed she turned to face Erica who had remained on the porch.

"Guys, this is Erica. Erica this is..."

"Amos..." the slimmer man introduced himself.

"Duncan..." the bearded man supplied.

"Hi, nice meeting you both. Thanks for doing this." Erica said smiling nervously at them.

"No need to thank us young lady, should be us thanking the two of you." Duncan said.

"S'right." said Amos, "Happy to lay some hurt of this punk ass coward."

Arlene linked arms with the two men, guiding them into the house. Erica watched as they passed. 'Now this is looking more like a war council.' she mused to herself before following inside.

Episode 2: 'Bait the hook well...'

The steakhouse in Oxford was the starting point. Arlene sat in a car across the street watching as Gerry Butterman walked across the parking lot towards the front door to the restaurant. She'd done her research; the suspect ate in the same place five days a week. According to the staff he always ordered the same meal for his dinner, always insisted on sitting at the same table. A real creature of habit. That made him a perfect target to follow, it was a massive boon to know where your quarry was going to be and when.

Erica, Amos and Duncan had entered the building ten minutes before Butterman. Another ploy, a person doesn't feel like they are being followed if the tracker is there before them. Arlene settled back in her seat, she unwrapped the tuna and mayo sandwich she'd picked up earlier from the local Subway and sniffed at it suspiciously. Right now, the others were probably ordering some ribeye's....'lucky fuckers' she thought and took an exploratory bite of her own dinner.

When Butterman walked through the restaurant door Erica had to stifle of squeak of excitement. It was all she could do to stop herself from staring at him. She did manage to squint at him from the corner of her eye as he waited to be seated. He'd changed a bit from the picture that Arlene had of him, but of course that was almost ten years old. The light blonde hair of his youth was grey now, mid length, he slicked the straight hair back with some sort of hair oil. His skin had a white pallor to it, a man who avoided the sun and outdoors, it gave him a sickly look. Everything about him seemed drab and non-descript, the clothes he wore fitted his sparse frame well but the colours were all muted, as if chosen to not draw attention. Even the round metal framed glasses seemed designed to dull the bright blue eyes behind them. The only thing of note about him was his height, he was six foot three and seemed even taller due to his slenderness.

The waitress smiled at him, a mechanical response to a familiar customer rather than one of real welcome. She led him to his table which was, through no coincidence, right beside the one occupied by Erica, Amos and Duncan. Erica fancied she saw a brief flicker of distaste cross Butterman's face as he glanced at their table but in all honesty, she wasn't sure if it was just her imagination.

The story that they had worked out in advance was that Amos and Duncan were on a trip to the town, they were on a fishing trip and had decided to base themselves in the area. Erica was antiquing with her husband who had to return home unexpectedly, Erica opting to remain in Oxford until he returned. The three of them had crossed paths in a local bar earlier in the day. For realism, Erica found herself actually wearing a wedding band on her finger, Arlene supplying her with her own for the plan.

While Butterman had opted to dress down, Erica had gone the other way, not only to attract notice but also to highlight the age difference between her and Amos and Duncan. Arlene was hoping that the age gap would also annoy Butterman, in addition Erica wasn't far off the age his wife had been when she'd been murdered while Amos and Duncan were now of an age with Randall, his wife's lover who had survived Butterman's rage. She wore jeans with a low-rise waistline, the straps of her black thong clearly visible on her hips, the legs of jeans were torn and ragged in places exposing her legs to view. The long-sleeved crop top was oversized, the sleeves especially baggy and loose. The top still only came slightly below her breasts however. Had she raised her arms above her head, the twin globes of flesh hidden beneath the white material would have peaked into view, their curved undersides visible as she had forgone wearing a bra. A garishly colored baseball cap completed her outfit.

Arlene had hammered away at the three of them, making sure they understood how vital it was that they acted natural. Any comments or trigger phrases had to flow with the conversation, just blurting them out would tip their hand. The two men had grinned at her, clearly amused by 'little Arli' taking charge. That said, they followed her instructions to the letter.

Erica wasn't sure they were going to pull this off. She could feel herself sweating through her panties with nervousness. Amos picked up on her nervousness and he launched into a ribald story supposedly set on a previous fishing trip the two men had been on. The story was as preposterous as it was filthy and Erica couldn't help herself snorting with laughter as Amos said; "by the end of it I don't know who looked more surprised with their mouths hanging open, the girl or the trout. I mean fish always look kinda shocked anyway but I figured it was best to pull my pants back on and squeeze out the window."

Duncan then volleyed back with another story that had her laughing out loud. Erica saw that Butterman was shooting occasional glances their way, giving little disapproving shakes of his head whenever Erica's laughter became too loud or shrill. She let out a particularly high-pitched giggle to draw his attention.

"OH my god, oh my god, you guys are so funny. I mean so, so funny. I am so glad you guys picked me up, I mean I'm having the best time. Don't think my husband would be as happy but I'm having fun so who cares."

The two old men were like a double act, their jokes and good humour helping Erica relax into the role. As their meals arrived Duncan spoke, again pitching his voice slightly higher to be sure that the man sat at the table next to them would hear.

"When did you say your husband is getting back?"

"Not till tomorrow." Erica answered.

"Crying shame that." Duncan responded.

"Won't see me shedding no tear." Amos quipped.

During the meal the three of them continued their banter. Occasionally one or other of them men would place their hand on Erica's hand, arm or shoulder in a familiar way. Amos laid his hand on her thigh once; Erica wasn't sure how that would be seen by Butterman since it was hidden beneath the table. She didn't attempt to point it out to Amos however, enjoying the warmth and pressure of it resting on her leg.

After they had eaten, Erica excused herself to use the bathroom. She made a slight stumble, as if mildly intoxicated, as she passed Butterman's table. This time she was sure he'd been listening. There was no flicker of annoyance or contempt as Erica jostled his table slightly, nor was there an ounce of civility in his face as Erica got her balance. Instead, he merely regarded her with cold blue eyes, for all the world like he was seeing a lower life form. She hurried on to the bathroom.

When she'd left the table, Amos leaned towards Duncan and with a conspiratorial wink he said "That girl is crying out for it. She aint getting it at home. Guess we should step up and serve it to her."