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 14
Chapter One: "Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him. - Fyodor Dostoevsky"
There was a certain amount of trepidation in Erica as she pulled up into the main parking lot of the abandoned 'Storage4All' depot. A failed start up that had left a few score storage lock up's abandoned and in the control of a bank. Sondra had a 'friend' who had given her access to the site. Isolated but with the built-in security of twelve-foot-high chain link fences, lockable roller doors on the units and an antiquated closed circuit monitoring system that Victor had been able to bring back to life, it made an ideal place to regroup and to store a prisoner.
Her trepidation wasn't about coming face to face with the man who had organised Arlene's 'warning', a killer they had dubbed 'The Hockey Fan'. No, Erica was nervous about the two women who waited on her to get out of her vehicle, both tapping a foot in a mixture of impatience and annoyance.
"Hey guys," Erica said as she closed the door behind her.
"Fuck me, she's alive!" Sondra said in mock astonishment to Arlene.
"Be fair Sondra, we knew she was alive. Had to be alive in order to tell us she was too busy to help out," Arlene said by way of a rejoinder.
"Cut me a break, will you? I was working my own thing and I'm not exactly indispensable when it comes to taking down killers. You had your bounty hunter pal for that." Erica did feel guilty, but she knew if she showed any weakness then Sondra and Arlene would eat her alive. There wasn't time for recriminations. They were too close to bringing down Butterman, The Graffiti Killer, to get sidetracked now.
Arlene stepped close to Erica, pulling the younger woman into a tight squeeze.
"You
ARE
indispensable to me, don't forget that. I was worried," Arlene whispered the words, the message soft, the tone hard.
"Sorry," Erica said, simple and sufficient for the now.
"Let me in on this bitches," Sondra said, dragging the two women into her own arms to complete the hug.
Erica had her arm around Arlene's waist and she half cried, half laughed at the emotion that lay so thickly on their partnership. There two women were closer now to her than family, rock solid pillars in her life, anchors in the storm that had tossed her mind and emotions into a fragile state. She gave both Sondra and Arlene a tear dampened kiss on their cheeks.
"You did it guys, you got him."
"Slice of pie," Sondra said grinning, Erica quirking an eyebrow at that before reasoning it was probably some reference to Denisa.
"The next bit won't be," Arlene said, dampening the mood at once. She looked at Erica, a level no-nonsense gaze that the young reporter matched. "You ready for this Erica?"
"No, but when has that ever stopped us? Where are you keeping him?"
"Lucky number seven," Sondra answered. "Got it set up with a couple of chairs, he's cuffed and shackled to the floor."
Erica had already begun walking towards storage unit seven and the others had to jog a few yards to catch her up.
"What's the plan then?" This from Arlene.
"I go in alone, no arguments," Erica answered. She didn't get any but she did notice the looks exchanged by Arlene and Sondra.
Outside the unit, Victor and Trent were in quiet discussion beside a large SUV. Lying on the bonnet, fiddling with her phone was Denisa, a Romanian born bounty hunter who had been drawn into their orbit as Arlene and Sondra had used her father's connections to help track down Adin Hodzik, The Hockey Fan.
Erica gave Victor and Trent a hug apiece before turning to face the door into the storage unit. She left everything she owned outside, anything that he might use as a weapon or means of escape. That was alright, she didn't need her notes or a gun to deal with him. Everything she needed was in her head and there were plenty of guns just outside should the need arise. Arlene gave her one last hand squeeze before Erica opened the small door beside the loading entrance and stepped inside.
"I already said. She is too soft. You should let me interrogate him," Denisa said to no-one and everyone as she continued to be distracted by the social media on her phone.
"Soft? You've got no clue what that girl is capable of," Sondra whispered softly, adding in a louder voice that Denisa could hear clearly, "Shut your mouth Zoomer, go back to talking trash online." Sondra heard Denisa chuckle behind her, not in the least bit insulted by the black woman's curt reply. That was the last bit of chatter, even from Denisa, silence falling as they waited outside for Erica to meet with a killer.
<<0>>
A dim bulb glowed above the small lock up. The cement walls were bare now but the shadows of the shelving that had once lined three walls was still visible, screw holes, paint scrapings on the hard walls and floor. Her footsteps made a disquieting echo as Erica crossed from the door to the empty chair that had been left out for her. In the chair opposite was Adin Hodzik. He was wearing handcuffs, and these had in turn been attached to a simple steel chain that was secured to the floor via a staple plate fixed to the floor. Knowing Arlene to have been scrupulous in her preparation, Erica assumed the chair had been set just out of range of Hodzik should he lunge forward.
Erica shifted the chair a half foot towards him before sitting down on it. You don't show fear to a predator.
"Erica Anderson, a pleasure," Adin said. He looked dishevelled but unhurt. Arlene had kept her temper it seemed, refraining from beating on the man. Black hair flecked with grey, a square face, pug nose and a day's growth of beard. There was nothing remarkable about this man, in fact bland or forgettable would have been apt words to describe him. Erica had no doubt that he preferred it that way.
"Can I tell you something?" Erica spoke quickly, almost excitedly, like a child wanting to share some newly acquired knowledge or fact with a parent.
"Of course," Adin answered smoothly. He seemed calm although his fingers on his right hand twitched at times. The nicotine stains on his index and middle finger indicating the twitch was likely down to craving a cigarette rather than a display of nerves.
"There is a difference in reporters. Did you know that?" This time Erica didn't wait for his answer, continuing to talk as if it mattered nothing if he wanted to hear or not. The excited energy left her voice, marking it as a façade, instead her voice became more matter of fact, bored even.
"My father explained it to me. If I were one of those interviewers on TV, well I would have a different approach than if I were an investigative reporter for a newspaper. See the interviewer, no matter how well briefed, is still bound somewhat by the person he is interviewing. The interviewee, they hold a certain amount of leverage as to how well the story plays out. Are they engaged? Disengaged? Loquacious? Surly? Helpful? Friendly? All of that matters, all of those have a bearing on how the interview goes."
"And you want to know if I will be engaged or helpful, this de-", Adin was cut off by Erica leaning forward snapping her fingers in front of his face.
"I hadn't finished speaking," she said, no hint of anger just another fact to be expressed.
"My apologies," Adin tried to seem unfazed, but things weren't starting out as he'd imagined.
"Then you have an investigative reporter. For them, it doesn't matter about how charismatic an interviewee might be. They go in with facts, cold hard facts. They don't look to break down the person, they break down the situation instead, manage the scenario, chase the clues. Investigate."
Erica tailed off, patting down her pockets as if seeking something. Then without a word she left the room.
"Where are you going?" Adin called after her, receiving no answer. Erica returned a moment later, a single cigarette and a lighter in her hand. She tossed both into Adin's lap, returning to her seat and waiting until the killer had lit up before continuing.
"Let me tell you what an investigative reporter would make of all this," She began, "First, I break down the reason you'd want me here. You asked for me because Butterman told you something. Maybe he said I was soft? Weak? Malleable? You figured in a negotiation that you'd have a better chance against me than against my friends. Smart, yeah, makes sense." Erica tapped her fingers against the heel of her hand in a mocking, quiet applause.
"Next, an investigative reporter looks at the history, the facts, what things may color the current situation. This is what you do, what you've done for the people you work for. You take a situation, find the angles, fix the problems. I've seen your record. You make deals. You organise what needs to happen, use contacts, go-betweens. You set yourself up as the right hand for whatever boss you might have, unobtrusive, effective, anonymous. So right now, you are looking to make a deal, offer us some information, stall, drip feed us clues. Keep us talking long enough for your organisation to find you. To rescue you." Adin didn't react to Erica's appraisal, instead he just smoked, turning a head away to expel the fumes, drawing again so that his lungs filled up and his craving waned.
Erica sat patiently, waiting for him to finish his smoke, then she waited longer, till Adin finally spoke.
"All of that is very interesting, but you are telling me things I already know, there is no big 'reveal' here Ms. Anderson, no parlour trick that will make me believe you are omnipotent, more powerful than those I work for. Negotiation is in your best interest. There is always a middle ground, regardless of a situation, there is always an option that is mutually beneficial," he said. Erica nodded, accepting what he said to be true.
"You are basing your strategy on an assumption that everything Butterman told you about me is a fact. The reason you asked for me is because you have hope. Hope that you can get one over me in a deal, hope that by drawing things out this place will be discovered by your friends. That's a real possibility. But the problem is that you are thinking like a criminal, like a killer, assuming there's a way out. No, no, no, you've got that all wrong. Here. Now. You're a victim. Like all those innocents that you robbed, beat, killed, enslaved, tortured... they suffered at your hands knowing only hopelessness. So, take a minute, feel what they felt." Erica again paused, leaning back in the chair, closing her eyes as she relaxed in front of him. She didn't move again for a full minute.
