INSURRECTION - THE NORRIS FILES Read online

  INSURRECTION

  A Norris File

  Mystery

  BY

  MW HUFFMAN

  INSURRECTION

  ©2012 by Marshall Huffman

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. The events are made up and all characters are fictional. Any similarity between the characters and actual living or dead persons is confidential.

  This book is dedicated to:

  My Loving Wife and Partner

  SUSAN HUFFMAN

  OTHER BOOKS BY MW HUFFMAN

  THE END–BOOK I of The Event Series

  THE BEGINNING–BOOK II of The Event Series

  THE REVELATION–BOOK III of The Event Series

  The Second Civil War–BOOK I-A Nation Divided

  The Second Civil War–Book II-A Nation at War

  The Second Civil War–Book III–A Nation Healing

  Project BlueBolt – BOOK I – American Gulags

  Project BlueBolt – BOOK II - The Gulag Journal

  Project BlueBolt – BOOK III – American Uprising

  REVOLUTION

  THE BRINK

  CLOSE PROXIMITY

  BLACKSTAR

  CHIMERA

  WORLDS END

  SUN BURST

  Sins of the Fathers

  The Unfinished

  Angie Bartoni Case File # 1 - The Alphabet Murders

  Angie Bartoni Case File # 2 - Frost Bite

  Angie Bartoni Case File # 3 - Dead Aim

  Angie Bartoni Case File # 4 - What Goes Around

  Angie Bartoni Case File # 5 - Nothing to Lose

  Angie Bartoni Case File # 6 - Shadow Man

  Angie Bartoni Case File # 7 – The Club

  Angie Bartoni Case File # 8 – Shakespeare Murders

  Angie Bartoni Case File # 9 – One Too Many

  Angie Bartoni Case File #10 – Weak Link

  Angie Bartoni Case File #11 – Vanishing Act

  Angie Bartoni Case File #12 – Victim’s Advocate

  Angie Bartoni Case File #13 – Payback

  Angie Bartoni Case File #14 – Dead on Arrival

  The Logan Files - Blond Deception

  The Logan Files - Innocence and Avarice

  The Logan Files - The Deal Breaker

  The Logan Files – Pain Center

  Norris Files – Insurrection

  Norris Files - Silver2

  CHAPTER ONE

  The bottle of 18 year old single malt scotch sat unopened on the kitchen table. The amber liquid caught the light coming in from the window and cast a sparkling golden shadow across the tablecloth. A large tumbler sat next to the bottle. I was sitting in my underwear with my feet propped up on the edge of the table, looking at the golden libation. It had been more than ten years since I had last taken a drink of hard liquor but tonight was different. Very different.

  I have been on the IPD as a detective for as long as I can remember or as long as I want to remember anyway. During the past twenty years I thought I had seen just about every perversion, every sick and disgusting act one human could inflict upon another but tonight had been an exception. Nothing quite compared to what I had just seen.

  I involuntarily shuddered at the mental picture that flashed before my eyes. I shook my head trying to force the visualization to blur and disappear but it remained. I reached out and touched the bottle of scotch. It felt cool to my hand as I ran it over the bottle.

  What in God’s name could make someone so malicious? My fingers rubbed the cap of the bottle and just as I was about to twist it open, the phone rang. I was startled and the bottle slipped from my hand and landed with a loud bang on the table. I grabbed it before it rolled off onto the floor and sat it back up. I took my feet off the table and went to answer the phone.

  “Yeah?” I said gruffly.

  “JD, you probably need to come down here,” a grumpy man’s voice said.

  “I don’t want to. Not this time.”

  “Yeah, well I think you had better. You've got a real sick one on your hands.”

  “I don’t have to come down there to know that,” I replied.

  “Get your butt on down here, I'm not gonna’ wait all night.”

  I grunted and hung up the phone. The ME didn’t call me unless it was something really unusual. Not at home. I have known Doc Malcolm for going on twenty years and if he said I needed to come down, I damn sure needed to be there. I slipped on my pants and a spiffy NRA tee shirt, put my gun in the holster and grabbed my jacket. I glanced at my watch. It was 8:45 p.m. It would take a good half hour to get to the morgue.

  ****

  The drive was uneventful and I made good time. Twenty-five minutes later I was parked in front of the ME’s office. My footsteps echoed through the halls as I walked to the cutting room. Malcolm was busy weighing organs when I stepped inside. He glanced up briefly and went on talking into the microphone hanging above the cutting table. It was cold and I shivered like usual. Not my favorite place to be. I just waved and waited until he stopped dictating.

  “So, you got your sorry butt down here. Damn good thing.”

  “Obviously. This had better be worth it or you’re gonna’ end up on one of these slabs.”

  “Oooh. I quiver with fear,” he said, chuckling. We had been friends since I first became a detective.

  “So what have you got for me?”

  “Come on over and I’ll show you,” Malcolm replied.

  “Wow, I hope it’s not some shriveled up old thing,” I joked.

  “You should be so lucky,” he replied

  I crossed the room, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. As many times as I had been here, the smell was something I never got used too. I wondered how he did it day after day. Probably like pig farmers have a tendency not to smell the pigs after a certain length of time.

  Two corpses, both without heads attached, lay on the shiny stainless steel tables that took up most of the room. They were totally exposed and Malcolm was in the process of removing the organs from the adult male.

  “Can’t you at least cover them up some?” I said.

  “They didn’t say they were cold. Wait, I know, you’re getting a conscience,” he said.

  “Cute. Okay. I’m here. What is it I need to see?

  “Just a minute,” he said and went to one of the refrigerators and took out the head of the male victim.

  “I know what a severed head looks like,” I grumbled.

  “Not like this one. Look at this,” he said and started pulling the hair back to expose areas on the victim’s scalp.

  “What the hell? What are those things?”

  “Nails. Brads, to be more precise. They have been driven into the skull with one of those air stapler guns.”

  “Ouch. Why? What was the point?”

  “The point? I get it,” Malcolm said, laughing.

  “No you dweeb. I mean why would someone do that?”

  “Torture. Meanness. They are not long enough to do damage to the brain but the pain would be unbearable. I counted forty five in this skull.”

  “It didn’t kill him?”

  “No. It must have made him wish he was dead, but it isn’t what killed him. When his head was cut off both the right and left common carotid arteries were severed and he bled to death. All the other things done to him just made him hurt like hell but were not fatal,” he said.

  “What else was done to him?”

  “All of his toes were broken. A heavy object was slammed down on each one. I suspect one at a time since the severity of the blows isn’t consistent,” the ME said, showing me the man’s mutilated feet.

  “You probably noticed the missing fingernails at th
e crime scene. Those were yanked out with pliers I would imagine. I’m sure you also noticed that his eyelids were taped open as well. He was forced to watch what happened to his wife. I found tape residue on his face. Probably duct tape was used to tape his mouth shut. He was the last to die. The wife was killed before he was. He had to watch it all.”

  I was silent for several moments. How could anyone do this to another human being? Worse, how could you live with yourself afterwards? What was wrong with this world?

  “The wife had it pretty rough as well. She took a lot of abuse before she was finally killed. Her fingers were broken. Each one was pulled back until it snapped. Very painful. She was cut twenty-seven times. Something like a razor knife was used. Not deep enough to kill her but it had to have hurt like heck.

  “Was she raped?”

  “No. Just put through a great deal of pain. Look at this.”

  “Burn marks?”

  “I thought so at first. And they are of a sort, but when I examined them closer, I realized they were from an electrical current. This is where the ends of the wires were attached. The current would surge through her from one point of contact to the other. From the bruising and burn marks it had to have been a good deal of current. Again, not enough to kill her but the pain was certainly maximized.”

  “Then her head was cut off as well.”

  “Decapitated. That’s correct.”

  “Each head was then placed on a metal pole,” I muttered.

  I shook my head. Revolting. Totally gruesome.

  “All right Doc. I think I’ve seen enough,” I said.

  “Not yet. I have something else for you,” Malcolm said, going to one of the deep sinks that were along the walls. An oblong plastic vial, something like a plastic medicine bottle was in the sink.

  “This is what I really wanted to show you. I found this in the woman’s mouth. Obviously the killer intended for us to find it. I haven’t opened it yet. I knew you would want to see whatever was inside for yourself. Here,” he said, handing me some gloves.

  I put them on and carefully using a pair of tongs picked up the vial. It was clear and a piece of paper appeared to be folded up inside. Using a second pair of tongs I gently pried the top off. The note fell out and I quickly scooped it out of the sink. I unfolded it and read the note out loud.

  By now you have found the Allison’s. The only way to treat evil is with

  evil. Other immoral people will receive the same treatment. The

  Insurrection has begun.

  M5

  I read it again. How evil could the Allison’s have been? So far from the initial background check, they appeared to be just another normal family. What made my blood even colder was the allusion to Other immoral people will receive the same treatment. The insurrection has begun. The implication was frightening.

  “You have a real problem on your hands, my boy” the ME said, patting me on the shoulder.

  “M5. What the hell is that? His alias? A copycat of BTK or some damn thing?” I asked.

  I wasn’t expecting an answer, just venting frustration.

  ****

  When I arrived at the station the next morning Chief Miller was waiting for me at my desk. That in itself gave me a tip off that this was not going to be a good day. Seldom did the Chief ever get into the station before me or anyone else. His black pinstriped suit, white shirt, and muted tie did not compliment his haggard face. Obviously he hadn’t had much sleep.

  “Morning Jerome.”

  Only the Chief called me Jerome. My friends call me JD. He can get away with it because...well he is the boss. What am I gonna’ do?

  “Chief. What brings you to my humble dwelling?”

  To get some petty revenge I call him Chief because he hates it. You think I would be better than that but guess what? I’m not.

  “You have seen this morning’s paper?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I picked up a copy when I stopped to fill the car. They aren’t wasting any time are they?”

  “Grizzly Mayhem on Pennsylvania Avenue,” the Chief read from the paper’s large type.

  “It’s gonna’ get worse I fear,” I said.

  “You know that….how?”

  I explained the note that was found by Malcolm at the morgue.

  “So you were there at the autopsy.”

  “The ME called me at home late last night. Said he had something he wanted to show me,” I said as an explanation.

  “Why didn’t he call Peters? He was the first detective on the scene. He is the lead on this one,” the Chief said.

  “Malcolm and I go back a long way. I didn’t ask him why he called. I just went to see what he had found. I half expected to see Peters already there.”

  “Did you try to reach Peters and let him know what was going on?”

  “No.”

  “He is gonna’ be pissed off and rightly so. You should have called him,” the Chief replied.

  “You’re right. My bad. I’ll take care of it,” I said.

  “Yes you will, but it’s more complicated than that. I got a call at 6:00 a.m. from the Commissioner. He wants you to head up this case. I explained about Peters but he wasn’t having any of it. You have the lead on this one,” the Chief said.

  “Chief. Things aren’t exactly smooth between Peters and me anyway. This will really make it worse,” I explained.

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Sorry about that. If it gets to be a problem, let me know and I’ll step in. I don’t intend to do that though until you boys can’t play nice together,” the Chief replied.

  I was thinking maybe I could lie and say I was called by the Captain at home and told to get over to the morgue. Ha, better not. It could come to haunt me.

  “Is there going to be a task force?”

  “I don’t know yet. Tell me about the note the ME found again,” the Chief said.

  I handed him a copy of the note.

  “Oh Christ. You’re right; this could get worse before it gets better. It implies the perp isn't done yet,” the Chief lamented.

  “I’m afraid you’re right. The couple that was killed, Dr. Allison and his wife Lenore, did the Commissioner say anything about them?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Well, since he called you, I thought he may be connected to the family in some way.”

  “Not to my knowledge. He didn’t indicate that.”

  “Okay, I’ll get started. I need to dig deeper into the background of Dr. Allison and see if anything comes up. After I talk to Peters, that is.”

  “Keep me informed,” the Chief said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Peters was going to be livid. I couldn’t really blame him. If the situation was reversed I would be as mad as hell too. No primary detective wants to have his case taken away from him. It implies a lack of confidence in your ability. I was not looking forward to seeing him.

  I spent the next four hours digging into the background of Dr. Allison and had very little to show for it other than downing three Diet Cokes. Dr. Allison had been working at CryoGen Technologies for three years and was one of the more prominent scientists in his field. His specialty was genetic engineering and he had a long list of honors and accomplishments.

  He didn’t appear to be a socialite by nature.

  He attended a few fundraisers but was not in the mainstream of the ‘see and be seen’ crowd. His wife didn’t work and was involved in only a couple of charities. From what I had found so far, they appeared rather unpretentious.

  He obviously made a very good living or had money from someplace. The house was worth two and a half million and he had a storage garage full of expensive cars. That struck me as contradictory to the rest of Allison’s persona. I was going to need to dig much deeper into the background of Dr. Allison.

  I was just about to go to lunch when Barbra Crawford, one of the top news reporter for the Star, came bounding up the stairs of the station.

  “JD,” Barbra shouted from the top of th
e stairs, “Just the man I’m looking for.”

  “Any man is the one you are looking for. You need to get a social life and leave me alone.”

  “Now JD, is that any way to talk to your number one fan?”

  “My number one fan when you want something. I have no comment about the events of last night?”

  “Why? Did something happen last night? Did you finally get lucky?”

  “Oh lol. You’re a hoot. Look Barb, I don’t have anything yet. I haven’t even reviewed the evidence that was collected last night.”

  “But you were at the morgue,” she said as a statement, not a question.

  “Yes.”

  “So?” she said.

  “So what?”

  “So what, what?”

  “Please. Don’t start that crap. I’m just not ready for that kind of dumb stuff,” I replied.

  “Well then. Don’t be like that JD. You know I will get it out of you sooner or later. Hey, on another subject, you look great. You have really lost weight. Wait. I’ll be damned. You actually have your tie on straight and you shirt goes with that coat and pants. I can’t believe it,” she said.

  “Flattery will not work. I am impervious to all of that cheap adulation.”

  “Wow. Big words too. You really are going through a mid-life crisis,” Barbra said.

  “Mid-life if I am going to live to be one hundred. Mid-life is in your forties my dear,” I informed her.

  “Some of you boys just take longer. Anyway, I wasn’t just trying to butter you up. You really do look great. How did you lose so much weight?”

  “Just watching what I eat and cutting back on late night snacks. I’m eating smarter. That seems to work best for me,” I said.

  “No latest fad diet?”

  “None of that crap for me. That’s just a way to get people to part with their money. Eating smaller portions and fewer carbohydrates seems to be getting it done,” I replied.

  “Having said that, let me take you to lunch,” she said.

  “No way. Not if you’re gonna’ try to get something from me.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”