Scott Sigler - Nocturnal - A Novel

Biz-Nass looked back and forth between the two cops, seemed to size them up.

I DON’T KNOW DICKER PRICKER NOTHING.

Pookie reached into a folder and pulled out a picture of Oscar Woody’s mutilated corpse. He slid the picture across the table.

Biz-Nass shook his head like he didn’t want to believe the picture was real.

“People are dying,” Pookie said. “We need to know what you know. If you don’t want to talk here, we can take you downtown.”

That concept seemed to scare Biz-Nass even worse than the pictures. He started to breathe rapidly, bordering on hyperventilating.

“Take it easy,” Pookie said. “All you have to do is talk to us, and this stays right here.”

The man gently rubbed his crooked nose. He looked up, that doubtful expression back in his eyes. DID YOU TELL YOUR PIG BOSSES YOU WERE COMING? DOES ANYONE KNOW YOU’RE HERE?

Bryan sat very still, as if the tiniest motion might spook the guy. Pookie seemed to be playing it perfectly.

“One other guy knows,” Pookie said. “But that’s it. He’s not our boss, just a guy who looked up the symbols in our computer system. No report has been filed or anything like that. I take it you want this conversation to stay between us?”

NO ONE KNOWS MY NAME. SHITTYBALLS! FUCKLESNIFF!

Pookie crossed himself. “We promise.”

The fortune-teller reached out his left fist. WORD IS BOND?

Pookie reached out, bumped fists. “Word is bond.”

Mr. Biz-Nass nodded. Finally, he looked down at the photos.

TELL ME WHERE YOU FOUND THESE.

“Murder scenes,” Pookie said. “Two teenage boys. Both in a gang called Boys Company. One died two nights ago, one before dawn this morning. Aside from your information request, we couldn’t find these symbols anywhere in police records. Tell us what they are.”

Biz-Nass looked up, shook his head.

Bryan felt his patience slipping away. He stood up. “Listen, asshole. You’re about ten seconds from going from person of interest to my number-one suspect.”

PRICKER DICKER FUCKER SUCKER .

“What did you say to me?”

“Bryan, relax,” Pookie said. “It’s a condition.”

YES IT IS A CONDITION. I AM SORRY DICKER PRICKER LICKER .

“Bullshit,” Bryan said. “This guy doesn’t have a condition.”

I’M DISABLED.

A hand on Bryan’s arm. “Chill,” Pookie said. “Let the man talk, okay?”

Bryan sat back down and crossed his arms over his chest.

THESE SYMBOLS ARE FOR MARIE’S CHILDREN. IT IS A CULT. MMMM YOU ARE COPS; YOU HAVE HEARD OF THEM.

Pookie shook his head. “I’ve been with the SFPD for ten years. I’ve never heard of Marie’s Children.”

Bryan hadn’t heard of them, either. He remained quiet — Pookie was making progress.

Biz-Nass stared, as if he was waiting to be the butt of a punchline. He waited for a few seconds, then shrugged.

A WITCH NAMED MARIE AND HER SON, CALLED FIRSTBORN, ARRIVED IN SAN FRANCISCO DURING THE GOLD RUSH. THEY AND THEIR FOLLOWERS WERE SUPPOSEDLY RESPONSIBLE FOR MULTIPLE MURDERS IN THE CITY. SOME ACCOUNTS CLAIM THEY WERE CANNIBALS. SHITTYBALLS! FUCKLESNIFF! A GROUP CALLED THE SAVIORS ROUNDED UP DOZENS OF MARIE’S CHILDREN, MMMMM BURNED THEM AT THE STAKE IN 1873.

Bryan’s bullshit detector went off big-time. “ Dozens of people? Burned at the stake? Even that long ago, no way that happened and we’ve never heard about it.”

PEOPLE DON’T WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THE BAD PARTS OF HISTORY. NOT SOMETHING YOU PUT ON THE TOURIST PAMPHLET, BUT COPS SHOULD KNOW.

“Why?” Pookie said. “Why should the cops know?”

BECAUSE MARIE’S CHILDREN HAVE BEEN KILLING EVER SINCE. QUIETLY FOR THE MOST PART, BUT THERE HAVE BEEN SOME HIGH-PROFILE SERIAL MURDERS. AND SOME SHITTYBALLS! RUMORS THEY DID ASSASSINATIONS FOR THE MOB.

Bryan closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. The minor headache had blossomed into something that threatened to put him down.

“I’m not buying it,” he said. “How high-profile could they be if I’ve never heard of them?”

Biz-Nass stared at Bryan. YOU’VE HEARD OF THE GOLDEN GATE SLASHER?

Bryan and Pookie exchanged a glance. The Slasher was the city’s biggest serial killer, a monster that had slaughtered children. He’d murdered more victims than better-known psychopaths like the Zodiac Killer, David Carpenter and Luis Aguilar.

Biz-Nass tapped the photos. THESE SYMBOLS WERE FOUND WHEN THEY CAUGHT THE GOLDEN GATE SLASHER.

“No way,” Bryan said. “There’s no way that’s true and we never heard about it.”

Biz-Nass stood and walked to his overflowing bookshelves. He pulled out a photo album, flipped through it, then put it back. He did the same twice more, then on the fourth volume he found what he was looking for. He walked back to the table and handed the open album to Bryan.

DICKER PRICKER FUCKER SUCKER READ THIS .

It was a newspaper clipping. The dateline was from thirty years ago. Even protected in the binder, the paper looked yellow, faded and old. To the right of the columns of text, a black-and-white photo showed a symbol drawn in the dirt. It was the circle and triangle symbol from Bryan’s dreams, the same symbol they’d found at the scenes of two savage murders.

GOLDEN GATE SLASHER KILLED BY POLICE

A horrible mystery drew to a close early this morning when a man police identified as the Golden Gate Park Slasher was slain in the very park he terrorized for 10 months.

Police have not identified the man. Sources inside the force speculate that the killer’s identity may never be known.

Inspector Francis Parkmeyer of the San Francisco police said that fingerprint checks had already placed the John Doe at the scene of all eight Golden Gate Park child murders that took place from Feb. 18 to the last victim on Nov. 27.

John Doe was found near a Bowie knife, a weapon police had long ago claimed was the instrument of death in all the murders. Preliminary reports indicate that distinguishing marks on the blade matched marks found on the victims’ remains.

“I have no doubt that we’ve found the Golden Gate Slasher,” Parkmeyer said. “The prints match, and so does the weapon.”

The body was found at 5:15 a.m. this morning by a park maintenance crew. Ramon Johnson, a crew member, initially claimed that the presumed killer was stumbling through a grove of trees with an arrow sticking out of his back. After talking with police, Johnson said he had mistaken a stick for an arrow shaft.

Parkmeyer denied the presence of an arrow.

“It was before dawn and the witness’s eyes played tricks on him,” Parkmeyer said. “The John Doe committed suicide. This nightmare is over. We have our city back.”

Pookie looked up from the article. “I don’t get it. This is a multiple homicide, one of the biggest ever, and that symbol isn’t common knowledge in the department? Why? ”

Bryan looked to the corner of the clipping. The San Francisco Chronicle ’s logo seemed darker than the other letters on the page, as if the paper’s name itself was more resilient to the ravages of time.

He pointed to it. “Maybe the Chronicle ’s archives will have more information.”

Mr. Biz-Nass smiled. THAT’S A GOOD IDEA. LOOK IN THE ARCHIVES.

Bryan stared at the faded newsprint-photo of the symbol. There it was in black and white. It had been in a major metro newspaper, for one of the biggest cases ever, and yet that wasn’t recorded in the SFPD system?

Black Mr. Burns had discovered deleted information, but this … this was another level entirely. Was someone protecting a serial killer? Protecting this Marie’s Children cult? Or even both at the same time?