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'In the Darkest Hour' continues with its third installment Cross Purposes. Is it life imitating art or art imitating life when a serial killer challenges the author of a popular series of detective novels by sending her the sketch of his plans? Julian Croft, resident prodigy of the homicide unit, explores this potentially explosive case which could backfire and expose his darkest secret.
*Note to readers: This story contains mature subject matter. Some events that take place are of a graphic nature. If you are under age, or offended by such content, please do not read any further.
The author assumes no responsibility for your reaction to the subject matter contained within.
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September 2002
Cross Purposes
"You want to tell me just what the hell we're looking for here?" Max asked, dropping a stack of files on his desk.
Julian looked up from an identical manila file folder he'd been perusing for the previous five minutes. "Unsolved murder cases that fit the pattern."
"No. Not a pattern. There is no pattern. No murder weapon. No calling card. No similar MO's. Nada. And if you run to Lou with the words ‘serial killer' in your mouth, he's gonna rip your tongue out. With extreme prejudice. Why are you looking for trouble?"
"It's happening whether anyone wants to admit it or not. It's gonna keep happening unless someone ends it. None of the victims were killed the same way twice. It's part of the challenge, don't you see? Each one in a different borough so the same person wouldn't get two cases. Here, look," Julian opened the top file of a small stack. "I've found five out of seven. They coincide perfectly. Every detail, even the victim's occupation matches. None of this is random. There's one murder from each book. It's brilliant. The others are here, they just have to be found."
"Brilliant? Fuckin' sick is what I'd call it. And so are you for coming up with this cocamamy theory. And why don't you just search the computer database? Type in a key word and let's get this done sometime this millenium."
"It doesn't work that way. I narrowed it down by victim type, but do you have any idea how many lawyers and cops are killed around here? What I'm looking for isn't in the summary, any way. It's in the detective's notes. The crime scene. The impressions. I'll bet if we went back to each of the scenes we'd find a book to match each murder. Maybe a clue or message. It's a game just waiting to be played. The murders are tied. There's a link, we just need to find it."
"The haystack will spit out the damn needle before we find what you're looking for. We have other cases - our cases that need to be solved," He paused, sighing at the determined look on his partner's face. "Damn it, Jules... Haven't I taught you anything? Where do you always go first?"
"The source." Julian took a deep breath, "We need to talk to the author."
"You. You need to talk to the man." Max wasn't the slightest bit deterred by the nasty look Julian burned into his back as he turned to leave, "My bed's waiting for me."
'Cross Purposes' posted by Maura Tremayne
May 2003
Julian was disappointed when he finally saw the house. He expected some grand manor or log cabin from the elusive L.M. Dale. Anything but the quaint, single story suburban house in front of him. It was a plain blue with black shutters and an open veranda. Just behind the railing was a two seat swing with a dark blue awning. The cul-de-sac was less crowded with houses than most and Dale's stood at the far end. Land stretched for half a block on either side. Julian could see the hill sloped downward in the back and there was a significant wooded area surrounding it. He kept his eyes open for the clever traps so often used in the series of books, knowing full well his partner would have thumped him for his paranoia. His shoulders rolled back still groaning with stiffness from sleeping on Max's couch. His now ex-girlfriend was still much too pissed off to let him collect his things from their apartment. He'd known for a while that he could never fully commit to Joslynn, but on second thought, the drinking binge he'd gone on probably hadn't been the right way to handle the situation. The nameless fling he'd brought home had given her vindication when she kicked him out. And while he'd gotten his hoped for result, what he didn't have was all his worldly possessions or a place to sleep. He really needed to think these things through from now on.
Julian rang the doorbell, putting all thoughts of his tumultuous personal life on hold. He was about to meet the mysterious L. M. Dale. The man who had influenced his career decisions for more than the last few years. He'd noticed the underlying thread of realism in the secondary story of Dale's first book shortly after he joined the force. Dale had an insight into the inner politics of the precinct hierarchy that only came from a behind-the-door perspective. Detectives in every squad knew the pressures put on by the administration, but couldn't grasp the realistic, hard-edged politically correct precision of those decisions the way Dale did. You could see the grit under their fingernails; and there was a character or two that Julian swore he knew.
The five main characters that populated Dale's world were not supermen or wondercops. One was an alcoholic; one was a closet junkie. The series' Lieutenant was in the midst of a brutal divorce. Their lives and conversations were littered with spousal turbulence, sexual misconduct and off-color wisecracks. He exposed the underbelly of the police force without undercutting the dedication and determined pursuit of the department. He showed gripping scenes of abuse and vengeance, lust and love, fear and rage. It was a carved slice of real life made fiction. And the detectives almost always came out on top. Except in this latest novel. One of the detectives had been caught up in a bribery and blackmail scandal. It happened, he knew it did. Here's a thou - just look to the left while I go wrong. There was much less of it in the homicide unit than in other areas, generally because more of the participants were dead and some of those cases were capital. The men and women who did this job had to carry a sense of justice without the pressures from family and government. They had to tell the tales of people who had no advocates, no family, no life. Everyone might be equal in death, but in Julian's world, every murderer was equally responsible, no matter who the victim was. It had to be that way. No gray fuzz could exist on that point.
He was tired. He knew the case he was about to break open would most likely cause him a great deal of trouble. It might even get him killed, if he played it wrong. No one wanted to get caught in the avalanche that was sure to follow, but he just couldn't stand the thought of all his work going to waste. The case had to be known, it was time. And even if it could never be solved, they had to know he was out there.
The woman who answered the door had dark brown hair piled on top of her head in a twisted, messy bun and deep brown eyes. That was all he could tell through the screen because so much of her face was covered in smeared black ink. He thought she raised an eyebrow at him, but couldn't tell for sure.
"Is there something I can do for you, detective?"
"You know who I am?" he asked, taken aback.
"I could say you look like a cop - because you do. But actually, I know exactly who you are. You won't remember, but we've met. What I don't know is how you found me here and why? You're not here to give me a lecture about the morality of officers in the police department are you? Because I've already had my fill this week."
"Uhm, no." Julian shook his head, caught off-balance by the ink-covered woman before him. "Who are you exactly?"
"Lorna, Detective Croft. Lorna Dale."
"Lorna M. Dale? As in the author, L.M. Dale?"
"Yes.... If you didn't know that, why are you here?"
"And we've met before?"
She laughed, "Yes. My dad used to call me ‘Peaches', you might remember that."
"Peaches? Oh my God! Chief Ryan's little girl?"
"Not so little anymore. That was a long time ago."
"Yeah, it was. I'm sorry about your father. He was an incredible man.." Julian's sincerity echoed in his gaze. The Chief had died less than a year before from lung cancer. Too many years sitting stake out with chimneys for partners, he used to say. It took him quickly. Before anyone had a chance to adjust, he was gone. It seemed like everyone in the city turned out to pay respects at the funeral. He'd taken special notice of Julian and was a large part of the reason he was working homicide at such a young age. And this was his daughter... the pixy-like sprite ducking class to sit in on her father's academy courses, he laughed to remember. She was a terrible flirt at sixteen, hopping up to sit on the Chief's desk during evening classes. She'd flutter her eyelashes and grin. Her father threatened more than one of his salivating students during Julian's tenure.
When Julian, at twenty one, talked down a bank robber, Chief Ryan took note. Off-duty and unarmed, the move was stupid, but it worked. Later, he found out Ryan's wife had been patronizing that particular branch during the holdup. None of which saved him from a tongue lashing seminar on what an idiot he'd been, he noted. Ryan, impressed with Julian's abilities, green-lighted the young cop's career and allowed him to choose his field and finish his education at the same time. Once he finished his doctoral degree, the guys in his squad had taken to calling him ‘Professor'.
"My father talked about you a lot. He was very impressed with your work," Lorna smiled, "So, what can I do for you?"
"I came looking for L.M. Dale, the author."
"And now you've found me, I'm just not what you expected," she noted, inviting him into the foyer.
"Well... you're a woman."
"You noticed," she replied, dryly.
"I don't recall that ever being in doubt."
Lorna ducked her head to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks, "I'm not sixteen anymore."
"No. But you are still young to have written and published so many novels."
"I started my first book with my dad when I was twenty. I never stopped. I know most people think I'm a guy, that actually helps me sell copies. As far as I know, they don't stop reading when they find out otherwise, though. So..." she shrugged, "But that's not why you're here."
"Um, not exactly, but that doesn't mean it won't help."
"Help with what? I mean, I'll be happy to help you however I can, but you do need to tell me what's going on."
"First tell me where you were two nights ago."
"I need an alibi?"
Julian nodded, "The more scandalous, the better."
She laughed, "Sorry to disappoint. I had a book signing, then got on a plane to Cali. Am I being accused of something here? Should I be worried?"
"Nope. Just trying to pry into your life," he responded, a wiry smile attempted to twist his lips.
Lorna chuckled as she finally realized he was flirting. "If any outsider can grasp the morbid sense of humor necessary in your line of work, it's me. And while I don't in the least little bit mind your flirting... my keen detective skills tell me you didn't come all the way out here in the middle of the night to book a date on my decidedly pathetic social calendar."
Julian cleared his throat, "I may from now on... but no, you're right. There was a murder."
"Naturally, you're murder police. Something told me it wasn't a purse snatching."
A deep sighed pulled itself from Julian's chest. "Hear me out before you say anything, okay?"
"Whatever you say, Professor."
"Please don't call me that. I get enough at the shop. Julian is fine."
"I completely agree."
"Now who's flirting?"
Lorna rolled her lack of innocent eyes and motioned for him to continue, the mischievous grin never leaving her face.
"We found a man in his late thirties in a hotel room. His face was slashed across the forehead and his left eye removed. He was stabbed several times - postmortum - and posed in his bed upside down."
Lorna blanched, "W-Was he a lawyer?" At Julian's nod, she groaned.
"Recognize it?"
"Of course. I wrote it. I can't believe this is happening again."
"What do you mean by again?"
"When my first book came out, there was a murder. I saw some of the details in the paper - it sounded like something from my book. I went to the PD, but they were convinced it was a coincidence. Dad told me not to worry about it. I should have paid more attention."
"When was this?"
"It was in Boston. I was... shit. I was at a book signing. It was in October, but I don't remember the exact date." Lorna frowned.
"Book signing? The first one, right? For both books?" When she nodded, he asked for a list of all her book signing dates.
"I don't keep track of that stuff, but I'm sure my agent has a very precise list with names, dates, and cover prices."
"Lorna, I've identified six murders out of eight books, this Boston case makes seven. There's another one out there somewhere just waiting to be discovered. I wouldn't be surprised to find the murder dates correlate to your first book signings. One murder from each book. All in different places, all with different MO's. Nothing to link them except..."
"Me."
"He's definitely a fan."
Standing abruptly as he spoke, Lorna walked quickly out of the room. When she returned, a thick manuscript filled one arm and a letter clutched in her opposite hand. She handed both to him.
"I'm not sure I would have seen it if I hadn't transferred at the end of last year. Two years ago I caught a case I never got solved. And there was no way to explore the pattern then." Julian worked not to salivate over the idea that he held in his very own hands, an unpublished L.M. Dale novel. Then he glanced at the letter. And froze.
"I didn't pay much attention to this when I first received it. People send me things all the time. Newspaper clippings, story ideas, their own manuscripts. The more it sat in my mind, the more the idea took root. There was something about it that seduced me into telling the story. Once I started to write, it just flowed out of me. This is four months of work. I've been a virtual hermit working on this. My other novels took nine months or so, and I had some semblance of a life in the process, but this one just kind of took me over. But now I can't finish the damn thing. I don't know how it ends. That's never happened to me before. The plot always lays itself out to the final conclusion. This one is different, darker. I've been drowning in it. I decided to put it away."
"Why?"
"Because... it's consuming me and I can't see the end. There can't be a happy ending. I'm not even sure there's a resolution. And I don't know what motivates the..."
"Monster."
"No. He's not a monster, not really. That's the difficulty I'm trying to resolve. He's a good person; he risks his life to help people. But then he kills, murders in this horrible and random manner without a hint of remorse. It's a dichotomy of character that I can't quite wrap my mind around. It disgusts me and fascinates me all at once. I had to explore that character and he's affecting me. It's like he's..."
"Impatient. He couldn't wait for you to see it. No one figured out the game. No one played. So he moves the process along himself."
"You figured it out."
"It's not me he wants to play with. It's you."
"Me? Why?"
"Maybe you challenge him. Intellectually, I mean. The way your mind fits pieces together. He may not have even known you were a woman, but he was obsessed with getting your attention. He wants you to notice him, play the game."
"But the murders... if they coincide with my book signings, how could he not know I was a woman? It's not exactly an easy mistake to make."
"I don't think he went to them. It was about leaving pieces you could connect. Seeing you, being face to face with you would have been too exciting. He was probably afraid you could see right through him. Know who he was and what he had done for you...." Julian paused at the heated look in Lorna's eyes.
Her gaze didn't flicker from his as she straddled his knees. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and an instant before her lips devoured his darkness, she whispered, "He was right."
The End
'Cross Purposes' posted by Maura Tremayne
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