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The fourth story of 'In the Darkest Hour' explores the anguish and fury of molestation victims. ++ This story is graphic and uncomfortable, please continue with caution.++ Alexander Logan is found murdered in his hotel room and the detectives leading the case are horrified by the ritualistic dismemberment of the victim's body. When the investigation leads them to Logan's estranged niece, the seductive and icy Morgan Kendall, the detectives debate whether justice has already been served.
*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
Slit 1: Revengeance
Brendan ran his hand through his thick brown hair. Needs a trim, he thought offhandedly. The curly locks hung over the collar of his shirt, flipping under the edge. The new lieutenant wasn't as much a stickler for fashion and both Brendan and his partner Rick Donovan had gratefully abandoned the constricting neckties their former boss had insisted upon. He took an unfettered breath of freedom and rang the bell.
He hated these cases, the violent, had-to-be-closed casket affairs. Whoever killed Alexander Logan had taken great pains, and not a little pleasure, in torturing his victim. The man had been trussed up like a Sunday turkey; his hands removed from the wrists, fingers removed from the hands. His genitals had been removed and quartered, his face slashed in several places. His tongue had been cut out and was piled with the rest of the flesh on top of his chest. All that had been done pre-mortem. After death, the killer had become really savage. A message was scrawled in the victim's blood on the wall, but no fingerprints were found.
The body was discovered in a motel two blocks from the precinct. His home residence was a two hour drive north of the city. As near as they could determine, he had no particular reason to be in the city and there seemed to be only one connecting factor. His niece lived in an apartment complex five minutes from the motel. So they were standing on the complex stoop waiting to tell Morgan Kendall that her uncle was dead. Brett despised these calls. And since he was the primary investigator, it was his case to make or break. When Morgan Kendall answered the door, Brett nearly dropped the notepad he was holding. She looked like she fell out of the latest edition of Penthouse. It didn't take much of his imagination to put her smoky eyes and kiss-bruised lips in some sleazy, yet seductive pose. He wiped the image away with a blink, took a deep breath, and verified her identity.
"Yes, I'm Morgan Kendall. What can I do for you, detective?" Her eyes slid the length of his body before moving to appraise his partner.
"Alexander Logan is your uncle, correct?"
She blanched, noticeably, but nodded. "He was my aunt's husband," she confirmed.
"Do you have any idea why he'd be in the city? Work, or personal perhaps?"
"No. I haven't seen him for a... years. He's in the city? Right now?" Her voice didn't shake, but it wanted to.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your uncle is dead. He was found in his hotel room this afternoon." Brendan's voice was gentle.
Morgan took a deep breath and looked... relieved. "Thank you for telling me, but I'm not sure why you're here. Please don't tell me I'm his next of kin. I know he remarried after my aunt died."
"Actually, Ms. Kendall, you are. We checked into it, and Mr. Logan was never legally married to Miss Munroe."
"Oh. Do I have to do something?"
"He's already been positively identified, so you don't need to worry about that. But we would like to search his house, see if there are any clues to why he was in the city. To determine if he was meeting someone - that type of thing. Since the house wasn't part of the crime scene, we need your permission to take a look at it."
"Sure, whatever. Do I need to sign something?"
"Yes. There is a form or two. Can you come down to the Precinct?"
"Can I just sign a note right now, or something. I can't really leave right now."
"I suppose we could arrange that," Rick chimed in, giving his partner a studied look. She wasn't behaving like a grieving relative. She hadn't even asked how he died.
"After the Medical Examiner finished his examination he'll release your uncle's remains and you can contact a funeral home, or the like."
"You can set him on fire and dump him in the alley for all I care, detective. I have no intention of claiming that son of a bitch. Maybe he has someone, somewhere who may want something to do with him, but I really don't. I'm sorry you wasted your time here. Goodbye." And with that, she shut the door.
Brendan glanced at his partner to see if he had seen the flash of the two very naked men who'd walked out of a back room just as she shut the door. Rick just shrugged and started back toward the car. Brendan followed him a second later, neither brought the subject back up.
'Slit 1: Revengeance' posted by Maura Tremayne
May 2003
In the end, they called Morgan and made a verbal recording of her permission. A tidy little property, the house was small and well kept. There were no dishes in the sink, or papers on the counter. The mail was arranged in neat, sorted bundles, and both bedrooms were extraordinarily tidy. The beds were made with military precision, the mirrors were clean, and nothing at all seemed out of place. Brendan was in the process of thumbing through a neatly organized closet when Rick called to him from the living room.
His partner's face was grim when he looked up, "You need to see this." Rick was holding a photo album taken from a matching set kept on display underneath the television set. He opened the book to reveal a very young girl, a child about six or seven years old, nude in several revealing poses. He looked up to meet Rick's angry gaze.. They flipped forward a few pages to reveal images of the same child in tears with deep red welts covering her back.
"How many of these are there?"
"Too many, Bren. Too damn many."
Brendan grabbed the last album from the shelf, but hesitated before opening it. "I really don't want to see this." He didn't want the photos to reveal what he suspected they would. "You never get over this stuff, not really. No matter what they say, or how much counseling you get. It's always there in the back of your head."
"What are you saying, partner?"
Brendan hesitated, he'd never told anyone outside his therapist's office. "When I was seven I went to visit a cousin of mine. They had this neighbor, you know, the guy whose house all the kids hung out at. The one with all the cool games and gadgets. One day we got called home, I don't know - for lunch or something - I don't remember. He asked me to wait just a minute, he needed my help with something before I left. So my cousin went home and I was there alone for the first time. I didn't really understand what he was doing at first. All I knew was that I didn't feel right. Then he pulled something out of my pocket, like the quarter in your ear trick, and he ask me why I was stealing from him. He told me if I didn't do everything he said, he would tell my aunt and uncle what a little thief I was. They would be angry, punish me, even send me away. My parents wouldn't want me either. You know, all those exploitable fears little kids have. So I did what he told me to. It was the worst week of my life and I never told a soul. Goddamnit, Rick, I don't think I should be heading this case. I'm leaning heavily toward justifiable homicide, and let's move on to something important. Did I mention that I really, really don't want to open this book?"
Rick took the album from his hands and flipped it open to the last page. "Shit," he gasped softly. "It's her, Bren."
Brendan held his breath as he looked down at the images displayed before him. It was definetly Morgan Kendall, a younger teenage version, but unmistakable. Each image was more horrifying than the last. Morgan being whipped. Morgan being raped with a wooden baseball bat. A closeup of her bleeding genitalia. And three images of Logan himself fondling and raping her.
Brendan spun away, fighting the urge to vomit. After a few seconds of deep breathing, he turned back to Rick, pulled the photo album out of his hands and slammed it shut. Then he turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Rick to flip through the remaining books for other evidence or suspects. He knew in his heart that Morgan hadn't killed the man, that taking her that album and showing her those pictures would make him just as evil as Logan himself. But it was his job and the evidence couldn't just be ignored, no matter how much he wanted to. He hated himself already.
Midnight came and went, and Brendan still sat on his overstuffed recliner with the photo album on his lap. It was open to a montage of horrors, but Brendan's focus was on one particular shot. It was a candid shot of Morgan sitting on a rumpled bed dressed in a huge white t-shirt. She was leaning her back against the wall, an elbow rested on her raised knee. The t-shirt was pulled up to her waist and she was masturbating. But what caught his focused attention was her face. Her neck arched back, tilting her face toward the ceiling. He'd snapped the picture just as she reached the edge of her climax, her face tightened in concentration. Tears pouring from her clenched eyes. The stark pain of Brendan's violated memories crashed past into present and he relived every moment of that horrible week, every piercing pinch of pain, every jolt of guilty, unasked for pleasure. The memories he couldn't bare to acknowledge, let alone give voice to in his therapy sessions, filled his head and his body with long-denied desires. Thoughts he never allowed himself to have. Needs he never dared fulfill. Brendan picked up the phone and dialed the number he had memorized over the last several hours. When she answered, he cleared his throat and tried to force his voice through unwilling lips. "Morgan? Uh, Ms. Kendall?"
"Yes. Who is this?" There was no trace of sleep in her tone.
"Detective Kincaid."
"Detective? Isn't this a little late for work?"
"I need to speak with you."
She chuckled, "And here, I though that's what we were doing."
"In person."
"Sounds serious. You're not going to arrest me or anything, are you?"
"No."
"Because I wouldn't mind the handcuffs, it's just those ugly jumpsuits are an eyesore." Her sense of humor was startling, especially under the circumstances. And then it was possible she wasn't joking, the thought made him wince.
"Would you mind if I came by your apartment?"
"You mean right now?"
"Yes."
"Uh... sure. Why not. I'm up."
"And alone?"
"I always sleep alone, detective."
"You're not asleep."
"Ah, that's true. But I was considering it."
'Slit 1: Revengeance' posted by Maura Tremayne
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