Subway Ambush...Part 2

On the way to the scene, I sat in the rear of the second car, next to Murphy. Curious about this series of particularly gruesome murder, I asked him, “OK, so I see why you have some concerns that these murders are out of the ordinary, but I’ve been riding around this city over the weekend, and I didn’t see a single hint that there was a mass murderer loose here. How has that happened?”

He sighed, looked away for a moment before turning back to me. “You’re right. Under normal circumstances, the murders of even the dregs of society like prostitutes or drug dealers on the kind of scale we are seeing now with this killer would be the top story on every channel and in every scandal sheet in the city. But, the first couple of murders were very close to the secure zone near Ground Zero, so the first people to find the bodies were city workers. The NYPD called us in pretty quickly, and between the two agencies, we’ve been able to keep the clamps down on the press.”

“But how? I’ve never seen a beat cop who didn’t have the phone number of some up and coming City Beat reporter who wouldn’t kill for a bleeder story to lead the headlines.”

“True enough. But we’ve been able to lean on the the key reporters who have learned of this story, invoking some very obscure clauses of the Patriot Act to keep them in control until we authorize the stories for release. From what I hear, one reporter was going to break the story open, until he received a night time visit from some friends in Washington. They convinced him that he would have a much easier time pursuing his career if he wasn’t sitting in a cell in Gitmo. The word got around after that. This story is taboo until we release it for general consumption.”

“Wow, that’s pretty fucking scary. That’s not the America I grew up in.”

“Yeah, well until we know what the Hell it is we are facing, we can’t allow rampant speculation and fear to grip the City. Let me tell you, I have never seen anything like these killings. I’m not sure this killer could even be called human. But what the Hell else can it be?”

It was my turn to look away at that. “You don’t even want to know...” I trailed off as the vehicles pulled up next to a ramshackle building not more that 4 blocks from Ground Zero. The street was very narrow, one of those one way affairs that serves more a service drive for garbage pickups and greae dumps than actual thoroughfare.

There was a battered looking metal door just in front of our car, at the bottom of a small stariwell down. There was yellow police tap strung across the stairwell. Hung above the stariwell was a battered looking, hand painted sign that read simply, “Henna’s Hole--Tarot, Astrology, Palms.”

As I got out of the car, I remarked, “Some neighborhood.”

No one bothered to respond. Murphy lifted one corner of the police tape for he and I to pass. The others seemed content to let us look on our own.

The door didn’t really close tight, so Murphy just grabbed the rusty metal handle and pulled it open with a grimace, apparently the smell was pretty bad.

I stepped to the dimly lit interiror of a very cluttered place that had clearly been ransacked. I could make out streaks of blood and other dried bodily fluids seemingly randomly dragged across torn open boxes, torn furniture and dreary walls. The place was a veritable treasure trove of obscure books, scrolls, broken vials, overturned cauldrons and other odds and ends of an eclectic pagan shop. Papers from dozens of files had been scattered on the floor, most of the stained in blood and marked with footprints or...clawprints of some sort. The room seemed rather small at first glance, but closer examination showed that shadows and torn curtains obscured the fact that there were paths leading away deeper into the vast collection of...stuff.

I looked to Murphy. He remained close to the, breathing deep from the air outside. He saw me look over at him questioningly, and pointed towards one of the passageways behind me, “She was killed back there, you won’t be able to miss it. Her body parts have been removed, what was left of them, but you’ll have no trouble finding the spot where she was killed. She had a lot of blood, she was a very big woman.”

“Do you mind if I have a look around for myself then?”

“Be my guest, that’s why you’re here.” He toosed me a small flashlight that he pulled out of one of his jacket pockets. “You might need that, it gets pretty dark back there. She wasn’t much for electricity.”

I had noted that just about every empty surface either held a candle in some sort of strange holder or was covered in some sort of multicolored candlewax. Dozens of half burned candles lay scattered about the floor, many broken or crushed by unknown feet.

Just as I was about to head off into the darkness, Murphy called out again. As I turned, I saw a small black two-way radio coming towards me.

He called out, “Hey, I’ll be up by the car, call if you need anything.” With that he bolted out the door, letting it swing mostly shut again.

“I guess I’m on my own for a bit. It must really reek to high heaven down here. I guess there’s another advantage to being dead.”

I slipped the radio into on pocket, after making sure it was still on and the volume was set at high. I kept the flashlight in hand, but left it off for the moment. My dark vision is better than that of anyone alive I knew. But having it handy to peer into corners might be useful.

With that I began to explore the...warrens...that this poor lady had used as her home and her business....