The M1 Theory - Brian Hesse (best thriller novels to read .txt) 📗

three thirty in the afternoon on November twelth, two thousand seventeen, just the day before yesterday, as she looked at her phone’s calender. According to witnesses, she just finished a lecture on Macro Economics, and did not have another class until four thirty that afternoon.

 Sandra restrained a growing feeling of sadness as she remembered, what she always considered, the most important information of a case. She remembered that Tonya, was the  daughter of two parents who loved her very much. Tonya Miller was a lover of animals and called home twice every week to make sure that Mr. Snickerdoodles was getting along fine without her. Tonya was a member of the Homeless Outreach Association, giving her spare time in between studies, and worrying about her cat, to distribute food to the growing homeless population. The war in Iraq officially ended several years before, but the rise of homeless returning veterans, suffering from PTSD and addiction, was alarming, and Tonya was determined to combat this little piece of evil on our not so blue and happy planet. Sandra considered these facts as she looked on what remained of Tonya Miller and listened to Dr. Zeigler make his professional observations.

 “Subject is a twenty-two-year-old female, approximately five feet four inches in height, and weighing approximately one hundred and twenty pounds. Cranium separated from the body directly three centimeters above the C4 cervical vertebrae. The instrument used was very sharp and straight across, possibly that of an ax, or hatchet head. No other external damage to the skull, except for a two-inch diameter contusion on the left side of the cranium just above the zygomatic arch.

  Dr. Ziegler, continued with his examination of the rest of the body as he slowly made his way down the length of the table.

 “Both upper extremities separated approximately two inches below the deltoids, again with the same type of cutting instrument. No other signs of trauma to the dermal layer. Both lower extremities separated in the same manner. No signs of sexual trauma. Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the left side of cranium, with unknown object of a circular pattern. Possibly, a hammer, or other such instrument.”

 “Oh, hello Sandra. Welcome to my little chilly universe, once again.”

 “Hello Dr. Zeigler, I wish I could say that I was happy to be here.”

 “I understand young lady. I sometimes get the heebie jeebies being down here in the basement myself.”

  Sandra liked Dr. Zeigler. He was in his mid-sixties, tall, with pepper grey hair. Sandra walked closer to him and waited for the distinctive smell of apple pipe tobacco, the same her Father used to smoke. She always remembered her Fathers scent in times of discomfort. Days sitting by the fireplace, as her Father took time away from his busy schedule as a bank president, to read to her and her sister, Mable Becks. Her sweet memory was always laced with just a hint of sorrow, when she would think of her deceased sister Mable. She died at the age of seven from a rare type of brain tumor, and the emptiness she left behind always haunted her from time to time.

 “Sorry, I don’t come to visit more. You know I love to talk to intellectual men with class. Hard to find these days in a world full of metrosexual wimps,” she stated with a laugh.

  Dr. Zeigler replied, “Yep, they don’t make us like they used to. John Wayne must be rolling in his grave.”

  “So, what do think about Tonya?”

  “I think that whoever did this is an interesting individual who should be killed immediately when found. That is my opinion.”

 “Interesting how?” she asked, not at all shocked by his statement. Dr. Zeigler was a forensic pathologist but with an impressive past of behavioral profiling.

  “In my opinion, he did not want to hurt the girl. There are no biological markers of freight, or increase in adrenaline. No severe trauma present before the dismemberment of her body. The blow to the left side of her temple was swift and with such force, I can say with certainty, she felt nothing. It’s almost as if he didn’t want to kill the girl. If it wasn’t for the other ten bodies, I would think that he hit her in a fit of passion and was interrupted when cutting her corpse into pieces.”

 “Maybe, he has a daughter,” she stated under her breath as she looked at the six neatly severed pieces on the examination table.

  “What was that,” he asked”

  “Oh nothing, just trying to run some things through my mind. Thanks, you were, as always, a big help. Oh, and Tonya thanks you,” she stated as she headed for the safety of the elevator, bringing her back to the normal world.

  Sandra ran through the facts of the file, and the findings of Dr. Zeigler. She sat in the hospital parking garage, closed her eyes, and let the world of beeping horns, crying visitors, and carbon monoxide fumes fade away. The faces of all eleven victims ran through her mind. All the faces seemed so different upon first glance. Body sizes all different. Occupations all different. Three male and eight female victims. Just as she was prepared to bring herself back to the real world of distraction, and senseless activity, something flashed across her mind. She remembered one small item that four of the victims shared and, she suspected when reviewing all the cases again, the other seven would also have in common. She quickly dialed the number to the morgue.

  “Dr. Zeigler, can you please check and let me know if Tonya had any piercings.”

  Sandra listened, feeling a slight tinge of nausea turn her stomach, as she heard a wet suction sound as Dr, Zeigler pried open Tonya’s clenched jaws. To her it sounded like someone forcing their foot loose from being stuck in wet mud on a rainy night.

 “You got it kiddo. She had her tongue pierced, but I found no jewelry, just the small opening a few centimeters from the tip.”

 Sandra ended the call without another word. She was too lost in thought to give the proper courtesy of a thank you, or goodbye. But just like her kind hearted and understanding Father, she knew, that Dr. Zeigler would understand. Her fits of flighty day dreaming were known throughout the department.

  “So, you don’t like those naughty girls with their piercings, but you don’t like hurting them either. I bet you have a daughter. I bet she wanted a piercing also,” she mumbled to the inside of her empty car, as she drove out of the hospital parking garage.

Making Connections

  After just a few days on, what she hoped would be, a much-needed vacation, Sandra found herself pacing her apartment like a caged animal. Each attempt at occupying her mind with frivolous activity, only seemed to draw her closer to her new obsession, the hunt for the Lumber Jack killer. Exhausted with pacing her two-room efficiency apartment, she plopped down hard on her barely used chaise lounger, placed her aching neck on the back of the chair, and closed her eyes. Images of the Lumber Jack victims swarmed through her mind, like a hive of angry bees. Each time she strained to make a connection it was as if poking the bee hive with a stick, sending angry stinging wasps to do their work. Her head ached, and she did not feel one step closer to finding that connection.

 “I know it has to do with the piercings,” she said loudly, still holding her eyes closed as if opening them would make the images go away. She needed those case file images of the blood and gore to keep her focused. She needed the pain in her head to keep her sharp, to make her feel, because it was, as she knew, powerful emotion that fueled her gift.

 She continued talking out loud again, but in a softer tone, “only some of the victims had piercings. Only three out of the eleven though. Not enough to make a connection.”

 She began speaking in choppy sentences, and single words…” some piercings.” What is related to piercings?” “What is taboo?” Taboo to you, but not me.” Why you?” “Old school.”

“Values.” “Uptight Daddy.” “You love her, but hate her.” “Kill your daughter, no way, you love her.” “Tattoos.” “Tattoos.”

  She opened her eyes and sprung off the lounger to retrieve her phone from her purse. Just as she was prepared to dial her partner, Ralph Klinger, the phone began to ring.

 “Yea, I can’t talk now, call back later,” she stated out of breath, as she hung up the phone. She quickly dialed her partner, feeling like a born loser who just hit the ten-million-dollar jackpot.

  “This is Detective Kilinger,” stated a sleepy voice over the other line.

  Normally, she would have a little bit of sarcasm for the, as she described him, slow witted man. But there was no time for such play. She needed him for an important mission. She did not have access to the departments database and she needed some research completed for this little hunch.

  “Ralph, I need you to run the names of all the victims of the Lumber Jack. I want all the information you can give me. Information that may not be contained in the coroners’ reports. I also want a list of single Fathers, living alone with teenage daughters, in every rural area of the state, especially the Northeastern and Central areas.”

  Sandra was not surprised when she did not immediately get a response on the other line. She was not even surprised, or annoyed, at the hysterical high-pitched laugh coming from the other end of the phone. She waited patiently for him to stop, and begin with his weak protestations.

  “That’s a lot of work Sandra. The chief is already up my ass to clear my desk of old cases. Besides, do you know how many single Daddy’s there must be?”

  “Probably not as many as you think. Most single parents are female, so I am not expecting more than a hundred or so single Daddy situations. Please Ralph, I think I am hot on his tail.”

  Ralph heard the uncharacteristic sincerity in her plea for help. He may be slow in matters of perception, but he knew better than not too trust Sandra’s instincts.

   “Ok, but this will be a big project, and may take a few days.”

   Sandra, looked at the small brown boxed digital clock next to her bed, and stated with a low and slow tone, “I have all the time in the world.”

   After hitting the red hang-up button on her cell, she looked at the missed call of just a few minutes prior. She saw Eric’s phone number displayed accusingly across the small screen. She felt a wave a guilt quickly pass over her, for her rude reception of his call.

   “Hey babe, come on over and I will make it up to you.”

Another Guinea Pig

  Thomas once again sat in the make shift operating room of his basement pondering over, what was now, an entire volume of notes on his M1 theory. Although, M1 was no longer theory, he considered, as he reviewed the events of his Father’s suicide. He wrote on a blank page of his journal-What Went Right-in large red letters.

What Went Right:

Subject experienced complete amnesia. (Not aware of procedure) Operation successful. (No excessive bleeding, or signs of secondary infections. Subject cessation of violence immediate. (M1 region confirmed)

Underneath, he wrote the word-Complications in large letters.

Complications:

Transmitter/receiver connection only activated within two feet of subject. Placement of receiver incorrect. (Subject committed suicide. Suicidal impulse activated)

Thomas sighed deeply looking at the smaller list of complications. He felt powerless with number one on that short list. He did have any more funds left to buy the homemade transmitters. “This will just have to do.” he stated to the lonely plastic covered room. He looked at the second complication on the list, with a brightening enthusiasm coursing through his veins. His placement