The Hidden

By S.E. Beymer

Chief Medical Examiner, Laurie Avery, is dead set on finding the person responsible for the gruesome string of prostitute murders in the Houston area. The historic parallels to Jack-the-Ripper are clear and, with a city on edge, Laurie has the Chief of Police, and the news media, dissecting her every move. The pressure is on as the mystery evolves into otherworldly territories. Exploring the peculiar clues, Laurie unveils a truth that has been hiding in plain sight for eons.

The quest to solve these horrific murders will test everything she thought she knew about her world and the people in it. In "The Hidden," the 4th book of the Laurie Avery series, S.E. Beymer has set the scene for chilling thrills and questions that dwell in the dark places in our minds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098323561

Book preview

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1

Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap, tap, tap.

The old Remington made its own rhythm as he put the final touches on his notes; hearing rustling in the background, he looked behind him, seeing the curtains fluttering in the wind from the slightly open window. Releasing his breath, he returned to his work. Tap. Tap. Tap. His pudgy fingers flew nimbly over the keys.

Continuing typing, his mind running over the acceptance speech he would make when he won the Nobel Prize.

They all laughed at me. At my theories, but let’s see who’s laughing after I show them this.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Madman. That’s what they call me. Soon, all those jeers will be cheers, and I will be their hero!, chuckling lightly as he finished. Six weeks of hard labor, locked in this shabby room, but it was all worth it, he said, pulling the last page out of the old machine.

Starring at the words, he read them carefully, making sure that they were exactly how he wanted them. The tattered, sun-faded curtains behind him rose and fell slowly against the sill. Looking over his shoulder, he studied the area carefully. The curtains fluttered again. His heart racing in his chest, threatened to push itself out. Seeing nothing, he returned to his papers, chiding himself for his paranoia.

I don’t have anything to worry about, he thought. How could they know about me? I’ve been too careful watching my movements. They can’t suspect that I even know about them. Some master race, they don’t know their secret is about to be unleashed on the world.

Yes, he thought, everything would change. His whole life would improve. With the accolades he would receive, he could afford to do anything he wanted and to live in a decent place.

Surveying the room that had been his prison for the last six weeks, he stared at its peeling paint, exposed wires, and a single bare light bulb. The cracks in the linoleum that allowed the bare wood to seep through created a surreal alien landscape on the floor. No more beanie-weenies, he thought. No, nothing but steak. Big thick ones. Cooked to order: a nice sear on the outside and juicy pink on the inside. If they aren’t, I’ll snap my fingers, and some obedient waiter will come and remove it and bring it back when it is perfect! No, I’ll have my own personal chef and a maid too. Yeah, someone to keep things nice and tidy. I’ll have it all!

The curtains flared again, landing heavily on the sill, forcing him back to reality. Shuddering, he watched as goose pimples formed little mountains on his arms. Deciding to quell the sensation creeping over him, he stood and stretched.

Was it just his imagination. He had been working almost non-stop for the last four days; sleep deprivation could be overtaking him, he thought.

Crossing to the window, the old flooring made a slight shuffling sound under his feet; the boards underneath creaked belying their age. Pulling the curtains back, he surveyed the outside: nothing there but the ever-present glow of the refineries illuminating the horizon.

He sighed. Tired of living in this rat hole of a place, he closed his eyes, letting a better previous world flash in his mind. He floated in the surreal world of fame and fortune as it cuddled him and caressed him. The beautiful thoughts holding him, and then gently sliding away.

Reality returning, he stared out into the dark landscape before him. Pasadena, Texas, was indeed the armpit of the world filled with rednecks and ruffians. Yeah, he thought, those do-gooder yuppies had tried to clean up the place, but as the old saying goes, you can take the trash out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the trash.

A nearby chemical plant belched a massive flare of natural gas as he watched. He hated the chemical plants and the smells that dominated the area. Even in the winter, the mercaptan odor of rotten eggs and too sweet aldehydes permeated everything.

Outside the window, the night was sharing its life with the earth. A gentle winter breeze slipped through the window to touch him. Though it felt chilly, it calmed him as it wrapped itself around him. Closing the window and returning to his desk, he saw the first shadow. It moved quickly, but not so fast that he didn’t see it. It wasn’t just his old eyes playing a trick on him; they were here.

Coming at him with the speed of a jungle animal, it was on him before he could scream. He tried to move to avoid it, but it grabbed him by a shoulder, spinning him with the force of a hundred men. Tripping on the rotting flooring, he fell face down with a hard thud, knocking the breath from his lungs. Shaking his head to remove the daze, he clawed madly at the floor, trying to get away from them. The old covering splintered under his fingers, shards embedding themselves into his nails.  He felt the creature’s claws as they dug into the skin on his legs, pulling him back. The flesh yielding to the razor-sharp talons, blood pouring from the wounds made the floor even more unforgiving to escape. Squirming to break the grip only enraged the beast. It clawed at him, making more wounds. Finally, sinking its claws in deep, it held his legs and turned him over on his back.

Where is it, old man, it said?

He tried to speak, but his breath had frozen in his throat. Spit gurgled from his mouth. The creature took one ankle in each hand, turned them outward, breaking each. Pain welled up in his brain, releasing itself in a long deep scream.

Ah, said the creature leaning over him so that their faces almost touched. I see you have found your voice again. Now tell me, old man, where is it?

The pain and his terror mixed to form an exquisite emotion.

You’re the super-beings, he said, straining for the words. Guess you’ll have to find it yourself.

Straddling him, the beast gave him a small kiss on the cheek. It was a female.

So be it, old man, she hissed.

He could smell the stench of death and years of rotting debris on her breath. The creature shifted, its weight crushing parts his body, systematically destroying each inch. For a moment, the surreal world held him again as his mind floated, protecting him from the horror. He saw himself on the stage; arms raised high, carrying the prize. Hearing the cheers of the crowd, he saw the fireworks light up from behind the stage, and a bright light called his name as darkness overtook him.

Dishes and other items flew as they ransacked the apartment. The papers so neatly stacked by the typewriter shredded by their long sharp claws, the pieces floating in the still air of the apartment like snow on a winter’s day.

Together they searched for anything about them turning over shelves until finding his book of notes and the cross. The male smiled. He carefully placed the items in his pouch. Scampering through the window, he motioned to the female to hurry. The night was their cover, and the first rays of dawn were crowning the earth.

The book, its detailed notes, and passages would be studied so that this would not happen again and that their secret would remain safe. Their very existence depended on secrets. Looking over the carnage before she hopped through the window, she knew there would be an investigation. There always was, but humans were a stupid lot and easily distracted. She smiled as she thought of the aftermath of what they had done. There would be the usual outcry, and again it would be blamed on random crime. Lone robbers, a gang, a junkie, she loved them all. The story was always the same in the end. No matter, their secret would be safe. Satisfied, she hurriedly joining her partner.

2

They look like us. We see them every day. On the street corner. In the stores. They blend. They are said Detective Tom Church as the words trailed off as the scrap ended. More like words of a madman. Hey, Doc, glad to see you down here. This must be something special to drag you out of your rat hole, he said as she entered the room.

Yeah, well get used to it, said Chief Medical Examiner Laurie Avery. The chief is on my butt about all the homicides lately. He’s up for re-election this year and wants to declare Houston a murder-free zone.

Good luck to him, huh doc, he said with a deep chuckle.

Yeah, I think he would have an easier time saying that terrorism is no longer a threat. Tom, pausing. I’ll be right back. I just want to look around, she said, heading into the bedroom.

Will do Doc. I don’t think this guy is going anywhere.

Yeah, I think you are right. Hey, when Abe gets here, tell him to wait to process the body, ok? I want to be in on it so the chief can only blame me.

You got it, Doc.

Laurie moved through the tiny apartment, carefully stepping over the debris. Mentally making note of the amount of carnage, her brain whirred with possible explanations. Though it was probably a robbery gone wrong, the amount of stuff destroyed was a puzzlement. What could this old man have had that required this much damage to find? Or maybe a better question was if there wasn’t anything to see, what were the perps hiding?

Tom, that scrap of paper you had, look for more, let’s see if we can piece together what this guy was working on, she said. Surveying the broken contents of the room again, Make sure we check under all of the debris.

As Tom struggled to navigate the trash-strewn room, Laurie formed an elaborate mental picture of the carnage and scribbled the condensed version onto a notepad. The facts were clear. The landlord discovered the body when he had come up to talk to the old man about a noise complaint he had gotten the night before. The corpse, still in the center of the room, was surrounded by an array of broken objects. Memories of his life, now shreds and shards to be discarded like common trash.

Bending over the body, she made more notes. By the look of him, she would have guessed that he was a grandfatherly type. His face had been round with gray hair surrounding it. He had been a heavyset man but not unfit, she thought. He fought against his attackers.

The death scene was a very sloppy and disorganized one. There would be tons of evidence, but unlike the TV crime stories, most of it would never lead to a conviction. The items destroyed defied imagination. Glass figurines still lined many shelves. Dishes sat silently in the hutch while others lay scattered a broken around the body.

Dancing around the many officers in the room, the photo assistant clicked off picture after picture. All of them examined several times. Angles compared, and theories would expound. The next likely stop was the unsolved files. She read over her notes, no wife, children, or lover, not even someone just staying with the victim. No apparent motive. Only one old dead guy. Probably no one would miss him. Laurie, looking at him and felt a pang of sincere sympathy. Sympathy was terrible in this profession. A deep sigh left her as she pushed the feelings away. Making notes, she moved back toward the body.

It’s too bad, she said quietly to the corpse. If this were a T.V. show I’d have your killer in an hour. Just like on Hawaii Five-o. Everything neat and nice.

Touching the remains of his hand, profound grief washed over her, and she froze. Flashes and images whirled in her mind.

Returning to the present, she gently lifted one of the man’s’ arms. The skin rose, but the bones, crushed, no longer held the shape. She tried to imagine the force it would have taken to cause this damage.

Lost in her thoughts, the sound of Tom’s voice startled her.

Standing, she took the scraps of paper that he had gathered, scanning them lightly.

They move in the sound. The children of the dark. The moonlight calls to them. They are everywhere, she said quietly. Looking at them, she saw that one scrap contained three names. Laurie quickly wrote them down in her notebook before handing them off to Tom.  Joseph Abramowitz, Debbie Austin, and Piper Smith.

Piper Smith, she said out loud. Why does that name sound so familiar?

He’s that news guy. You know the one on channel 4, that’s always giving us cops a hard time, Tom said sarcastically. A real cocky SOB, and I think a real fan of yours. Hasn’t he been at every Slasher scene?

Yes, I remember him," she answered. She had chills remembering the torment she and the department got about the Slasher murders.

He also did that piece on Alien invasions, her laboratory assistant Abe Pohlman quickly added as he entered the room.

Tom and Laurie both turned to stare at him.

Well, he did, Abe said a little defensively. It was a whole week worth of specials. You know he’s the defacto expert on them.  Sensing her frustration, Abe quickly changed the subject, adding, It looks like they left by the window; I’ll go dust the window for prints.

Great, she thought. It’s not enough that there was a homicide to deal with now she could add little green men from Mars to the suspect list.

Raising an eyebrow, Laurie looked at the body and whispered to the victim, Thanks, just an added little problem, huh, guy.  Well, don’t worry yourself, I’ll handle it.

Talking to the dead again, Tom said. That will get you an immediate promotion upstairs to the chiefs’ office.

Laurie shot him a look of playful disgust.

OK, ok, he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, his trademark disarmament, can’t we all just get along look.

She crinkled her mouth with a puckered smile and continued through her notes.

So, what do you think boss, Tom said, trying to change the subject. I mean about of victim?

I’m not quite sure, she said quietly, with the amount of damage done to the body in this confined space, and he just may have been killed by E.T as Abe thinks.

Super, Tom said, pouting, extradition is going to be a real bitch. That’s provided their planet is on friendly terms with us.

Laurie chuckled lightly, trying to disguise the reference to Piper Smith was going to complicate things until it could be dismissed.

You know, it might be a good idea if you go to see Piper instead of me, she said.

Why you hate me so much, Tom said, arms folded in gangster pose.

Before she could answer, a voice from out in the hall interrupted.

Inspector Church, We need to see you out here, sir.

Seizing his chance, Tom quickly said, I’m needed out here. Then, I’ll make sure the officers canvas the neighbors to see if we missed anything." His bright green eyes twinkling, leaving quickly before she had the chance to protest.

Smiling, she thought how lucky she was to have him on her team. He was frustrating beyond belief, but he was a top-flight investigator. Watching him as he waded through the crush of blue shirts and other officers, his movements graceful despite his six-foot-six frame. She was glad to have him for his moral support too. Most of the guys on the force were unsure about a female head coroner. They thought it was too gruesome a job for a girl. Tom smoothed over those rough spots for her.

Doctor Avery, Abe called from the window. I have something I need for you to see.

Walking over to the window where he dusted for prints, she stood a small distance behind him. Abe was good at his job, but Laurie had learned early that he worked on his terms; she waited for him to start the conversation. We’ve got something here. Not sure what it is, he said. "It almost doesn’t look.

Laurie stared into his face, waiting, gesturing with her hand in a rolling motion; she tried to coax the words out of him.

Abe looked at her sheepishly, struggling through his thoughts.

Go on, she said. Just say what’s on your mind.

Well, he said, peering up at her through his thick glasses, it’s the prints.

What’s wrong with them, Abe?

He hesitated again, searching desperately for elusive concepts.

Well, it, he paused, taking a deep breath, they don’t look human. The ridges and whirls, well, they’re wrong. And then there is what looks like an indentation from something pointed.

Pointed? Any thoughts?

I’d say it was an animal print, and it was a claw.

Great, she thought that’s all I need. Smiling, she said, Ok, give me your report as soon as possible.

Shaking her head lightly, she turned to go back to the body, letting her thoughts drift. A murder this gruesome was going to attract the media attention. They are drawn to the blood like sharks to a feeding frenzy, swimming around, seeking all of the gory details. They were carrion waiting for the carnage or the world. She would need to protect this case carefully,

Orderlies carefully lifted the body and slid it onto the gurney with the waiting body bag. She knelt down to look at the floor beneath the victim, making a note that it was completely clear of debris. All of the items appear broken after death. What were they trying to hide? Ideas swirled, trying to form one cohesive thought. She rose, retracing her steps, to look at everything one more time.

Tom returned, standing by the door and watching her silently. She was in ‘Bloodhound’ mode, sniffing out the littlest detail. It made his job so much easier, but he would never tell her that. He envied her skill. It was part of her attraction. Feeling himself blush, he looked down at the floor for a moment to regain his composure.

Stopping at a picture hung haphazardly, a frown crossing her brow. Her long, slender fingers with neatly cut nails, traced the outline of the frame. A copy of Da Vinci’s Last Supper, the images offering blank stares to her scrutiny. Standing behind her, Tom waited as she picked at the one corner that caught her interest.

Look, she said, feeling his presence.  The dust is not on this corner as the rest of the picture. Someone has moved the frame by holding it here.

Grabbing it with both hands, she removed it from the wall, holding so that Tom could see the back.

Is there anything?

Scanning the cardboard that formed the back of the picture, he noticed a small bulge in the heavy packing tape covering most of the cardboard.  He carefully peeled back the tape, a key sticking to the portion he removed.

The plot thickens, he said, pulling the tape from the key, holding it up for Laurie to see.

Setting the painting down, she took the key, looking for identifying marks, she said, Where do you think it goes? Is it a house key?

No, Tom said as he twirled it around in front of him. Too small for a house key, it has to go to something else, tapping his jaw with his finger as he thought.

A padlock, she asked?

No, he said. Wrong shape. You know, I think it belongs to a locker. One of those rent-a-space types.

Laurie smiled. Ok, Sherlock, bus or mall?

Tom grabbed a coin from his pocket. As he flipped it, he asked, why not an airport?

She responded with another smile.

That is easy, my dear Sherlock. He had no car, and the cab fare from here to the airport would be horrendous. This guy was not rich. Also, he would want somewhere public, but yet private. The airport has a lot of security. This victim wanted secrecy.

Holding his left hand over his right.

Call it, he said. Heads, bus station.

Tails, mall, she said, keeping up