The Fetish Files

The Fetish Files

By

L. M. Reker

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

World Castle Publishing, LLC

Pensacola, Florida

Copyright © L. M. Reker 2017

Smashwords Edition

Hardback ISBN: 9781629897219

Paperback ISBN: 9781629897226

eBook ISBN: 9781629897233

First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC, June 12, 2017

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

Smashwords Licensing Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

Cover: Karen Fuller

Editor: Maxine Bringenberg

Chapter 1

Terry Quick

I believe that every human being has an angel and a beast inside them. The more we’re willing to look at the beast, the more we’re willing to hold on to the angel.

SuEllen Fried

A young man sat in the park across from a school with a pair of binoculars, scrutinizing the movement of children on their way to school, when his focus suddenly changed. A white compact car, several years old, pulled up to the street near the entrance of the school. The driver made no attempt to exit the car; he only studied the movement of the children. Then he focused on one girl, no more than eight years old, who walked by herself, lugging a bulky backpack and lunch box. She was among the last to arrive at her school.

Terry Quick, the young man studying the school from the park, watched every movement of the man in the newly arrived vehicle. His window down, Terry could just discern his features from his position by a tree in the park. He had a full face suggestive of someone that could be overweight. His black hair was neatly parted to one side. He could not observe much more with his angle of view.

Terry exhaled, spitting out an angry exultation. Finally! He thought, The weeks of work, the hours of research, have finally given me something! He continued watching, barely suppressing a rage inside himself, the same rage that had fueled his passionate weeks of searching and dogged investigative work. He took a camera with a powerful telephoto lens from a satchel he carried and shot pictures of the vehicle, license plate, and several more of the man looking in multiple directions.

As the man by the school started his car, Terry ran to his, glancing back to see where the school stalker was headed. He tossed his satchel onto the front seat and started his pursuit of him, careful not to get too close by allowing other vehicles to get between him and the white compact.

They traveled for several blocks to the far northeast edge of Albuquerque. Terry watched from forty yards back with another car several yards in front of him. He slowed as he observed School Stalker, as he had named him, leaving his car and heading for a basement apartment below what appeared to be a multi-use two-story building.

Terry drove ahead and observed him through his rear-view mirror walking down some stairs to his apartment. Making a right turn at the next street he drove back the same way he’d come. He noted the address and the location of the car on the street, and could just barely see the stairwell was now empty. He thought, I’ll be back and I’ll get some answers. I’ll see if his car is still there later in the evening, and if he leaves, I’ll investigate. When I get into his place, I’ll see what I can find. Terry drove away with a gut feeling that he had made a breakthrough.

That evening he returned, and saw that the white compact was still parked where he had originally observed it. He drove a short distance, turned around, and then returned to the opposite side of the street from the compact, where he could observe the comings and goings from that location. The evening grew into night, but he was not burdened with impatience, just a burning desire for the truth and the justice it could bring. He thought, If this is truly the man I’m looking for, I’ll restrain my desire for revenge. If I’m going to be a professional investigator, I’ll have to forget my personal issues and do the right thing.

Terry Quick was close to finishing up a graduate program in criminal justice at the University of New Mexico. He was very confident he would enjoy a successful career in law enforcement, and he aspired to ultimately be an FBI agent. Athletic, handsome, and well trained in the martial arts, he felt confident he could autonomously solve the recent serial cases of sexual assaults on children in the city of Albuquerque. Besides that there was the personal element, which he knew he had to control to be successful. His thoughts turned to Tricia, his kid sister, the youngest of four children in his parents’ household.

A sharp pain stabbed his psyche, and he quickly expelled it. Almost simultaneously, he saw the school stalker coming up the stairs from his basement apartment. He paused, looked around, entered his car, and drove away.

Terry looked into his satchel to find his lock tool, paused briefly to hold his Glock, and decided to leave it in his satchel. He pulled out a pair of evidence gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. He left his car, locked it, and walked to the corner that could take him to the other side of the street and to the stairs of School Stalker.

Terry arrived at the top of the stairs, checked in several directions, and then descended the six steps to the basement entrance. He put on his evidence gloves, studied the lock on the door, removed his tool, and easily opened the simple lock. With no deadbolt to be concerned with, he easily entered the apartment and immediately scanned the room.

It was obvious that this was a one-bedroom unit with no extraordinary surprises. He observed what one would suspect such a unit would contain: a couch, coffee table, a shelf with a cable box and TV, with an adjacent breakfast nook.

When he stood in front of the bedroom door, a light came on in his mind. The door was locked and there was a deadbolt just above it. He’s hiding something! Terry easily disengaged the regular lock, but would have to force the deadbolt in order to enter the room. He didn’t hesitate as he retreated a few steps and then delivered a kick that burst the door open.

The first thing that captured his attention was the large computer screen on a desk adjacent to a queen bed. A lamp was still on that revealed a windowless bedroom and a closet that was locked—a fact that further confirmed the man was hiding something. An empty wine bottle and a $55.00 receipt sitting by the computer were the only other things on his desk. The receipt had the name Leonard Zadick on it. Below it was a package with the name of a book club Terry was unfamiliar with. Terry opened the plain brown envelope and pulled out a crudely composed magazine with a picture of nude children on the front cover.

The computer was in sleep mode, and pressing the mouse activated the screen. It was an ordinary screen saver but several files were on the desktop, none of them actually named but designated with just three digit numbers. Terry opened one and exhaled in anger as he gazed at a grotesque array of pornographic pictures, with children as the primary subjects. He closed the file and began searching the desk drawers.

In a file drawer he found alphabetized folders with names on them. Terry scrolled quickly through them, and then paused on the Ts and involuntarily sucked in his breath when the name Tricia appeared. Forcing himself to open it, he was revolted with the picture of his younger sister, but could not explore the file any further. He knew he was on the edge of uncontrollable rage.

Terry checked his emotions and returned to his investigative duties, knowing that what he had uncovered was absolutely conclusive evidence of massive wrongdoing. The question arose in his mind, How should I handle revealing this information to the necessary people?

His speculations were interrupted by the sound of someone about to enter the front door. He quickly moved to the front room and took a position that would place him behind the door when the occupant entered.

The door creaked open somewhat reluctantly, since Terry had not bothered to lock it again once he entered the apartment. When it was obvious that the figure had completely entered the room, Terry slammed the door shut and the startled man wheeled around and saw him. Before he could react, Terry delivered a kick to his crotch. He fell to the floor moaning breathlessly, unable even to shout. Terry stood over him, waiting for him to catch his breath.

He remained calm, controlling his rage, forcing himself into an investigative mindset. He said, I’ve been in your bedroom. I know what you’re doing, Leonard Zadick. Terry continued with a touch of angry sarcasm, Lenny, I hope you don’t mind the familiar first name. I know you’re a pedophile, and I need to get some information out of you.

Zadick finally composed himself enough to answer and asked, Are you a cop?

No, I’m not.

How did you find out about me?

Terry, barely suppressing his anger, said, Lenny, the best thing you can do for yourself now is answer my questions as honestly as you can. You really don’t want to piss me off, because what you just experienced will only be a small taste of what I can give you. Tell me how many girls you’ve victimized. Remember, I’ve looked at your files.

Zadick moaned and spit out an agonized guttural response. I have sixteen names in that file.

"It must have taken you quite a while to build up that inventory. How long have you been doing this, Lenny?

A little over twenty years.

Are all of these girls from Albuquerque?

No, I came here from another place.

Where?

I moved from Pittsburgh four years ago.

How many girls have you assaulted in this city?

Zadick grimaced, moaned, and covered his face. The only thing out of his mouth was an incoherent groaning. Terry let him play this out for a few minutes, and then asked the same question again.

How many girls, Lenny boy—no more theatrics this time. You’re not a good enough actor.

Zadick responded with an emotion somewhere between panic and anger. Three, goddamn it! Three!

Do you remember Tricia, Lenny?

Zadick’s demeanor turned to fear and panic. He gasped, You know her.

Terry hissed, She’s my sister. I’m going to get her picture to refresh your memory.

Terry walked into the bedroom, sat down, and opened Zadick’s file drawer. Leafing through it to Tricia’s file, just as he pulled it he heard the rush of air as Zadick approached him. Instinctively, he quickly rolled away, and felt the sharp pain of a knife slashing his right arm.

Zadick was about to attack again. Terry alertly kicked the desk chair in Zadick’s direction, grabbed the wine bottle by the neck, and smashed it on the desk. It broke into a crude three-pronged trident. He wheeled on Zadick, saying, Here we are, Lenny. Just looking at you I’d say you’re in your late forties, overweight, and soft. That stiletto in your hand looks out of place. I’d expect it to be in the hands of a more athletic person. So what are our options here? He noticed Tricia’s file on the floor, now opened to a picture of her, naked. I was wrong, Lenny…there are no options here.

Zadick attacked. Terry was surprised at his quickness, as the slashing blade nearly tagged his chest. Terry got into a crouching position and feigned a thrust at Zadick’s midsection, which Zadick countered with a defensive move with his knife. Terry began quick moves to the left and right, tossing the jagged bottle from one hand to the other.

His strategy was to provoke Zadick’s attack by wearing him down with movement. He continued with this for several moves, closely observing Zadick’s behavior. He faked a throw of the bottle from his right hand to his left, and Zadick lunged at him as he’d anticipated. Terry slashed his knife arm. Zadick screamed in pain, dropping his blade, and Terry backed up a little bit to assess the situation. Zadick bent forward to pick up his stiletto from the floor.

In a cat quick move, in one fluid motion Terry plunged the three-pronged broken bottle into Zadick’s face. Zadick staggered forward and then fell to his knees. He tried to scream but couldn’t. One of the prongs had penetrated his right cheek, and the other two his throat, which disabled his capacity to scream. Terry pulled the jagged bottle from his face and Zadick starting screeching and gurgling almost mutely as blood started to fill his mouth. Falling to his back, his entire body began twitching uncontrollably and he suddenly began to grasp at his chest. A heart attack was apparently accompanying his agony. This went on for several minutes as Terry stood over him, grimly watching the beginning of Zadick’s death throes. The gurgling breathing finally stopped as Zadick’s arm fell limply by his sides.

Terry sat on Zadick’s bed, trying to compose himself. He thought of Tricia lying comatose in her hospital bed, and the rage he’d just felt abated into a strange kind of hollowness; there was no satisfaction. What would his sister think of what he’d just done? His sister was not changed; this action would not relieve her deep unconsciousness, or her disconnection from him and the rest of Terry’s family.

His thoughts slowly turned to how he could escape this place without detection. Looking at his hands, he realized that he was still wearing his evidence gloves. He began to take action by examining his arm wound. The long sleeved shirt he was wearing, it seemed, had absorbed most of the blood. Then he noticed some blood on the floor and chair that was probably his.

In Zadick’s kitchen, he washed his evidence groves clean, and retrieved some paper towels to scrub the desk chair and floor with hot water. After cleaning Zadick’s stiletto blade and placing the towels in his back pocket, he returned Tricia’s file to the right place in Zadick’s file cabinet. Some gauze and tape in the bathroom provided a temporary bandage for his wound, which was not too serious.

After pulling Zadick’s keys from his pocket and checking one more time for telltale evidence he could have left behind, he examined the floor to retrieve any random shirt fibers. Minute evidence could still tell a very large tale.

Next, he covered Zadick’s body with his heavy bedspread, which he doubled up over him. He hoped that Zadick would not have any callers in the near future, and the discovery of his body would be noticed by the smell of decay. He turned off the lamp and exited the bedroom, which he locked and improvised the re-establishment of the broken deadbolt.

He carefully opened the front door and had begun to lock it when he heard a voice from the top of the basement stairs. Terry, drop the keys on the ground!

Stunned, his eyes shot to the top of those stairs, where he could only see the silhouette of man looking down at him. He dropped the keys and asked, Who are you and how do you know who I am?

You’re Terry Quick, and I’ve been observing your movements for days. You’re a graduate student in criminology at UNM, and you’ve been conducting your own improvised investigation. Your sister is Tricia Quick, who was recently a victim of a sexual predator. Don’t ask me who I am, Terry. Let’s just say I’m not hostile, and whatever situation you’ve created here can be effectively resolved. However, I must hear from you in complete truth about everything that just transpired in this apartment. Do you understand?

Terry realized there was no point in not complying, and actually felt a strange sense of relief. He related the story to the stranger, down to the details of how he’d cleaned up the scene. The totality of what had happened, then the catharsis of revealing it, finally caught up to him. He went over to the last basement step, sat down with his hands covering his face, and quietly wept.

The man on the stairs said nothing for several minutes, then finally broke the silence with explicit directions. Terry, I want you to stay where you are. Place your car keys on the step in back of you. Two men will arrive here shortly. One will take you to your car on the street above and drive you home, and the other man will follow your vehicle to pick him up. They will say nothing to you and you’re not to talk to them. Speak of this incident to nobody else. Do you understand?

Yes I do.

***

Five days later, Terry sat in the kitchen of his apartment with a cup of coffee and the newspaper, a ritual he’d performed daily since the incident. He leafed through the local news section of the paper and found on the second page at the bottom a brief story.

A building supervisor at 8565 East Yucca Drive found the body of Leonard Zadick yesterday. He was apparently the victim of a stabbing incident. At this time there are no significant leads as to who committed the crime. However, the police found a substantial quantity of cocaine and heroine on the premises, and they speculate that this is probably a drug related murder. There was evidence of a struggle that resulted in multiple stab wounds on the victim.

Zadick’s residence was a basement apartment in a multiuse building. Building supervisor Jack Andrews described Zadick as a loner. Other occupants of the building had no significant interaction with the victim. Police so far have been unsuccessful at finding any next of kin. They welcome any information from people who might have known Zadick.

Terry read the rest of the story, which was a discussion of the proliferation of drug