Classified Killings: A Tor Medina Thriller, #6

Chapter 1

Quincy, just outside Boston - April

The man with the burlap bag over his head grunted when he was pushed against the cold concrete wall of the staircase leading to the dark basement. The air was cold and smelled damp. Rex felt bad and almost apologized. He pondered over his feelings as he pushed the man he was about to kill down the stairs. He felt nothing. Maybe he should. In a distant, indirect manner, the man was related to his father’s death and the destruction of his family, but he wasn’t guilty of anything, and Rex just couldn’t bring himself to hate his victim.

At the same time, Rex felt indifferent about the man he was about to murder. Maybe he was a good man. A teacher with a young family has to be good. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. He was part of Rex’s big plan now. Only a spoke in a larger engine. Rex considered him more as a subject than as a person. A part of something important, but not something important on its own. Yeah. That’s what he was. His death had a purpose. It was Rex’s responsibility to make it count. He would.

I can’t breathe, the man complained, his voice muffled by the bag.

Rex wasn’t willing to look at his victim, but since he was going to be done soon, he pulled the bag off. He wanted no interaction with the victim and ordered him to remain silent, showing him the butt of the gun he kept in his pants. The man understood, and they took another couple of steps in the dark until they reached the ground.

Rex held his subject with one arm and tapped the wall with the other, browsing for the switch on the wall.

The three sets of high-powered industrial fluorescent lamps lit up the basement, revealing a practically empty thirty-by-twenty concrete space. The only structure in the room was a cube glass, or shower box, of about six-by-three feet. Inside the box stood a single wooden chair. On the outside, lined up against the wall and connected to the glass chamber’s ceiling through tubes, two large cylinders, one red and one yellow, rested ominously.

A gas chamber.

After a brief moment, the subject realized where he was headed, but before he could verbalize a reaction, Rex anticipated and ordered him once again, Shut up!

Rex pushed the man toward the chamber and opened a door. Once inside, Rex sat the man on the chair and secured his feet with nylon cable ties, then pulled the man’s hands behind the chair and secured both wrists together with plastic cuffs.

Rex then exited the chamber and pressed a button on the panel on the door, sealing it completely airtight. When he walked toward the canisters, the man in the glass lockup followed him with his eyes and began to beg for his life.

Rex ignored the man’s pleas and continued. He reached behind the canisters, where he had left a small shopping bag the night before when he prepped the room. He took the items from the bag and began to manipulate them. First, he assembled the small camera and made sure the battery was fully charged. Satisfied, he then attached it to the clamp mount. Rex used the ladder to fix the camera’s clamp high on the wall, on a crossbeam and looked through the viewport to check the angle, making sure it completely framed the gas chamber, focusing on the man in the chair. He turned the recording on, dropped down to the ground, carefully remaining out of the frame, and stored the ladder aside.

Rex took a black ski mask from his bag and placed it over his head, before walking in front of the camera. Then he moved to the side of the chamber and placed his hand ceremoniously on top of the yellow gas cylinder valve, labeled LEWISITE, on masking tape.

After standing still for a second, intended as a dramatic effect for the camera, Rex turned the valve open. Instantly, a white cloudy smoke precipitated from atop the glass structure, causing the man inside to panic and holler for help. It was useless. No one could hear him.

Unconcerned, Rex opened the valve of the red cylinder, labeled MUSTARD GAS. A different cloudy smoke came down into the chamber. This one was yellowish and immediately caused the man to start blinking. The reaction wasn’t caused by the effects of the gas, which would take a little longer to kick in. It was just a nervous response.

As the victim was being gassed up, Rex pulled from his pocket a deck card he had previously picked out, and stuck it in between both cylinders, with most of the face sticking out, to be certain it would be found.

Rex prepared to leave and took a brief look at the glass chamber. It was almost filled with smoke by now. The victim was extremely agitated, trying to helplessly free himself, panicking at the contemplation of his unavoidable, inescapable fate.

Rex picked up his stuff, turned around and walked away. As he climbed the stairs and removed his mask, the man in the chamber started yelling from the pain of the skin-burning gas. The glass chamber muffled the noise, but it was still audible. The sound of the screams was interrupted a couple of times by those of violent vomiting. Rex kept going without flinching or turning back.

Chapter 2

3 days later - Boston

Homicide Detective Tor Medina sat at his desk at the Boston precinct behind his new bronze name plaque. He wasn’t exactly fond of displaying his title and last name but he respected the affirmation that came with it. He had reached his goal. From the streets of Rio, the city where he grew up, and the place where his family was murdered, to the nation’s capital, past a lot of time in federal training, some weird cases and more than a few close calls, Tor had finally made Homicide Detective. It wasn’t easy, or pleasant. There were a lot of bruises and injuries and a fair share of sad stories and tragedies. But it was his dream and it came true. It was worth it.

Tor stopped reminiscing and skimmed the first page of the Globe. He was looking for updates on the missing teacher story that had been running lately. There was nothing in today’s paper.

With a few minutes to kill before his new partner, Officer Grady, arrived, Tor reached for a length of rope he started keeping in the top drawer of his desk. When he had taken a couple of days off after the previous case, and after watching some survival shows on TV, Tor decided he needed to learn a few knots. So he practiced when he had some time. He had already learned a few useful ones: the square knot, to join ropes; the slipknot, in case he needed to set up a snare; the hitch, and the bowline, two knots he found cool but had no idea how to use them, at least for now. What fascinated him was how clear it was to identify if the knot was properly tied, or not. Medina fiddled with the rope, trying to remember the instructions: left to right, then out of the rabbit hole, behind the tree...

It didn’t work this time, but he didn’t mind. He was in a good mood. He was comfortable in his chair and his casual dark blue-checkered flannel shirt. He was still in a cozy time-off frame of mind. His coffee was hot and strong, just how he liked it, and the aroma was delicious. Tor was relaxed and happy with the day’s pace. That was about to change.

From across the window of his office door, he saw Officer Grady walking his way hastily and with purpose. Grady was the rookie that got injured in a previous case and was later assigned as Medina’s partner, seeing that Dafne Løke had gone off to join the FBI.

Not a rookie anymore, and with scars to prove it, now Officer Grady approached holding a brown file. Medina knew what it was: a new case. Someone had been murdered. The vacation was over.

Tor got up, finished his coffee in one large sip and reached for his leather jacket on the hanger on the wall.

Officer Grady entered. Hi detective, good morning! Grady noticed Medina was getting ready to take off and warned, There’s no need to hurry. HAZMAT is still clearing the scene.

Hmmm. What’s the location?

It’s in Quincy.

All right. Let’s get going anyway. By the time we get there, they’ll be done. You can brief me on the way.

Medina and Grady took an unmarked Ford Interceptor from the garage and headed east. Medina enjoyed driving the custom muscle car, appreciating its power. Meanwhile, Grady punched in the address on the onboard GPS, and started reviewing the page he pulled from the brown folder, the Notification of Homicide.

The initial document in a homicide investigation is usually written by the first officer on the scene, usually a patrol officer responding to a call. In this case, Grady told Medina, as the patrolman reported, a fourteen-year-old kid was walking his dog near the Broad Meadows Marsh, by the Town River Bay, when the dog ran off to smell the side entrance to the basement of an abandoned home. The kid initially thought everything was fine, as he told the officer since his dog ran off to sniff stuff all the time. But a few minutes later, the kid noticed the dog’s nose was bleeding. The teen became curious and walked over to check out the house. When he approached the side entrance, his eyes started itching and he decided it was better to leave and call the cops. Patrolman Jones answered the call and was first on the scene. He also felt an irritation on his eyes and throat and called it in, summoning the HAZMAT team. Short for hazardous materials, this police unit handles situations involving radioactive, flammable, explosive, corrosive, toxic, and any other type of threatening material.

What about the vic?

They haven’t touched the victim yet. They isolated the area and are waiting for us. There was a poisonous gas leak, and the last I heard, they were securing the area before proceeding. The only thing they mentioned was that the deceased was a middle-aged male and was in bad shape.

You don’t say. Medina was being sarcastic. A corpse is never in good shape.

As he drove to the crime scene, Medina realized he had missed his job, especially the hunt. All he did during his time off was learn some knots. He missed the action. Now, his mind was racing through possibilities, trying to imagine the effects prolonged exposure to gas would have on a body. He was aware that they were only speculations and had to see the corpse and examine the scene but was excited to be back in a case.

The rumor is the victim could be Kenneth Minor, the missing teacher, Grady added. Tor knew what he was talking about. It was the story he had been following. The high school chemistry teacher from Quincy had gone missing, and the whole town had been paying attention to the story. Tor knew better than to guess and said nothing.

Eventually, they arrived at the scene, a somewhat isolated strip of land near the water. Tor pulled up behind a black and white, got out of the car and looked around. The side road they were on had almost no traffic. There were no buildings around and the marshy area seemed desolate and inhospitable. A lone red shingled home stood between the road and the water, in a field of discolored grass, burnt by the cold, some a hundred yards away. A light chilled breeze blew across his face, reminding him it could still be cold at this time of the year.

As the detectives walked over to the crime scene, Tor spotted the HAZMAT van parked on the grass, in front of the home. An officer stood outside, by the van.

Morning, gentlemen. Hey, Tor. The uniformed tall black man with a thin mustache and a black turtleneck undershirt smiled and shook Medina’s hand. The officer standing guard around the basement entrance had recognized Medina and dispensed addressing him by his title or looking at his identification. Tor welcomed the familiarity and smiled, even if he didn’t remember the man’s name.

The entrance to the basement was sealed with the yellow and black do not cross police tape. Tor was satisfied the protocol had been followed and that the crime scene was correctly preserved. There are two technicians inside, the officer warned. They asked me to keep anyone from entering until they come out.

Okay. No problem, Medina obliged. Tor and Grady took the time to walk around the house. It appeared abandoned, and there were no clear signs of a break in. Tor constantly stared at the ground, looking out for tire tracks or footprints, but there weren’t any. They walked up to the front door. It was stuck shut. Tor turned around and looked at the street. They would have to find out who owned this property, but it was clear to Tor that the house had been selected by someone looking for an abandoned place. Specifically, an undisturbed, isolated structure with a basement. So probably the property owner had no clue what was going on and had nothing to do with the body downstairs.

When they came around, the two HAZMAT officers were coming out of the basement and removing their suits. They saw Medina and Grady and introduced themselves, then briefed them on what they had found.

Room is cleared. But I have to warn you. It’s pretty gnarly down there, Detective, said the officer with a mustache, as he removed his suit. We found two cylinders, labeled ‘Mustard Gas’ and ‘Lewisite’. The cylinders are empty, but our residual analysis found a trace of these two gases. The body inside also shows exposure symptoms, confirming the presence of the two substances.

Mustard gas? Isn’t that from World War one? Officer Grady had only read about it.

The technician, on the other hand, knew his subject and answered. Yes, it was first used back then, and it has been regulated under the Chemical Weapons Convention from 1993, but there have been recently documented uses. I think the most recent was in the Middle East. The gas was reportedly used by ISIS against the Syrian Army last year. It’s pretty nasty stuff.

Tell me about what you found. Medina was eager to get to work.

"Well, we’re dealing with two distinct gases here. They are only lethal if inhaled for a long period, which is what happened to the victim down there. The first one is Lewisite, a gas that causes extreme pain upon contact with the skin. It’s so powerful it can penetrate