It’s the Darkest Hour

Collinsport. On this chill October night as most of those in Collinsport are disturbed by odd dreams, and early morning premonitions, members of the Collinsport Police Department find themselves once again confronted with the scene of yet another ghastly multiple homicide.

Opening Theme: [www.youtube.com]

FRIDAY OCTOBER 12th, 2012

“Ma’am . . . ma’am . . . I’ll have to ask you to step back.”

It had been a cold night and would be an even colder morning. The breeze makes it feel 10 degrees colder than the thermometer reading of 40. According to The Weather Channel, having briefly taken an upward glance to catch the Current Conditions on the monitor mounted above the desk Tobias T. Tillinghast had given her a desk she had recently discovered belonged to a Mr. Bernstein, who was apparently cloistered away somewhere working on a very special project for Tillinghast (some nod-and-a-wink conspiracy that Tobias T. felt he had a forthcoming exclusive, involving the Mayor and some California corporation that Tillinghast suspected of clandestine motives for opening an office in Collinsport), a cold front was coming with gusts and grey clouds that would bring considerably colder, temperatures, dipping down in to the twenties. The wind chill would be painful. Which was nothing more than typical October weather for Maine, or so Miss Trevelyan told her as she sipped at her Salted Caramel Mocha.

But what was not typical for an October night was the discordant staccato echo of the radios of five Collinsport Police cruisers.

Jennifer had pulled her Mustang off on the narrow shoulder. Down the curve of Temperance Vale Road, a narrow single lane road ran close to the retaining wall over the viaduct below. This isolated area just beyond city limits was part of some utilities sub-station, electrical and water. The signs of construction were of a project commissioned by the Governor, and twice delayed, to extend the services of the facilities beyond Collinsport and further into Hancock County. Or, so said the quick scan of an Internet search

She reached over and opened the glove compartment. Within there was a tangled web of lanyards revealing laminated press passes from:The Chicago Tribune, The Milwaukee Journal, Philadelphia Inquirer, Independent News Service, Associated Press, Boston Globe, Providence Journal and The Bangor Daily News. She sat untangling them. The names and photos of Jennifer Karel, Jennifer Roberts, and of course, Jennifer Kolchak, were visible in the dim moonlight falling through the windshield “ she selected the most recent pass for The Collinsport Star.

Camcorder in hand she made her way down the incline of the narrow roadway. The chain-linked fence that was to have secured the access road was open. It was obviously apparent that it had not been secured. What ever work was going on was not something that concerned either the local officials or Homeland Security “ apparently.

Ahead the scene was the usual surreal carnival Jennifer found at every crime scene.

Chaos, confusion, and a lot of flashing lights.

Temperance Vale Road was awash in the bright white and cerulean blue flash of the SoundOff APEX Series LED Lightbars atop the patrol cars. Most of which had been left running to keep heaters on, even as their open doors released what heat and radio transmissions from within into the chill October night. Uniformed officers moved about the narrow road that over looked the dry viaduct below. Portable light stands and been stood up to illuminate the area within the yellow crime scene tape, which had been stretched out to box in the two shapes covered in dark tarpaulins. Only the thin plastic tape vibrating in the breeze could not contain the blood.

Blood seemed to be everywhere.

She continued walking past the officer who had tried to stop her ingress upon the crime scene. “The light of The Star shines upon the truth,” Jennifer recited the Collinsport Star motto, while she held up her press pass dangling from is lanyard.

“You think that’s going to impress anyone,” The officer said, his fingers hitching up his leather belt. “Most of CPD has little use for Tobais T. Tillinghast and his yellow journalism.”

“Did you see my name on that byline?” She asks looking past him to see what she can of the crime scene below, “I had nothing to do with the O’Malley story . . . Yeah, I’m cool with the CPD. You guys have a tough job in one hello of a town. So how many is it this time?”

Hands up, palms out, as if to push her back, “You can wait for the Lieutenant.”

Which would not be long as she could see the sleek, black unmarked car slowly making it’s way past the parked patrol car that had been strategically positioned so as to block the south end of the small access road. Jennifer knew that behind the dark tinted glass the driver was Lieutenant Mills, who had of late taken over the administrative leadership of the CPD, owing to the convalescence of Chief St. Clair, who only a short time ago had been shot in the library of the Miskatonic University.
Shot? More like attempted assassination—another story no one was talking about and that Jennifer was still trying to work leads. A story which her old uncle would have seen conspiracy written all over particularly with the amazingly small amount of evidence gathered in the attempted assassination or there the very real possibility of a very orchestrated cover-up, seeing has how St. Clair had been a homicide detective with the Arkham Police Department and no one in APD was talking.

Exactly what had transpired after the shooting that night, she could only surmise, but there had been a gap in the official entries of the first responders, missing time, from when she was shot and when she arrived at St. Mary’s Hospital. A gap that wide had to have official sanction. There was something they were all covering up. But what? She had discovered that shortly have the shooting there had ben a call from Chief McCloud to the Mayor of Arkham, who had then called the Mayor of Collinsport, who had in turned driven out to the Great House of Collinwood to see David Collins.

The next morning Lieutenant Mills, who had been on the force less than six months, awoke to be duly appointed the acing Chief of Police for the Collinsport Police Department. And what she had been able to gather about her was vague, suspiciously vague, for a veteran of the Augusta Police Department. Lieutenant Rebecca Mills had served five years on the APD before suddenly taking the position here in Collinsport. The money here in Collinsport was certainly no inducement, nor was the location, a small fishing community and tourist attractions of local art and antiques. No, this wasn’t New York, Boston, or Providence.

So, just what was Rebecca Mills doing in Collinsport?

At the moment she was opening the door of the black sedan and stepping out into yet another multiple homicide. She looked tired, no doubt from carrying the weight of the recent homicides, as well as the Town Council and the Mayor’s concerns about the breakdown of law enforcement, which had only been compounded by the very public violent meltdowns of one of her own, Officer C. D. O’Malley, who had gunned down two tourists trapped in their car, in the middle of the business district, as he continuously fired into their vehicle. Spent shells hitting the pavement as he had reloaded four times in order to maintain what he had termed “suppressing fire,” which he did until he was subdued by other members of the Collinsport Police. He had yet to explain what he thought he was suppressing . . . but Jennifer suspected that he had seen something. Something perhaps a few members of the Town Council were more than aware of, or at the very least David Collins. For although Collinsport was no longer a company town, it still felt the iron grip of Collins wealth, manipulation, and control.

She watched now as the lieutenant surveyed the crime scene.

Mills quickly understood what Sergeant Fitzsimmons had meant when he had indicated they were gong to need some kind of a plank bridge, for the crime scene was separated by a deep ravine leading down to the dry bed of Vale Creek and the distant viaduct leading to the opposite side of Temperance Vale Road.

Jennifer, having deftly slipped past the Officer Fitzsimons, who hadn’t tried all that hard to stop her, seeing as how the Lieutenant had arrived “ and if the Lieutenant wanted her gone she’d be far better at removing the reporter; and so, she strides purposefully along the narrow roadway toward the raven-haired acting Chief of Police.

When suddenly a tall, very good looking, in that New England rugged coastline Fisherman/Timerman kind of way, Officer – Officer Steven Anderson – stepped up and tried to bar her way, “ Look Jenny Roberts, we don’t you giving us any of you sass tonight, alright? We got enough trouble.”

“You mean Mills has enough trouble.”

“I said give her break.”

Jennifer Roberts smiled warmly, “Anderson you know as well as anyone, you play fair with me, I always play fair in return.”

“Yeah, well, look, the Lieutenant doesn’t need another godda***ed story in [/i]The Star[/i[ like the last one.”

She sighs and looks up into Anderson’s deeply hazel eyes: “Like I have said already, did I write that? No! Tobias is an assh**e, no doubt about that.”

She can’t help noticing now that behind Anderson, Officer W. D. “Bill” Henderson, is motioning with his head to the approaching Lieutenant Mills the taped off crime scene: “Two more bodies Lieutenant.”

Mills is careful to step around a pool of blood, “More decapitations . . . “

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lieutenant Mills nods stoically and approaches the crime scene. She stops and takes a long moment to look at the two bodies covered in dark tarpaulins. She then bends to slip beneath the rusted barbwire strung alongside the narrow roadway that stands before the yellow tape, which has been stretched to secure the scene. He cautiously moves over to one of the bodies and kneels down and lifts back the stiff canvas covering the corpse, holding it up in front of her so as to keep the reporter from the Star, whose already got her camcorder out, from seeing the body.

“Yeah.” She says wearily, and with a pained look puts the canvas back. “Any one Local?”

W. D. “Bill” Henderson shakes his head, “Not that any one here recognizes.”

Damned, just like the others, she thinks.

Jennifer Roberts, having assured Officer Anderson that should Mills want her to leave the scene, she’d go quietly, strides down to stand silently behind the dangerous tips of the rusted barbed wire, watching as the yellow tape line ripples in the breeze.

“I figured it would be you, “ The Lieutenant says as she remains kneeling beside the nearest body, not looking back over her shoulder, as if she has eyes in the back of her head.

“Before you say anything, Lieutenant. I am more than well aware of Tillinghast”s antagonism with the CPD, and with you, but, then again, he’s an ass. I’m just a reporter trying to do her job and who, in the long run can be of help . . . to you, at least, the story will be factual and not some half-assed piece of lurid tabloid s**t that Tobias will cook up.”

Lieutenant Mills rises and turns to look at her, “Just what all reporters will say only moments before they screw you.” She looks at the civilian with the camcorder, “Before you start waving that thing around, let me see your press pass.”

“Lieutenant, you’ve . . . “

“Factual you say? I Just want to know who you are tonight.” She says to let her know she has looked into her background.

Jennifer lifts the press pass dangling from her lanyard. The Lieutenant shines her high beam flashlight upon the laminate to read Jennifer Roberts The Collinsport Star.

“So Jennifer Roberts, why don’t you try picking one from one of the more respectable papers.”

“The respectable ones won’t let me write the truth.”

“Like the Key West Citizen?” Mills asks, “You mean like what, fanciful stories about The Order of the Black Buddha? Tiger Transit?” Well aware that Jennifer Kolchak had been rather impolitely asked to leave The Keys, owing to her obsession and investigation into some cult out of Southeast Asia, which apparently had been imported into the States after the Vietnam War. Of Course from what Mills had ascertained, Jennifer Kolchak had indeed uncovered some very nasty occult front for a drug and arms dealing cartel – but the government, State and Federal, had wanted it all covered-up – which was something Mills has beginning to understand more and more here in Collinsport.

Particularly concerning anything that might affect tourism.

“Well there was a whole lot more to that story than—“

“Yes, and now you’re with The Star?”

“Oddly—we seem to be able to work together.”

“Might be since sensationalism is Tillinghast”s bread and butter the Star is just the paper for you at the moment.”

“He let’s me write the truth.”

“The truth?” Mills cocks an odd smile, “You think you know the truth?”

“I hope one of us finds it soon Lieutenant.” Jennifer tells her, aware that Mill was yet to decide whether to toss her or let her hang around the scene. “I know what it is to have little or no allies. And you could use one, especially at The Star.”

Officer Anderson strides up, “Sorry, Lieutenant I tried to keep her back.”

“That’s alright Andersen. She’s just doing her job, just like us.” Mills informs him.

“Thanks Lieutenant,” Jennifer nods, well aware that Mills is usually not this gracious.

“You f**k me over Kolchak and you won’t be thanking me.” The Lieutenant replies in a low voice.

Jennifer lifts an eyebrow and nods, “Right. So, this looks like that mess up at the old rest stop. Same nut job you think?”

“Looking for conjecture or truth, Miss Roberts?” Lieutenant Mills says matter-of-factly, “Seeing as I got here not five minutes ago, everything is conjecture at the moment.”

“The ME not here yet?”

The corner of Mill’s mouth curls up in irritation, “No.” She replies and moves back out from the crime scene, careful as she slips beneath the barbed wire.

“Odd don’t you think?”

“What?”

“The killer seeming not at all deterred by the wire.”

Mills takes note of the fact. “You are free to record and write up whatever you find, but please do not get underfoot.” And then she turns to Officer Anderson, “I understand you got a witness?”

A break this time, Jennifer thinks as she quickly steps up to the tapeline and turns on her small, compact digital camcorder. Aware that Mills didn’t suffer tales of the supernatural, even here in Collinsport, her reportage in The Citizen had had the true nature of the Order of the Black Buddha excised. Else, she was more than certain Mills would have tossed her.

This time “ there was far too much blood. Little or none at the other grisly scene “according to the reports she had read; the official CPD reports and the Corner’s report. Although there had been a rumor of a witness, of sorts, to the grisly murders on New Old Jerusalem Road, one that had been detained and then escaped. There wasn’t a statement available of what they saw, or at least not an official one.

Jennifer steps closer to the barbed wire and starts recording, zooming in on the two bodies, then the bloody ground around them.

Lieutenant Mills slowly strolls over to the witness that Anderson has pointed out, “Hello. Have you talked to one of the officers yet?”

The witness, obviously in her late teens and looking as if she was certainly violating curfew, had no doubt been out all night clubbing.

“Yes, that one over there.” She says pointing to Officer Anderson.

“Okay, well I have a few questions of my own.”

Dressed in a camisole of black leather with turquoise trim and slightly baggy trousers with traps and belts and buckles everywhere, a lace choker with an antique gothic cross, Mills wonders what kind of parents let their teenage daughter leave home looking like this. The girl is nervous, her hands not quiet certain what to do: “My friends and I, well, we were out . . . and we were just coming home, from one of our favorite clubs, when like all of a sudden I hear a splash, “ she starts to explain. Her hair is pure white as Ivory Snow; and there are blood stains on her boots and the long hems of her pants, “And, I’m like s**t you know, ruined my new boots, and before I can say anything . . . they all start screamin’.”

“Because of the blood or the bodies.”

“F**k if I know. I mean could be either, cause they all started to panic. You’ve seen the movies. And so they’re all running away “ when this security guard comes up the path, from back there, his flashlight bobbing “ and it’s looking more like a real horror flick and I’m like s**t . . .” She fretfully opens one of the many pickets on her pants and removes a pack of Kools.

“Anderson, the Security Guard?”

“We’re getting his statement.” He yells back. “Not much, he didn’t see anything but the girls.”

“Figures.”

Jennifer glancing over at the officer watching the crime scene, who is distracted by the conversation of the Lieutenant and the witness, removes her reporter’s notebook from the back pocket of her jeans and starts to jot down several notes:

The witness slightly trembling continues, “And then, they just ran off without me.”

Lieutenant Mills nods and pulls out her own note pad and starts jotting down shorthand, “Ok. First off, what is your name?”

“I didn’t notice all the blood till I looked down and oh geez this is gonna take weeks to get out!”

Upon along the crest of the inclined that leads down toward the narrow roadway and the scene of the crime, a gentleman in a dark suit steps out of the shadows and walks now purposefully toward the first patrol car blocking the entrance to Temperance Vale Road.

Completed her filming of the scene within the yellow tapeline, Jennifer, having slipped beneath the barbed wire, is preparing to survey the area before the barrier of the barbed wire, when she takes notice up the hill of the dark suited man. She lifts her camcorder, zooms, and presses record.

“Yes, well, I am sure. Now your name. What IS your name?”

“Oh, me? I am Heart Coral” And she of course detects the usual skepticism in the look on the Lieutenant’s face, “And yes that is my real name.”

Jennifer keeps the camcorder directed at the man in the dark suit as he nods to the officer, having shown him something he has removed from his wallet, and is now making his way down the narrow roadway toward the Lieutenant.

“Hello, Lieutenant Mills,” he says approaching the Lieutenant and Heart Coral. “I came as soon as I got your call.”

Lieutenant Mills writes the witness name down not looking at up that man beside her, “I believe you. Now—”

The teenager suddenly replies, “See,” and points to her heart shaped birthmark.

The gentleman beside her quickly takes notice of the curious birthmark. His quickly brow furrows. A Clue? Yes, perhaps it is a clue? He should certainly examine it more closely. Just what shape is it? A heart. It must mean something. But what? A tell-tale heart? And what is it telling? And, what of the witness herself? Obviously too young to be out this late! And smoking! (Cough) Has she no parents to explain the series consequences of tobacco use? And what of her expression? Is that a smug look? Of what? Of satisfaction? From what? And why is the Lieutenant not at all interested in this birthmark? A witness with a birthmark! And Heart Shaped! Is it too much! She should be asking the pertinent questions. Who is this woman? Girl? Why is she out here in the middle of the night? Heart Coral? Is that her real name? Perhaps it is a clue. If so is Heart the clue or Coral? Does she have something to do with the sea? Perhaps—perhaps it has something to do with mermaids? Is she connected to Innsmouth? He tries to deduce a multitude of questions as he silently ponders now the birthmark: yes, he concludes it decidedly has to be a clue?

The lieutenant turns her attention to the man, “Excuse me, do I know you?”

“Artemis. Doctor Artemis.” He says in way of introduction, “I am answering your call.”

“Artemis?” Lieutenant Mills asks looking at him quizzically

“Yes, we have met.”

“Doctor Artemis! Yes, Massachusetts, the Miskatonic. The Librarian. Yes, I do remember you. “ She said not at all particularly pleased to see him once again; she had of course recognized him the moment she had seen him, out of the corner of her eye, parading down the narrow road toward her. She still had several questions concerning this doctor and more than a few suspicions lingering from the Silva investigation. How had a man with eight doctorates, History, Archeology, Medieval Metaphysics, Aberrant Psychology, Medicine, Biology, Chemistry, and Physics, gotten involved with someone as delusional as Silva?

And he had a license to practice medicine , and yet, he professed to being a just a librarian. Well, she knew something about librarians, her mother was one. They were all dedicated to their books, to their libraries, like a cloistered minster to their church. They were not someone to be found out wandering the darken streets of Arkham, or Collinsport, to so accidentally happen upon a crime scene.

Either he sat around all night waiting, listening to a police scanner, or there was some other reason he was always aware of a crime.

She her eyes narrowed: “Yes, you were friends with that psychopath Silva. As I recall, and when you were asked for assistance . . . you didn’t have the time. But then, the next morning, you’re out slapping newspapers around and loudly proclaiming Silva’s innocence and espousing some CPD incompetence in the case.”

The doctor frowns, and looks around eager to get on with his investigation rather than reminisce about old cases.

“So, Doctor Artemis, just what are you doing in Maine? In the middle of the night? On Temperance Vale Road at 3am?”

“I have a cottage here, in Collinsport, remember?” He says snapping on the right latex glove. “And it looks like you could use all the help you can get.”

“Well, to be clear. First off, I did not call you, I called Isabella Collins, the ME for Collinsport and the staff pathologist for Hancock County.” She said with very little effort in suppressing her irritation, “And so you can snap off those latex gloves of yours until I check your credentials.”

But Doctor Artemis had little time or use for the cranky police officer and so he was already heading over to the tapeline.

“STOP!” The Lieutenant says, her hand resting on the butt of her 9mm Glock, “I said stop. I swear to God, if Collins has passed her job on to you!”

The very idea had her momentarily thinking of just drawing her weapon and arresting the supercilious doctor.

“Miss Collins is . . . indisposed.” He answered her, ignoring her commands to stop, as he approaches the well-lit crime scene marked off with a yellow tapeline, “Let’s see . . . you have two bodies over here . . . “

Jennifer films the man in the dark suit and the agitated Lieutenant Mills following after him, motioning to an officer to help her, as she approaches the tape line once more, “STOP! “ She yells, “Are you even certified in Maine Doctor Artemis? Because I need to see some credentials before I let you assist in any investigation.”

Doctor Artemis sighs, drops his head, chin on his chest, and then reaches back to remove his wallet; he opens it and displays, with some irritation, his medical license, his Arkham Police Department Official consultation pass, and his UNIT credentials.

She examines the credentials.

“What the f**k is UNIT?” She asks looking at the id.

“Oh,” He takes it back quickly and slips it back into his wallet, “That is . . . well that is for the United Kingdom.”

She frowns, “Right. Well if that’s Scotland Yard then Scotland Yard is London and Arkham is Massachusetts. You’re in Maine, Doctor and you’re a bit out of your jurisdiction, but you know— to hell with it . . . okay. It’s 3am in the godd**n morning and you’re the only forensic scientist within 10 miles, so take a look around and I’ll see about speeding up the paperwork later. But, you make certain you take care. I don’t want any difficulties with Chain of Custody. “

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Dr. Artemis said, putting his wallet away.

“And if I say Stop, you godd**n stop.”

“Now may I see the bodies?”

“Yes. Please do.”

Finally, he’s allowed to investigate!

The officer nearest the bodies glances up at him, “We haven’t found the heads yet to my knowledge.”

“I see.” Artemis says as he looks at the scene before him, “Has anything been moved?”

“Not that I am aware of.” The officer replies. “We put these lights up “ and the tape.”

“Right you are officer.”

“There is a third body on the other side of the viaduct, over in the field.” Lieutenant Mills motions across the way.

Artemis turns to look across the chasm, his eyes narrowing for a moment aware of the officers moving about, their flashlights skimming the earth, the strobe of the patrol cars making eerie shadows among the tall, spikey grass, and then he moves forward, only to stop short as he notices the barbed wire fence between the road and the bodies. It is unbroken. “Not an accident, was it?”

“Yet to be determined.”

“And they were decapitated,” Artemis asks, careful with his suit jacket and the chain of his pocket watch as he slips beneath the barbed wire.

“Yes, Sir.” The officer says and looks at the Lieutenant.

In the interval, while the doctor has the lieutenant preoccupied, Jennifer makes her way over to the witness, whose been left alone. “Say, I am Jennifer Roberts with The Star. So, you were the one who found the bodies?”

Heart Coral looks up at her as she is lighting up another Kool, “Yes.” She glances down at the bloodstains on her shoes and the hem of her pants, very well aware that these stains are just not going to come out.

“And you name is?”

“Heart Coral.”

“Like sea coral?”

“Same spelling,” She exhales a long plume of nervous smoke, “Like how long am I going to have to stay here, do you think?”

“It could be a while, sorry, The price one pays for being a witness.” Jennifer tells her. “So, you were out, clubbing, did you say?”

Another drag off the Kool, “Yeah.”

“Where would that have been?”

“Oh, several places, but we ended up at The Jazz Club.”

Dr. Artemis careful kneels to examine the bodies, “And nothing has been disturbed, other than the covering the bodies?” He asks the Lieutenant.

Jennifer makes a note. “The Jazz Club, the new place out on Crosswick Lane?”

“Yeah.” She relies shifting her weight from one hip to the other impatiently.

“And then you left and came out here, to Temperance Vale Road?”

“It was a nice night for a ride.” She flicks ashes on the ground watching now as the man in the dark suit kneels down to examine one of the bodies.

“Right,” Jennifer nodded, “I mean it’s certainly a quiet place. Secluded. A great place for a ride. In fact,” and she lowers her voice, “I know of two guys who regularly sell some great medicinal smoke out here.”

“Yeah, they, hey, wait a minute!” Heart Coral says looking at the reporter, “I didn’t say anything about . . . we were just . . . out . . . for a ride, like I said . . . and we were going home and everything was fine, we were all laughing and remembering the good time we had. “

“Until, you found the bodes.”

She flicks the cigarette out into the darkness to watch it crash into a hot glow of embers, “Actually my friends found the bodies first, but I guess they’re all cowards, since they ran away.”

Doctor Artemis uncovers the bodies and looks at them with his flashlight, “Heads are missing?” he asks over his shoulder to the Lieutenant.

“Hmm, Gordon, didn’t you just say the heads had not yet been found?” The Lieutenant asks cocking her eyebrow.

“Yes, Ma’am.” The officer replies.

“Guess that means the heads are missing?”

“. . . or blood makes them queasy” Heart Coral says with a shrug, “I don’t know.”

“But you phoned the police,”

She looks over at the Lieutenant and then back to the reporter, “That was the security guard for I guess the sub-station out here or whatever; he came up out of nowhere man to like scare even more s**t out of us all with his flashlight all bobbing around . . .”

“And they got back in the car and left.”

“Yeah, the cowards.”

“Only you were not fast enough?”

“In these shoes?”

The Doctor rises and steps around the bodies, shining his light on the ground, the darkening blood, “So, tell me about this other case, Lieutenant.”

“It was in the papers. Thought you would have read about it; but, three days ago we found a couple of tourists murdered at an old rest stop. Out on Old New Jerusalem Road. Both of them had been decapitated.”

“Three days ago?” He asks, his flashlight still scanning the area around the bodies.

“Yes,”

Jenny takes out a pack of cigarettes, and removes one. She lights it and exhales a long plume of smoke, “So, they got into the car and left. The car you were going home in. The one you were out for a quiet ride in.”

She turns and looks at Jennifer.

“So, Heart how did it all happen, you finding the body.”

“We were—out, like I said . . . and thought we’d stop and, well, you know. So, I ran ahead and accidentally stepped in what I thought was a puddle, you know, a rain puddle. Then my friends screamed and I saw them back away . . . and then run away from me.”

“That must have been . . . horrible.”

“You think? Just look at my shoes.”

At the south end of the access road a woman slowly approaches one of the police officers protecting the perimeter.

The police officer, as he holds his hands up, moves forward, “Hey, excuse me. This is an active crime scene. I am going to have to ask you to step back.”

The woman in the very fashionable glasses looks at him, “Yes, well, I understand that, but, do excuse me . . . please.” And she strides past him.

The officer, slightly taken aback, hurries up to catch the woman who is advancing toward the crime scene, “Hey! Lady!”

“And so, who would be in charge here?” She asks walking past the black unmarked police cruiser.

“That would be me.” The Lieutenant says looking away from the doctor and seeing Lori Ipso. “ Miss Ipso? What are you doing . . . out here at this time of night?”

“The heads were severed with a sharp object. Took only two or three blows.” Artemis says now to himself unaware the Lieutenant has stepped away.

“A poet seeks inspiration at the oddest hours, Lieutenant.” Lori Ipso replies.

“And so, other than the guard, you didn’t see anyone?” Jennifer asks

“Nothing but those god awful bodies over there and all this damned blood.”

“The hearts continued to beat for several seconds, causing a profuse flow of blood.” Artemis, motioning with his hands to indicate the flow of blood, continues his analysis for his missing Watson.

“Lieutenant Mills.” Miss Ipso nods.

Doctor Artemis looks up and sees the new arrival. He steps carefully over to the tape, bends between it and slips past the bars of the fence to walk over toward the Lieutenant and Miss Ipso. “You said there was another body?”

She nods, “There is a viaduct to get to the other side about a half-mile that-a-ways, so yes, please go check on the other body.” She vaguely indicates the way, which is back down the road he had driven down when he arrived.

Lori Ipso lifts a fascinated brow as she watches the two, the man in the dark suit and Lieutenant Mills, quick to notice the police officer’s irritation with the man in the dark suit and latex gloves, “I am sorry, but, I have some information that may be useful.”

Lieutenant Mills turns to the woman, “One moment, Doctor.” She turns to glance at the woman, “I’m sorry, Miss Ipso” She motions to Officer O’Conner. “Bill, please take Miss Ipso over to my car where we can take her statement.”

Officer Bill Henderson nods and quickly steps over and gently takes the woman, Lori’s, elbow and begins to lead her away.

Only the woman refuses to move.

“I saw a man with heads.” She said indignantly.

“Right, if you will step over here I can take your statement. Now, you say you saw a man.”

“So, Heart, what do you do?” Jennifer Roberts asks.

“Do?”

Lori resists Bill, “Yes. A man. With HEADS!”

Doctor Artemis stops and turns to look back at the woman, “Wait, officer.”

“Three F**king HEADS!”

“Your occupation . . .” Jennifer begins to clarify and then turns at the word HEADS said very loudly.

Doctor Artemis walks back toward the Officer and the resistant woman.

Jennifer Roberts looks at Heart Coral, “Did she just say three fu**king heads?”

“You saw a man with three heads? Were any of them attached to him?”

“Oh, shit.” Heart says aware that she gotten herself mixed up with some Criminal Minds kind of crazy rodeo s**t.

“Attached to him?”

“Yes.”

“If you want to count the one he was born with, then four heads.”

“Doctor . . .” Lieutenant Mill steps now so as to put herself between the doctor and the witness, trying to reestablish control of the scene.

“How tall was this man?” The Doctor asks.

“Tall.”

“How was he carrying them?” The Doctor asks inpatient for more information.

“What?”

“This man he was carrying these heads, how?” Artemis asks again.

“Like a Paxton Boy after finding a Conestoga.” Lori Ipso states matter-of-factly.

Artemis blinks.

Lieutenant Mills grimaces slightly at the reference to a massacre but continues to take notes as she asks, “This man, can you give us a description?”

“Movie theater.”

“What?” Jennifer asks.

“I work at a movie theater.”

“I’m . . . sorry. I don’t get the analogy.” Artemis interjects.

Lori Ipso adjusts her glasses, “By the fucking scalp you witless pleb.”

“I’m a ticket seller.” Heart replies.

Doctor Artemis frowns.

“Oh, really, you wouldn’t happen to be working the Collinsport Film Festival? The one with the Vera Endecott retrospective?” Jennifer asks, her attention now drawn to sound of the rising voices. She had recognized Lori Ipso. The would be avant-garde poet, only, Jennifer was aware of her not for her poetry, but for the fact she was on the board of the Collinsport Historical Society. And from what she understood, she was one with considerable influence within Collinsport Society.

Just what was a member of the Historical Society doing out here on Temperance Vale Road, an under construction utilities access road and sub-station, and a well known distribution point for drugs.

“OK, then . . . “ Miss Ipso says slowly, “He held a head in each hand.”

“How was he carrying the third head?”

Miss Ipso looks at him, incredulous: “He had two in one hand!”

Lieutenant Mills sighs, as she steps back and takes a look at the crime scene, there are just too many headless bodies, too many people asking too many questions; and there are now references to Indian massacres in Pennsylvania; it is late and she longs for a good hot cup of coffee; and just once, some damned control over the scene of a crime whenever this doctor showed up. And now—and now, she had Lori Ipso on the scene.

She looks at the Doctor, the reporter, the other witness. God, how many civilians were there trampling over the evidence.

And Ipso was a close friend of Tobias T. Tillinghast.

S**t!

“And so why did you make reference to the Paxton Boys? Was he dressed as a frontiersman?”

God this Doctor!

“Steve!” She waves at Officer Anderson.

“It was a f**king metaphor.” Miss Ipso replies coldly. She had already had several conversations with the Mayor and the Town Council regarding the efficiencies, or the lack there of, of the Collinsport Police Department since the recent incapacitation of the Chief of Police, Jamison St. Clair. This only served to further her resolve. For it seemed this gentleman, this Doctor, was leading the official police investigations.

“Lieutenant Mills, If I may, just who is this gentleman?”

“Doctor Artemis.” He answers for the Lieutenant, reaching out a latex hand, and noting the glove, pulls it back. “Chief Librarian of the Miskatonic University.”

“Arkham?” Miss Ipso said with a bit if disdain.

“Yes.”

The Mayor was certainly going to hear a lot about this turn of events, as well as Mr. David Collins.

Lieutenant Mills steps back closer to the doctor and motions for him to accompany her, “Doctor Artemis, if you could investigate the other side of the gorge, I will conduct the interview with Miss Ipso.”

Doctor Artemis looks at the police officer disbelievingly . . . ever annoyed with Mills, who constantly interrupts his investigation, as usual.

“He was a tall bloke, brown hair and a peculiar expression.” Lori Ipso calls over to the raven-haired officer.

Officer Anderson approaches, “Yes Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, I am looking forward to seeing those. But the movie theater gig is just to like get some money, for my education, you know, hopefully I’m going to be able to make a lot more when I start working at the dinner theater when it opens.”

“Steve, we need to secure the area.”

The doctor walks away and hurries over to one of the Officers who is protecting the scene and quick flashes his credentials, “How does one get to the other side?” He motions over to the opposite crime scene.

And so, notebook in hand, Lieutenant Mills returns her attention to Miss Ipso, even as she makes a notation: “Now, Miss Ipso, I am sorry for that. Now, how would you describe this man you saw? You said he had a peculiar expression?”

Jennifer Roberts smiles, “Have you seen what they have done with the old Egyptian Theater, turning it into a dinner club, it looks great from the outside.”

“Oh, you should see the inside.”

“I hope to soon. Now so, you stomped into this puddle of blood and then saw the bodies. Did you see anyone else about or hear anything?”

Officer Fitzsimons gives the doctor directions to the bridge a half-mile back.

Doctor Artemis grumbles as he makes his way back toward his eco-car.

“I would say it was the expression of one who has committed atrocities to rival Hitler and Stalin, one who has seen worlds drown in the blood of innocents.” Lori Ipso replies.

“Poetical speaking.” Lieutenant Mills asks.

“Yes, I would say it was the expression of one who is about to unleash hell, and is looking forward to it.”

“I see. And where did you see this man?”

“About a half mile back that way,” She points to where Artemis had ascended the slight incline and rounded the curve of the road.

“And about what time was that? How long ago?”

Lori Ipso pauses, “I don’t rightly know.”

Doctor Artemis drives slowly surveying the side of the narrow access road, an access road that has a name. Temperance Vale Road. He wondered if perhaps it had gotten its name from Prohibition. Perhaps they used this road to transport illegal Canadian whiskey down to the sea, bound for ports further south. There had always been rumors that Jamison Collins was involved in liquor trafficking.

Jennifer Roberts takes a long drag from the cigarette, smoke exhaling as she speaks: “From what I understand they are going to have Vera Endecott’s ancestor, Natasha Snow, starring in the opening night play. It’s actually one that Vera did back in the late 20’s. Of course Natasha was a porn star.”

“Might still be one, I am not sure about that. Have you met her?” Heart asks.

“No. But looking forward to it now.”

Lori Ipso adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose, “You see, when I saw him coming, I hid in the brambles. A man with three f**king heads is not someone you want to strike up a conversation. But, as you see, I don’t wear a watch, so I am uncertain as to the time. Must have been a little over an hour ago, maybe.”

Doctor Artemis takes a sharp curve and drives over the bridge barely visible in the headlights of his eco-car.

With a nod, Lieutenant Mills writes down approximately an hour ago: 1:45-2:00am. “Ok and he was headed back into town, yes?”

Careful to park on what little shoulder of the road there was available, Doctor Artemis gets out of his eco-car and pauses to walk back and look under the bridge.

“It was back that way but I doubt he was heading for town, “ Lori Ipso replies, “At least not with the dagger in his belt and blood on his pants and carrying three heads dripping crimson splatters upon the roadway.”

“Could you tell approximately where he was headed?”

His high beam flashlight not revealing anything, Doctor Artemis gets back into his tiny car.

Jennifer Roberts drops her cigarette on the pavement and crushes it with the toe of her boot. “You’ve met her?”

“Dagger?” Could you describe it?”

“Large, golden. With a large red stone, a ruby I would think.”

“You should’ve seen the look on my bosses face.” Heart Coral adds, “Oh Madame Snow this . . . Oh Madame Endecott that, be still my beating heart.”

Doctor Artemis shifts into gear and drives to the other crime scene.

“Your boss? At the dinner club?”

“Yes. Madelyn Atwell. She’s currently the manger of the Collinsport Community Theater. “ Heart explains.

Lieutenant Mills nods, “We’re going to need to take a statement Miss Ipso, and I would like you to work with Todd Sayers on a sketch of this man you saw, as well as of this dagger.”

“So, I will need to go to the police station?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mills tells her and she steps away to make a call for Todd Sayers to come in to the station and work with the witnesses on sketches.

“This way, please, you can wait in the one of the patrol cars.” Officer Anderson tells her.

Across the divide at the second crime scene, Doctor Artemis has arrived and pulls his car to a stop. He gets out and shows one of the officers his credentials. To his left there is a field of tall, winter underbrush and grass. There’s an officer with a flashlight walking through it looking for evidence.

Aware that there was far more information available from the new witness, Jennifer smiles, “Well, it was very nice talking to you Heart. But if you will excuse me, I have to see if I can talk to this Miss Ipso.”

Doctor Artemis, shining his flashlight before him, heads to the high-powered lights that have been set up to illuminate the crime scene, but as he approaches he pauses and gasps aloud.

“Miss Ipso, the poet?” Jennifer asks Miss Ipso, as Officer Anderson’s hand is careful that she does not strike herself upon the forehead, or the top of her skull, as she enters the back seat of the car.

“Author if you please.” Ipso replies through the open door.

“Of course, I am Jennifer Roberts, Collinsport Star. I hear you saw the murder. A man carrying three heads . . . or, let me check my notes,” She pulls out her pad, flips a page, “Three f**king heads, I think you said.”

Artemis makes a protective sign with his fingers extended. The body at the second crime scene is lying in the middle of a very large circle created with white chalk drawn upon the ground, it bears various symbols, runes, and hieroglyphs . . .

He cautiously steps back.

“Precision, I like that in a reporter.” Lori Ipso smiles.

The officer near the doctor looks at him oddly, noticing his apprehension upon approaching the circle. “It’s just chalk.”

“You are certain that this murderer didn’t see you?” Jennifer Roberts asks.

“I hid in the brambles as I told the Lieutenant.”

Left alone, Heart Coal stands rocking slightly, it’s getting colder and she really wants to go home.

“The . . . uh, the body’s over here” Another officer nearest the scene points Doctor Artemis to the bloodied sheet. “Well, what’s left of it.”

The officer’s voice brings the doctor’s attention back to the field, to the body and away from the white circle, “ Yes. Thank you.”

“Wait . . . did you say you were with the Star?” Miss Ipso replies.

Careful to make a wide circle in order to avoid the chalk symbol, the doctor approaches.

Heart Coral looks across the divide now to see the dark suited doctor, the bobbing flashlights in the field behind him where other officers are searching for clues no doubt.

Jennifer nods, “Yes, I’ve been on staff for only a few weeks.”

Doctor Artemis bends down and looks at the body and mutters to himself: “Same weapon. Same perpetrator.”

Meanwhile, at the first crime scene Officer Andersen and Lieutenant Mills step over to the security rail that gives some semblance of caution at edge of the narrow road.

“I have to say, that is just plain weird.” Anderson remarks as they look down to the car sitting in the dry valley of the viaduct, “The closest entrance is from that road the doctor had to take,” he points out. “While the bridge is that way.” Motioning in the other direction, “What the hell were they doing down there?”

Lieutenant Mills shifts her weight and sighs, “I’m wondering if we’re dealing with the possibility of multiple assailants.”

“I see.” Miss Ipso asks, looking out through the still open door of the patrol car. This must be the reporter Tobias was so enthused about, the troublemaker. “So, you’re not from New England are you?”

“Chicago by way of a lot of places,” Jennifer nods, “I would imagine you know quite a lot about Collinsport . . . and New England.”

“Oh, Collinsport? Without a doubt, now as to New England, I’d say I know a bit.”

“Then you’d be aware that this part of Maine was originally within the Massachusetts Colony.” Jennifer asks,

Miss Ipso cuts her eyes knowingly, “As was New Bedford?”

“Ah, I do see you are a historian.”

“On the board of the Collinsport Historical Society,” She said trying to get comfortable in the back seat of the patrol car, pulling out her iPhone and checking for messages. “Is it not odd you think Miss . . .” Her attention taken for a moment by a text message.

“Roberts.”

Miss Ipso looks over her glasses knowingly, “Roberts? Yes, well, would you think it odd that just this week someone arrived with an unpublished manuscript of Flora Collins, circa 1844, entitled The Curse Upon The House of Bedford?”

Jennifer Roberts, furtively slipped the camcorder on, aware she was getting an odd angled video, but wanted to capture whatever Miss Ipso now had to say. “I thought Flora Collins was a romance novelist.”

“Yes.” Lori Ipso says with a wide smile, “She was. She and her son Desmond left Colllinsport in 1841. He founded the New York branch of the Collins Family—well he and Quinton Collins the first. Now, then Miss Roberts, being as you are aware of New Bedford, then you must be aware of the events of 1806?”

“There was a series of murders, five to be exact, and each of them were by decapitation.” Jennifer replies.

“Bright girl.”

“And that none of the heads were ever found. This was in New Bedford.”

“Just a short fifteen miles north of Collinsport.”

Doctor Artemis steps back and away from the white chalk circle and looks over the grounds leading to it, walking over toward the edge of the drop off into the viaduct below. He looks over the edge with his flashlight and notices the blood splotch on the wall.

Lieutenant Mills motions to Officer Steve Andersen, “Steve, put out an BOLO on this man with the golden dagger. I know the description is very vague. Brown hair, tall, and with an evil grin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mills stands pondering the multiple crime scenes. “Why did the murder feel the need to do something as complicated as this?”

One of the officers looks at the doctor trying to shine his light down into the viaduct and the car below. He steps over and shows him a series of pictures on his digital camera.

“Thank you officer,” He replies, and starts looking at them intently. After a few moments he asks for the officer’s radio.

“Lieutenant Mills?” He says as he depresses the button on the radio.

The static is broken by her voice, “Mills here.”

“Lieutenant Mills, what can you tell me about the construction going on here?” He asks looking at the broken posts nearby, “Over. Take photos of these.” He directs the officer to the broken fence posts as he hands the camera back to him.

“They are building a road through the woods to this camp about a quarter mile away on this side. The road used to be gravel, they are paving it over now that it’s autumn.”

“They?”

“Banks and Sons Construction.”

Banks, eh? He thinks as he remembers the odd destruction of the Banks construction offices he had recently read about in the newspaper.

“Although construction has been halted since Banks when crazy and drove his car through his business destroying it.” The voice on the radio tells him, “His wife set fire to their house, and they are both in Windcliffe now. Over.”

“What do you know about these woods?” The doctor asks, watching the police officer canvasing through the tall winter grass. “Over.”

“I know nothing about the woods. As for that side, those posts you are taking pictures of, they are from a broken fence separating Mr. Gregson’s Farm. And yes, it is Banks & Sons that was building it, to separate the utility access roads from his farm, but since Banks insanity, the construction just was left undone. Over.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Could you ask the young redhead if the man she saw carried all three heads in one hand? Over.”

Mills looks puzzled, “Out of curiosity Doctor Artemis, why?”

“Because I’d like to know how big his hands are. Over.”

The Lieutenant steps over to the car where Miss Ipso is talking to Jennifer Roberts. “Miss Ipso, if you don’t mind, I’ve a few more questions for you.”

“Certainly Lieutenant.”

Not the reaction she was expecting – no smart or sarcastic come back, “I was wondering if you might be able to estimate how big this man was? How tall? Just a point of reference, a guess.”

“Tall, tanned and handsome, with an evil grin.” She replies and touches the top of her head, “Say, about 6 foot.”

“Would you say he was muscular? Skinny?”

“Oh, rather well built.” Lori Ipso tells her, “And he was dressed like Dickens.”

“Pardon?”

“No, more like first, eight, and eleventh doctors.”

“Doctors? You mean like Doctor Artemis over there,” She points.

He waves back not certain why she is pointing at him.

“No. The show, you know. Doctor Who.”

“ARTEMIS.” The voice comes back across the open radio.

Mills looks completely baffled.

“It’s a British Sci Fi Show. I’ll show you pictures later.” Officer Henderson tells her.

“Edwardian?” Jennifer Roberts suggests.

“Yes.” Miss Ipso nods.

“Lieutenant Mills?” Artemis asks over the radio. “Edwardian? Over.”

“The Suspect is tall with brown hair, well built, able to hold all the heads with one hand by the hair. Apparently wears a suit like a character from some British SciFi Show. Over”

“You mean. . . futuristic? Project: UFO-type uniforms?? Over.”

Heart Coral now being escorted to the same car as Miss Ipso grimaces as she overhears the conversation, “Do I have to sit next to a crazy person?”

“Apparently not. I think it’s called Doctor Who? Edwardian clothing.”

“Crazy?” Miss Ipso replies haughtily, “My dear, you should count yourself blessed to be in the presence of genius.”

Mills walks away from the car, “What where you able to get out of that side? And what do you think about that symbol?”

“The symbol? I never saw it before. Lieutenant Mills, I see a white sedan in the ravine. Do you know to whom it belongs? Over.”

“I don’t know much about occult symbols,” Mills admits, becoming more aware that she needs to do some research since this town has a peculiar predilection for cults and occultists. “Which I assume this to be, but the only thing I recognized was the snake eating the tail. I believe it’s something to do with Norse mythology. Seeing as you are a librarian that deals with rare myths and things, I would figure you would have more knowledge about it. As for the car, we presume it was this couples.”

“Lieutenant, if I may have a word with you.” Jennifer Roberts attempts to broach the subject of New Bedford, as she walks over to Lieutenant Mills. “You should know that this all resembles a series of murders that happened in 1806, not far from here, over in New Bedford.”

“Lieutenant Mills, I’m coming back over to your side. I thought I heard someone in the background saying something about Bedford . . .? Over.”

“Right.” Mills turns to the reporter, “Now what is this about New Bedford.”

Jennifer Roberts is silent for a moment, as she looks back over her shoulder at the car, and the two women who appear to be in some animated conversation. Her eyes narrow and the corners of her mouth pull back now in a growing concern. She had totally over looked it at the moment, when the Coral woman had said it . . . in regards to her boss, Oh Madame Snow . . . Oh Madame Endecott.

Vera Endecott had died in 1928!

Cue Music End of Episode