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One podcast had covered all these cases and was based in or around Maryland. The podcast was called Psycho Analysis. Ella clicked on their website and came to a black page with blood red text and lots of short videos and audio links.
“You look engrossed,” Ripley said. “What is it?”
“Not sure.”
Ripley hurried around the table and peered at Ella’s screen. “What’s Psycho Analysis?”
“Some podcast that’s covered all of the cases our killer mimicked.” Ella scrolled to the list of episodes. The last five were Tobias Campbell, Daniel LaPlante, Black Dahlia, Peter Kurten, Cheri Jo Bates.
“And recently too. All in the past month,” Ripley said. “Dig into the Dahlia one and see what kind of crap he’s talking.”
The episode description was enough to arouse suspicion.
In January 1947, the brutal murder of Elizabeth Short, more famously known as the Black Dahlia, shocked America. Short’s naked body was discovered on a piece of wasteland around Los Angeles, bruised and beaten, and more horrifically, completely severed in half at the waist. Short’s killer had slashed the corners of her mouth up to her ears, creating the ‘Glasgow smile’ effect, a possible mockery of Short’s desire to be famous. She was a grotesque, tragic canvas for people to paint on. Like other beautiful women who die tragically and infamously, she would become a sort of image to which others could apply their own thoughts, ideas, and fantasies.
“Others could apply their fantasies? What’s this tool babbling about?”
“That sound a bit weird to you, Ripley?”
“It sounds weird as hell. Let’s see what this creep looks like. Any pictures of him?”
Ella checked the ‘Contact’ section and found a picture of the host, or the Sinister Minister as he called himself, sitting in front of an altar with a microphone. He was smooth-headed, and instead of hair he had tribal tattoos. Behind there was a flag emblazoned with a pentagram. Beside him were rows of lit candles.
But what caught Ella’s attention the most was the man’s location.
“Holy crap, Ripley, look.”
“Spring Ridge, Maryland. That’s the next town over.”
“No, that’s right here. This precinct is in Spring Ridge.”
“Shit, can we get this guy’s address? Is it on there?”
Ella scrambled around for a real name. No luck.
“No. He just calls himself the Sinister Minister. No address.” She went back to the main landing page and saw a new link plastered in the middle of the screen. LIVE NOW. She followed it to an external videos site where she saw the man himself in real-time. He wasn’t saying a whole lot, just fiddling with his audio equipment.
“What’s this? He’s online now?” asked Ripley.
“Yeah. He’s streaming.” The description below his feed said he’d be talking about the recent Tobias Campbell ‘drama.’ Ella prayed Ripley didn’t see it because she’d find this man and rip his head off.
“Talk to him. Ask him where he’s based.”
The chat box beside the screen said there were currently 38 watchers active. Ella joined up as a guest and typed a message to him. Everything had moved so fast she barely had time to think about the logistics of this man being responsible for these murders. He looked devious, he’d covered the mimicked cases in the past, and he lived in the area. These were more than enough reasons to question him.
Ella jiggled her fingers over the keyboard and put herself in this man’s head. What could she say that would get him to open up? What did she need? His general location? His exact address. He was a small-time e-personality with a few hundred followers. She doubted he made much cash from his operation. How could she appeal to his sense of celebrity?
She began typing in the general chat.
Hi Sinister Minister, can’t wait to hear your thoughts on Campbell. Just wondering, if I wanted to send you a gift, where could I mail it to? Do you have a P.O. box or something?
“Smart,” Ripley said. “This guy won’t have a P.O. box.”
They watched the man peer to the side of his camera. He began talking.
“Uh, Guest-234, I appreciate the gesture but I can’t give my address out on here.”
“Goddammit,” Ripley said.
