Page 2 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

“I don’t think it’s just one bastard,” she says when I pull out of the parking lot and onto the road. The streetlights fly overhead, one after the other in a blur of white light. She looks out the window then, wrapping her finger around the golden chain of her necklace. “You know about the Hellfire Riders, right?”

I nod slowly; the name sends a shiver straight down my spine. The Hellfire Riders are notorious in our city, a motorcycle gang known for their brutal tactics and unrelenting power.

“What about them?” I ask.

“Well, I’ve been developing a theory.” She stops searching for her words. “And it might at first sound like a long shot but hear me out. I think they’re a part of this, as in, I think they’re the murderer.”

If Laina’s suggesting a connection between The Puppeteer and the Hellfire Riders, this night just took an even more dangerous turn. She continues fumbling with her chain.

“How did the Puppeteer manage to evade the police for two years, kidnapping and murdering women? So, it had me wondering - what if it’s more than one person? Right? The murders appeared the same time the Hellfire Riders grew their territory to this part of California.” She’s talking fast, and her excitement is palpable. “What if this is some part of a brutal initiation they do for new members?”

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “Then why did it stop?”

“They have a new chain of command, and they’re supposedly ten times the psychopaths the old ones were. Maybe they went quiet to avoid suspicion, but I think this is their way of sending a message - we’re still here, bitches. Catch us if you can.”

I can handle one guy, but the Hellfire Riders are a whole different level of danger.

“Hell, Laina, this could get us killed!” I mutter under my breath. “You do know that, right?”

"I know it's dangerous. Believe me, I know." She turns to look at me. “But I’m not going to idly sit by while these monsters are on the loose.”

The spectacle drew a sizable crowd;the news of this buzz spread through Eureka like wildfire. In a small city like this, news travels fast and everyone is either a witness or a gossip.

The scene’s marked with that all-too-familiar yellow tape, fluttering slightly in the breeze. We edged forward in the car, peering out to survey the setup outside the condo complex. Neither one says a word to the other as we watch for a moment.

I take note of a side door we can try to sneak through.

Among the vehicles, I spot Detective Reynold’s unmistakable Jeep. "Great," I mutter under my breath. "Reynolds is here."

I find a parking spot a few blocks away, out of sight of the police barrier.

Laina unclicks her seatbelt, turning her camera on.

I put my hand on her shoulder, stopping her before she could leap out of the car. "Hold on.”

Behind me on the backseat that desperately needs to be cleaned out are two hats marked with Eureka Police Department. “Toss this on and let me do the talking.” It’s not much of a disguise, but everyone should be too distracted to pay us any mind. I tug on my police jacket as well, zipping it all the way.

“Thank you!” she squeals, tugging her ponytail through the back of the baseball cap.

Laina and I get out of the car and make our way towards the police barrier, keeping our heads down. I flash my badge and we’re waved through. Luckily, I don’t know the cop they have standing guard. My heart pounds as we slip under the tape and merge into the crowd of officers and forensic techs.

So far so good.

As we approach, I spot Detective Reynolds talking to one of the uniformed officers.

His dark hair is neatly combed but there are traces of gray at his temples, and his sharp eyes scan the outside of the apartment complex from black framed glasses. Crime scene investigators move in and out of the front door. A few media people have just arrived. The news being here is a good distraction, keeps Reynolds off my ass. Hopefully the FBI are on their way as well.

“This way,” I whisper. She nods and we take a side door into the apartment.

The dimly lit hallway is eerily quiet as we make our way up to the third floor, following the flow of traffic. With each step my nerves wind tighter. Laina walks close behind me, her camera at the ready.

Cops filter in and out around us, paying little mind to two more.

As soon as we’re inside the cramped living room, Laina gets to work. The flash of her camera goes off, one shot after the other. She’s ecstatic, moving quickly to frame the next shot and then move on.

I search for Bill, our other forensic photographer in the department.

Either, he hasn’t arrived yet or he’s on his way.

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