The Rabbit Hole

Chapter 30

Agent Rennik takes to Washington DC, accompanied by Detective Edwards. In the three days that have passed since the close encounter with Bernard, Moira discovered a bleak chance of the killer evolving and altering his way to the point of him being far more difficult to find, unless she acts fast and finds him before that happens. She returns to the agency, reaching out for assistance from her FBI colleagues. Traveling with her now-partner, detective Edwards. They enter a room filled with suit-wearing agents at the most busy time, blowing past one another with documents in arms. One of the less busy agents notices Moira as she exits the elevator, “Moira,” he calls out and approaches. “I didn’t know you were returning today.”
“I wasn’t. I’m here because I’m pressed for time.” She explains.
“Oh? How so?” The agent folds his arms, intrigued.
“The guy we’re after constantly and unpredictably adapts.”
“Oh, that’s not good. Wait, you said “we”. Did you come with someone?” The agent asks.
“Yes. The detective I’m currently working on this case with. Detective Edwards.” She points to Edwards, who’s eyes are at a wonder at the moment, scanning every corner of the place. “Edwards,” she waves him over. “This is detective Edwards. Detective, this is agent Eli Branson, he works in the Criminal Justice Information Systems Division.”
“So, he’s the guy who’s going to help us catch him?” Edwards asks as he leans in for a handshake.
“Yes, I’m that guy. Whenever Moira’s stumped, she comes straight to me for help.” He says with a smile. “What is it you need me to do?” He adds.
“We need you to run a search for a man named, Bernard, last name unknown.” Moira states.
“Last name unknown? Really?”
“I’ve given you a lot less to work on before, Branson.” She says. Branson sighs and nods, “Yeah, that’s true. But it’s too much work.” He says.
“I’m only keeping you on your toes.” She says. Branson guides them to his office, speaking in a hush tone, he whispers “is this the detective that—”
“Shh, eyes on the prize, Branson.” She says to him in the same tone of whisper.

They get to Agent Branson’s desk. It has its own feel of Feng Shui, from the eyes of a comic book geek. Complete with a pair of Megatron and Optimus Prime action figures on the edge of both corners of the table, along with an open pack of potato chips. “Alright, let’s see here,” he says as he sinks in his seat, “Bernard, right?”
“That’s right.” Moira says.
“And are you sure that he’s the guy?”
“When am I never sure?” She replies nonchalant.
“Fair point.” He says and slides his hand into his potato chip packet. “You know there’s thousands of people in America alone named Bernard. Without a last name, it’ll be like searching for a needle in a bag of needles.”
“What do you need?” Edwards asks.
“Something you may know about him that could narrow down the search a little. Like a job or something.”
“What do we know about him?” Moira thinks out loud, tapping her chin.
“Besides that he’s a murdering psychopath, not much.” Edwards states.
“Rabbits.” She says. “Rabbits?” Branson repeats?
“He delivered rabbits to the woman at the petting zoo. His name could be registered as a supplier.” She says.
“I’ll run it. What’s the name of the petting zoo?”
“It’s an amusement park which doubles into a petting zoo. Great Tide Amusement Park.” Edwards says, and Branson begins typing on his computer. “Nah,” he starts, “There’s no person registered under the name, “Bernard”.” He says.
“Maybe he’s used an alias.” Edwards reckons.
“No.” Moira says as she contemplates another way of getting Bernard’s information. “Search for Rabbit breeders in the state of Maryland, in Baltimore county.” She says.
Chomping on his potato chips, Branson nods and dusts off his fingers “Alright.” He says with his mouth full. After the quick and rapid sound of Branson’s typing, a list of rabbit breeders is scrolled on the screen. “There’s quite a lot of rabbit breeders there.” He says, “There are three with the name Bernard. We have a Bernard Gisham in Elkton. There’s a Bernard Billings in Howard County, and a Bernard Guile in Essex.” He lists.
“Can you bring up their details and images?” Edwards asks hopefully.
“oh, hell yeah.” He says and brings it up. Two of the men mentioned above have priors. Bernard Gisham was charged with several DUI’s and the other, Bernard Billings, was charged with aggravated assault. Branson brings up their mugshot photos on his screen. Edwards brings his smartphone into play, he has the sketch photo saved under his photo library. Bernard Gisham, a red haired older man, presumably in his early sixties, no resemblance to the sketch whatsoever. The second mugshot pops into screen, Bernard Billings, a chubby fellow with freckles all over his face, with brown and faded hair, approximately in his late twenties, a failed resemblance to the sketch. “And the other one? Is there any photos of him in the net?” Edwards asks.
“In this day and age? With Facebook and Twitter around, there’s no doubt. There’s a photo of him somewhere.” Branson states as he types in the last name. A few moments of waiting and the photo appears on screen with credentials, Bernard “Bernie” Guile, aged at thirty-nine, thin and bony features, cheekbones poking out of his face, brown eyes and thinning brown hair. Edwards paces his head back and forth from the sketch to the image on screen, “Son of a bitch,” he says under his collar. A match for the sketch, a few minor details misleading but a good match, it’s enough for detective Edwards to see confirmation. “It’s a match.” He says as he hands Moira the phone to see for herself. “So what now?” Edwards asks.
“What’s his last home address?” Moira asks Branson.
“Just a sec.” He says and begins to type on his keyboard again. “he’s listed in an apartment in Patterson Park. Apartment 5D” was the last thing they heard from Branson as they left his office in haste.