Past Imperfect

by Remington Kane

  With the lights of the police car growing closer, Ballou cursed loudly and cut the other strap on the money he had hanging off him. It was too heavy to run with and he would have to leave it behind. It hurt like hell to do so, but he would still have the cash in the backpack, which was over a million dollars.

  After shedding Dinkle’s hideous sports coat, which was now bloody, Ballou reached down for the backpack only to find that Agent Bentley was holding onto one of the straps. He had thought the man had died.

  “Let go of it, asshole!”

  Bentley spoke the word “No.” It came out sounding wet as blood spilled from his mouth. Ballou jammed his knife into Bentley’s chest. The agent’s body spasmed, but his hand kept a tight grip on the backpack.

  The sirens were growing louder as the police car grew closer. A glance in that direction told Ballou that the cops would arrive within seconds. He thrust his hand into the backpack and grabbed a wrapped bundle of bills before scooping up his shotgun from where it had ended its slide across the pavement.

  He ran hunched over and stayed close to the cars parked along the curb to avoid being seen by the cops. When he reached the corner, he crossed the street and saw that the police car was on the scene. One of the cops was bent over Agent Fennelly and he couldn’t see the other man. Since it was nighttime and many of the local shops were closed, there were few people out and about on foot. When he passed a couple that was walking along on the other side of the street, Ballou made certain to keep the shotgun from their view.

  Up ahead, he saw a man and a woman loading boxes into the rear of a small rental truck. They were both around thirty. The guy was short, but muscular, and wore work clothes that had his name, Eddie, stitched over the shirt pocket. The woman, maybe his wife, had on a waitress’s uniform with a nametag attached. Apparently, she was Sheila.

  Ballou guessed that they were moving themselves after already having put in a full day’s work. He managed to sneak up on the man as he was carrying a box that blocked his line of sight.

  Ballou shoved the man from behind and his upper half fell inside the truck. The guy turned toward him with anger lighting his eyes. When he spotted the shotgun, the anger morphed into fear.

  “What, what, do you want?”

  “Climb into the truck.”

  “What?”

  “Do it now, asshole.”

  The man scampered into the truck. Ballou followed him and waited. The woman appeared carrying an open box that had pillows in it. She hadn’t noticed Ballou until she sat the box inside the truck.

  “Climb into the back of the truck or I’ll shoot you.”

  The woman’s face scrunched up and tears formed in her eyes as she looked at her husband.

  “Don’t look at him; just do what I say.”

  She took hold of the grab bar at the rear of the truck and stepped up into it. By doing so, she had become a hostage. Ballou could use her as a bargaining chip if the police caught up to him.

  “Hand over your phones and the keys to this truck.”

  They did as he said. The man had added his wallet to the mix. There was a lone twenty-dollar bill in it.

  “My wallet is inside my car,” the woman said. The threatened tears had begun spilling down her cheeks.

  Ballou tossed the guy his wallet back with its measly twenty dollars and stepped out of the truck. As he did so, he rolled the door down to lock them inside. A police car went flying past the truck as Ballou was driving away. A few seconds later he passed an ambulance that was in a line behind another two fast-moving police cars and an unmarked unit. They were headed to the scene of the shootout.

  Ballou drove to the next town and abandoned the truck in the empty parking lot of a warehouse. He considered opening up the rear of the truck and killing the couple but realized it didn’t matter. By morning, his face would be everywhere, and there wasn’t a cop or Fed in the country who wouldn’t be looking for him.

  He walked eight blocks to a transportation terminal and bought a ticket for a bus that was leaving in three minutes. It was headed south. He’d considered hopping on a train instead, as they traveled faster. But there were fewer of them and the next one wasn’t leaving right away.

  Minutes later, the bus was rumbling along the highway with only about ten passengers. Ballou had taken a seat all the way at the rear where he could be isolated from the others. The damn phony beard was making his face itch, but he didn’t dare take it off until he was alone somewhere.

  He released a heavy sigh. He’d spent so much time accumulating a fortune and arranging to set himself up for the rest of his life only to end up on the run and with most of the money left behind. On top of that he had a stress headache, was famished from not having eaten since breakfast, and his chest hurt something awful from the rounds he’d taken from Agent Bentley’s gun. The money had kept the bullets from killing him, but their impact had left behind bruising.

  When he was sure no one was looking he used his thumbnail to tear a hole in a corner of the wrapped thick bundle of bills he had snatched from the backpack. He only had a couple of hundred on him and would need to use some of the cash sooner or later.

  As the denomination of the bills were revealed, he moaned. The bundle he’d grabbed contained one-dollar bills. It was only two thousand dollars. He should have held on to the damn wallet with the twenty in it.

  So close. He’d been so close to getting away clean with a fortune, only to wind up with damn near nothing. He felt like crying.

  Agent Robert Bentley died en route to the hospital. He was the husband of FBI agent, Sienna Ross.

  Chapter 11

  The hunt for Kent Ballou was placed on pause until Lawson’s people could complete their research on the men and women seen in the background on the Teacher of the Year videos. Dozens of interviews had to take place just to be able to identify them. After discovering their identities, they then had to have their backgrounds looked into to see if they had grown up in the same small Florida town as Ballou.

  While that was taking place, Jessica and White returned to their regular routines. White had also been busy constructing the ice-skating rink for his children. He’d decided not to wait for Michael to return home since they had good weather and Brandon was assisting him.

  When the Thanksgiving holiday grew near, Elena stopped by again to ask Samantha for her help in catching a rapist. Samantha agreed without hesitation. She was looking forward to the hunt.

  Jessica and White were at the airport to pick up Michael and Summer as they returned from their Honeymoon in the Bahamas. They waited for them at their terminal.

  Summer suffered a serious trauma years earlier at the hands of her violent, depressed ex-husband Todd Gray. Gray slashed Summer’s face numerous times before taking his own life. The red-headed Summer’s formally stunning looks were gone forever. But thanks to the talent of a skilled plastic surgeon, time, and multiple surgeries, Summer’s scars were hardly noticeable, and she remained attractive.

  Prior to his attack on Summer, Todd had sent Jessica the first draft of a tell-all book he was writing about his ex-wife and himself. The book detailed the numerous crimes and scams the couple had engaged in as they sought to gain fame as criminal profilers.

  Because of her brother-in-law’s love for Summer, Jessica kept the information to herself. She let Summer know that she had it and that she would hand it over to the authorities if Summer ever hurt Michael in any way.

  In time, Jessica came to see that Summer’s affection for Michael was genuine, and she was even willing to admit that the scheming Summer might have changed. That did not mean that she trusted Summer and told her as much when Michael had revealed that they were getting married.

  “Summer Storm,” Jessica said. “What a name.”

  White smiled. “People were teasing her about it at the wedding.”

  “I hope their living with us works out. I love having Michael around, but I doubt I’ll feel the same way about Summer.”

  �
��The extension we built on has its own entrance. You could probably go days, or even weeks without seeing her.”

  “Michael is used to eating breakfast and dinner with us; he’s bound to bring Summer with him.”

  “Those days might be over now that they’re married. Remember, Summer is a great cook. Now that they’re living together, she’ll probably prepare their meals.”

  “You’re right. I hadn’t considered that. I’ll miss having Michael around, and the kids all love him.”

  “He’ll be a short walk away.”

  “And so will Summer.”

  “I know you don’t like her, and neither did I, but she’s changed. Maybe it’s time you gave her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s family now, and she makes Michael happy.”

  Jessica sighed. “I know you’re right, and I’ll try to forget the past.”

  “You forgave me, and we fell in love. Maybe someday you and Summer might become friends.”

  Jessica gave White a look that told him she doubted that would ever happen. “Let’s see if we can stay civil with each other first.”

  “She’s been civil with you. You’re the one who’s always doubting her motives.”

  “Do you blame me?”

  “I wouldn’t have before she went through her… ordeal. But she’s not the same woman she was back then. Like you, I worried that she might have been with Michael for his money. I don’t believe that anymore, and I’m convinced that she really loves him.”

  “She does love Michael. Anyone who sees them together can tell that.”

  “I want my brother to be happy living with us, Jessica. That won’t be the case if he feels like his wife isn’t accepted by everyone in the family.”

  “You’re right. I have made snarky remarks to Summer on occasion. I’ll try to refrain from that.”

  “Thank you.”

  The newlyweds arrived. They were both tanned, looked relax, and were grinning. White welcomed them home with a smile of his own and shook his brother’s hand.

  “You two look so happy. I can tell you had a great time in the Bahamas.”

  “The water is so blue there,” Michael said. After shaking his brother’s hand, he gave Jessica a hug. When they parted, Jessica surprised Summer by hugging her too. Summer was stunned by the display of affection, but she smiled as she hugged Jessica back.

  “Welcome home,” Jessica said.

  “Thanks,” Summer said. “We had such a good time.”

  Mr. White left Jessica with Michael and Summer as he went off to get the car. Michael and Summer both shivered when they first stepped outside. The temperature was much lower than what they had been enjoying lately. They felt the cold even though they had the foresight to carry their coats onto the plane instead of packing them away in their luggage.

  “I guess we’re going to have to get used to cold weather again,” Michael said.

  “Speaking of cold,” Jessica said. “Your brother and Brandon have been building an ice-skating rink for the children.”

  “Really?” Summer said. “I love to ice-skate, but I haven’t done it for years. Michael, do you ice-skate?”

  “I’ve never skated on ice, but I do like to skate.”

  Summer kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll teach you.”

  “The rink isn’t quite done yet. They’re waiting for colder weather before they fill it with water. The faster the ice freezes the better it will be I’m told.”

  White returned with his car and they headed for home. As he drove, White wondered what Kent Ballou was doing at that moment.

  Two years earlier, Ballou had a hard time of it after escaping arrest and killing two federal agents. The manhunt for him had been long and extensive. He had hunkered down inside the forgotten root cellar of an old, abandoned farmhouse in Kansas and lived on rainwater and the preserved goods that had been left behind. The police checked the place out twice, both times at night, while he cowered beneath the floorboards in the kitchen praying that they wouldn’t notice the handle built into the floor. They did not. Had they come by in the daylight hours, the handle to the root cellar would have been easier to spot and his luck would have run out.

  By the time he’d emerged from the root cellar he was eighteen pounds lighter, had a real beard, and smelled as dirty as he looked.

  There were several houses within a mile’s walk of the old farm. They weren’t farms but were surrounded by land and a few of the residents grew some of their own food. Ballou had been checking them out at night and in the early morning hours during the time he’d been hiding. At one of the homes, the couple that owned it both worked in the city. Except for weekends, there was no one at the house between seven-thirty a.m. and six p.m.

  Ballou found an unlocked window to enter through after watching the wife leave for work. There was a spare set of keys to a pickup truck that was parked outside hanging on a hook in the kitchen. There was also an abundance of food in the refrigerator, including half a roast chicken. The man of the house was about his size and his clothes could replace the dirty rags he wore. Ballou didn’t dare touch any of it.

  If the couple returned and reported that someone had eaten their food, taken their clothes, and stolen their vehicle, it would be like sending up a signal telling the cops where he had been. He doubted there were roadblocks still up anywhere, but it was a safe bet that the authorities had not stopped looking for him actively. He had slaughtered three of their own, a cop and two Feds. If they could be sure of where he had been only hours earlier, they would crank up the manhunt to full blast again and chase him down within days. No. He had to be patient and come up with a plan.

  In the meantime, there was nothing wrong with him taking a shower and cleaning his clothes. Ballou stripped naked in the basement laundry room and tossed his pants, shirt, underwear, and socks into the washing machine. He sighed, wishing he had thought to bring along the old wool blanket that he covered himself with at night. He’d found the blanket down in the root cellar and it had kept him warm but smelled of the earth the root cellar was dug into.

  With the washer going, Ballou walked through the house naked. He paused when he came across photos of the couple who lived there. They looked like a collection of pictures taken while on vacation. There was an Eiffel Tower backdrop in one shot, and in another was the Sphinx.

  The two lovebirds were about ten years older than he was. The woman had dyed blonde hair and reminded him of a teacher he’d had in grade school. The man had a beard and was bald, or perhaps he shaved his head. Both of them were smiling in every photo and seemed genuinely happy. The man smiled at the woman like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Ballou remembered feeling that way about someone once. At the time he was sixteen.

  Ballou took his shower and was surprised by how dirty the shower water looked as it headed for the drain. After he dried himself off, he carried the towel and wash cloth down to the basement. They would be dried along with his clothes. He wandered the home naked as he waited for the dryer to do its thing.

  He came across a gun in the back of the bedroom closet, along with a few hundred dollars in a coffee can. Ballou put it all back as he’d found it. He would return for the items soon enough, because he’d come up with a plan while he’d been showering.

  Before leaving, he risked making a sandwich with some of the ham and cheese that was in the fridge. He figured no one was anal-retentive enough to miss two slices of bread and a few pieces of deli food. The simple sandwich was the best thing he’d eaten in weeks. He had been subsisting on strawberry and apricot jam, canned meat, and endless jars of pickled eggs. Once he was safe and no longer being hunted like an animal, he knew he’d never want to see a pickled egg ever again.

  After leaving the house looking the way it had when he’d entered it, Ballou climbed out the window and snuck back to his hole in the ground.

  He returned early on Saturday morning, entered the couple’s bedroom, and mu
rdered them in their sleep by beating them with a rock. The man had died without ever waking, but the woman had stirred. Ballou guessed she only lived long enough to wonder what was happening before he had cracked open her skull. He was glad they hadn’t suffered. He had nothing against them.

  He went down into the basement and grabbed a can of red spray paint that he had seen on a shelf earlier. He sprayed satanic symbols throughout the house and obscenities in the bedroom. He wanted the cops to believe that the couple had been killed by a group of Satan worshipers. Hell, he wouldn’t mind if they came to the conclusion that they had been murdered by the Care Bears as long as no one decided that he might have been involved.

  His clothes had blood spatter on them. He took them off and placed them inside a garbage bag, to be disposed of later. The bald man’s clothes were big on him since he’d lost so much weight. A belt could keep the pants from falling down. He’d have to keep wearing his own shoes. The ones in the closet were too small for his feet and caused him pain when he tried to walk in them.

  After he was clean and dressed again, he raided the kitchen. An hour later, he had eaten so much that his stomach hurt. Before leaving the house, he put on a pair of rubber gloves he’d found under the sink and wiped his fingerprints off everything he might have touched. After using the vacuum, he emptied the bag and replaced it with a fresh one. The used bag would be discarded along with his old clothes.

  Ballou was in the pickup truck and driving away from the house at first light. He had the gun he’d found at the back of the closet and the bald man’s wallet, which included his driver’s license and credit cards. He wouldn’t use the cards unless he had to. He hoped that no one would miss the couple until they failed to show up for their jobs on Monday morning. They had a habit of writing their plans and appointments down on a desk calendar. There was nothing indicated for the next two days.