Injecting Faith

by Patrick Logan

“But,” Suzan said, raising a finger.

  “But what?”

  “You still owe me a vacation. This bullshit doesn't count. And next time? I'm picking the location. I'm picking the location, the accommodations, and you’re footing the bill. Got it?”

  Beckett smiled.

  “Sounds good, boss. Sounds good.”

  ***

  “I told your partner, that Yasiv fellow, all I know don’t really have anything to say,” Franklin exclaimed as Detective Dunbar approached.

  Detective Dunbar looked around, confused.

  “No, I… I just…”

  Franklin’s face suddenly softened, and he reached out to Dunbar. He put an arm around his shoulders, guiding him towards the door. Through the glass, Dunbar could see that half the chairs were filled already.

  “I'm sorry, Toby, I thought you were coming for something else.”

  Dunbar looked up at him.

  “My name's not Toby,” he said quietly. “My name's Steve, Steve Dunbar. But everyone just calls me Dunbar.”

  Franklin nodded and opened the door to the room.

  “Okay, Dunbar.”

  “Can I join you guys? I’ve got a lot of things I need to talk about.”

  “Of course, you can. We’re open to anybody here. Take your time, and when you're ready to speak, we’ll be here to listen.”

  Epilogue

  “You’re not gonna believe this,” Suzan said as she stepped out of the Uber, cell phone in hand.

  Beckett was bogged down by bags and struggled to follow her.

  “What? What is it?”

  Suzan held the cell phone out to him, and Beckett read the title of the article out loud.

  “Local Rev. cannot cure death, but he may have caused it.”

  Beckett raised an eyebrow and Suzan pulled the phone back and began paraphrasing.

  “This is… unbelievable. Check this out: Early Tuesday morning, police were called to the church after someone noticed a light left on in the basement. After investigating, they found the remains of C.J. Vogel, a young woman who had been suffering from cystic fibrosis. C.J. had gone missing more than three weeks ago and the police were disturbed to find her chained to the wall. Investigators have been unable to locate either Reverend Alister Cameron or his wife Holly Cameron, who are considered dangerous. If you know anything about their whereabouts please contact local PD. Jesus, Beckett! I was with Holly last night!”

  Beckett shifted the bags to one shoulder and unlocked the door to his house.

  “I told you he was bad,” he said. “I told you that asshole was—”

  She punched him on the shoulder.

  “Don't talk like that, Beckett. The poor girl is dead. I just can't believe… we had dinner in their house, Beckett. I feel—oh my God—this is just—”

  She was cut off by the sound of a car pulling up to the bottom of the driveway. Beckett finally threw the door wide and turned to see who it was.

  Two men stepped from a dark vehicle, one of whom he immediately recognized.

  “Hank? What's going on?” Beckett hollered.

  When the man didn't answer, Beckett instinctively turned his body to block the open door.

  “Hank?”

  His first thought was that maybe something happened to Drake, or to Screech, or any one of the misfits who were masquerading as private investigators.

  But when Yasiv refused to meet his gaze, Beckett’s heart started to race in his chest.

  The other man, someone he’d never seen before, strode right up to them with a sheet of paper in his hand.

  “Dr. Beckett Campbell?”

  Beckett's eyes narrowed.

  “Yeah, that's me. What's this—”

  The man thrust the paper at his chest and Beckett had to drop a bag in order to grab it.

  “Hey, what the hell?” Suzan yelled. “Hank, what the fuck is—”

  Yasiv averted his eyes.

  “Beckett, if you don't get out of the way,” he said in a quiet voice, “we’re going to have to put you in handcuffs. Please, don't make this any more difficult than it already is. That sheet of paper in your hand is a search warrant—it’s a search warrant for your house, Beckett. Now move; we’re going inside.”

  END

  Author’s Note

  Beckett’s probably the most fun character to write, mostly because he can say and do whatever he wants and get away with it. Until now, that is…

  But he’s also complicated; clearly, he believes his actions are justified, but he often oversteps moral boundaries. They are—how can I put this delicately—fluid when it comes to right and wrong. Add Suzan into the mix, who’s destined to take a more prominent role in future books, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster… or hilarity.

  Meh, a lot of both.

  Join Suzan and Beckett as they continue their adventures through the winding intestinal tract of modern ethics that they seem to just make up as they go along.

  You can grab the third book in the series – Surgical Precision – right now!

  You keep reading, and I’ll keep writing.

  Best,

  Patrick

  Montreal, 2019

  KEEP ON SCROLLING FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF SURGICAL PRECISION, OUT NOW!

  Surgical Precision

  Prologue

  “Where is he?” the woman in the light gray suit asked as she walked briskly down the hallway. “Where’s Charlie?”

  The orderly in the white smock beside her pointed at a thick door covered in peeling blue paint.

  “Isolation,” the man said flatly.

  “Is that really necessary?” she asked as they continued to make their way toward the door.

  “Dr. Teller, can I speak candidly?”

  Claire Teller stopped in front of the door and lowered her head for a moment, before turning to face the orderly. He was in his mid-forties, solidly built like they all were, with a beard on his face and slicked black hair atop his head. His eyes were soft, and she knew him to be a reliable orderly, one who treated the kids with respect.

  “You may.”

  “Okay, well, I’m not sure what you see in this kid, but he’s trouble. As you know, I’ve worked here for a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of kids come and go. I’ve seen kids who come back from horrible tragedies, from abuse of all kinds. I’ve seen them go on to lead fruitful lives and become contributing members of society. I’ve seen others go the other way and fall into a spiral of drug use and abuse. I’ve seen these kids rob, kill, die.” As the orderly spoke, the woman turned her eyes to look into the cell. Sitting on the mattress on the floor in a white smock, was a young boy. He had short blond hair cut close to his scalp, and his hands were clasped in front of him. He was staring at the wall.

  “Go on,” she insisted, her eyes still locked on the boy.

  “Well, with Charlie… he’s different. I’ve seen a lot of kids do a lot of bad things, but nothing like this. He just snaps. He goes from like he is now—calm, compliant, even friendly—but then he goes off at the drop of a hat. Loses his mind.”

  She finally turned to face the orderly.

  “Is that it?”

  The man looked at her.

  “That’s it.”

  “Then I want to thank you for being honest with me. Right now, though, I would like some time alone with him.”

  The orderly looked as if he were about to protest, but she held up a manicured finger, pre-emptively halting him.

  “Alone.”

  The orderly sighed and pulled the key ring from his belt and unlocked the door. Then he pushed it open and allowed Claire to enter, letting her know that he was available if she needed him.

  There were no chairs in the room; in fact, there was nothing in the room other than a bucket and the mattress upon which Charlie sat. This was protocol to ensure that the person in isolation didn’t have access to anything that might be used as a weapon, against himself or others.

  Claire walked in front of Charlie and squatted.r />
  “Charlie?” she said softly.

  The boy looked up, his blue eyes large and wide.

  Despite what the orderly had told her, it was hard to fathom that this boy could be capable of any violence at all.

  But Dr. Claire Teller knew better.

  “Charlie, what happened this afternoon?”

  The boy’s eyes didn’t waver; they simply focused on her as he spoke.

  “I stabbed Jimmy in the neck,” he said matter-of-factly. “I stabbed him in the neck with a pencil.”

  Dr. Teller struggled to keep her emotions in check.

  “Why did you do that, Charlie? Why did you stab him?”

  The boy answered immediately.

  “For practice.”

  Dr. Teller swallowed hard. She realized that her left hand had started to shake, so she tucked it behind her back and out of sight.

  “Practice for what, Charlie? What are you practicing for?”

  Charlie’s brow suddenly furrowed and for the first time since entering the cell, Dr. Claire Teller saw unbridled hatred in the boy’s young eyes.

  Hatred and pure evil, if there was such a thing.

  “For the blond man with the tattoos,” Charlie said coldly. “That’s who I’m practicing for.”

  PART I – Search Warrant

  Chapter 1

  Beckett thought of running, of course, but he fought the urge. He also thought about killing, but that’s what got him into this damn mess in the first place.

  Instead, he simply shrugged and turned to Suzan, who had made her way up the steps to the doorway but, as per Sgt. Yasiv’s orders, did not enter.

  “What the hell are you looking for?” Suzan shouted into the house. Then she turned to face Beckett. “Beckett? What are they looking for?”

  Another shrug.

  “I’ve got no fucking clue.”

  He made his way up beside his girlfriend and stared through the open door. The detective who he didn’t recognize was in the kitchen now, pulling open drawers for some reason. Yasiv, on the other hand, stood at the bottom of the stairs as if debating whether or not to go up.

  You’re not gonna find him up there, Beckett thought. This was quickly followed by, maybe they won’t even go downstairs. Maybe they’ll just skip it, or maybe if they go into the basement, they’ll somehow miss the pedophile strapped to the chair, his blood and piss soaking the plastic sheet on which he sat. Perhaps they’ll even ignore the smell of the now rotting corpse.

  This final thought gave him pause.

  The smell…

  Trying to look natural, Beckett leaned forward a little and inhaled deeply through his nose.

  His house didn’t smell all that fresh, but this was nothing new; what it didn’t smell like, however, was a mausoleum.

  For some reason, even though he knew that the gig was up, that he was about to be found out and thrown in prison for the rest of his life, Beckett wasn’t all that concerned.

  If anything, he felt calmer and more relaxed than he had in a long time.

  But, unfortunately, this was short-lived; a headache quickly started to build behind his eyes. In mere seconds, it felt as if someone had removed his optic nerves and was twisting them in both hands as if trying to wring water out of a towel.

  “I’ll check the basement,” the detective suddenly hollered, clearly satisfied that Beckett’s cutlery formed a complete set.

  Well, Beckett thought, there goes that idea.

  As if spurred by this comment, Suzan took a step forward, placing one foot over the threshold. Yasiv, who had since started upstairs, seemed to sense this, and he whipped around.

  “Suzan, stay outside,” he warned. When Suzan refused to pull her foot back, he continued, a tired look on his face, “Look, I did you guys a favor by not flooding the street with uniformed offices, but if you so much as take another step, I’ll light this entire block up with blue and red lights. Is that what you want?”

  During their flight, Suzan had pulled her hair up in a tight ponytail, giving Beckett a clear look at the back of her ears, which suddenly turned bright red.

  You may have your ideas about what I am, Yasiv, but the last thing you want to do is to unleash the wrath of one Suzan Cuthbert.

  “Suzan, I think it’s probably a good idea if—”

  “Oh, you did us a favor, did you, sergeant? Or is it detective? Maybe officer? The only favors I can see here is the one that Drake did to get you promoted. Now that’s a favor. This here?” Suzan waved a finger in a tight circle. “This is no fucking favor. This is fucking harassment, that’s what this is.”

  Something in Yasiv’s face broke then, and he changed from being a stern police officer to the caring man that Beckett once knew.

  The one that he’d worked with on many a case. Having been in South Carolina for the past week or so, Beckett had no idea what had changed, what evidence had led the sergeant here, to his house, and had altered the man’s demeanor so drastically.

  But there was no question what this was about.

  It was about Wayne Cravat.

  “Suzan, you should probably come over here,” Beckett said in a soft voice as he watched the as of yet unnamed detective starting to open the basement door.

  This is it… this is the end.

  “You’ve got nothing to say for yourself?” Suzan barked at Yasiv, who was still stopped halfway up the stairs.

  “Suzan, I’m sorry. I am. But I’ve got a job to do.”

  “Oh, you’ve got a job to do. That’s a fucking new one. Hey, Beckett, you hear that? The man has a job to do,” Suzan turned to him as she spoke, but then when she saw his face, her own expression seemed to melt. “Beckett? Beckett, what’s wrong?”

  Beckett’s eyes remained locked on the detective as he slowly disappeared into the basement.

  “I think… I think you should come over here, Suzan,” Beckett nearly whispered, lowering his eyes.

  He figured he had thirty seconds, a minute, tops, before the detective came rushing upstairs, likely with his gun drawn, his free hand cupping his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep from vomiting on the floor. This meant that Beckett had thirty seconds to tell Suzan how he really felt about her before their relationship was permanently shattered.

  “What is it?” Suzan asked, moving to his side.

  Beckett’s headache had fully bloomed now, which caused his eyes to water and mess with his vision. Still, he managed to reach out and wrap his arm around Suzan’s small waist and pull her close.

  “I love you, Suzan,” he said softly in her ear. He was about to add more, to tell her how sorry he was when she suddenly pushed away.

  “What the fuck, Beckett? What are they going to find down there? A secret sex dungeon?”

  “I wish,” he grumbled. Then he shook his head. “Seriously, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m not… I’m not who…”

  “You’re shaking.” Suzan’s angry expression morphed into concern.

  Beckett looked down at his hands and realized that he was trembling. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to will his headache and the shakes away. He managed to succeed in the latter but failed miserably in the former.

  What’s taking him so long? Let’s just get this over with.

  Beckett’s basement wasn’t particularly large, and Wayne was right there, in the middle of the room…

  He took another full breath, this time exhaling slowly out his mouth.

  When he opened his eyes again, Suzan was looking up at him.

  She’s been through so much already, what with her dad being killed, her mother taking off with her newborn stepbrother, with an arrest warrant out for Drake…

  But Suzan was nothing if not a strong woman, and it would take every ounce of that strength to deal with what was coming next.

  “I am not who you think I am. I’m—”

  SWIPE RIGHT FOR MORE BECKETT… ERR, I MEAN, ORDER YOUR COPY OF SURGICAL PRECISION NOW!

  This book is a work of f
iction. Names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are either entirely imaginary or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or of places, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Patrick Logan 2019

  Interior design: © Patrick Logan 2019

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, cannot be reproduced, scanned, or disseminated in any print or electronic form.

  Sixth Edition: June 2019