Maximum Guilt (Hidden Guilt Book 2)

by Terry Keys

  We turned into the parking lot, and I spotted our friends just heading inside. By the time we found a parking spot, Paul was already putting on his bowling shoes on in lane nine.

  We joined our friends and exchanged warm, friendly greetings. But then it was time to get down to business. Lafitte and I were fiercely competitive at everything. I was looking forward to beating him tonight.

  “Ready for an ass-whoopin’, my friend?” I said as I laced up my shoes.

  “Have you ever beaten me at anything, David?” Lafitte said.

  “Are these two always like this?” De Luca asked. Miranda rolled her eyes and nodded.

  “If memory serves, the last time we bowled I beat you one ninety to one seventy-five,” I said.

  “We’ll see.”

  We ordered a round of drinks as the game got underway. This was nice. No police work tonight. Just a little fun with my wife and old friends. After my talk with Lafitte about moving to Houston went so well, I figured us spending time together would cement his decision.

  As I picked up my bowling ball, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Then it started to ring. I took a look.

  “That one of the girls, dear?” Miranda asked.

  “No. I don’t recognize the number. It’s international. I have no idea who it could be.”

  “No police work tonight. You promised,” Miranda said half joking.

  “I’m only going to answer because I don’t know who it is. I suppose it could be important.”

  “Porter,” I said as I put the phone to my ear.

  “Detective Porter, dis is Clifton Dixon. I am a homicide detective in Negril, Jamaica. Do you have a moment? I have something I need to read to you. We need your help solving a murder.”

  The man’s accent was heavy, and I could barely understand his broken English. Why was a cop from Jamaica calling for my help?

  “Sure, go ahead,” I said.

  “Thank you. I will read to you a note found at de scene of a double homicide last night at one of our resorts.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Thank you. I read de letter to you now.

  Detective Porter, catching us won’t be as easy. My wife and I have been watching you. We know everything about you. To us you’re nothing more than a cocky ex-jock and a fucking rapist pig. You’ve caused my family a lot of pain over the years, and most recently you murdered my Aunt Brittany. Until I kill you, I’ll be watching your every move. I’ll be close enough to tickle the hairs on Miranda’s pretty little neck. A young couple needlessly lost their lives tonight and many more will die before it’s over. When will we stop? Not until everyone realizes that you’re an inept fraud who had everyone fooled. After we have humiliated you, ruined your career, and destroyed everything you love, maybe we’ll find a new hobby.

  See you soon, Dad.

  With all the hate in the world,

  Caleb

  PS – you’ll be joining my mother soon in the pits of hell.”

  I was stunned silent. The bowling ball I was holding slipped from my grasp, missing my foot by only a few inches. Miranda, Lafitte, and De Luca all came over to where I was standing. I wasn’t looking at them, but I could hear them talking to me, their voices buzzing around me from every direction.

  “Detective? Hello? Are you still there, sir?”

  The phone was still at my ear, but when I opened my mouth to reply, no words came out. I felt light-headed. The room swirled around me. I lost my balance and fell hard to the floor.

  Lafitte helped me sit up. I frantically reached for my phone.

  “I will be in Jamaica tomorrow afternoon. And yes, I know who your killer is.”

  “If we’re going to have any success in catching dis maniac we will need your help, Detective Porter.”

  “I know. I have your cell phone here in my call log. I will call you first thing tomorrow, Mr. Dixon, to give you my travel plans. I’ll want you to meet my team and me when we land.”

  I hung up and realized I still hadn’t moved. I was seated on the floor, my legs crossed under me, the bowling ball I’d dropped still at my feet.

  “David, honey, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Miranda asked. I could see panic all over her face.

  “Yes. I mean . . . no. I don’t really know,” I said, befuddled.

  “David, who was that? You’re scaring us, man,” Lafitte said.

  “A detective from Jamaica. It looks like the three of us will be heading to the island tomorrow. The files we found . . . the abortion . . . I guess Stacy didn’t go through with it after all. A man and his wife killed a couple last night in Jamaica. They left a note for me, and they warned there would be more.”

  “How do you know Stacy didn’t get that abortion, David? What does that have to do with the killings in Jamaica?” Lafitte asked.

  I heard the question, and even though my mind processed the answer, I said nothing. The words were stuck in my throat. I just sat there, staring off into no-man’s-land. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I answered.

  “Because the killer is my son.”

  As if the complexities of stalking a cold-blooded murderer weren’t already daunting enough, hunting a murderous son who wants you dead took things to a level I wasn’t sure I could handle. In an instant my worst nightmare had become a mind-numbing reality. There was no forensic psychology book out there to help me with this one. I was literally writing the book myself—and I was scared shitless.

  Part 3 of the Trilogy!

  See how it all ends…

  Coming Winter 2016

  Turn the page for a sneak peek!

  Prologue

  Houston, Texas 1 a.m.

  Watching video surveillance of a man who would be dead in thirty minutes but had no idea he was about to die was eerie. Caleb sat in their motel room anxiously waiting for go time. His stomach growled so loud he could hear it. It was close to lunch time, and he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He couldn’t eat, not right now. Action, danger, excitement—all made him way too jittery to eat, so he didn’t. He stared at the monitor in front of him. It was one of three that surrounded him. Marci, sitting ten feet from him, was surrounded by three monitors as well. Every detail of their plan had been perfectly set in motion. Now it was time to watch the actors play out the scene.

  Caleb got up and stood behind Marci. He stared at her for a second. He’d learned almost everything he knew from Marci, and he loved her dearly. He bent down and gave her a long, deep kiss, sneaking a quick feel in the process.

  Marci smiled and pushed Caleb away. “Hey! Stay focused, you sexy man.”

  The fact that Marci was twenty years his senior didn’t matter to Caleb. He didn’t know if he liked older women in general or just this older woman in particular.

  Caleb ruffled Marci’s hair and smiled.

  “Okay. It’s noon straight up. Let’s do this,” he said.

  He put on his headset and dialed a number using a burner phone. He gave Marci the thumbs-up.

  “Hello? Officer Patton speaking.”

  “Officer Patton, good afternoon. My name is . . . well, it doesn’t matter what my name is. I need you to listen very closely to every detail I’m about to tell you. One mistake could be fatal. Okay?”

  “Who the fuck is this? John, is that you playing games again?”

  Caleb stood up and paced the room. “Sorry, Tom, this is not John. This is your guilt game, and I am your host. I plan on being with you from now until the very end.”

  “John, shut the fuck up. I know this is you.”

  “No, Tom, you need to shut up and listen. Right now you’re in your squad car heading toward . . . Damn! I almost spoiled it. Let’s start with the basics. Your car’s controls have been overridden. Well, some of them anyways. Like the locks, for example. You can no longer unlock the doors. Go ahead and give it a shot.”

  Patton hit the unlock button but nothing happened. Caleb could hear him pounding on the door. “What the hell is happening? Who the fuck are yo
u?”

  “Mr. Patton, you need to calm down. You must be mentally aware and invested in this game or you’ll miss something. So let’s go over the rules. You are not allowed to contact anyone. Anyone includes . . . well . . . everyone. Your cell phone has been programmed to communicate only with me. But contacting also means pulling over and trying to wave someone over to your car. Don’t do that. You see the computer in front of you? It’s transmitting directly to a monitor that yours truly is watching. Yup. That would be me.”

  “What the fuck do you want from me, you little piece of shit? Do you know who you’re messing with?”

  “Oh, snap! I almost forgot. The video is also being broadcast to your 72-inch flat-screen at home. Your wife, Julie—say hi, Julie—can see and hear you, too. And your three-year-old, Matthew. So I’d watch the potty mouth.”

  Patton’s eyes widened. “Julie, I’m so sorry you’ve been drug into whatever this is. You’re going to pay for this, pal.”

  “Patton, listen to me. She can hear you, but right now her mic is off, so you can’t hear her. We’ll get to that later. So here’s what’s going to happen. You’ve been a cop for what, twenty-one, twenty-two years? We’ve been reading and studying and learning all about you for over a week now. You’ve done some pretty naughty things, haven’t you?”

  Patton didn’t respond.

  “Okay. That didn’t go so well, Mr. Patton. Let me explain something. If I ask a question, it becomes your job to answer. I did leave out one small detail. Your wife and son can’t move. You see, they’re what you might call tied up at the moment.”

  “You better not hurt them; I swear!”

  “Ohhh, stop it, Tom. We aren’t going to hurt them. Well, maybe we are. You’ll be glad to know this is your game, and you actually get to decide if they get hurt or not. You see, I’m going to stop talking and give you the floor. I know where you’re headed right now, but I’m not going to spoil the show. So here’s what I need from you. You are going to tell your lovely wife all your dirty little secrets. All of them. Or the room they’re in will fill with hydrogen cyanide gas and they’ll both die. Right now it’s 1:10. The canister in your home is set to go off at 1:30 . . . unless someone turns it off. Again, can you guess who that someone is, Tommy? Yup, me again.”

  Tom did a U-turn and headed for home. He was speeding and darting in and out of traffic. “So all I have to do is tell her the bad things I’ve done, and all of us live? That’s the game? What kind of sick shit is this?”

  “Patton, did you forget who else is listening in? Can you clean up your language a little? I mean, I did ask nicely. Yes, if you tell the truth, they’ll live and you’ll die at 1:30. Oh, I didn’t mention that, did I? You see, someone has to atone for your sins, but you get to decide who. Isn’t this fun? And Julie has already been warned that if she makes it out of this and we suspect even an ounce of evidence has been given to the cops, we’ll be back to finish them off.”

  “They are going to catch you, and when I find out who you are—”

  “Now, now, Tom. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re angry; I get it. And you’re used to always being in control. But you’re all out of options, bud. The GPS shows you aren’t going for your noon nookie, Tom. Why did you turn around? You headed home now? Don’t answer that. So here’s what’s going to happen. In ten seconds, Julie’s mic will be turned on. I want you to tell her everything. Do you hear me, Tom? Everything! The truth shall set you free. Time’s a-tickin’.There’s C4, a remote detonator, and timer all wired to your car. And . . . go!”

  Tears poured down Julie’s face. Matthew was crying, too. He really didn’t understand everything that was happening, but fear is contagious.

  “Tom, can you hear me?”

  “Julie! Yes, I can hear you. I love you, baby, and I’m so sorry. I’m going to take care of this. Don’t you worry.”

  “Tom, who are these people? Please come get us, Tom. We’re both so scared.”

  Caleb turned off Julie’s mic.

  “Julie, you were given your instructions back in the locker room, remember? If I see Tom’s car anywhere close to Pearland, both of you lose—you first. So Tom can watch, of course.”

  Julie cried out, but Tom couldn’t hear her.

  “Okay, now that we’re all playing nice again, both of you get one last chance. Oh, silly me. I forgot to turn the split screen on your monitors so you crazy kids can see one another. There.”

  Tom stared at the screen in horror. There in the middle of his living room sat his wife and son. He knew it was all his fault.

  “They want me to talk. They want me to tell you how bad of a husband and father I’ve been. I mean, none of it’s true, but I’ll say what they want to hear. You believe me . . . right, honey?”

  “Tom, listen to me. Look at your son. For whatever reason, these people have gone to a lot of trouble here. They have to think you’ve done something. Why would they do this if it isn’t true?”

  “Ding. Ding. Ding. Score one for Julie,” Caleb said. “Tom, we’ve followed you for a week. We’ve read your police files, even the unofficial ones. The best pattern to have is what? Say it, Tom”

  Tears poured down Tom’s face. “No pattern.”

  “That’s right. No pattern. But I’m guessing you’ve been doing this for so long, you felt invincible. Anyway, I’m talking too much. This isn’t about me. You have ten minutes left, Tom. You should really use your time wisely.”

  Tom finally composed himself enough to speak. “Julie, I need you to listen to me.”

  Caleb leapt from his seat. “Stop the presses. Tom, right now you’re traveling seventy-two miles per hour on Interstate 610. You’re about to pass Reliant Stadium. Don’t forget what I said. Do not get on 288 South. Anywhere near Pearland and boom. Don’t fuck with me, Tom. I mean it.”

  “Okay! I got it. Please don’t hurt them. Please! I’ll tell them everything. Just promise me you won’t hurt them.”

  “Tom, I always keep my word. If you talk, I won’t lay a finger on them. I won’t need to hurt them. You’re about to do that for me.”

  “Matthew? Hey, little buddy. Look at Daddy. I love you, son. Julie, don’t believe all the bad things they say about me. Know that I love you. Twenty-five years of my life I have loved you. Good-bye my love.”

  “Tom, no!” Julie screamed.

  Tom slammed his computer shut. Caleb and Marci were still tracking him via GPS, and the audio feed was still live.

  Tom removed his service weapon from his side holster and fired one shot into his skull. His patrol car spun out of control and crashed into the freeway barricades. Then it exploded.

  Julie screamed.

  “God, that sounded terrible,” Marci said.

  “Julie, I’m sorry you guys had to listen to that. It’s not how I planned it to happen. Protect and Serve—that is what they sign up to do. But some of these assholes find every way possible to abuse their power. It’s really, really sad.”

  “No, you are the sad one. I hope you burn in hell for this,” Julie said between sobs. “Not all cops are bad. You killed a good man. You’re the real piece of shit, whoever you are.”

  “You’re right, Julie. Most police officers do a fine job, a really fine job. And guess what? I’m not after them. I’m hunting men like Tom—men who lie, cheat, and steal.”

  “Well, who made you the goddamn judge? Why not let him have his day in court?”

  “No, no, no. He had his day in court. It was today, in fact. The judge found him guilty on all counts, and he was sentenced to die.”

  “You sick bastard!”

  Caleb cut the transmission.

  “Julie, listen to me, dear. Your mic is off. After Tom is identified, officers will be at your house to inform you of your husband’s death. Remember the rules of the game. Please don’t make me turn on those canisters, because I can and I will. There will be a lot of officers there, a lot more people for me to kill. And if you change your mind in a week or so, I’ll come
and visit you and Matthew then, too. Hey, look at the bright side. You’re still young, still got your looks. If you remarry, please don’t pick another asshole. Ta-ta.”

  Caleb killed that transmission as well.

  “Our work is done. Let’s get the hell out of here,” Caleb said.

  Marci held up a finger. “First we have to spin the wheel.”

  They’d created a wheel that contained the numbers one through fifty. Each number had a corresponding city, country, number of victims—one or two—and gender written on a sheet of paper. Using the wheel meant no pattern could ever be established.

  Caleb spun the wheel, and they both watched in anticipation as it slowly landed on the number seven. Marci took out their handwritten list to find out the details of their next adventure.

  “Let’s see . . . seven. Honolulu, Hawaii. One female victim. That should be fun,” Marci said.

  “Jamaica, Houston now Hawaii. Never been to Hawaii – I’m excited.”

  “Makes two of us. Who’s ready for a tropical vacation?”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Terry Keys is a novelist, songwriter and poet. He writes for Examiner.com and works as a project manager in the oil and gas industry. A native of Rosharon, Texas Keys spends his free time hunting, fishing and working out. He lives in Dickinson, Texas, with his wife and two children.

  Please visit his website at www.terrykeysbooks.com

  Twitter: @tkeys15

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  Email: terry@terrykeysbooks.com