Johnny Revenge

by Remington Kane

  The person she was looking at was a girl about thirteen years old. The teen was overweight, and yet, she had lost pounds since the last time Erica had spotted her at the park. Once her bike was freed from the rack, Erica walked it over to where the girl was standing.

  “Hi, are you waiting for a ride?”

  The girl nodded. She had hair the color of a raven that was tied back in a ponytail that reached the small of her back. Given her sweaty face, she had put in quite a workout on the walking trails.

  “I’ve seen you here before,” Erica said. “But you were heavier then. How much weight have you lost?”

  The girl looked surprised by the question, then she smiled as she answered. “I’ve lost eighteen pounds since school started in September.”

  “That’s great, honey. My name is Erica, what’s yours?”

  “I’m Brooke.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Brooke, and you picked a good day for a walk.”

  “I know, but it’s supposed to get cold again tomorrow. My dad won’t let me walk here when it’s cold.”

  “My mom used to bring me here years ago when I was your age. I weighed about the same as you do now back then.”

  Brooke’s eyes swept over Erica’s slim and shapely form. “You used to be fat?”

  “After my dad died when I was young, I turned to food for comfort. There was plenty to eat, because my mom coped with his death by cooking and baking for hours every day. I spent years being overweight, but then my mom got counseling for us, and my sister too. That was when I started coming here to walk, and now I like to ride my bike here.”

  Brooke’s bottom lip quivered as a tear rolled down her cheek.

  “My dad is alive, but my mom died last year… that was when I started eating too much.”

  “Grief has that effect on some people,” Erica said.

  “I wish I was old enough to join a gym; that way, I could keep working out in the winter. If I can’t keep walking, I’m worried I’ll gain back the weight.”

  “Do you like to jump rope?”

  “I did when I was little. I haven’t done it in years.”

  “I still do it sometimes, and it’s great exercise. That was what I did in the winter when I was your age. I used to go down into our basement and jump rope with music playing.”

  Brooke’s face lit up. “We’ve got a basement. Yeah, I could jump rope down there.”

  “Try it, you might even lose weight faster since it takes more energy than walking. It’s fun too.”

  Brooke smiled at Erica. “I’ll do it. I don’t want to gain the weight back.”

  A car entered the lot and drove over to them. Behind the wheel was a man in his forties with thinning hair and a handsome face. Brooke resembled him.

  “That’s my dad and little brother,” Brooke said. When the car came closer, Erica spotted the boy strapped into a car seat in the vehicle’s rear; he looked to be about six.

  “Hello,” Brooke’s father said. He was dressed in a suit and tie with the jacket removed.

  “Dad, this is Erica, she’s nice,” Brooke said.

  Erica exchanged pleasantries with Brooke’s father, who was named Richard Smyth. Before the car drove off, Erica wished Brooke luck.

  She felt good about giving the girl encouragement and advice. What Erica hadn’t shared was the fact that she continued to struggle with her weight.

  During her recent breakup with her boyfriend, Erica had once again turned to food for comfort. She had gained six pounds in a matter of days before reining herself in and getting back to the gym. Ice-cream and chocolate were her weaknesses and she craved them often. It had taken her weeks to get back to her ideal weight again.

  Erica hoped that young Brooke would win her battle with obesity, although she was well aware that it required a lifetime of vigilance. At least, that was her experience.

  * * *

  Erica rode her bike along the trails at Rock Creek Park. The temperature was in the sixties, while a day earlier there had been snow flurries.

  It felt great to be out in the fresh air and moving about on the bike. The treadmill and the other cardio machines at her gym helped to keep her fit but they were boring. It was nice to see some scenery, even if the trees were bare. Erica went faster. The tendrils of her strawberry-blonde hair that stuck out from beneath her helmet whipped in the breeze.

  Riding beside Erica was another agent named Colleen Regan. Regan was black and new to the FBI’s Washington DC headquarters, although she was originally from the area. At twenty-six, Regan was four years younger than Erica. Unlike Erica, Colleen was married and had two children, both girls.

  While talking over coffee a week earlier, Colleen mentioned that she was an avid bike rider, and that she preferred it over jogging. Erica agreed with her and they made plans to take advantage of the next warm day.

  * * *

  With the ride done, Erica pulled off her helmet and smiled at Colleen.

  “That was fun, too bad the good weather won’t last.”

  “It’s still better than where I came from. Back in Albany they received a foot of snow yesterday. I really did not like the weather there.”

  “How are your girls adjusting to the move?”

  “Good, and they love being around my mom all day. My husband is happy to be back here too, Xavier has family nearby as well.”

  “I’d like to meet your kids.”

  “What about you, do you want children someday?”

  “Yeah, after I find the right guy, which seems to be the tricky part.”

  “I was lucky. Xavier and I met in high school and have been together ever since.”

  Erica’s phone indicated she had a text message. When she saw what it was about, she felt her pulse quicken.

  “I won’t be able to make lunch, Colleen. There’s a new victim in a case I’m working on.”

  “The one with the weird murders?”

  “Victim number three was murdered last night in New Orleans.”

  “How was he killed?”

  “I don’t know yet. If it’s like the others, it won’t be a normal murder scene.”

  “I’ll take a raincheck on that lunch, and Erica?”

  “Yeah?”

  Colleen smiled. “Catch the bastard.”

  “That’s the plan,” Erica said.

  * * *

  FIVE HOURS LATER, NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

  FBI Special Agents Erica Novac and Bradley Owens stood inside Dave Burke’s home. They were being filled in on the murder investigation by the homicide detectives assigned to the case. The agents had flown in to New Orleans from Washington DC.

  Erica and Owens primarily handled cases involving murders classified as victims of a spree killer or serial killer. A spree killer murdered more than one person without a significant lapse of time between victims, while a serial killer typically killed then went through a cooling off period.

  Burke’s killer has been on a spree, leaving three victims in three different states over a period of five days. Agents Novac and Owens had gone over the files on the other two murders while they were in the air. They were just as bizarre as Burke’s death.

  The first victim had been Harriet Holbrook of San Antonio, Texas. Miss Holbrook had been forty-eight, never married, and had no children. The beneficiary of a trust fund, Harriet Holbrook didn’t need to work.

  Police entered her home the day after her death when she failed to keep a lunch date with her sister. Holbrook’s sister grew worried when Harriet, who was a diabetic, failed to answer her phone or come to the door of her house.

  Harriet was discovered in her bedroom. She was on her bed, naked. Her wrists and ankles had been secured to the headboard and footboard with clothesline rope. Although she was positioned face down, her hips had been propped up high with the use of pillows and spare comforters. This positioning allowed easy access to her private areas.

  Harriet Holbrook had not been raped, at least not in any conventional sense. Her assaila
nt had been more creative. The autopsy report revealed that Miss Holbrook’s anal cavity had been scalded by a hot liquid later identified as Earl Grey tea. Furthermore, a tea bag and a small tea cup were extracted from the woman’s body. In short, the killer had somehow jammed a cup of tea up the victim’s ass. This resulted in internal bleeding and death.

  The San Antonio homicide detectives on the case said that the cup didn’t appear to belong to Miss Holbrook, nor was there any Earl Grey tea found in her cupboards. Apparently, the killer had brought the cup and the tea with him to the house. However, with the exception of the tea and the cup, the killer was known to use items on hand. Whoever he was, he had a creative, if warped, mind.

  The second murder victim was Stuart Hawkins of Elko, Nevada. Mr. Hawkins had been forty-four and was the owner and manager of a dry-cleaners. Hawkins was discovered inside his apartment, which was above the dry-cleaning shop.

  The body was found by his brother in the afternoon, although Hawkins’ murder took place the night before. His was the strangest death of all.

  The cause of death was a puncture to the heart caused by a stab wound. What happened to the victim after he was killed had investigators baffled.

  Stuart Hawkins was found lying on the left side of a queen-size bed, although his nightstand and slippers were on the right side. This led to the speculation that he might have had a bed partner. That had later been ruled out. Hawkins was on that side of the bed because his killer placed him there. Hawkins’ murderer had also painted his front teeth gold. That occurred after the killer had removed his tongue. The tongue was discovered inside a pet carrier with Mr. Hawkins’ black & white tabby.

  Perhaps oddest of all was the fact that the victim’s underwear had been removed and placed back on him. Before the briefs were put back on, the fabric had been deliberately twisted and turned inside out.

  A book had been lying open on the night stand. It was a paperback copy of a recent bestseller. Someone, assumedly the killer, had taken a pen and written nonsensical sentences between the lines of the words on the pages. The letters were in a block-style and would be useless in an analysis of handwriting.

  * * *

  Erica and Owens stood in the kitchen of the latest victim, Dave Burke. They were staring at the inside of the back door where the initials J.R. were spray-painted in black. Those same initials had been at the other two crime scenes and appeared to be a signature.

  Erica used a gloved hand to brush back her hair as she spoke to her partner.

  “We’ve got a real winner this time, Brad.”

  Owens was tall and had the lean build of a runner, he blew air out in a show of exasperation.

  “This has got press coverage written all over it once these homicides are linked together. That will make it a high-pressure case. Just what I didn’t need right now.”

  Owens, who was forty-two, was dealing with a father in the early stages of dementia. The elder Owens was stubborn and refused to admit that he was declining. This, despite the fact that he was almost arrested for breaking into a home. The house had been an earlier residence of the Owens’ family, and the old man had been convinced that it was 1989 and he still lived there.

  Owens father, a former agent himself, claimed he was drunk. He hadn’t been drunk; he had been confused.

  Erica rested a comforting hand on Owens’ arm, as they turned to wander through the house. FBI agents weren’t assigned dedicated partners the way most cops were, but they often worked with one agent more than others.

  Erica and Owens made a great team and had a high rate of success. Recognizing the chemistry between them, their supervising agent kept them paired up. Not only were they partners, but they had become good friends as well.

  “I’ll help you as much as I can, Brad, but you might need to take some time off soon to assist your father.”

  “I know, but not now. This case could boost our careers.”

  “A promotion and more pay are always nice, but we need to catch this psycho before he kills someone else. So far, I don’t see anything linking the victims together.”

  “We’ll have to wait for the new reports that factor in this victim, but there must be something. All three of these murders, as weird as they are, they seem personal to me. I think the perpetrator had a connection to them, and that it’s reflected in the way he or she kills them.”

  “It’s a he,” Erica said. “It’s almost always a male. And yes, his having a connection to the victims makes sense psychologically, now, we just have to find out what that is. We’re looking at a lot of late nights.”

  “Will that cramp your style?”

  Erica laughed. “What style? I haven’t been on a date since Steve was transferred to London.”

  Owens shook his head in bewilderment. “I still can’t believe he ended things with you in order to take that position. I thought you two were headed to the altar.”

  “His job was more important to him.”

  “He didn’t actually say that, did he?”

  “Not in so many words, but that’s what it came down to.”

  “You’ll find the right guy someday, and you’re still young.”

  “I’m thirty now, and I don’t feel young.”

  “I wish I was thirty again,” Owens said as they entered the bedroom. The first thing that struck them were the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that made up the left wall. The shelves were stuffed with books, both hardcovers and paperbacks.

  “It looks like David Burke was a big reader,” Erica said. “I think the other two vics were too.”

  She took out her computer tablet and brought up the photos she had of the other crime scenes.

  Harriet Holbrook had a room in her home filled with books that had a reading nook nestled between two windows. Stuart Hawkins’ apartment was a fraction of the size of Harriett Holbrook’s posh home, but paperback books were stacked against one wall in piles over five feet high.

  Owens looked at the photos, then shrugged. “It could be a coincidence at this point, but it’s a place to start. I’ll make sure it’s a priority with the agents doing the background research.”

  They wound up in the living room, where they stared down at the blood staining the carpet. It was a huge stain. On the ceiling above it was more blood spatter. Once the shotgun had gone off beneath Dave Burke, his internal organs had been devastated, and he had bled out quickly.

  “He’ll kill again, and soon,” Erica said.

  “I think you’re right,” Owens agreed. “Unfortunately, we have no way to stop him.”

  Chapter Three

  WASHINGTON DC

  With no new bizarre murders needing her attention, Erica returned to Washington with Owens to work on their other cases, which were closer to home. In Virginia, there was a serial killer who was targeting young women on a college campus. So far, he had claimed five victims. Erica was determined to stop him before he killed again.

  To that end, she had stayed up until one in the morning going over the case files before calling it a night and leaving the office. She had worked alone because Owens was off visiting his father. The old man had been found driving along I-95 while doing a sedate thirty-five miles an hour, which was far below the speed limit. More than once a vehicle was forced to swerve into a new lane to avoid running into the elder Owens. The state police officer who pulled him over stated that Owens’ father seemed to be confused.

  As usual, the senior Owens stubbornly refused to admit that anything was wrong. The old man claimed that he had simply been lost in thought.

  Erica’s long hours of working alone had achieved something. She uncovered the fact that each of the Virginia serial killer’s victims had been wearing large gold earrings when they were attacked, with three of the five having worn hoop-style earrings.

  The police were using decoys on campus in the hope of nailing the killer. Erica informed them of her find and asked that the women be given gold hoop earrings to wear.

  * * *

  Af
ter a few hours of sleep, Erica had been back at work at eight a.m. to put in a ten-hour day. Needing to relax, and feeling hungry once the day was done, she went to the restaurant owned by her mother, Carlotta.

  The restaurant, Carlotta’s, was, obviously, named after Erica’s mother, and was popular enough to be crowded every night.

  Erica’s sister, Cassie, worked alongside their mother. Cassie handled the recordkeeping, ordering, and employees, while Carlotta concentrated on the kitchen and the customers.

  Erica often envied her sister’s closeness to their mother but knew she would never be happy working outside the Bureau.

  Although it thrilled her whenever she helped to apprehend a violent criminal, Erica’s true passion was the hunt. Every case was different, but this new string of bizarre killings intrigued her more than any of the others she had worked on. Why were the victims being murdered in such odd ways, and by whom? Erica needed to know the answers.

  * * *

  Carlotta greeted her daughter at the restaurant’s entrance with a kiss and a hug. Erica had gotten her alluring curves and strawberry-blonde hair from her mother, but her large green eyes were a gift from her late father.

  Erica’s father had been a decorated DC cop. He had drowned in the Potomac River after rescuing three young children from a car that had crashed into the water. Despite his exhaustion, Officer Novac went back to save the children’s mother from a malfunctioning seatbelt. The young mother had been trapped inside the submerged vehicle. Officer Novac succeeded, but at the cost of his life. The mother of the children was resuscitated after being dragged from the water by a fire & rescue unit. The body of Erica’s father was recovered the next day. Erica had been only eight years old.

  “Where’s that partner of yours?” Carlotta asked. “I know a woman who would be perfect for that handsome devil.”