Johnny Revenge

by Remington Kane

  * * *

  Erica and her partner Bradley Owens were riding above the storm inside a Bureau jet. As they headed north toward New Hampshire to speak with Jude, they went over what they had learned about him, as Erica recited the facts gathered by the FBI’s research team.

  “Joseph Simon Revene officially changed his name to Jude Rowland eight years ago. He’s a Caucasian male, 31, 6 foot 2, weight,180. No adult arrest record, nothing. That goes against every profile of Wildcard.”

  “He could be smarter than the profilers give him credit for being,” Owens said. “What was his childhood like?”

  “He grew up in the town of Sanguine, New Hampshire, along with one sibling, a brother. When he was six, his mother ran off with a French artist. The only photo we have of her came from her high school yearbook. She was a beauty; however, Rowland got his good looks from his father, whom he resembles.”

  Owens smiled at Erica over the cup of coffee he was holding. “You find him attractive?”

  “You’ve seen his picture. The man could have been a male model, although I think he’d look even better without the beard. Anyway, he was raised by his father after his mother left. The brother, John, ran away from home three years after the mother took off. John Revene was eighteen at the time. Before leaving town, he was accused of robbing a convenience store. There’s nothing else about him in the file.”

  “Nothing? That’s unusual.”

  “It is. This town we’re visiting is Rowland’s childhood home. Apparently, he owns a large parcel of land. It was passed down to him when his father died.”

  “When did his father die?”

  “Rowland’s father, Simon Chester Revene, who went by the name Chet, died when Rowland was seventeen. Before that, Revene had spent four years in prison for child abuse after it was discovered he was administering severe beatings to Rowland. The report says that he whipped him so hard it left scars.”

  “Being abused as a child is common among serial killers.”

  “True, as is an above average I.Q., which Jude Rowland certainly possesses. He didn’t take up playing chess until he was in college and was awarded the title of Grandmaster by the time he graduated.”

  “What is his degree in?”

  “English literature, with a minor in computer science.”

  “He could have used his computer skills to track down his victims.”

  “I had the same thought.”

  “Why are there so few photos of this guy? Don’t writers go on book tours and do interviews?”

  “Rowland doesn’t, he also doesn’t have a presence on social media. It’s a wonder he sells so many books, but the latest one sold half a million copies.”

  “He sounds strange enough to be Wildcard,” Owens said. As he spoke, he took out his computer tablet to begin reading. “Now I’ll tell you about our second suspect.”

  After Erica came up with Jude as a suspect based on the reviews and favorite phrases of the five victims, the FBI researchers uncovered other viable suspects. There were seventeen in all, but only two shared the initials J.R., the second man with those initials was named Jake Raines.

  Raines was also a writer. He wrote gritty male adventure novels and was a colorful character in his own right.

  Jake Raines was fifty-five. That was years older than the age profilers had predicted for Wildcard. And yet, he fit the profile in other aspects. Raines came from a broken home where his father was abusive, and Raines himself had once been charged with assaulting a woman. The charge had been dropped after a rumored financial arrangement was reached. Married and divorced four times, Jake Raines had one child, a thirty-two-year-old son named Max.

  Most damning of all was an accusation leveled against Raines by the police in Bolivia back in 2002. They accused Raines of being present when a human being was hunted for sport. Raines was an avid big game hunter who had killed prey all over the world.

  His lawyers had labeled the charge ludicrous, and the matter faded in time since there was no proof. However, Raines had been in Bolivia when the illegal and inhumane hunt took place. The victim had been a young field laborer suspected of committing rapes. He was missed by no one.

  Unlike Jude Rowland, Jake Raines was active on social media sites and often made controversial statements. He’d been labeled homophobic, chauvinistic, and a bigot. The insults and accusations rolled off Raines’ back and he continued to spout his views whether popular or not.

  Sales of Jake Raines’ books had been on a steady decline for over a decade, although, combined, his many novels earned him well over a million a year. Interestingly, Raines had been very vocal in criticizing the work of independent writers, such as Jude Rowland.

  “If you’re not good enough to land an agent you shouldn’t be allowed to publish a damn thing,” Raines was quoted as saying.

  Book buyers disagreed with him. Jude Rowland, and a score of other independent authors outsold Raines while writing in the same genre, which was the Thriller/Suspense niche. They also didn’t have to hand over money to an agent for life, while keeping a greater percentage of the book’s sale price.

  Raines’ latest novel was being savaged by many reviewers for its outdated characterizations of his protagonist’s female love interest. There was also a dearth of any characters of color, or of a non-heterosexual orientation.

  “Wasn’t there a movie made out of one of Raines’ books years ago?” Erica asked Owens.

  “Yeah, the book was The Bastards, and the movie was a flop.”

  “I never saw it and I’ve never read a book by him, or Rowland.”

  “I haven’t read Rowland, but I did read two of Raines’ novels years ago. They’re men’s adventure tales with a little sex tossed in to spice things up. It’s all very macho and extremely dated now.”

  Erica checked her watch. “We’ll be on the ground soon. I can’t wait to interview Jude Rowland.”

  “You really think he’s Wildcard?”

  “I’m not sure. Everything points to it, but it’s all too neat. It’s like we followed a trail of breadcrumbs that led to his door.”

  “We’ll be meeting the town’s police chief when we land. He should be able to give us some insight into Rowland on the drive out to his home.”

  “That’s good, the more we know the better.”

  “The cop, Chief Gary Connors, he says that Jude Rowland is a loner.”

  “That fits the profile we have on Wildcard.”

  * * *

  The jet landed at an airfield that was twelve miles away from the town they were going to. They had expected the rain and were dressed for it. They were wearing blue hooded rain slickers with the initials FBI written on the back in bright yellow letters.

  Two police cars approached the plane after it had taxied to a stop. They were from the town of Sanguine, New Hampshire. One of them was an SUV that belonged to the town’s Chief of Police, Gary Connors. The vehicle’s driver was a female deputy and the police chief was riding in the passenger seat.

  Chief Connors was in his early-sixties but looked nearly as fit as the younger black deputy who stepped out of the patrol car. The chief was broad-shouldered, muscular, but a gut marred his waistline. Connors waved Erica and Owens toward the terminal. A short walk got them out of the rain and into an empty corridor.

  Chief Connors greeted Owens with a smile. The smile wavered as he was introduced to Erica.

  “A female special agent? There can’t be many of you I would guess.”

  “There are quite a few actually,” Erica said, “and they let us have real guns and everything.”

  The female deputy laughed at Erica’s joke and Connors turned to face her.

  “You find something to be humorous, Deputy Perkins?”

  “No, sir, I was just clearing my throat.”

  The chief turned back to face them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you two, and I’m up to speed on this Wildcard case you’re working. I have to tell you, it doesn’t surprise me that Joey Revene is
a suspect in a series of murders.”

  “By Joey Revene you mean Jude Rowland, Chief?” Erica said. “I take it you know the man?”

  “I knew the family, and none of them except for the mother were any good. He may call himself Jude Rowland now, but he’s a Revene. The old man was the town bully, and that brother of his was no damn good either.”

  “Our information says that Jude Rowland has never been in trouble with the law, do you know differently?” Erica asked.

  “You might say that,” Chief Connors said. “I believe the man killed his father.”

  Chapter Ten

  RURAL NEW HAMPSHIRE

  As Erica and Owens rode with Chief Connors toward Jude Rowland’s home, Erica took in the passing scenery. Despite the hard rain falling, she could still discern rolling hills dotted by trees with a smattering of fall-colored leaves still clinging to their branches.

  Erica had never been to New Hampshire before, but she had spent time in Vermont and thought that the landscape looked similar. She knew from experience that the same could not be said of the people. While people everywhere were alike in many respects, environment and history played a huge factor in developing a person’s, and a culture’s character.

  People in New Jersey were different from those in California, and both were dissimilar from the residents of Alabama. Chief Connors believed that Jude Rowland was tainted by his nature, by the fact that he was the son of the town bully. Erica thought it more likely that Rowland’s experiences living under such a man’s thumb would be a larger factor in his upbringing. It wasn’t our blood and bones that formed us, it was our minds, our beliefs, and our experiences.

  * * *

  The Chief was riding in the passenger seat of his own vehicle while the female deputy drove. The deputy was named Linda Perkins. The blonde and hazel-eyed Perkins was attractive and looked to be about the same age as Jude Rowland.

  Erica wondered if Perkins was a native of the town. If so, she would have known Rowland while she was growing up. Erica decided that she would seek her out and speak with her later, without the chief present.

  Chief Connors was turned around in his seat so he could talk with them. Erica and Owens were in the rear seats with no cage separating them from the chief and Perkins. When arrests were made, someone else would have to transport the suspects. It seemed the chief didn’t want to soil his vehicle by carting around riffraff.

  The patrol car that had been at the airport was following behind the chief’s vehicle. Erica thought it was unnecessary; at this point they just wanted to ask Jude Rowland a few questions.

  “Chet Revene was Joey’s father,” the chief said, “or Jude Rowland as he likes to be called now. Chet was a drunk who settled arguments with his fists. I know he beat his wife, hell, I responded to a domestic call at their house when I was a rookie. Chet had hit his wife so hard that the flesh around her eyes was turning purple.”

  “There’s nothing about that in our files,” Owens said.

  “Sarah, that was the wife’s name, she never pressed charges. It wasn’t long after that she left town with that damn French artist.”

  “Is she in contact with her son?” Erica asked.

  “No,” the chief said with a sigh. “Sarah has never come back to town.”

  “Why did you say that Rowland killed his father?”

  The chief made a face of disgust. “Chet ran his truck into a telephone pole one night. There were no skid marks and his level of alcohol consumption was off the charts. I worked that accident and I found a trail of blood along the highway, at the top of a hill. When I talked with Joey later that night, I saw that he had a fresh bandage on his hand.”

  “I don’t understand the significance of the blood,” Erica said. “What do you suspect happened?”

  “Chet was found on the wrong side of the cab. While that could be explained by the crash, it was clear that his skull had impacted with the passenger side of the windshield. I think Joey placed that pickup truck in gear and sent it down the hill. He wasn’t aiming for that pole either. There was a fifty-foot drop on either side of it. I believe he cut his hand on the edge of the door as he leapt out, then walked home through the woods. I could never prove a damn thing though.”

  “What was he like when you questioned him? Did he seem nervous?” Erica asked, then she watched as the chief and his female deputy smiled.

  “Did I say something funny?”

  “Your Jude Rowland doesn’t get nervous. That boy is as cold as ice.”

  “Wasn’t he still a minor at the time?”

  “He was seventeen, and already in college for a year. He might write pure garbage but he’s a smart bastard. After his father died, Joey eventually got the house and land and whatever money Chet had left from what his own father left him.”

  “The Revenes had money?”

  “They were well-off before Chet gambled away most of it. Chet’s grandfather had made a mint in the textile industry.”

  “Why would Jude Rowland kill his own father? For the money?”

  “Maybe, but his daddy beat him too,” Perkins said quietly. “The man was a monster.”

  “I know about that, but Rowland had been moved to a foster home while his father was in prison. He’d have no reason to fear that he’d be placed back in the man’s care.”

  “I think Joey was getting payback for the beatings Chet gave him,” said the chief.

  “All right, but if true, that was a personal motive,” Owens said. “Quite different from killing strangers.”

  “I have no trouble believing that Joey could be a serial murderer. He’s no good, just like that brother of his.”

  “You’re speaking of John Revene, the brother that left home while still a teenager?” Owens said.

  “John robbed a store before he left town. That’s a fact that was attested to by three witnesses, although, the statute of limitations ran out on that crime years ago. Beyond that, I also like him for a murder that took place that same day.”

  “Who was murdered?”

  “It was a local woman who was selling herself out of her apartment. I guess she was a hooker, but she also worked part-time at the drugstore. There was a neighbor that remembered seeing a kid in a high school letter jacket leaving her apartment. She didn’t get a good look at him, but it could have been John Revene. The hooker was beaten to death, and that boy was always getting into fights, but then, all of the Revenes have a temper.”

  “I thought you said that Jude Rowland was cold as ice.”

  “Oh, he is, on the surface, but that bastard has got a mean temper too. He got in a fight with my son at school when he was about nine. After Zach knocked him down twice, Joey pulled out a pocket knife and cut my boy. A teacher stopped things from going any further. When I arrived on the scene, my boy was bleeding from a cut over his eye. Zach still has the scar it caused. I wanted to press charges, instead, Joey got therapy.”

  Given the face of disgust the chief made when he said the word therapy, Erica was certain he wasn’t a believer in the practice.

  “You think Rowland lives with suppressed rage?” Erica asked.

  The chief held up a hand. “I can’t prove it because he hasn’t gotten into trouble since then, but that boy was always getting into fights as a kid, and now he’s Mr. Cool. You tell me, where did the anger and hostility go?”

  “Maybe he worked through the source of those emotions and has learned a constructive way to funnel them, perhaps by writing.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but I’m not buying it,” the chief said, then his eyes brightened as an idea occurred to him. “If you’re investigating his brother you must have looked into John too. Whatever became of that bastard? I was never able to track him down.”

  Owens shook his head. “He dropped off the radar after leaving your town. But tell me, were the brothers close?”

  “John was nine years older than Joey, so no, I guess they weren’t as close as they would have been if they were nearer in age to each o
ther.”

  Perkins rounded a curve and began to slow. When Erica looked out the windshield, she saw a wooden fence and a metal gate. The gate wasn’t solid, as it was constructed of wrought iron, but it did appear imposing. It also looked new, as did the fence. The barrier was built up against hedges that ran the entire length of the fence, making it difficult to see through. Jude Rowland liked his privacy.

  “We’re here,” Perkins said.

  Erica sighed with disappointment. She’d been hoping to have the element of surprise when she questioned Jude. That was impossible if the man had to buzz open a gate to let them in.

  Deputy Perkins maneuvered the SUV as close as she could get to the post the intercom was attached to. After lowering her window, she donned her uniform cap and leaned out into the rain. The intercom beeped as Perkins pressed a button and spoke.

  “Joey? It’s Linda Perkins. I’m here officially with some people who want to talk to you.”

  Owens nudged Erica. When she looked over at him, she saw that he was pointing at a tree, where a camera was positioned.

  “We’re being observed,” Owens said.

  Perkins received no answer and tried again. After there was still no response, she rolled up her window and spoke to the chief.

  “What should we do now?”

  The chief tossed his chin toward the gate. “He heard you and decided to walk out.”

  Erica opened her door and stepped into the rain to get a better look. Jude Rowland was walking toward them dressed in a black hooded rain slicker, jeans, and boots. Padding beside him were three huge German shepherds who didn’t seem to mind the downpour at all. Erica knew from his driver’s license photo that Jude’s hair was dark, and his eyes were blue; however, she was startled by the sense of self-assuredness his eyes projected.

  Jude approached while staring at Linda Perkins, who had gotten out of the SUV with the others. The deputy shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Yes, there was history between the two of them, Erica was certain of that now. When Jude’s eyes fell upon her, she felt the weight of his stare and matched it with her own. Her reward was a slight nod, then Jude’s gaze moved on to Owens, and finally the chief.