Johnny Revenge

by Remington Kane

  In an earlier conversation with Agent Whitford, Erica discovered that Whitford was understanding about Jude’s earlier reticence to turn on his brother, despite the evidence that linked John to the Traveler murders. But then, Whitford was one of four brothers who were part of a close-knit family.

  * * *

  When a commercial break came on the television, Jude turned it off, then poured coffee for himself and Erica. Owens was at the front of the house, in the darkened living room, while Troy Carson was upstairs keeping watch from a window in a spare bedroom. Everyone was hoping that Traveler would show himself soon.

  As Jude stirred cream into his cup, he looked across the table at Erica.

  “It’s nice to have you over for coffee, but did you have to bring along so many friends?”

  Erica smiled. Jude could be charming when he wanted. The thought struck her once again that she would have enjoyed meeting him under different circumstances.

  “My friends and I will take our leave soon. Have you thought about what you’ll do once all this is over?”

  “Do? I’ll just go back to my daily routine.”

  “What about Linda Perkins? You two could make a go of it; you said yourself that you get lonely at times.”

  “Are you trying to play matchmaker again, Agent Novac?”

  “No. I was just making an observation.”

  Jude stared at her. “You’re the one I’d like to get to know better. I’m attracted to you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’m flattered, but we would never work out. My life is back in Washington DC.”

  “When this case is over…”

  “Yes?”

  “Maybe you could visit me sometime and take a break from that life.”

  Erica smiled. “I won’t say I’m not tempted.”

  Owens entered the room. Instead of his usual suit he was wearing jeans and hiking boots. If Traveler evaded capture and took off through the woods, Owens wanted to be prepared to give chase.

  Jude told Owens to help himself to coffee, then he left the table so he could use the bathroom. When he’d exited the kitchen, Owens took the seat beside Erica.

  “Did you have an opportunity to see Rhonda Wheeler while you were in Virginia, Brad?”

  “I did, and she’s doing great. We made plans to go out to dinner again when I get back to DC.”

  “I’m glad. You’ve been smiling more since you’ve met her.”

  Owens checked his watch. “I really hope Traveler shows tonight. I hate waiting for things to happen.”

  “I do too, but the ball is in his court.”

  “If we do nab him it will boost our careers. I could use a promotion and pay raise, to help with my father’s care.”

  “Won’t selling his house bring in money for that?”

  “Sure, but that takes time.”

  Erica opened her computer tablet and began flipping through photos.

  “Are those part of the case?” Owens asked.

  “These are pictures that Sly Perhach took before he was caught. I’ll send you copies.”

  When Erica reached the photos of Jude and Linda kissing, she paused, and something like envy flitted across her mind.

  Chapter Forty-One

  MANCHESTER, NEW HAMPSHIRE

  John Revene walked along a highway carrying a red plastic gas can. He looked like a man who’d run out of fuel, which was the impression he was hoping to make. In reality, John had siphoned the gas out of the vehicle he was using and poured it down a sewer.

  As he rounded a curve the lights of a gas station came into view. John went inside the station’s convenience store and paid for five gallons of gas using cash.

  While inside the store, he made certain that the security cameras caught a glimpse of his face. He also mentioned to the clerk that the fuel gauge in the car he was using didn’t work. The clerk was sympathetic, having owned a car with the same problem once.

  John filled the gas can and strode back down the highway. The lights of the oncoming cars caused him to squint, while the breeze they spawned in their wake chilled him and pelted him with grit from the road. After rounding the curve and walking a few hundred yards, he veered off onto a side road that had a surface formed by dirt and gravel.

  The road was seldom used by anyone and was the remnant of the construction project that had built new homes in the area. That project had been completed and the road dead-ended at the rear of a cul-de-sac.

  John couldn’t hear Travis’s and Mindy’s muffled pleas for help until he was standing right next to the car’s trunk. The ambient noise from the nearby highway was threatening to drown them out.

  If there were any homes bordering the woods along the dirt path, they weren’t close. With the darkness, and the traffic passing by them at high speed, John might as well have been alone in a desert with the unfortunate couple.

  John opened the trunk, but no light came on. The bulb in the old junker had burned out years ago. Travis and Mindy stared up at him with eyes that went from hopeful to deep despair. It made John smile to realize they had believed someone might have been rescuing them.

  “It’s just me. And good news, we’re almost done.”

  John removed the gas cap on the car and inserted a plastic funnel inside the opening. It was located under the rear license plate, which folded down on springs to allow access. However, instead of pouring the gas in the tank, he began emptying it into the trunk and onto Travis and Mindy. John soaked Travis, who began breathing hard through his nose as panic threatened to overtake him.

  With Mindy, John was careful to only drench her lower half, although a few drops soaked the hem of her blouse. She wore no shoes. John had removed them from her feet before leaving the house. The red spiked heels he’d taken from Mindy’s closet had been tossed onto the front seat of the car.

  When the gas can was half empty, John let it drop to the ground. The can tipped over and gasoline leaked out, to be absorbed by the dirt.

  Mindy had become so terrified that she passed out.

  So much the better, John thought. It would make things easier for him.

  Travis was panicked as well. He looked as white as a sheet of paper in the dim glow of light cast by the half-full moon.

  John put on a pair of rubber gloves he’d found in Travis’s home, reached in, and pulled Mindy out of the trunk. Instead of picking her up, he let her fall to the dirt. Mindy released a moan without opening her eyes. John reached around to her back and cut her wrists free. Afterward, he grabbed Travis by his neck.

  “Hold still; I’m going to free your hands.”

  It took a moment for Travis’s terrified mind to grasp John’s words, but when he did, he became still, as hope blossomed. John cut the tape around Travis’s wrists while being careful not to get gasoline on anything except the gloves he wore. He then ripped the duct tape free and dropped it into the trunk. While freeing Travis’s ankles, John told Travis that if he tried to attack him, he’d set him on fire. That made Travis behave as John had known it would, taking all thoughts of brave action from Travis’s mind.

  As he stepped back, John removed the gloves. He then took out a set of matches he’d found in a kitchen drawer in the couple’s home. After lighting one, he set the matchbook on fire, then tossed it into the trunk.

  The whoosh of the flames was louder and more intense than John imagined they would be. He felt the fire’s hot breath singe his face as his pupils constricted from the sudden burst of light.

  John leapt back as Travis, who had become a howling human torch, catapulted from the trunk. His proximity to Mindy set her pants on fire. The cotton slacks she was wearing ignited and her legs were engulfed in flames.

  Travis’s screams had awakened Mindy, and she joined in the macabre chorus as her flesh was consumed. Mindy patted at the flames, burning her hands, then rolled in the dirt to extinguish the fire. Much damage had already been done to Mindy’s lower half, and her hands were blistered and burnt.

  As f
or Travis, he had run blindly into a tree, took several steps backwards, then fallen to the ground, where he died. His body continued to burn, producing a sickening scent.

  Mindy was in a world of agony and writhing on the ground. John cut away her blouse and bra with the knife with no resistance. The extreme pain radiating from her legs was Mindy’s sole focus. She wasn’t topless for long, as John slipped the skimpy red halter onto her. He had hoped to add the shoes but realized they would have been burnt away by the flames, as her pants had been. It was better to leave them in the front seat of the car, where they might escape the fire.

  John studied Mindy, as he tried to judge how long she might survive. Not wanting to risk her hanging on for days, days in which she might talk, he bent down and covered her mouth and nose with his hands. A new born kitten would have offered more resistance than Mindy gave him. Her energy had been spent and she was barely maintaining consciousness. It took John only moments to still her breathing forever.

  Lifting her dead right hand, John braced himself before raking Mindy’s fingernails along the soft flesh of his neck. It was a final touch that he hoped might buy him a little more time.

  The flaming vehicle had attracted the attention of those passing by on the road and cars began to slow on the highway. Before anyone could investigate, John slipped off into the trees. In his left hand was Mindy’s top and bra. John had carried out his plan, now it was time to wait and see if the FBI and the cops fell for his scheme.

  He was twelve steps into the trees when he remembered the phone, the one he had used to call Jude. He plucked it from his pocket as he went back. However, a pair of headlights were creeping up the lane, so John tossed the cell phone near the side of the car.

  Once again, he moved through the trees. If things went the way he’d planned, the FBI would be calling off their search for him by morning. That would leave him a clear path to head to Sanguine, his brother, and the promised money that would fund a new life.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  SANGUINE, NEW HAMPSHIRE, TWENTY HOURS LATER

  Grant Whitford had received a call just after one a.m. when the Manchester Police Department responded to an alert he had issued. It concerned the stolen cell phone John had used. It was found at the scene of what appeared to be an abduction gone wrong, or perhaps it went right in one respect, as the would-be abductor wound up dead.

  Mindy had yet to be identified, but after finding the phone, it was hoped that the other body at the scene belonged to Traveler.

  Whitford and other key agents from the task force arrived in Manchester at two a.m., while leaving the operation at Jude’s home active. When Whitford was informed that skin had been found beneath the fingernails of the female decedent, he phoned the state police crime lab and asked that a rushed test be performed on the sample.

  A forensic specialist was roused from bed early and the skin sample was ferried to his lab in a patrol car that had the lights and siren going. Whitford grew more hopeful after learning that a man matching John Revene’s description had purchased gasoline from the station a short walk away from the scene of the fire.

  The charred body they’d found was also a rough match for Revene’s size and weight. Then again, the fire had eaten away the corpses’ skin and charred much of the body’s flesh.

  The easiest thing to test for was blood type. It was a match. When the DNA results came from the lab, they were accompanied by a warning from the forensic specialist. He insisted that the testing he’d rendered was accurate but by no means in keeping with approved methods.

  On top of that, they had asked him to compare it to the sample of DNA that was recovered from the rooming house in Youngstown, Ohio. That DNA was John’s and believed to have come from Traveler.

  The conclusion reached was that the flesh found under Mindy’s fingernails matched the previous sample. That is to say, it matched it in enough respects to say that there was a “Strong likelihood of the samples having the same donor.”

  Although a standard DNA test would be performed on the burnt body in the morgue after the Thanksgiving holiday. Whitford felt he didn’t need it. In his mind, Traveler was dead.

  As for Mindy, she was assumed to be a prostitute that Revene had chosen as a victim. There were no women of her age and description reported missing in the area. The skimpy top she wore in November weather only heightened the opinion that she was a hooker.

  Whoever she was, the woman had obviously seen an opportunity to fight back while Revene was busy pouring gas into the tank of the car he’d stolen. To her misfortune, she was mortally injured by the same fire she used to kill her abductor.

  Whitford had been walked through the scene by the homicide detectives handling the case and he agreed with their conclusions.

  John G. Revene, the serial killer known as Traveler, was dead.

  * * *

  Despite not having slept in over a day, Erica was feeling energized. With the Traveler case ending it meant that she would be returning home soon. She missed sleeping in her own bed and wanted to see her mother and sister again.

  The Wildcard case was over, Traveler was dead, and every question she had concerning the two cases had been answered. All except one that is. If Zach Connors had been Wildcard, why did he kill the call girl in Cocoa Beach, Florida?

  While it was true that Erica believed Zach Connors could have somehow committed the murder of his former girlfriend, Keri Jones, that would have been a crime of passion. The Cocoa Beach victim Tessa White had no known connection to Connors. If the spray paint can with the fingerprints of a Wildcard victim hadn’t been dropped at the scene, Tessa White would have never made it onto Erica’s radar.

  It was White’s murder and the similarity to the pattern of wounds inflicted by her killer that interested Whitford in her. Still, without that can of spray paint, Wildcard and Traveler would have never been linked in the minds of those hunting them.

  The more she considered it, the faster Erica’s good mood ended, to be replaced by the feeling that she had missed something. There was always that sense of things when a case remained unsolved, but she should be feeling good about the outcome of these closed cases. And she did feel good, didn’t she?

  * * *

  The next day, Simon DeVeaux wasn’t pleased to see Erica when she walked up to him inside the trailer park. He had failed to notice her arrival because he’d had his head buried beneath the hood of his old car. The wreck had failed to start that morning when Simon turned the key.

  When Troy Carson appeared behind Erica, the annoyed expression on Simon’s face became a worried one.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s go for a walk in the woods, Simon?” Erica said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “A walk, I’ve heard that you walk in the woods around here a lot. I thought you might take me on a tour.”

  Simon shook his head. “I don’t want to go for a walk with you.”

  Erica stepped closer to him. “You either walk with me or I’ll have the police out here. It’s your choice.”

  Simon turned and rested his butt on the car. “You know about the pot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn!”

  Erica stayed silent while she waited for Simon to make the next move. If he tried to run, she’d let him go and call the police. She was hoping he was smarter than that.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m not a cop or a DEA agent. I was in town investigating a string of murders. Besides, as I understand it, the state allows you to grow enough cannabis for your own use. They just don’t want you going into business as a dealer. You might wind up in legal trouble if you don’t destroy at least some of those plants.”

  Simon was nodding his head vigorously. “I’ll get rid of them, but why are you letting me slide?”

  “You don’t have a record; I want you to keep it that way.”

  “Really?”

  “I do
n’t think you’re cut out for the criminal life, Simon.”

  “I know it was stupid, but I needed the extra money. I want to start a business, a legitimate business. I don’t want to be working at the hotel the rest of my life.”

  “Ambition is good, just find a legal way to fund it, okay?”

  “Yeah, and hey… thanks.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Your Aunt Molly, she knows about the plants, doesn’t she?”

  Simon’s mouth opened in surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “I spotted you two having an argument at the hotel. Molly looked as if she were angry with you.”

  “She figured out that I was doing something with Luther Carmichael. She doesn’t like Luther and is trying to get him evicted from her property. When I told her about the pot, she told me I was being stupid.”

  “She was right.”

  “I know. I probably would have stopped on my own soon anyway. I hate disappointing Molly.”

  Erica nodded before turning back to walk to Troy’s black SUV. As Troy put the vehicle in gear, they heard Simon call to them. When Simon ran over, he had a favor to ask.

  “Can you give me a ride? My car is dead.”

  “Where do you want to go?” Erica asked.

  “Jude Rowland told my Aunt Molly he wants to see me.”

  “Jude called you?”

  “He called my aunt and she passed along the message.”

  “Did he say why he wanted to see you?”

  “No, but I’m curious, you know?”

  “So am I,” Erica said. “Hop in the back.”

  * * *

  Jude was surprised to see Erica accompany Simon to his door, but he was pleased to find her still in town.