No Justice Series (Book 1): No Justice

by Platt, Sean

  Once her stomach was empty, she stood on wobbly legs then went to the sink and washed her face.

  She caught her eyes in the mirror, and anger claimed her.

  Do not let this fucker do this to you.

  Fight like a cop.

  She stared into the mirror, no longer seeing her reflection. Instead, she saw a clarity that had been missing for too damned long.

  Everything clicked.

  Mal went into her home office to don a pair of gloves and protect the crime scene’s integrity, then she went downstairs, grabbed her camera, and took several shots of the table and box from every possible angle. You never which details might be needed.

  She set down the camera, took a deep breath, then went to the box and lifted the lid.

  There was only a thumb drive inside.

  Mal wanted to bring it to the nearest computer, plug it in, and see what was on it. But doing so could result in a number of other issues — a Trojan horse to compromise her computer, a virus to crash it, or maybe a self-destructing message. She needed to properly document whatever was on the drive, in case it became evidence or could lead to an arrest.

  Staring into the box, Mal knew she could no longer handle this alone.

  She picked up her phone and called Mike.

  “I’d like to report a signal 21.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 11 - JASPER PARISH

  Jasper up in a cold sweat, his heart racing, and a crushing sense of doom weighing down on him like a lead blanket. It was still dark outside, and he’d slept two, maybe three hours at most.

  He always woke up like this after a kill, worried, nervous that he’d left some clue behind and that the cops were seconds from breaking down his door. It was a cycle, and he knew he should do something to fight it, but what could one do to counter anxiety? Jasper didn’t drink or do drugs and wasn’t about to start taking any pharmaceuticals. It wasn’t that he doubted their efficacy. He’d taken a few in the past and they worked too well.

  They placated the fiery part of him that demanded justice for the victimized, for those whom the justice system didn’t work, and for those who had lost their lives.

  Sometimes he thought it would be easier to stop caring. To take some pills, or shots, and tune out the world and its terrible news. That’s how most people got through the day — sticking their heads in the sand, pretending that the system wasn’t broken, that the good guys could protect you from the bad guys. But Jasper knew all too well the dangers of sticking your head in the sand. And temporary ease wasn’t worth the price of lapsed vigilance.

  So he’d deal with the anxiety. It was his cross to bear. Still, it didn’t make the mornings after any easier, especially with a crushing migraine.

  He got out of bed and headed into the apartment’s small living room. Jordyn was already awake, stretched out on the couch, arm propped on the penguin pillow he gave her when she was seven, watching the morning news while tapping away on her phone.

  The living room was way too bright.

  He hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness, save for the soft blue light bleeding from the TV.

  “Can you turn that down?”

  “Got another headache, Daddy?” Jordyn bounded up from the couch and went into the kitchen. “Want me to make you some coffee or breakfast?”

  “Why are you up so early? Didn’t you sleep?”

  She smiled. “Who needs sleep?”

  Jordyn was bubbly and energetic, as she always was after a kill, full of childish enthusiasm without adult fears or guilt to slow her.

  “No, no, I just need to decompress before my workout,” he said, moving past her to the cabinet where he kept his medicine. He grabbed a couple of extra-strength Ibuprofens, then went to the fridge and grabbed a Coke to wash them down. Then he headed to his recliner beside the couch, sat, closed his eyes and waited for relief.

  He could hear Jordyn starting the coffee maker. He wasn’t sure if it was for him, even though he declined, or if she was making iced coffee, which she practically lived on.

  He heard her sit on the couch. Seconds later, the TV’s volume fell to a whisper.

  “Working out after barely any sleep?”

  “My aging cells don’t take the day off, so neither can I. Anything on the news?”

  “Not a peep.”

  “They probably haven’t found him yet.”

  “Don’t worry. We didn’t leave any evidence.”

  They’d had this conversation a dozen times or more.

  “Wishful thinking doesn’t make it so, Jordyn.”

  “It’s not wishful thinking. We’re careful. We have systems — systems you built to minimize mistakes.”

  “Minimize, not eliminate. You can never account for every variable.”

  “Okay, fine. You win. We dropped the ball. We missed something big, and it’s only a matter of time before the police come to get us. Is that what you want to hear?”

  Jasper didn’t respond.

  “But hey, look at the bright side. We’ll be in jail. There’s no shortage of people who deserve justice there!”

  “They’re already in jail.”

  “Yeah, but maybe they ought to be dead. And who better to make things right than us? Maybe we’ll get time off for good behavior, appreciation for killing the worst of the worst.”

  “Stop.”

  “What?”

  “Trying to manipulate my mood.”

  “When you stop all this unnecessary worrying, I’ll stop trying to talk sense into you.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about. I couldn’t live with myself if this thing we do were to hurt you.”

  Jordyn was quiet.

  After thirty seconds, he opened his eyes to see if she was still there.

  She was staring at him. “You don’t need to worry about me. I have gifts, remember?”

  “Yeah, well you don’t see everything coming our way.”

  Jordyn looked down at her hands.

  Another long moment of silence.

  She wiped tears from the corner of her eyes. “We’re in this together, Daddy. Nothing is going to happen to either of us. I promise.”

  “Oh, you promise?” He smiled. “Shit, I didn’t know I was dealing with a super powerful entity who could make promises like that!”

  She picked up her penguin pillow and tossed it at him. Then she raised her arms as if she were about to summon a storm. “Didn’t you hear, I’ve got all the gifts.”

  The coffee maker beeped. “You want coffee or not?”

  “Nah, just make yourself two iced coffees.”

  “Like I wasn’t going to.”

  Jordyn bounded into the kitchen. Jasper couldn’t help but feel a bit better. He often wondered if he was wrong to drag his daughter into this life. But it wasn’t as if he had an option. She more or less forced her way in, and he couldn’t say no. Plus, she was great at balancing him out, easing his anxieties when they threatened to undo him.

  He watched her pour coffee into the giant tumblers. She still had a little girl’s slightly crooked smile. Jasper thought for the millionth time about how quickly she’d grown. He and Carissa took her home from the hospital just yesterday. He’d been a cop for two years and was prepared for any situation, but still remembered feeling scared and woefully unprepared for a baby. He remembered asking Carissa, “Isn’t anybody going to come home with us to tell us what to do?”

  She’d laughed, told him not to worry. They’d figure it all out together.

  And they did. Until her passing.

  He looked at Jordyn and wished that Carissa was still here to see what a wonderful young woman their baby girl had become.

  Jordyn put one of the two tumblers in the fridge, then headed back into the living room with the other one. She froze halfway there, practically paralyzed, eyes rolled back in their sockets, arms shaking, as one of her visions took over.

  Jasper jumped up and stood behind Jordyn, putting one hand on her back, another
on her stomach, to make sure she didn’t fall. He’d learned over the years not to try and shake her out of a vision, or say anything. He simply stood nearby to calm her once she came to, or to catch her if she blacked out and fell, which had happened twice.

  Jasper looked at the TV and saw a small blonde-haired girl’s photo on the screen. Jessi Price. And under her name: MISSING.

  She’d been missing for several days, and yet Jasper was only now hearing about it. He wondered why. Surely the girl’s disappearance had been on the news before now.

  Jordyn stopped shaking, turned to Jasper, and met her father’s eyes.

  “I saw her. He has her.”

  “Who?”

  “The same man that took the cop’s kid.”

  A chill raked his spine. “Is she still alive? What else did you get? A name? A location? Do you know what he looks like?”

  “Yes, she’s still alive. I got a bit of what he looks like, but not enough for a sketch artist. He’s tall. White. Brown curly hair. But beyond that, nothing.”

  “Shit.”

  “But I did get something useful.”

  “What?”

  “I saw through his eyes as he was riding a bus. He looked at his phone to check the time. It was 6:45 in the morning, right as it stopped in front of Rooster’s.”

  There was only one Rooster’s Wing House — twenty minutes from Jasper's apartment.

  He looked at the clock on the cable box: 5:15.

  “Was it today? When he looked at the phone did you notice the day?”

  She closed her eyes, trying to remember.

  He waited anxiously, watching Jordyn’s eyes flutter under their lids. While her gift was valuable, the missing details could be maddening. Jasper wasn’t sure how her psychic visions worked. At certain times it seemed like she was tapping into some collective unconscious, and at other times, into someone’s mind. As fantastical as that seemed, Jasper could see how it could work. After all, human senses were limited. There were all sorts of things that occurred outside of most people’s ability to perceive them. Some people could hear things that others couldn’t. Some could see colors. And some people, like Jordyn, could see things remotely. But that didn’t explain how she could see things that had yet to happen.

  Jasper presumed there was some quantum mechanical explanation, something to do with time not existing as we experience it, that everything happens in one instance, and it’s only our perception that changes.

  It made no sense to Jasper, but he tried not to think too much about it. He didn’t want to risk ruining it. Like when Wile E. Coyote chases Roadrunner off a cliff, overshoots a turn, and is somehow able to run in midair. There’s always that moment where the character is somehow defying gravity because he’s unaware of it. The jig is up once he looks down. Only then does he plummet into the canyon below. Jasper wished he could understand what was happening to Jordyn, or learn to control it so they could get better information. But he refused to look down.

  Jordyn grinned. “I saw the day. It’s tomorrow.”

  Jasper smiled. “Thank you.”

  “One other thing: He has a bandage on his left hand. It might make finding him easier.”

  Jasper pulled his daughter to him, and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. “You’re the best!”

  He went back to his room, got dressed, and returned to the living room waiting for Jordyn to get ready.

  She looked up from the couch. “So, I guess you’re not working out?”

  “It’ll have to wait.”

  **

  Jasper sat on one of the two sheltered bus benches in front of Rooster’s, watching each bus drive by, noting numbers in his journal. So far, two buses had passed, the number 90 and 51. It was fifteen minutes before the killer’s bus would pass, assuming it kept the same time and route each day.

  Jordyn was sitting beside him on the bench, knees under her chin, arms wrapped around her legs as she watched the passing cars.

  She punched him in the arm. “Punch buggy blue.”

  He looked up and saw a blue VW Beetle drive by.

  “Come on, you know I hate this game,” he said.

  “Still being Mr. Cranky Pants?”

  “I’m not cranky. Just tired.”

  A disheveled looking older man was staring at them from one bench over. He was wearing gray pants, frayed along the cuffs, and a cream-colored dress shirt that had also seen better days. His unkempt, dirty-blond hair looked like it had gone through a car wash. Jasper couldn’t tell if the guy was homeless or waiting for the bus. Nor could he tell if he was ogling Jordyn, had no social skills, or was insane. Hell, when a person rode the bus, they could be that special Florida blend of all three.

  Jordyn seemed oblivious to the man’s gawking. As long as she wasn’t bothered, Jasper would try to ignore the man rather than engage. He didn’t have time for Crazy today.

  “Why do you think he’s riding a bus?” Jordyn asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we saw him driving in a van once, and another time in a car. We couldn’t get a make on either, but we can assume he has access to vehicles. So why take a bus?”

  “I dunno. Maybe he uses the time to read up on the latest Murderers self-help book? Maybe get some work done? You didn’t see anything else?”

  “He had a laptop bag. But he wasn’t working on anything when I peeked in.”

  “Hmm, I dunno.”

  Jasper glanced over to see the guy on the other bench still staring at them. He sat up as if itching to say something. Jordyn noticed her father’s distraction and looked over at the man, then back at Jasper.

  “What’s his deal?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  Jordyn turned to him, smiled, and waved.

  Jasper knocked her hand down. “Don’t do that.”

  Jordyn laughed.

  The man kept staring, the way a psychopath might stare at you before coming over to ventilate your body with a knife.

  Jasper whispered, “There’s obviously something wrong with him.”

  He wasn’t worried about their safety, as much an interruption. He glanced at his watch: 7:11 AM. A few more minutes.

  “Do you think he’s on the bus now?” Jordyn asked. “Think we should get on?”

  “As much as I’d love to, I think we wait. Just to make sure there’s not more than one bus that comes around the same time.”

  “Good point.”

  At 7:14 bus number 115 squealed to a stop, lurching forward as the doors hissed open. The bus route was fixed to the front.

  Jasper recorded the route and number. He peered through the windows hoping to spot the killer among the passengers. But Jasper couldn’t see anything through the tint and the large ad painted on the side, windows included, for one of the city’s notorious ambulance chasers.

  Jordyn read the advertisement. “Are you serious? Attorney Ronald J. Law? That can’t be his real name.”

  “I’m pretty sure he made it up.”

  “Only a tool would make up a name like that.”

  “Well, he is a lawyer.”

  The creepy and possibly homeless man left his bench and headed toward the bus, still staring at them, mostly Jasper, with a weird expression.

  Jasper met the man’s stare, part of him wishing that they didn’t have more important business to deal with. Jasper might’ve asked him what his problem was. Then again, he might have said nothing. The guy could be mentally ill, and Jasper didn’t want to get in a fight with a guy who legitimately couldn’t help it.

  He’d dealt with a number of mentally ill people on the job, and it was hard to stay mad when you saw what paved their road. Some were born to junkie parents, some were a product of abuse, and others were soldiers returning to a home neither equipped or caring enough to take care of their needs. He was sympathetic to their pain and thought that only a bully would try to engage them in violence.

  The bus rolled away. While Jasper couldn’t be certain, he was reasonably sur
e that the man kept his eyes on them until he was out of sight.

  Alone again, Jasper and Jordyn waited for the next bus.

  It was another twenty minutes before the next arrival. He wrote the number, then: 20 minutes after.

  He circled the 115 multiple times. “I think this is our bus.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “We go home, find the route, and get on the bus at an earlier stop tomorrow.”

  “And then what?”

  “We take this bastard down.”

  Jordyn smiled.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 12 - MALLORY BLACK

  Mal stepped into her former police precinct with a mix of homesickness and alienation. Thankfully, Harriet Brown was the receptionist on duty. She’d been there for fifteen years, long before Mal.

  “Mallory! Oh, my God!” Harriet smiled from her side of the bulletproof glass.

  She buzzed open the door and came outside for a hug. Harriet was a big woman, and her hug was like a bear’s. “How are you doing, honey?”

  “Okay,” Mal said. “You?”

  “Good.”

  “Charles? Kenny?”

  “Charles is still Charles. Kenny just graduated from Florida State.”

  “That’s great.”

  Harriet was about to launch into small talk, and as much as Mal hated cutting her short, she’d be here all day if she didn’t.

  “Is the chief in?”

  Harriet’s brow furrowed. She looked like she was about to ask for more information, but stopped herself. She could go on and on about personal matters, but she was a good employee who knew when it was time for business. And she could probably tell that something was wrong.

  “Yeah, hold on a sec.”

  Harriet went back inside the door, then disappeared.

  Mal watched a family sitting in the lobby, a heavyset woman with two toddlers, maybe twins, a boy and a girl. The girl was crying on her mother’s shoulder while the boy sat in his chair, staring at Mal.

  Mal smiled at the boy.

  He didn’t smile back.

  His eyes and nose were red.