The Vigilante

by Ramona Forrest

  Will ate slowly. He watched the other young children screaming, climbing, and sliding about on the large, plastic, play structures. Thankfully, the elderly man had taken his meal and left.

  They quietly ate their meal and, after some time, Will slowly removed his sneakers, put them in a slot made especially for children’s shoes, and almost reluctantly began playing. Subdued at first, he finally joined in, running, climbing, sliding, and yelling with the others.

  Martha wanted to cry with relief at seeing Will act like a normal little boy, if only for a little while. She whipped out her cell. “Jeannie, guess what? Will’s running and playing, just like always.”

  “Oh, thank God for that!” she heard her daughter say.

  After listening to her Jeannie’s delighted reply, she said, “See ya later, dear,” and clicked off. Will played a while longer, and nearly refused to leave when it was time.

  She surmised he felt safe surrounded by those his own age. He could let loose, and relax where only small children are allowed to play. A positive, she felt delighted to be able report to his mother.

  Will reluctantly departed the Biggie’s Burgers play area and she took him home. Watching in the rear view mirror, she noted a bit of sparkle in his eyes as he bounced about in his safety seat. She took it as a hopeful sign. “Did you have a good lunch, Will?”

  “Yep, Grammy, I sure did. But it’s all gone away now.” He puffed out a sigh, slumped down in his seat, no longer looking outside at passing vehicles or people walking with pets—something he’d always done before.

  He’s returned to his dreadful memories. Martha seethed again with hatred toward the man who’d committed that foul act upon her darling. I hope he burns in hell for what he’s done. Silently cursing the man, she drove her grandchild home, her mind roiling in fury at their helplessness.

  Leaving Will at the door, Martha told Jeannie, “Except for the old gentleman speaking to us, it went fine. He had a good time, if only for a little while.”

  “Thanks, Mom, for taking him.” The beginning of tears glimmered in Jeannie’s eyes as Martha drove away, leaving her standing there.

  But Martha had to be at work at three, and while at the hospital, her mind and body were kept very busy. A blessing. And it got her out of the house.

  ***

  Chief Detective Ryan Mapus sat at his desk. A thick mop of darkly-shaded, blond hair hung over his forehead as he leaned into his work. His white, rolled-up shirt sleeves, displayed well-muscled arms, the benefit of working out daily in the police gym. He raised his head when the door opened and Officer Art Jarvis came shuffling in, a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. Ryan heard wheezing as the overweight man puffed toward him with a glow of excitement glistening in his eyes. Ryan disliked the man and wished he could ignore him.

  “Morning, Ryan, how’s it going?” A sly chuckle escaped his lips. “Got something for you and, man, you’ll never believe this!” He slapped the manila file on Ryan’s desk, making his already overloaded desktop look even messier as a few scattered papers flew about in disarray.

  “Here now, dammit, quit slopping up my desk!” he groused. “What the hell you got there?” Ryan disliked a disturbance, unless it ranked high in importance, and he couldn’t help how he viewed Jarvis, either.

  “Remember the case where that kiddie predator, Callahan, got off on account of that Miranda thing?” Jarvis’s fleshy, tanned face bore a secretive grin. He had a protruding paunch, and his clothes were even more unkempt today. He wheezed occasionally, even without exertion, as he stood before Ryan’s desk.

  “Yeah, yeah, who could forget that screw-up? The entire city was ready to bring out a lynch mob and I don’t blame them—damned idiot rookie!”

  “Somebody took real good care of the bastard.” Jarvis shoved a fleshy forefinger down on the report and tapped. “Take a look.”

  “No shit, you’re kidding—what’re you saying?” Ryan’s head snapped up and his blue eyes honed in on the report. He felt his pulse begin to race as he grabbed up the papers and took a detailed look.

  “Read it and weep,” Jarvis wheezed. “Hey, now you’ve got to protect the bastard. We didn’t help that poor kid worth a damn, but Callahan’s got his rights, you know.” Jarvis wheezed a laugh, belched, and his paunch jiggled beneath his thin cotton shirt. Ryan suppressed a snort of disgust. “Looks good so far. Tell me what you know about it while I check this report.” Ryan spread the papers over his desk and continued reading. After a few moments, he slammed his fist on them. “Jesus, God! “Somebody sure as hell had it in for the miserable bastard.” As a male, he readily appreciated the utter devastation the poor guy faced for the rest of his life. He shivered in distaste. “Now that’s what I call revenge!”

  “Harris saw him at the Emergency Room, and it’s completely permanent according to the ER Doc. It was our dear Freddie for sure. Said he sniveled and whined all the way through the report and complained about his civil rights being violated. He was worried we wouldn’t work real hard finding the guy who did it.” Jarvis laughed at the idea. “Bastard won’t be molesting little boys real soon, not after what somebody did to ‘im.” Jarvis had small children at home, too. Most of the staff did.

  A lazy smile spread across Ryan’s lips “He’ll have to come in so we can finish this report. I imagine that’ll be my pleasure. Should be real, real, interesting.” He continued to read the report, not finding much that Jarvis hadn’t reported. “Do they know what this purple stain is?”

  “Not yet, it’s in the lab. Found a few drops at the crime scene, and the ER, along with what was left of his gonads. They were little more than mush by what they picked up. The boys had ‘em in a little plastic bag along with some gravel.” Jarvis shuddered and wheezed at the same time. “Alan told Callahan to come in and complete his statement as soon as he can walk and sit down, something he can’t do just now.” He snickered. “I’m sorry, Ryan, but it’s damned hard to be professional about this case.” He turned to leave, a smile across his lips. “We’ll call you soon as he shows his face.”

  “Right, keep me in the loop, and thanks, Art. Sometimes what we get isn’t all bad news.” Ryan had difficulty finding pity for Fred Callahan, though he knew he’d have added legwork following the evidence in a case like this.

  Do we have a vigilante coming out of the woodwork? he wondered. Was it just this particular guy? Will there be others? He shrugged again, re-read the report, wrinkled his brow, and pursed his lips in contemplation.

  CHAPTER 6

  A few days later, Denny assisted Callahan into his car, limping and complaining about his woeful situation as he struggled to find comfort, sitting even partially upright on the worn seats. Going to the police station had him tied in knots, dreading further interactions with those officers who knew him. Thoughts of facing them at the interview held no comfort for him, only a mountain of renewed anxiety.

  A bright sunny day, the air felt cool and crisp, but the occurrence of warming spring weather brought Callahan no joy. He gave it little notice as they drove toward the station. He still hurt like hell and he hated the sick kind of fear that had invaded his life unlike anything he’d ever known.

  Callahan worried constantly about how the police would handle his case and how they’d receive him, especially the ones who knew him and the crime he’d committed. “Those cops wanted to hang me out to dry with this last arrest, and they were mad as hell I got off. They’ll likely pin a medal on the guy who did this goddamned, fucking thing to me.”

  “Last arrest?” Denny nearly gasped. “Are you saying you’ve got a long string of priors, and you’re still out on the streets?” He paused then shrugged. “Well, a crime’s been committed against you and it’s their sworn duty to uphold the law.” He almost laughed. “You have rights, same as anyone else, and don’t you forget it!”

  Denny’s own knuckles were white enough as he gripped the steering wheel. His private life had never been discussed by the two men, yet they sensed a brotherho
od, an unspoken commonality between them.

  Both men were positive the police had thrown a big party after hearing about the assault committed upon Callahan.

  “Vindictive bastards, the lot of them!” Shaky and uncertain, Callahan couldn’t help but add, “The Miranda thing worked for me, but I hope to hell it won’t work for the bastard that did this to me.” He tried to feel optimistic, and found it impossible.

  “Yeah, well that was a damned lucky fluke for you. Don’t forget, your ass’d be in stir for years to come if they could’ve used all those priors you never mentioned before today.”

  “What about now? Won’t they be celebrating what happened to me, Denny?” They pulled into the parking lot and Callahan’s tension mounted. His face felt tight, his ass burned with pain, and icy chills ran rampantly through his body. “Oh, God, I wish we didn’t have to come here. You don’t know how much I dread this. They won’t want to help me. You know they won’t. I don’t know why we have to haul-ass down here anyway.”

  “Oh, shut the hell up, Fred. Let’s just go in and get it over with. I’ll be there with you, and let me tell you, police stations aren’t real high on my list of favorite places. You’re damn lucky I’ve come at all.” Denny stepped to Callahan’s door to assist him. “Go easy, now. If you need a hand, just say so.”

  His face felt tight as hell, and ice water had settled into his guts. But as was nervous as he was about being at a police station, he probably couldn’t match Callahan’s reluctance at coming here this morning.

  Together they made their way into the station. Approaching the youngish, blonde woman who managed the front desk, Callahan stated his business, hating that his voice sounded halting and weak. “We’re here to complete an assault report and need to see an Officer Harris. I believe he’s the one.”

  The young woman behind the desk stopped chewing her gum and asked for names and the complaint. After quickly making a few notes, she punched a button. “Officer Harris, someone’s here to see you, gives his name as a Frederick Callahan.” She listened for a moment then said to Fred and Denny, “He’ll be right here. Go ahead, take a seat.” She motioned to a row of chairs lined against the outside wall and turned to the next person in line.

  The place crawled with people, some uniformed, some in plain clothes, and a few souls in handcuffs. They didn’t know any of them and all concerned seemed intent on their own particular business. Seeing the bustling place only added to their discomfort.

  “Denny, she seemed okay, didn’t she?” Callahan murmured, referring to the receptionist, while teetering sideways trying to find comfort on the hard metal chair. “Damn, I can barely sit, even now.” He snuffled. “No padded seats in this hell hole.”

  Denny said nothing as he looked at a magazine that was scruffy and ripped around the edges. “Woman’s Day! What the hell’s a thing like this doing in a police station?” He threw it down, lacerating the already torn pages further and settled to wait with Callahan. “This place looks busy as hell,” he commented, watching an officer haul a manacled prisoner behind him. Even a few police dogs were on the scene.

  Several moments later, Officer Harris came out. “Good morning.” He motioned for them to follow. “Please come into the interrogation room and take a seat. Our Chief of Detectives will sit in on the interview with us—be here in a sec.” He ushered them down a narrow hallway into a spare, austere office and more uncomfortable metal chairs.

  It contained a desk and two chairs on one side for the interviewee and a couple of padded ones on the other side for the officers. None of the visitor’s chairs sported any sort of padding, Callahan noticed, as his misery continued to mount. He edged onto a seat while they waited for the other detective. Would he know the man? Would the man know him? He already knew the answer to that question. Everyone at this station knew him and what he’d been accused of.

  The door squeaked as it opened to admit Chief Detective Ryan Mapus. Oh shit! This bastard detective was on my other case. Callahan felt his scalp prickle. Oh, hell yes! He knows me. His heart sank in agony at the plight he faced dealing with this particular hard-boiled lawman as the man edged into a seat opposite him. He thought the man wore a smirk across his lips, but he couldn’t be sure. Easy enough to borrow trouble these days. He already knew nothing would turn out right for him, not anymore.

  Officer Harris started the interview. “All right then, Mr. Callahan, begin at the beginning. Tell us in full detail, as best you can, what occurred in Leesford Park on the morning in question. Try to remember if you saw the offending person, what he wore, his voice, his smell, anything that’d be helpful in identifying your attacker—anything at all.”

  “Well, officer, I didn’t see anyone else on the track, but I wasn’t looking to see any other joggers there so early anyway. Went around the track twice like I always do, trying to take off a few pounds, you know. When I came to this thick grove of trees on the rise, he must have jumped me.” His voice had reached a high-pitched whine as Callahan put his hands over his face and doubled over. “Oh God, he’s ruined me for life! I wish to hell he’d killed me!”

  “You didn’t catch a glimpse of the guy at all, eh?” Ryan tried to fill in the time allotted for this statement, having to fulfill his duty as a duly sworn detective, but he felt like busting a gut, seeing this sorry-ass child predator whining about his injuries and demanding his civil rights. Could Callahan’s voice have gotten higher already, he wondered. So soon after his injuries?

  The questioning went on for two hours before the officers called it quits. “You haven’t given us much to go on here, but we’re checking everything out. We’ve done forensics at the park and we’ll keep you informed on the case.” Harris and Ryan stood to usher the two men out. Both men noted Callahan’s halting, limping gait.

  Harris returned after he’d escorted Denny Garver and Fred Callahan to the front. “Well, we haven’t a lot to go on here: men’s boot tracks, purple specks on the ground, same as the ER doctor found on Callahan’s wounds. And let’s not forget the crushed and stomped gonads. Looks like someone wearing men’s boots ground those little bastards into the gravel. Must have been mad as hell at Callahan by the looks of it, all the stomping and grinding they did on those poor damned things.”

  Ryan shivered just thinking about it. “Whoever did it used those long hospital-type sanitary pads on him. Are we dealing with someone who has hospital or medical exposure? And why try to prevent infection? Obviously, the perpetrator wasn’t out to kill Callahan.”

  “Possible, very possible,” Harris offered. “Definitely looks like revenge, but would a man think of using sanitary pads? I guess a hospital-trained man might. What better sterile dressing than that, easily bought at a hospital supply store, or taken home from work?”

  The men sat for a time, pondering possible scenarios. Finally, Ryan said, “It could be revenge taken by some family member. The Moulton kid can’t be the only child this man has gone after. With a child predator, many cases are never reported if family members are involved. Could be a lot of people hated the man, including people we don’t know about. Someone sure as hell had reason enough.” He laughed slightly. “Took the wind out of Callahan’s sails and on a scale of one to ten, I for one, can’t feel more than a minus zero for his sorrow, pain, and suffering.” He paused, chuckled again. “Pain and suffering—sounds like a lawsuit. This whole damned thing tickles the living shit out of me!”

  Harris let out a loud guffaw but instantly tried to tone it down. “Brother, you are not alone. I can’t think of a soul around here that isn’t snickering in his chops over this case.”

  Ryan didn’t want to sound unprofessional, but after he closed the door, they both let loose for a long moment. It felt damned good—still, he could help but wonder what the hell they were dealing with.

  CHAPTER 7

  Martha parked in her usual spot in the employee’s lot at Mercy Hospital and checked with the staffing office. The staffing officer handed her the evening’s assign
ment with a smile. “I hope med-surg is okay with you.”

  “It is,” Martha assured her and made her way to 3-West, a surgical floor. After greeting several of the other staff, she got a coffee and settled in the conference room. It was a quiet area away from the bustle of the busy floor. Sitting there, Martha awaited the taped report from the previous shift. It was usually recorded for the oncoming staff.

  Some workers reported in person from hasty notes taken during the shift. Others made individually taped reports on their patients, then left to complete the last remaining tasks of their shift.

  The oncoming staff joked and laughed, held coffee cups or sodas, and loaded up on recent gossip while they waited for the details on their own particular patients. The sounds of paper shuffling and chatter filled Martha’s ears, but quieted when the charge nurse, Gracie Monahan, wearing the mien of a no-nonsense person, settled into a chair at the head of the table. Seeing who she had this evening and nodding at her crew, she pushed the button and started the tape. This evening all the reports were taped.

  Martha tried to listen attentively and take intelligent notes, but she kept seeing Will’s face before her. Her mind frequently seethed with frustration and helplessness at his suffering. I hope that bastard burns in hell for what he’s done, and I’m glad he’s the one that got beat-up in the park, too! She fought off, yet again, the insidious anger that dwelt within her.

  “Martha, you take 360 to 366 tonight, okay?”

  Shaking herself alert from her funk, Martha replied, “Okay, Gracie, fine with me.” Most of the information lay before her in a print-out. She could fudge the rest, but she knew she’d better pay attention from here on. This is no place for a screw-up, Lavery.