Silent Justice

by Rayven T. Hill

  “I’ve been looking for you. I want to help you.”

  Adam laughed. “I doubt that.” His face sobered. “Nobody can help me. You must know that.”

  “Give yourself up and you’ll see.”

  “Never.” Adam tucked his hands into his pockets, the handle of the bag looped over his wrist. He raised his chin, his face darkening. “I know what would happen to me if I did.”

  Jake looked at the man who had killed in cold blood, not once, but twice, now defiant, desperate, and on the verge of running.

  “I know you killed Nina White by accident,” Jake said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Panic gripped Adam’s face. “Nina White? Mrs. White, the counselor at school?”

  Jake nodded.

  Adam seemed confused and took a step back. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Then he took a deep breath and looked away. In a moment, he looked back, pain in his eyes. “I wouldn’t hurt her. She was the only one who helped me. She believed in me when no one else did.”

  Jake tried one last plea. “That’s why you need to surrender. We can get this all straightened out.”

  Adam’s lips tightened and he shook his head adamantly.

  Jake reached into his shirt pocket and removed a business card, tucking it through the fence. “Take my card. You can call me anytime.”

  Adam kept his eyes on Jake as he reached out carefully and snatched the card. He glanced at it and frowned. “You came to see my mother,” he said, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “Yes, we did. She wants us to help you.”

  “Now I know you’re lying. She would’ve left me a note and told me that if you only wanted to help.” He took a step back and flipped the card through the air. It fell behind a tall weed. Adam turned, took a step, then glanced back. “Don’t try to find me anymore. You never will. I’m heading west where you can never catch me.”

  As Adam jogged away, Jake ran along the fence, keeping pace with the fugitive. Before long, the fence stopped abruptly at a building, too high to scale, and too expansive to run around.

  Jake watched helplessly as Adam disappeared into the distance. It was hopeless to give chase now; the man would soon be long gone.

  Chapter 27

  Wednesday, 2:55 p.m.

  ANNIE’S CELL PHONE sounded, notifying her of a text message. It was Jake. He missed her and was on his way home. The message continued: “Have interesting news. Called Hank to drop by.”

  She pushed aside her notes and sat back in her swivel chair. It made sense to her, since Adam had killed a second person yesterday, that he was still in the area and wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. That gave them a better chance of catching him, but it also meant the killings might continue.

  The motive for the murders stumped her. Adam knew Nina White, and he would most certainly have known who Raymond Ronson was. That was the only connection she could find, but that alone didn’t seem like a powerful motive, and it was unlikely that discovering the reason behind it all would lead to Adam Thorburn.

  The doorbell rang and she went to the front door and opened it.

  Hank flashed a grin and stepped inside. “Jake not here yet?”

  “He’s coming home now,” Annie said, leading the way to the living room.

  “He said he had some news.” Hank sat on the couch and set his briefcase beside him. “Between King and me, we’ve been able to get in touch with several of Adam Thorburn’s classmates. We advised them of the possible danger and warned them to be on their guard.”

  “Both murders weren’t just related to his schooldays, but actually took place at the schools,” Annie noted. “And both were after hours.”

  “We have officers watching both buildings day and night. School security is on alert, with both schools on lockdown as much as possible during the day.” Hank shrugged. “It’s a necessary precaution, though it’s doubtful Thorburn would hit the same place twice. He’s too intelligent.”

  “True,” Annie said. “But if it happens during one of his hazy periods, he might not be thinking clearly.”

  “That’s why we’re not taking any chances,” Hank said. He turned his head toward the window as a car roared into the driveway. “Jake’s here.”

  A moment later the front door opened, closed, and Jake stepped into the room. He nodded at Hank, pulled up an ottoman and sat, leaning forward, his arms resting on his legs.

  “I ran into Adam Thorburn,” he said.

  Hank sat forward.

  “I was watching the neighborhood,” Jake said. “Watching his house and saw him leave through a basement window.” His face twisted into a grimace. “I just missed him by a hair. Chased him across the yard of the steel mill, but somehow he got around the back fence.” He grinned. “Had a little chat with him through the fence.”

  Hank’s mouth hung open a moment, then he said, “You talked to him?”

  Jake nodded and straightened his back. “He seemed genuinely surprised and upset when I mentioned Nina White. Said she was the only one who believed in him.”

  “He has a conscience when his sociopathic tendencies don’t take over,” Annie said.

  “That’s sort of what Dr. Zalora told me,” Jake said. “He can be a normal kid most of the time, but on occasion he goes nuts.”

  “Did you get any indication where he might be hiding out?” Hank asked.

  Jake shook his head. “No, but he said he was heading west where we’d never find him.”

  Hank sat back and rubbed his hands through his hair. “West? As far as we know, he has no family out west. His father’s family lives east and north. We’ve been in contact with them and will continue to be, but if he’s going west, he’s on his own.”

  “Don’t forget, he likes being on his own,” Annie said.

  “We’ll get his photo out nationwide just the same,” Hank said. “He might not be heading west. Why would he tell you that if it were true?”

  “Maybe he wants us to think that,” Annie said.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning he might not be leaving the city at all. I think we have to disregard what he said.”

  “I can’t disregard it completely,” Hank said. “But for the most part, all I can do is follow the evidence and see where it leads.”

  “What evidence?” Jake asked.

  “From the crime scenes. I got a partial report from forensics. Adam’s prints weren’t found anywhere. The only prints on the screwdriver were those of Raymond Ronson. And Ronson’s prints were also on the door handle along with yours, Jake.” Hank looked at Annie. “And we found couple of yours on the wall near the light switch.”

  “And the computer the email was sent from?” Annie asked.

  “All the prints were from office staff,” Hank said, snapping open his briefcase. He removed a sheet of paper and browsed it. “According to the ME, the angle of penetration indicates Ronson was standing when he was stabbed. And CSI reports the killer tracked through the blood after the stabbing and made his way to the school computer.”

  “What about the rose?” Jake asked.

  “Same species as the one found in Nina White’s mouth. No surprise there.”

  “That’s all fine,” Annie said. “But we already know who we’re looking for. The question is, how do we find him?”

  “We have officers all over the city looking for him. His face is in every newspaper and on every TV screen, and we’re still canvassing and talking to anyone who knew him.”

  “What about outlying areas?” Annie asked. “Farms out of town, barns and other buildings?”

  “All being covered,” Hank said. “And King’s still out there.”

  “What about the homeless community?” Jake asked. “Maybe he’s staying with them. Hiding in plain sight.”

  Hank shook his head. “We’ve checked as much as possible, but a lot of them don’t like to talk to cops. We’ve even contacted CIs. That’s a dead end too. It’s doubtful he ever associated with any of the crim
inal elements.”

  Annie leaned forward. “The only person he trusts is his mother.”

  “That might be,” Hank said, “But she claims to have no idea where he is.”

  “She told us the same thing,” Jake said. “But I’m not totally convinced.”

  “It looks like we might have to put an officer in the backyard of the Thorburn house,” Hank said. “Watching the house from the front and patrolling the surrounding streets isn’t sufficient.”

  “But that’ll only keep him away,” Annie said. “He’s being rather careful.”

  “Possibly, but if he can’t return home for food or supplies, it might force his hand,” Hank said. He snapped his briefcase shut, picked it up, and stood. “I’d better get back at it. I have a few more people to see.”

  Annie sat back in her chair as Jake saw Hank to the door. When Jake returned and dropped onto the couch, she said, “I think we have to see if we can get something from Virginia Thorburn. I agree with you, she knows more than she’s willing to say, and if so, she can’t continue to cover for him if he keeps killing innocent people.”

  “Perhaps she knows something, but if not, somebody might,” Jake said. “I’d like to figure out who he’s going to target next. There has to be something we’re missing. He’s not killing at random. He knows the victims.”

  “That’s the big puzzle. Since we don’t know where he’s hiding, we need to find out where he’s heading. I wonder if you should stake out the neighborhood again in case he decides to return.”

  “It seems pretty unlikely now,” Jake said. “Would he be that stupid?”

  “Maybe,” Annie said. “He does seem to be a little careless. Psychopaths don’t have much fear and often leave clues purposely to bait the police. They have a desire to be known for their accomplishments and love to boast about them after they’ve been apprehended. Perhaps he subconsciously wants to be caught.”

  “He seemed pretty normal when I talked to him. He showed some remorse and displayed his conscience. I don’t know if our chances of catching him are better when he’s acting normal or when he’s acting crazy.”

  “Either way, we have to do something soon,” Annie said. “If there’s one thing I know for certain, he’s not finished killing. It’s a question of who’s next.”

  Chapter 28

  Wednesday, 3:51 p.m.

  ADAM THORBURN huddled against the wall of his shack, annoyed at himself for being seen, and afraid of any consequences his exposure might bring. He wouldn’t be found in the swamp. They would never expect that, but it appeared they were still watching the neighborhood, and he wondered how long he would be safe.

  It might be only a matter of time, and he shuddered at the thought of spending the rest of his life in prison. He would kill himself first. If they got too close, he would run as far as he could, but he would end it all before allowing himself to be captured.

  He had no inclination to go out west. That was just something he’d thought of off the top of his head. He wasn’t even sure why he’d spoken to that nosy investigator. It didn’t serve him any purpose and might make matters worse, and he felt jittery because of the encounter.

  He opened the bag of supplies he’d brought back from the house. Along with a package of cold meats and some fresh fruit, his mother had left a further supply of medication in the fridge beside a freshly roasted chicken. She had expected him, and he was pleased at least one person in the world cared about his well-being.

  Adam was famished, and he devoured half of the chicken, topping it off with a bottle of water. It made him feel better, at least for now. He carefully wrapped the remaining food in the bag, tied the top to keep out visiting insects, and set it on a shelf built into the wall of the hut. He would need a constant supply of food to keep him going, and he wasn’t guaranteed where it would come from.

  Though it was a warm day, he shivered in the heat, feeling anxious and uneasy, angry at the predicament he was in. He laid his head on a small pillow he’d brought from the house and covered up with the blanket. His mind was restless and his whole body trembled in fear.

  He reached for his medications. He was taking them a little earlier than usual, but they always had a calming effect. He could use that right now. He worked a pill from each bottle, washed them down with water, and laid his head on the pillow. He was tired as well as afraid, and since he had little else to do, he decided to take a nap. Perhaps it would calm his nerves and bring him some peace of mind.

  He was startled awake a few minutes later by the screech of an owl—a rare sound in the swamp. It reminded him of the mocking calls of the bullies at school, always teasing and torturing when all he wanted was to be left alone. The memories made him sad, and then angry. He blamed the bullies for the situation he was in now.

  If his abusers had left him alone he wouldn’t be in such a miserable mess. His mental condition was one he couldn’t help; it wasn’t his fault, and he raised his head and roared in frustration and anger, tears rolling down his face.

  He wiped the tears on his sleeve, rolled to his feet, and went outside the hut. His rosebush still flourished, but somehow he didn’t care about the roses anymore. At least, not right now.

  Stooping down, he howled at the plant and leaned back as if expecting a response. He glared at the uncaring flower and then stood and straightened his back, his fists clenched, his eyes flared. He gazed at his surroundings a moment—at the decaying plants and the steaming bog—before striding away from the hut, heading out of the swamp.

  He knew exactly where he was going. He crossed the field, plodding over clods of dirt, wading through waist-high weeds, and skirting around tangled bushes. The end of the steel mill property lay not far away and he followed its fence line to the street.

  To his left, two blocks away, he could make out the house he’d grown up in. He stood and gazed in its direction a moment and then headed the opposite way. He took his time, careful not to be seen, and slipped around behind a plaza. The narrow lane was lined with employee parking on one side, putrid dumpsters and stacks of empty skids on the other.

  His destination lay dead ahead, just past a big blue bin. He crept around, opened a metal service door, and peered inside. Skids of groceries filled the large room, ready to replenish the supermarket shelves. He crept in carefully, looking up and down each aisle. No one was about. The lazy slob was probably on an extended break.

  Adam moved to a small table near the wall and selected exactly what he knew was there—a box cutter, razor sharp and deadly. That would do the job nicely. He held the tool in one hand, ducked down behind a barrel, and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Paul Patton came through the swinging doors from the main area of the supermarket, whistling a stupid tune. The guy who had bullied him for so long at school, constantly making fun of his condition, would bully him no more. Even at work, when Adam had tried to do his best to keep the parking lot free of carts, the man tortured him. Adam figured Paul had gotten the job here for that one purpose—to continue his constant harassment.

  Adam licked his lips and waited until Paul turned his back, fiddling with something on a skid, and then he crept from his hiding place. He gripped the box cutter, holding it behind his back.

  “Paul,” he said.

  Paul grunted and turned around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Adam. “What’re you doing here, you lazy slob? Shouldn’t you be out there pushing buggies around?”

  “I’ll never push a shopping cart again,” Adam said, bringing the knife from behind his back. He held it up and leered at the bully.

  Paul stared back, never expecting the box cutter would slash across his face the way it did. Never expecting the second swing of Adam’s arm would slit his throat.

  The victim’s eyes bulged as he stared at his murderer, blood soaking his shirt, and then he slowly slumped to the floor with a gurgling sound.

  Adam chuckled, expertly tossed the knife onto the bench ten feet away, and then knelt beside the
dying man. He watched Paul frantically gasp for air, the victim’s hands at his own throat in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. The bully’s eyes glazed over and he took his last breath.

  In a few seconds, it was all over. It was too easy—for Paul. After all the years of mental anguish the bully had inflicted, Adam wished he could’ve made him suffer a little longer. But he didn’t have time. However unlikely, there was the danger someone might come into the back room. It didn’t matter all that much if he was seen. He was a wanted man anyway, and one more victim didn’t make any difference. But he might as well play it safe.

  He stood and turned to go and then stopped; he had to do what was right. It wasn’t proper to leave Paul lying there. He stooped over the fresh corpse, grabbed it by the shirt with both hands, and dragged it to the door. He rolled it outside, then went back in and mopped up the blood with paper towels. He found an industrial-sized garbage bag on a shelf by the door, smiled, and took it outside.

  He tussled and tugged, and finally, got the body inside the bag and tied the end securely. Then he crouched down, heaved the bag onto his shoulder, lugged it to the dumpster, and dropped it inside. It rolled and landed on the bottom of the bin with a satisfying thump.

  Yes, he’d done what was right. He’d given the bully exactly what he deserved, and in the morning, he would be given a proper burial when he was carried away with the rest of the stinking garbage and dumped with the filth and stench into a putrid landfill.

  Paul Patton would be where he belonged, at home for the rest of eternity.

  Chapter 29

  Wednesday, 5:26 p.m.

  ANNIE BOOTED HER computer and pulled in her chair. It occurred to her, in order to find Adam Thorburn, it would help if she understood a little more about what they were up against. Her knowledge of schizophrenia was severely lacking.

  Some online research brought her vast amounts of information on the disabling brain disorder. About one per cent of people have the illness, and symptoms such as hallucinations and delusions usually start between ages sixteen and thirty. That might explain why Adam’s illness was worsening, and he could expect a severe increase in symptoms in the future.