by Billy Wells
He pulled out his cell, Googled “Homicide Cleaning,” and found it located on Sunset Boulevard. He headed onto the interstate, and in fifteen minutes, he drove into another strip mall. In the middle of the tall sign of business listings, he saw “Homicide Cleaning” in blood red lettering. He parked to the left and approached the front door from that side. He checked his gun. He had the uncanny feeling he was finally going to break the case wide open. Could it really be this simple after all the years of dead ends?
When Edgars stepped inside the Homicide Cleaning lobby, a young blonde with an inviting smile greeted him. “What can I do for you today,” she said brightly.
“Is the boss in?”
She referred to a list on the desktop, and looking up with her dazzling blue eyes, said. “I don't show you as having an appointment.”
“No I don't have one. Someone recommended your company. I saw your sign and decided to stop while I was in the area. I have a chain of motels that need more than normal housecleaning services sometimes. I wanted to speak with the boss about possibly using your service.”
“Take a seat, and I'll see if he can squeeze you in.”
Edgars looked around the lobby at the twelve empty chairs, smiled, and sat down. The pretty receptionist called someone, and after putting down the phone, she said, “He'll be with you shortly.”
After a few minutes, a tall man with curly hair, a strong square chin, and dark piercing eyes met Edgars and led him to a plush office in the back. The rest of the space had cheap fixtures and looked Spartan while this man's office was tastefully decorated with expensive furniture. The nameplate on the desk read: Robert Foresight.
Edgars didn't like Foresight’s looks from the start, and judging by his sour expression, it was hate at first sight. "I understand you have a motel that periodically needs special cleaning.”
“Yes. Sometimes the clientele get a little rough with one of the whores, and things get bloody. Sometimes certain paraphernalia used in bondage damages the walls, or breaks the toilet or the tub, which calls for plumbing and painting.”
“I'm sorry, Mr…?”
“Edgars.”
The pompous ass looked as if he had just placed a lemon in his mouth when he said, "Based on what you're telling me, our service would be out of your price range. Cleaning and painting one small room might cost as much as five thousand dollars.”
“I see,” Edgars said, wanting to reach across the desk and slap the bastard. “For that kind of money, you must be sweeping out eyeballs or something worse.”
“We are. That's why we get paid the big bucks."
Edgars stood and said, "I'm sorry I wasted your valuable time."
“Don't worry. You’ll be getting a bill.”
Edgars turned to argue the point, and then, he saw the crocodile smile on the man’s cruel face. It made his blood run cold.
“Just kidding,” Foresight said with an eerie chuckle.
As Edgars turned and walked out, he felt the overpowering sensation that the man had lodged a dagger in the middle of his back.
He had just met Bloody Bob face to face. He had never been more sure of anything in his life. Possibly the governor would be reelected after all. Or maybe he should drag out the investigation to make sure he wasn't. The creep.
He wondered if Foresight knew who he really was. He'd been interviewed on TV several times regarding the murders. If he did know, he'd be coming for him soon. He thought of Mabel and the latest crime scene and cringed.
He called his partner, Bullwinkle, and told him he suspected Foresight, but left out all the reasons why.
“If this pans out,” Bullwinkle teased, “you might be the next commissioner, Alan.”
“I'm not looking for more headaches, just more money.”
That night Edgars and Bullwinkle began an around the clock surveillance of Foresight’s palatial mansion. During the day, they shadowed him everywhere he went.
As the days passed Foresight went about his daily routines and did nothing to raise their suspicions.
On the fifth night, Bullwinkle said, "You seem convinced this guy is Bloody Bob, but I don't see how you came to that conclusion.”
“It all fits, Partner. My brother-in-law competed with him, and a few days later he’s a victim, and like you said yourself, he brutalized him like no one else he’d ever killed before.”
“I hear you, but saying he’s Bloody Bob is quite a stretch, Alan. I’m sure your brother-in-law made a few enemies in his life along the way. He wasn’t a monk, was he?”
“You didn't know Herbert. He was a loner who had no friends. No one other than Bloody Bob knew he lived on this planet. His death was definitely not random. It was a direct hit, absolutely related to horning in on Bob's territory. Trust me.”
“How did we miss this for seven years?”
“I don’t know, Partner. But think about it, Bob doesn't rape his victims, and he doesn't rob them. His thing is spraying the walls with their blood, breaking up the toilets and tubs, knocking holes in the drywall. All of the premeditated damage is to land the commission to clean up the crime scene after-the-fact. There is definitely method to his madness.”
“Boy, Alan. If you’re right, I’m gonna feel guilty I was blind to his motive for all those years. I almost feel like I should refund some of my salary to the city for my incompetence in never putting two and two together.”
Bullwinkle saw the look of disbelief in Edgar’s eye at this remark, and quickly said, “Just kidding, Partner. Don’t have a relapse.”
“Foresight is Bloody Bob, and I'm going to bring him in.”
The next night, Bullwinkle was dozing behind the wheel when Edgars saw a shadowy figure emerge from behind Foresight’s mansion, creep across the side yard, then disappear into a wooded area to the right.
“Wake up, Partner. I just saw someone dressed in black wearing a ski mask come from behind Foresight’s house. There’s only one light on upstairs. We know the miserable bastard is at home and hasn’t received any guests. Something’s not right. You check on Foresight, and I’ll follow the intruder and see where he goes. I’ll bring him back for questioning if I can.”
Both detectives bolted from the car. Bullwinkle ran down the side yard with his Glock drawn. Edgars sprinted across the lawn into the woods.
When Bullwinkle reached the patio adjoining the massive pool, he took out his Maglite and washed the entire exterior wall with it. Immediately, he saw a large circular hole in one of the glass sliders and the door standing partially open. He listened for movement, heard nothing, and then slipped silently inside, illuminating the rooms with the Maglite.
The refrigerator’s icemaker dropped some cubes into the storage bin, and the detective turned quickly in the direction of the kitchen. When nothing happened, he called out, “Foresight, this is Lieutenant Bullwinkle of the LAPD. I just saw a suspicious man run from the back of your house into the woods. Are you okay?”
He heard no reply and continued trying to get a response as he headed upstairs toward the only light on in the sprawling mansion. Pointing his Glock upward toward the dim hallway, he crept silently up the staircase to the second level. He stopped to listen, heard nothing, and proceeded with his back close to the wall.
When Bullwinkle reached the room where the light was on and the door ajar, he pushed it open, and peered in. Foresight lay spread-eagled on the bed. His eyes were open, and he had a small round hole in the middle of his forehead. A pool of blood under his head had soaked into the expensive linen and mattress.
Bullwinkle withdrew his phone and called 9-1-1. This was a neat and clean murder with a handgun. He’d seen it a thousand times in his career. Well, maybe more like a hundred.
But who would want to kill Foresight, the owner of a cleaning service, unless the perp knew he was Bloody Bob and sought revenge for one of his previous heinous murders.
The problem with this scenario was no one knew Foresight was a suspect except the commissioner and the division
captain, unless they told someone else. They both knew that revealing evidence was strictly against police procedure. And who would they tell who would want to commit murder?
Edgars moved as stealthily through the trees as he could, which wasn’t very stealthy. He heard the rustling of leaves, and the snapping of branches as the intruder ran a hundred feet ahead of him. Suddenly, the movement stopped abruptly.
Edgars knew the intruder was close by, probably not more than fifty feet ahead of him, but damned if he could see or hear a blessed thing. He took out his phone and took a chance on calling Bullwinkle. He hoped it wouldn't get him killed.
Bullwinkle answered, and with no introduction, said, “Foresight is dead, a clean shot through his forehead right between the eyes. Be careful, Partner.”
That's what Edgars wanted to know. He clicked off the phone without saying a word. Now he knew he wasn't tracking a burglar. He was tracking a murderer with a gun, who must be a crack shot if he drilled Foresight right between the eyes at any distance. He started to sweat but didn't move a muscle. Did the killer have a bead on him? He had moved last, therefore telegraphing his location to the perp.
Five minutes elapsed, and the woods remained deathly still. Then Edgars heard someone approaching behind him blundering through the bushes like a herd of buffalo with no apparent regard for his own safety. Who else could it be, but his partner?
Edgars peered backward into the gloom but saw nothing. The thrashing finally stopped about one hundred feet behind him to the right, and he heard a familiar voice, "Alan, are you okay?"
"Yes. I'm okay, but the killer is close. He's waiting for me to make the first move, and I'm waiting for him. Now that I’ve given him my location by trying to keep you from getting whacked, I’m a sitting duck. Thanks, Partner.”
Then the sound of more thrashing began again, moving quickly ahead of him. Edgars darted to the left, and then resumed the chase.
“Sorry, Partner," Bullwinkle shouted. “I was trying to back you up, not get you killed.”
Then Edgars saw the headlights of cars passing through the trees in the distance, and a shadowy figure rushing toward them. Apparently, the Interstate must be close by and the perp was making a run for it. Edgars fired two quick shots in the direction of the killer as Bullwinkle narrowed the distance behind him.
Suddenly Edgars saw muzzle flashes and heard the roar of a machine gun and bullets flying in a line across the landscape. He felt a jolt in his shoulder that knocked him off his feet. He heard Bullwinkle let out a yelp of pain behind him.
Edgars lay barely conscious, feeling the blood soaking into his Brooks Brothers suit he knew was ruined. Then, it occurred to him to use his cell to call 9-1-1 for help. He saw the headlights of a car come on and drive toward the highway, fishtail onto it, and speed away. Just before he passed out, he saw the beam of a flashlight in his face and heard Bullwinkle say, “You're hurt bad, Partner, but I think you'll make it if the EMTs can find the signal on our phones in time.”
* * *
Two days later, Edgars awoke in a hospital bed for the first time. Tubes hung all around him on various stands. Bullwinkle sat in the chair browsing through a copy of Hustler. “Hey, Partner,” Edgars gasped, “I see you're feeding your mind with compelling articles.”
“Exactly,” Bullwinkle mused. “I buy this magazine for the enthralling essays. I never look at the pictures of babes with bodacious boobs.”
“Of course not,” Edgars winced in pain.
“Well, I've got a lot to tell you. First, you're going to be as good as new in a month or two. You’ll still be able to jack off with your right hand, and I bought you this magazine so you could start practicing whenever the mood strikes you.”
“Very thoughtful, Partner.”
“You were right. Foresight was Bloody Bob. We found enough incriminating evidence in the basement to hang him three times over. He had a box full of trophies he took off his victims, too. He wasn’t a very smart serial killer. It hurts me to say this since it took us seven years to catch him.”
“How about you, Partner? I thought I heard you yelp when the bullets were flying.”
“Yeah, I got a flesh wound in my right love-handle, but I'm fine. Oh, your Brooks Brothers suit is ruined, but at least, you're still alive. I got something for you.”
“What?”
Bullwinkle pulled out a box full of Krispy Kreme donuts from behind the chair. Edgars grabbed his shoulder, and couldn't help but chuckle a little. He quickly said, "Don't make me laugh. It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. Do we have any leads on who killed Foresight and almost killed me?”
“We have more than a lead, but nothing that would stand up in court or ever come to trial. The evidence points to one slimy bastard who definitely had a motive.”
“I already know who it is,” Edgar said trying to raise the mattress into more of a sitting position. “We told the commissioner and the division captain we suspected Foresight. I don't see either one of them committing the murder.”
“So who else could it be?” Bullwinkle did a little dance next to the bed. “I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count.”
“When Governor Clifford called at the eleventh hour the day before the election to see what progress had been made in nabbing Bloody Bob, the commissioner squealed that we suspected Foresight was so the governor would owe him one.”
“What day is it?”
“Friday, November 5.”
“The gubernatorial election is over, and let me guess, crafty Claude Clifford was reelected.”
“By a landslide after he announced in one of his promotional ads the end of Bloody Bob’s reign of terror, and the authorities found irrefutable evidence at his home. The opposing candidate didn't stand a chance against him.”
“And I doubt those ass-kissing bastards, the commissioner and his lackey, the division captain, will squeal that the governor is the murderer.”
“Not a chance. Everybody's happy Bloody Bob is dead. Whoever killed him deserves a medal, not the chair.”
“That slimy son-of-a-bitch, crafty Claude Clifford landed on his feet again.”
“Do you expect any less from a politician?”
“Well, I have to say,” Edgars said ruefully. “I have more respect for him now than I ever did. He had to do more than spend forty-three million of his daddy's money to get elected. He definitely got his hands dirty this time, and he even risked his life. I took a couple of shots at him.”
“Do you think we’ll ever be able to prove he did it?”
“We don't have a snowball’s chance in hell,” Edgars winced straightening his pillow.
“Are you going to continue with Homicide Maintenance?”
“What do you mean me continue it. It was my brother-in-law’s business.”
“I wasn't born yesterday, Alan. Jenks and I laughed like hell, almost busted a gut, listening to your John Wayne impersonation when we called to give you the job. You didn't fool us for a second. Rich Little, you ain’t.”
“Now that Bloody Bob is dead, there may not be any need for the special cleaning business anymore. I think I'd like to be commissioner when that ass-kissing Clyde Clapper retires next year.”
“You’d have a better shot at taking a spaceship to Mars.”
“I don't know.” Edgars smiled slyly. “I think the governor might be receptive to my appointment. After all, I have the Bloody Bob ace up my sleeve, and he owes me for blowing out my shoulder.”
“What do I get not to blow the whistle?”
“How would you like to be division captain?”
Scary Stories:
A Collection of Horror
Volume 4
Chamber Of Horror Series
By
Billy Wells
Scary Stories: A Collection of Horror
Volume 4
Chamber of Horror Series
Copyright © 2014 by Billy Wells
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to p
ersons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to Christopher Wells, my son, who at least makes me believe he never tires of listening to me babble about my horror stories.
.
CRAWLSPACE
Alex and Mia, two young reporters from The Daily Chronicle, peered at the black foreboding structure through the trees the townsfolk called Hell House. Alex had parked his Toyota at the entrance to the town cemetery, which bordered the property and provided an adequate view. Gnarled leafless trees surrounded the black clapboard frame house only a stone’s throw from a hillside of broken tombstones dating back to 1651. The gray overcast sky and the chill in the air added to the somber, disquieting feeling Mia felt in her bones just looking at the structure.
This past April, a secretive, humpbacked man the neighborhood kids had nicknamed ‘Creepy’ had purchased this house and moved in. He had become the “Boo Radley” of Black Falls.
Mia heard Joyce Haines, the mysterious recluse’s closest neighbor, had snapped a picture of him driving by in his dilapidated black hearse the day he arrived and posted it on Facebook. No one had seen him since.
His ominous residence was scary and intimidating just like the reputation of the creepy eccentric owner himself. That’s why Mia had urged Alex to come with her. He was adamantly opposed to the idea, but agreed to accompany her grudgingly even after she wouldn’t let him feel her boobs.
Mia knew this could be just another wild goose chase like so many others, but she was hopeful and driven. Something in her gut told her there was a compelling story here.
She peered at the substantial, weather-beaten structure through binoculars. “The windows are so dirty, it's like a second layer of curtains, but I believe I see a light inside,” she said, sitting on the passenger side of Alex’s Toyota Sienna.