by G. O. Grason
“You can say that again," he replied after a careful thought.
They got to the hot dog cart and took their place in line. It was a lovely New York afternoon.
7
Detective Thompson had been making headway to put things in place for the next case. He had been conversing with Gilbert Fenway’s parents and some of his friends. Gilbert Fenway was a 27 year old computer geek whose body was recovered from one of New York’s remote streams. He lived in Oyster Bay, in New York City, with his parents before his sudden disappearance.
Gilbert’s father was a real estate agent and had gotten his email from his website. He had been exchanging messages with him and had instructed him not to inform anyone about their conversation or upcoming meeting.
He would need to conduct a face to face questioning with the Fenway's, and he had been making the necessary arrangements. Part of the deal was to provide police protection for the couple during and after the meeting. They had also agreed to meet at the Fenway’s condo on Thursday evening. Everything was set and he was ready to meet.
This has to be the one, Thompson thought. It has to be.
It was almost time to leave for the Fenway's, when Detective Thompson sent a message to the surveillance team of plain clothes policemen, to check the perimeters of 16th ST in Oyster bay – where the Fenway's condo sat. The coast was clear and he was ready to leave. It was a long drive but thankfully Thompson had encountered little traffic on the way. He checked his watch and realized he still had 20 minutes before the meeting.
He got to the Fenway's residence about 15 minutes later and the reception was fantastic. The conversation was productive and the Fenway’s were a wealth of information. They were committed to answering any questions and helping in any way they could.
They told him how Gilbert met Robert, in Texas, a few years ago and they had become good friends. They told him about his negative influence on Gilbert and their reckless lifestyle. Gilbert would be made to hack into peoples' phone and bank account for Roberts use. On top of that, Robert also got Gilbert hooked on drugs and they were both heavy users.
“You know, he had a fight with Robert and he always was paranoid he was being watched,” Mr. Fenway said. “Gilbert went missing the night he told us he would be meeting with Robert and his body was found later,” he added.
There was an awkward silence and Mrs. Fenway broke into tears. "I just want my son back.”
They brought out pictures of Gilbert and Robert and the picture matched the description from the other cases. A deep scar ran beneath his left eye. Detective Thompson thanked them for their cooperation and introduced them to the undercover policemen who would be responsible for their safety.
He couldn't wait to share the information with Christine but all throughout his drive back from Oyster Bay, Detective Thompson felt like he was being followed. He noticed that a black Chevrolet seemed to be tailing him but he managed to lose him on the way. Thompson double checked his pistol to make sure it was loaded.
Thompson got back to his apartment in Manhattan and thought he would start to review the next case file, that of Catherine Ferguson. He was pouring himself a whiskey neat, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow moving quickly towards him, with what looked like a weapon. He felt, in a split second, that he could defend himself and turn the tables on the intruder with his experience from the DHS but he went down in in heap face first. The last thing he heard was a large SMACK.
It had been two weeks since Detective Brian Thompson went missing, the two police officers protecting Mr. and Mrs. Fenway had also died mysteriously.
Detective Christine Halloway was distraught with the latest developments. She felt terrible for his family, loss to the department and the city in general. Detective Thompson’s attacker was suspected of lying in wait inside of his apartment as an unfinished tumbler of whiskey was on the counter and his car was in the lot. No one could identify the perp.
Detective Halloway started retracing Thompsons footsteps from the last few days before his disappearance. She revisited all the people and places he was known to have gone or came in contact, with the hope of uncovering his whereabouts.
That Wednesday evening, she noticed that a black Chevrolet kept appearing everywhere she went. Every time she slowed down to try and get a look at the driver or initiate contact, the car would turn.
As Christine approached her house, she noticed the car parked across from her apartment. She got out, pistol on the ready and started walking towards the black Chevy, gun drawn. The car peeled out, narrowly missing Christine as she dove out of the way.
I need to be smart, she thought and ditch my car.
She commandeered an SUV, that pulled up next to her and started to follow the car for about 2 blocks, at a reasonable distance. Suddenly, an exploding BOOM!! overwhelmed her.
Christine looked back in her rearview mirror and saw that her car, that she had abandoned, exploded into flames and smoke billowed up into in the air.
“Holy Shit! I could have died,” she murmured.
The fear of what could have happened made her shudder. She was scared but she couldn't go back. She knew she had to follow the black Chevrolet and find out where it was going and who was driving. She followed the car for about 90 minutes along I95 North towards Connecticut. The black car pulled off and a short time later, took a dirt road through the countryside.
Detective Halloway had been driving with her lights off, since they had pulled onto the dirt road, so as not to alert the driver ahead, of her presence. The car slowed down and then stopped. She watched a figure get out and walk towards a long-deserted pig barn. She called for backup before going in stealthily.
The inside of the pig barn looked and smelled disgusting. She could make out bones and dried blood smeared on the walls. With her gun drawn, she quietly entered a room filled with heat lamps. At the far end of the room, sat Thompson slumped over in the corner.
“Thompson!” She exclaimed as she moved towards him. She soon realized he was mumbling incoherently.
“Thompson!” She said again just as someone hit her on the head from behind. She crashed to the floor and in a moment, everything had become black.
She woke up and she was hog tied. Her pistol far separated from her. She couldn't believe her eyes when the attacker stood over top of her. He laughed hysterically and spat in her face.
"For fuck sake, we have been looking for you for so long. Don’t do this!" she sobbed.
“Why wouldn’t I?" he said "You’re just like the rest of those whores. You’re going to get what you deserve.”
He began to untie her in, order to nail her to the floor. He stopped long enough to laugh hysterically and dance around in a circle. Christine couldn’t believe what was happening but mustered all her strength and training and with her untied legs. She swept his legs out from under him and in one motion mounted on top of him. All her rage, all her sorrow, flowed through her. She began head butting him repeatedly in the face until they were both bleeding profusely.
“Fuck you,” he yelled, sputtering blood as he did.
He grabbed Christine by her arms, that were still tied and quickly rolled her over until he was on top. He reached down to the sheath that was tied to his ankle and removed his hunting knife. He slowly pushed the knife blade into Christine’s skin, just below her orbital bone and drew it slowly down to her lower jaw as he whispered in her ear, “Forgive me Christine.”
Detective Brian Thompson found Christine Halloway’s gun. With all the strength he could muster, he groggily pointed the gun toward the two figures and pulled the trigger, before collapsing.
The sound of the gun echoed in the dilapidated old pig barn, as the bullet found its mark and smashed through the perps skull. He was dead instantly, pinning Detective Halloway to the floor.
Hands still tied, Christine laid there, unable to move the dead weight holding her down. Tears of sadness rolled down her cheeks. A familiar warmth of victory washed over her.
“I found him Mom,” Christine whispered. “I found him for you. He’s coming home. Don’t worry. He’s coming home.”
But, Christine couldn’t ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach that this was far from over.
The next day the news outlets reported that the serial killer, 25-year-old Robert ‘Bobby” Halloway was dead.
END
Also by G.O. Grason
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