Sinister Justice

by Steve Pickens

  “Me either, Jake. I really thought I knew the man.”

  * * *

  On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Alex stopped by, and with him was Miranda Zimmerman.

  “You look tired, Jake,” Alex noted.

  “Haven’t been sleeping very well. Sam and I were also up late last night, finishing my new office,” Jake said, motioning to the open door where his newly painted and newly furnished writing room was.

  “Looks very nice. I’m looking forward to reading some of your work.”

  “What can I do for you today?”

  “Your other half called me the other night,” said Alex. “He said you were understandably upset about Professor Mills and what happened. I asked Miranda to do a little checking. I knew the name was familiar and although I knew who he was, I only actually met the man the one time with you when we went to see his place in the foothills.”

  “I couldn’t figure out why the name resonated with me either, so I checked back through some of our older publications,” said Miranda.

  “And you found he’d spent some time in a mental institution,” said Jake. “Specifically Western State.”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “I’ve been wracking my brain for the last few days trying to think of why there was such a sudden personality change in the Professor. It finally came to me,” said Jake, laughing tiredly. “When I was trying to convince him to turn himself in, he talked about not spending any time in jail, or that he ‘particularly fancied another extended stay at the state hospital.’”

  Miranda nodded and took a notebook out of her satchel. “I found this.” She opened it to the front page, and staring at Jake from a newspaper clipping, dated in October, 1978 was a photo of Professor Mills. He was considerably younger, but as ever was wearing the tweed suit and ascot. The headline next to the photo read: NOTED SCHOLAR SUFFERS BREAKDOWN.

  Jake read the article quickly. Professor Mills’s wife had been killed in a hit and run traffic accident while crossing the street in Seattle. Unable to cope with the loss of his wife, Mills had completely broken down one day while teaching. He was sent to Western State Hospital.

  “How long was he there?”

  “A while. He finally came back to the UW in the mid-1980’s,” said Miranda, turning the page, which had another article, this time from the UW newspaper about the Professor’s “return to health” and resuming his teaching duties.

  Jake read the story quickly, looking for something to confirm his suspicions. One phrase in the second story suddenly stood out as if illuminated by neon lights. He read aloud, “‘I owe so much to the doctors and medications for the return of my health.’ Well, that explains it.”

  “Explains what?” asked Alex.

  “If you have Detective Haggerty check, I think you’ll find that a while back, Professor Mills quit taking his medication. One of the last times we saw him, an alarm went off on his watch. He seemed disconcerted by it, and when I asked him what it was, he said, ‘Oh bah, it’s nothing. Just a reminder to take my…well, I certainly don’t need to worry about that anymore.’ And I bet you’ll find that he was probably prescribed some pretty heavy mood stablizers.”

  “That would explain a lot,” Miranda said.

  “It helps to reconcile things,” said Jake sadly. He re-read the second story again, focusing on the paragraph that said Professor Mills had taken up growing orchids as part of his therapy. Jake and Sam had always wondered how the professor, a stellar engineer, had gotten into growing such fantastic flowers.

  “Where’s Sam?” asked Alex.

  “Seattle. He should be home any time now.”

  “Well, we won’t keep you,” said Miranda, rising. She stepped out into the foyer, leaving Alex a few steps behind.

  “If either one of you need anything, just call me, okay?”

  “I will, Alex. Thanks,” said Jake, giving Alex a hug.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  An hour later, Sam arrived back from Sea-Tac Airport. Jake opened the front door. He was nearly knocked over as Rachel Parker jumped into his arms, locking him in a bear hug.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she sobbed.

  “I’m glad you’re okay too,” he said.

  Rachel pulled back, brushing back a long lock of hair from her face. “You big dope. Rule One. Don’t you know you never go into the killer’s lair? Particularly the basement. I mean, what you have been reading Spievens all those years for anyway?” she said, bursting out in fresh sobs.

  “It was a greenhouse, actually,” said Jake.

  “Oh, whatever.”

  Sam walked in, carrying two large suitcases. “I think Rachel’s home,” he said with a grin.

  * * *

  Thanksgiving the next day was a festive event. Jake had risen early to get the turkey in the oven, delighting in the opportunity to torture Rachel when she wandered down the stairs. Rachel was even less of a morning person than he was. Once she was fully caffeinated, she and Jake talked and talked as they always had, as if Rachel hadn’t been living clear across the country for the last eight years.

  In the afternoon, Evelyn and the Reverend Crawford arrived, along with Caleb Rivers and Betty Newmar from the Duty Free store. Jake had invited those he knew would be alone for the holiday as he had every year.

  Still, he was saddened not to see Nora and Ben. He paused in the doorway of the living room as if looking for them, gazing down sadly at the bowl of snacks he was holding. Somewhere he could almost hear a door being shut.

  Rachel was regaling Caleb and Betty with her tales of Washington D.C., including Tony Graham. The good doctor had already sent a letter and, of all archaic things, a fruit basket with a note of congratulations to Jake. Jake was setting the bowl of almonds on the table when he heard Caleb say, “He wrote what?”

  “An essay called The Constitutional Right to our Foreskin. That was the first essay that really got him noticed, anyway. From there it was like a rock rolling down hill,” said Rachel.

  “I remember that,” said Jason. “That was right after he left the NFL. Caused quite a stir.”

  Sam looked at Jake, eyebrows raised. “Constitutional right to what?”

  “Foreskin,” said Rachel. “Why is it a constitutional right?” Sam said.

  “Tony was always very passionate about the subject. He equated circumcision to mutilation and called for it to be stopped,” Jake said.

  “Most guys are circumcised when they’re babies, so they don’t really remember it, do they?” asked Caleb.

  “Beats me,” said Jake, shrugging. “I know I don’t. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “There you have it,” said Jake, sitting down on the sofa. Out in the dining room he could hear Betty, Evelyn, and the Reverend Crawford laughing while the smell of turkey filled the house.

  Knowing he was blushing, Jake just grinned and smiled, then hastily picked up the New York Times Crossword puzzle and began working on it, while Sam and Caleb continued to lament their lost foreskins.

  “Did you have to bring that up?” he asked Rachel.

  “Well, you know, you might want to get used to having Tony around again,” said Rachel slowly.

  Jake set down the crossword puzzle. He turned his head and looked Rachel directly in the eyes. “Rachel, what haven’t you told me?”

  “I told you he got hold of my email.”

  “Yes.”

  “And how he suddenly feels like he’s my best friend, right?”

  “Yes, you did mention that,” said Jake.

  “Well, just before I left D.C., I got another email from him. He was going on and on about his new book that was coming out…you know, typical egotistical Tony…”

  “To the point, please?”

  Rachel took in a deep breath. “Okay. At the end, he was talking about how happy he was to have found a job as a professor. He said it was at a very progressive private college. He said it was in a beautiful
place, on a little island all of its own…”

  “Oh, no!” said Jake. “No, oh come on, no!”

  “He’s going to be a writer in residence at Considine University,” said Rachel.

  “What? He’s coming here?” asked Sam.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “It doesn’t get any worse. First Amy and Hector Suggs, now Tony.”

  “Uh, Jacob, what do you mean ‘first Amy and Hector Suggs’?” asked Sam, one eyebrow sharply raised over his right eye.

  “Um. Well. Remember that vacation we were planning? We might want to take it sooner than later,” said Jake.

  Rachel and Caleb looked at Sam, then Jake, then back to Sam and burst out laughing. Jake smiled and shrugged as Sam shook his head. Sam got up, kissed Jake on top of the head, and said, “I love you, you know that, you nut?”

  “I do, Samuel Patrick O’Conner. And I love you back.”

  * * *

  Just before they were about to sit down to dinner, the doorbell rang. Jake looked to his brother and said, “You expecting anyone?”

  “No.”

  Shrugging, Jake went to the door and pulled it open.

  “Detective Haggerty,” Jake said, surprised.

  “Hi,” Haggerty said. “Um, sorry to interrupt. I just thought, well, it’s Thanksgiving and all. I was thinking about things to be thankful for, and I realized I hadn’t actually said thank you for finding me.” He shuffled his feet a bit. “So, thank you.”

  Jake smiled. “You’re welcome, Detective. However when it comes right down to the pointy pin cushions of the matter, I don’t think he would have hurt you.”

  “Pointy pin cushions?”

  “That’s Jake’s way of avoiding using the hackneyed ‘brass tacks’ and failing at it,” said Sam.

  “Best I could come up with on short notice,” Jake said. “And I still don’t think he would have hurt you.”

  “I don’t think he would have either, really. I think he just wanted me out of the way for a while. I think he was working on getting out of town when things got too close and he took another way out,” Haggerty said sadly.

  “How are things for you?” Sam asked. “Sharon let us know about Dorval…”

  “Ah, well. Your husband throwing as much of the credit as he did at me went a long way with the department. Dorval is letting the matter go. He’s not happy someone outside the department figured it out, but as Chief Sanderson pointed out, you and Sam had a special relationship with Professor Mills that gave you some insider knowledge the police couldn’t possibly have.”

  “At which point I’m guessing Dorval said we should have come forward sooner, I bet,” said Jake.

  “Well,” said Haggerty scratching the back of his head. “There was some mention of that. However, I was quick to point out that you didn’t have access to the information we had and that putting the pieces together had kind of been an accident.” He sighed. “I’d still watch out for Dorval if I were you.” He shrugged, looking up for a moment. “Actually Sharon and I will be keeping an eye on him, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “Hear what?” Jake asked.

  “Would you like to come in? We’ve got more than enough food for everyone. You’d be more than welcome.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that, but I’m actually on my way to Sharon’s. She does a little thing for Thanksgiving every year. I appreciate the offer, though.”

  “You’re always welcome,” Sam said.

  “Unless you think we’re suspects again.”

  “Stow it, O love of my life.”

  “Well, I’d better be off,” Haggerty said. “Thanks again, Mr. Finnigan. I owe you one.”

  “You’re welcome, Detective Haggerty. Happy Thanksgiving,” said Jake, watching him go. Haggerty had just gotten to his car when Jake thought of something. “Hey!”

  Haggerty looked up. “Yes?”

  “Misty Snipes. She doesn’t exist, does she?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Snipes…snipe hunt?”

  “That would be a bit obvious, wouldn’t it?”

  “Rule Twelve: Don’t overlook the obvious because it is obvious.”

  “Let’s just say ‘Misty Snipes’ was a useful diversion for another case we’ve been working on, and it provided some wonderful entertainment at the town meeting,” he said with a wink.

  Jake waved as he watched Haggerty pull out of the driveway. He smiled as the car disappeared down High Street, a trail of the Crenshaws’ leaves in its wake.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, they dug into Thanksgiving dinner. Turkey overflowed the platter, stuffing and mashed potatoes rose high above the bowls, fruit salads and rolls took up every bit of space.

  With every bite, Jake counted the things he was thankful for: his health, his family and friends, and the family they had created together. He then slipped his hand under the table, took Sam’s hand and looked deeply into Sam’s eyes, counting the thing he was thankful for most of all.

  “You’ve got that sappy look again,” Rachel said in his ear.

  “I’ve got all the ones I love around me,” said Jake. “I can’t be happier. Well, nearly,” he amended. “Gavin and Jeff aren’t here.”

  “Gavin was making Jeff take him to Maui for Thanksgiving in exchange for being forced to endure Christmas with the rest of the Gilmores,” said Rachel.

  “Indeed.”

  “Well, let’s see, your ex is moving into town, your best friend has moved in and she’s unemployed with absolutely zero job prospects…”

  “Shut up and have some turkey, Sadie McKee,” said Jake.

  “It is awfully good.”

  “Besides, who said anything about Tony moving into town? Considine is a good twenty miles off. He’ll be far enough away.”

  “Still close enough to be irritating,” Jason chimed in. “Mashed potatoes, please.”

  “Frankly I’m more worried about Amy and Mr. Musings-On-The-China-Door Knob or whatever it was,” said Sam. “Spending time with them is like having all the oxygen slowly sucked out of the room. You don’t realize you’re in peril until it’s too late.”

  “Sam!” said Evelyn, shocked. “You shouldn’t say such things about your in-laws!”

  “Have you ever met our sister and her husband, Evelyn?”

  “No,” she said. “But honestly…” She stopped. “I was about to say they couldn’t be that bad, but I of all people should know better.”

  “I suppose this is where I should pipe in with some wise quote from the Good Book,” said Reverend Crawford. “But I’ve got a brother who’s a right pain in my ass, and I’d be a complete hypocrite if said otherwise.”

  The entire conversation ground to a halt. Oblivious, the Reverend Crawford continued piling stuffing onto her plate before reaching for the green bean casserole. Catching everyone’s expression, she said, “What, did I take too much?”

  Everyone at the table roared with laughter.

  About the Author

  Steve Pickens was born in Seattle, Washington. He has spent his entire life in the land of Bigfoot, strong coffee, ferryboats, heavy rain, and active volcanoes, all of which have influenced his work.

  When not writing, he can be found tending and photographing flowers in the garden, taking trips into the Cascades, or wandering along the shores of Puget Sound. He and his husband live in northwestern Washington in a town that bears more than a passing resemblance to the one in his mysteries with far too much ferry ephemera and two spoiled cats.

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  Sinister Justice by Steve Pickens. When a vigilante targets citizens of Jake Finnigan’s hometown, Jake and his partner Sam fall under suspicion themselves as they investigate the murders. (978-1-63555-094-8)

  Club Arcana: Operation Janus by Jon Wilson. Wizards, demons, Elder Gods: Who knew the universe was so crowded, and that they’d all be out to get Angus McAslan? (978-162639-969-3)

  Triad Soul by 'Nat
han Burgoine. Luc, Anders, and Curtis—vampire, demon, and wizard—must use their powers of blood, soul, and magic to defeat a murderer determined to turn their city into a battlefield. (978-1-62639-863-4)

  Gatecrasher by Stephen Graham King. Aided by a high-tech thief, the Maverick Heart crew race against time to prevent a cadre of savage corporate mercenaries from seizing control of a revolutionary wormhole technology. (978-1-62639-936-5)

  Wicked Frat Boy Ways by Todd Gregory. Beta Kappa brothers Brandon Benson and Phil Connor play an increasingly dangerous game of love, seduction, and emotional manipulation. (978-1-62639-671-5)

  Death Goes Overboard by David S. Pederson. Heath Barrington and Alan Keyes are two sides of a steamy love triangle as they encounter gangsters, con men, murder, and more aboard an old lake steamer. (978-1-62639-907-5)

  A Careful Heart by Ralph Josiah Bardsley. Be careful what you wish for…love changes everything. (978-1-62639-887-0)

  Worms of Sin by Lyle Blake Smythers. A haunted mental asylum turned drug treatment facility exposes supernatural detective Finn M’Coul to an outbreak of murderous insanity, a strange parasite, and ghosts that seek sex with the living. (978-1-62639-823-8)

  Tartarus by Eric Andrews-Katz. When Echidna, Mother of all Monsters, escapes from Tartarus and into the modern world, only an Olympian has the power to oppose her. (978-1-62639-746-0)

  Rank by Richard Compson Sater. Rank means nothing to the heart, but the Air Force isn’t as impartial. Every airman learns that rank has its privileges. What about love? (978-1-62639-845-0)

  The Grim Reaper’s Calling Card by Donald Webb. When Katsuro Tanaka begins investigating the disappearance of a young nurse, he discovers more missing persons, and they all have one thing in common: The Grim Reaper Tarot Card. (978-1-62639-748-4)