by Tom Secret
“Stolen, or was Stark the driver?”
“No report of it being stolen.”
“Okay, try to scare up a contact number from DMV and get me an address. How bad was the driver?”
“Bad. Fuel tank blew when the bus hit. It didn’t leave him much skin, but he was alive when they put him in the ambulance.”
“And the bodies?”
“Boy and a girl, Lieutenant. They were in the trunk.”
Donatello shook his head in dismay. “Anybody speak to the parents?
“Captain Colby and the inspector were with them before you arrived. They say the mother’s the mayor’s niece!”
“I heard that on the radio. A lot of heat on this one. Okay, Carlson, get hold of Sanjit. Tell him I want the phone and data records from the house, nanny, and parents. I want Crane, Lance, and Kennedy canvassing the neighbors right away, and tell Lance he needs to go to the children’s school first thing tomorrow. I want everything the teachers and other pupils can tell us. Oh and get the bus driver’s statement as soon as the medic’s done. Let’s find out what set off this mess.”
“On it, Lieutenant.”
Donatello stalked over to one of the two forensic techs searching the wreckage. “Ray Ray, what do you have on the driver?”
“Not a whole bunch! Damn thing’s fried. It’s a reach, but I’m hoping for a print from under the door lever when the fire trucks finish, and I’ll let you know what I get from inside when it cools.”
“Was anything thrown out on impact? Phone, laptop, wallet?”
Ray Ray shook her head. “Nothing found. Most likely, any DNA got destroyed, but if I find any, I’ll run it through CODIS, and if I get lucky with a print, we might catch a break with the DMV.”
“I need that driver’s name, Ray Ray, like yesterday, okay? I’m going to speak to the parents and find out what they can tell me about the nanny.”
“Not yet you won’t, Lieutenant.” She pointed a latex-gloved finger.
Donatello saw Captain Colby and the police inspector heading toward them and braced himself.
“You took your sweet time!” Colby steamed.
Donatello gave him a weary look. “I went for a drink with the dead nanny first.”
“I’ve been here twenty minutes!”
“She was a slow drinker.”
“Don’t you backchat me, Lieutenant—”
Inspector Wilkes stepped forward, cutting the captain off. “What Captain Colby was about to say is that the mayor wants to see a swift resolution to this heinous incident. The family—his niece and her husband—have just lost their two children in a most horrific way, and they need closure.”
Donatello nodded to the inspector, grateful for the intervention. “I understand, sir.”
Colby chomped at the bit. “Take note, Donatello! All eyes are watching this one, so don’t go getting sidetracked with one of your cockamamie theories. Sucker that did this is in the hospital and under guard. It’s a slam dunk, so just do your damn job and wrap it up, capisce?”
Donatello clamped his jaw to block the Exocet missile from launching and sinking this pompous ass. “Are we done, Captain?”
Inspector Wilkes caught Colby’s arm. “We’re done, Donatello.”
17. RONNIE’S JUSTICE
Sunday, 10:40 p.m.
Donatello made a beeline for his regular bar stool, grabbed two coasters, and placed them side by side as Ronnie pushed through the swing doors from the kitchen, drying his hands with a tea towel. Sundays were often quiet, but tonight it was a ghost bar.
“Evening, Ronnie. Sorry I stormed out Friday.”
“Me, too. I was outta line. Are you okay though? You look like hammered shit!”
“There was an accident. Bourbon, please.”
Ronnie half-filled a whiskey glass and sat the bottle on the bar. “The captain hasn’t bumped you down to traffic, I hope?”
Donatello took a long slug, hoping to banish the image of the two bodies in the wreckage. “What’s wrong with people, Ronnie?”
“They think God’s someplace else… what kind of accident?”
Donatello raised his chin toward the blank TV screen hanging behind the bar. “It’ll be on the news. A guy broke into a house, killed the nanny, snatched the kids, and got totaled by a bus getting away.”
“Mary Mother of Jesus!” Ronnie crossed himself and poured himself a finger of bourbon. “Are the children…”
Donatello shook his head.
“Oh, no! Why’d he take the children?”
“We’re trying to figure that out. The driver suffered third-degree burns, so we’ll need the blood work to understand more. Could be the kids’ biological father, or a ransom grab, which might explain why they were in the trunk.”
“The trunk! They were in the trunk? So then it’s a pedophile.” Ronnie said, refilling Donatello’s glass.
“What?”
“A pedophile—snatching the kids.”
Donatello studied him. “I know what they are. Why would you say that?”
“First thing that came to mind.” Ronnie took a slug, his cheeks flushing. “Goes on all the time, doesn’t it? Why ya looking at me like that?”
“Because the press doesn’t report missing persons, Ronnie. In fact, it’s one of the least reported crimes in the country.”
“Not reported or not happening?”
“Come again?”
“Let it go, Don.”
“I’d prefer not to.”
“Look, you’re a big detective, and I run a bar, but everyone knows, nine out of ten, whenever that shit gets reported, nothing gets done, so people don’t bother. These scum spend years grooming kids and abusing them—in schools, churches, cub scouts, everywhere. But the cops do nothing. And even when they do, the judges give the sick fucks community service working in a school! The system’s fucked, Don, there’s no deterrent, and most of them never get caught!”
“Whoa, Ronnie!” Donatello pushed back from the bar. “Where were you hiding all these years?”
“Not something to share with a cop, much less a regular.”
“Okay, I’ll bite, what would be a deterrent?”
“No thanks, I’ve said enough already.”
Donatello studied the man he thought he knew. “Come on, it’s me you’re talking to.”
Ronnie surveyed the empty tables, rested both hands on the bar and leaned toward him. “They should castrate them and let them rot in a hole in the ground, and that’s the soft option!”
“Seems extreme, but okay, what’s the hard option?”
Ronnie pursed his lips.
“Come on, don’t stop now. I’m intrigued.”
“If I tell you, it’s as a friend, not a cop, right?”
“Sure.”
“First off, society doesn’t understand, there’s no right or wrong in their twisted minds, just an all-consuming drive to satisfy their perversions. They don’t see the world like normal people, and there’s no treatment or cure for what they have, so the only way to deal with them is to cut ‘em to pieces and feed ‘em to the rats.”
Donatello logged each word, studying the man’s anguished expression as he returned to polishing the bar. “What happened to you, Ronnie?”
Ronnie lowered his head and leaned his forearms on the surface as if to steady himself. A tear rolled down his nose, hung at the tip, and fell with a splash on the shiny dark surface.
“You can tell me,” Donatello said.
“It was the Catholic boarding school over on Addison. They targeted the first-years. Sometimes you got away; sometimes you didn’t. I was a little boy; and those sick fucks…”
“Jesus, Ronnie, I had no idea.”
Ronnie’s face streaked with tears. “I can’t hold down a relationship. Can’t sleep with the lights out, and every night, I close my eyes, and their sick faces are there. I wish I had the guts to take a knife and hunt them down so I could rest in peace.”
“Did they catch them?”
> “One boy from my school used to live around here, and I met him a few years back. He said the perverts picked on the son of a circuit court judge who found out and went epileptic. The authorities knew all along and turned a blind eye, so the judge kicked over the beehive, and the cops arrested the teachers—but not before they’d destroyed countless lives.”
“What'd they get?
Ronnie shook his head as fresh tears gathered. “Nothin! A couple years each and now they’re back out! Those evil focks got a slap on the wrist, and their victims got a life sentence. So tell me, detective, you still think my idea of justice is extreme?”
18. THE BOGEYMAN
Sunday, 10:50 p.m.
Randall Cilcifus paced across his minimalist white-walled living room, checking the peephole in the door each time he passed.
“Where are they, Bogey? You think Piest showed up at the warehouse, trying to steal our buyers or do deals behind our back? We don’t like him, do we? He’s a cheater.”
Randall grabbed his cell phone from the glass coffee table and redialed Antwan. It was still on voicemail. He dialed Stark and got an electronic woman’s voice saying the subscriber was not available. Walton’s was off, too, so he tried Snyderman, which rang out. He rechecked the peephole, but the corridor was clear. “We’re being shafted Bogey, I know it.”
He crossed the room to the wire cage on the side table; opened the lid and thrust his hand inside, catching one of half a dozen white rats by the tail. He hoisted the little creature as it twisted and turned, then lowered it to within an inch of Bogey’s mouth, snatched it away as a tease, and let go. The rat dropped inside the twelve-foot glass tank and froze as the eight-foot red-tail boa constrictor moved into position. “Bon appetit, Bogey!”
A loud bang, bang, bang at the door made Randall jump. “About goddamn time!” He checked the peephole, threw the bolts and yanked it open. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Big problem, boss,” Antwan said, unzipping his arctic parka as he entered the room and left Randall holding the door.
“Well, spit it out.”
“It’s Stark. He’s had an accident. It’s all over the news.”
Randall waved his hand. “What a pity. Did he deliver the rest of the order?”
“No, boss.” Antwan removed his gloves and scarf.
“Did the buyers take the twelve, at least?” Randall felt the muscles in his cheek twitch.
“No, Stark-”
Randall waved him off. “Forget Stark! What happened at the damn warehouse, Antwan?”
“It was a disaster. The buyers said they made it clear to Walton, it was fourteen or nothing. Michaels tried to call Stark to see where he was with the last two, but his phone was off, so Michaels went apeshit and threatened them to take the twelve or else. They pulled out sub-machine guns and screamed at us in Russian until Michaels backed down; then they stormed out.”
“They left! What are we supposed to do with a dozen drugged vermin?”
“Stark’s—”
“I don’t give a rat’s crap about Stark; this is a five-star cluster fuck! We need to find where he stashed the two screamers so we can fulfill the order.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! The kids were in the trunk of Stark’s car when it got hit by a school bus. They got barbecued, and Stark’s in a coma! It’s all over the news.”
“Shit, shit, fucking shit!” Randall slumped down on the edge of the coffee table. His shirt wet with sweat. “I need this one, Antwan, we have to salvage it. Why are you shaking your head?”
“Because it’s a mess, boss. The mother of the kids is the mayor’s niece!”
Randall cupped his hands over his face. “This can’t be happening to me, I’m the master of my destiny, for Chrissakes!”
“Boss, you’ve got to get a grip. How are we gonna cover this at the office? The cops will be all over Stark, and he’ll lead them straight to us.”
Randall rose and paced back and forth.
“Boss?”
“Shut your biscuit tin a minute, will you? I’m trying to think.”
Antwan pulled his parka back on. “You can think all you like, but I’m getting out of town.”
“Sit your pitiful ass down. You’re not going anywhere! There’s a way through this.
“What way? This is manslaughter, and we’re talking about the mayor’s niece! All hell’s gonna break loose.”
“We need to get rid of the evidence, Antwan.”
“How are we gonna do that? The kids will be in the morgue.”
“I’m not talking about the kids, you idiot.”
“What, then?”
“Stark’s in the hospital, right?”
“In a coma.”
“Good, so pay him a visit and finish him with his pillow.”
19. PLAYING HOOKY
Monday, 7:00 a.m.
“Mommy, I’m sick!” Lilly said, pulling the angel-print duvet over her head as Lola drew back the curtains. “I can’t go to school today.”
“What’s wrong, Honey?” Lola sat on the edge of the bed and pulled back the duvet.
“I’ve got the fever, and my throat hurts.”
“Okay, sweetie, open wide and say ah.”
“Ahhhhh.”
Lola touched her throat. “Your glands are swollen.” She laid the back of her hand on Lilly’s forehead. “And you have a temperature, so I guess you are staying home today.”
Lola tucked the duvet in around Lilly’s shoulders and headed into Jack’s room.
“Up and at em!”
“Urghh!”
Lola walked to the window and threw the curtains back. “Don’t even think about playing hooky, my boy. I got in enough trouble last time when they saw you in town.”
“Arghh! Mum, I’m not well, honest!” He curled into a fetal position and rocked back and forth beneath the covers.
“Oh sure, what lesson do you want to skip this time?”
“My stomach hurts, and I’m burning up, feel my forehead!”
Lola touched his brow. “Good try! Had the electric blanket on, did you?”
“Why won’t you believe I’m sick!”
“Because you’re a con artist who’ll do anything to get out of school. So, up with you.”
“But look, I’ve got the shivers.” Jack held out his arm.
Lola glanced at the shaking limb, then strode away. “Let’s see if your dad buys your Oscar-worthy performance.”
She padded downstairs to Brad’s study. “Got a minute, Hon?”
Brad looked from the drawings he was studying, laid them flat on top of the others, and pushed back from his desk. “Sure, Babe.”
“Lilly’s sick for real, and Jack wants to play hooky. Is it okay if they stay home today?” She caught the flicker of a smile. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” he said, chuckling. “He’s a chip off the old block.”
Lola leaned against the door-jamb. “Are you going to tell me now?”
“Tell you what?”
“About juve.”
“Oh, crap; must we do this?”
“Yes, and not the short version either.” Lola watched him swivel his chair from left to right, which meant he was thinking how to change the subject. “I won’t quit until you tell me, Brad.”
“Do you know the difference between a youth prison and a juvenile detention center?”
Lola shook her head.
“Detention centers are small, locally run, and you get to stay in contact with family and the outside world. A youth prison is a remote, state-run institution, with locked doors, razor-wire fences, and solitary confinement. Their job is to keep you locked-in, not prepare you for being back in the world. They have high rates of violence and sexual abuse and little or no ability to remain engaged in school work. Organizations like Youth First, are fighting to have youth prisons abolished. The prison I went to had been running for more than a century.”
“What did you do?”
�
��I was five, and it was my first day at school. I was dressed up in my blue shorts and blazer but didn’t want to go. Father half dragged me, and I cried the whole way there until I reached the classroom with the other new kids. When the bell rang for first recess, everyone trooped out to the playground, and I stood watching the others play, but an older kid spotted me and figured he’d have fun at my expense. He was much bigger than the other boys with him, and twice my size, so his fun put me in hospital for a month.”
“A month! Wait, so what’s that got to do with prison?”
Brad bit his lip as he swiveled his chair. “By the time I was well enough to return to school, they’d expelled the boy, but when I was ten, we moved to a different district, and on the morning I arrived at my new school, he was there at the gates, smoking a cigarette with his pals. I passed within two feet of him, but he didn’t recognize me, so I figured my time had come.”
“You held a grudge for five years?”
“He fractured my skull, broke my clavicle, and knocked out two of my teeth, so yeah, I was pissed. Anyway, I found out that the kids smoked behind the art block at recess, so I waited for him.”
“Here it comes.”
Brad nodded. “I used to love drawing, and I’d carry my sketch pad everywhere, with a pencil tucked behind my ear. So when the kid showed up with his chums, smoking, laughing and joking, I flew at him with my pencil and got him over a dozen times before a teacher hauled me away.”
“Oh, my God!” Lola cupped her hand over her mouth. “Did you kill him?”
“Not with a pencil, but I put him in the hospital.”
“Why did they lock you up then?”
“Judge had no choice. The prosecutor argued it was premeditated and was pushing for attempted murder, so we had to cop a plea.”
“My God! What was it like?”
“Hard. Lots of kids suffered abuse; others died there. In some respects I was lucky; father’s connections warned the guards against touching me, and he made sure I got regular schoolwork. Still, I vowed I’d never go back.”
“How come you never told me?”