A Life Removed

by Jason Parent

  “Hey, Craig. It’s Rick.”

  “I know. You have your own ringtone. I picked a really gay one for you.”

  “Gee, thanks. What are you up to?”

  Craig scratched his ass. “Not much. I was about to eat lunch.”

  “Want to go to the mall?”

  “Which one?”

  “Silver City Galleria.”

  “Sure. What do you have to do out there?”

  “Just pick up a few things.”

  “Yeah, I’m game. It’ll get me out of the house and take my mind off things for a while.”

  “Everything okay?”

  Craig let out a breath. “Nothing. I just feel like getting out of the house. I was beginning to feel a little… confined.”

  “C’mon, Craig. What’s up?”

  “Okay… no, actually. I think maybe—I know this is going to sound crazy—I think I’m being followed.”

  “Craig—”

  “Just hear me out. I see this van almost everywhere I go. I saw it on my morning jog, outside Best Buy, at the dry cleaners, at IHOP… everywhere.”

  “This van, what does it look like?”

  “It’s white and a little beat up. It’s the same kind of van you see—”

  “Everywhere?” Ricardo finished. “I know what it is. The government is spying on you. They know all about that sick porn you downloaded. Destroy your hard drive before they get all your dark secrets. They probably already have recording devices in your teeth.”

  “Very funny. Seriously, the news said that killer might drive a white van. Maybe it’s him.”

  “Let’s think about this one for a second. What would the killer want with you? Can you think of a reason why anyone would want to kill you? For that matter, can you think of any reason why anyone would want to spy on you? You’re not all that interesting.”

  “You guys seemed pretty pissed at me the other night,” Craig said.

  A long, slow breath sent static through the receiver. “Come on. That was nothing. Besides, you’re the one who left me stranded, and I’m not mad about it.”

  “I’m sorry about that. But I do think somebody’s following me.”

  “Could it be the cops? You didn’t go back to your ex-girlfriend’s house again, did you?”

  “I haven’t talked to her in nearly three years. And no, the cops have no reason to be tailing me.”

  “You’re being paranoid.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.”

  “Pick me up in a half hour. I’ll be ready by then. We’ll see if your van follows you to the mall.”

  “All right. See you in a few.”

  As the timer went off on his leftover Tuna Helper, Craig couldn’t stop his thoughts from returning to the van. He vowed to keep a closer eye out for it from then on out.

  CHAPTER 14

  Aaron focused on the drop of sweat rolling down Officer Brian Temple’s forehead.

  “Can you come with me?” Brian asked. “I need your help with something.”

  This doesn’t sound too promising. Aaron tapped a pencil against the top of his desk. “I’m sort of busy.”

  “With what?” Brian pointed at the computer. “That thing isn’t even on.”

  “Um…” Aaron sighed. “Okay, you got me. What’s up?”

  “Just…” Brian’s eyes darted nervously. The material of his shirt was darker under his armpits.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Y-Yes. Just come with me, will you?”

  Aaron stood and followed his coworker a short distance to a nearby office. “Oh no,” he said as Brian knocked on the wall beside the open door. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

  “Come in, Temple,” Detective Marklin called. “Pimental.”

  Fuck. It was too late to escape. How Marklin had seen him from behind the mountains of paperwork on his desk and through Brian and the wall between them was anyone’s guess. What the hell did I just walk straight into?

  Brian swiped at the sweat on his forehead. Aaron could feel it starting to bead on his own. His stomach roiled. I shouldn’t have drunk all that coffee. No one comes here willingly. Is Brian begging for punishment? I don’t even know what this is all about. Marklin’s going to look at me like I’m stupid and have something nasty to say, and the next thing I know, I’ll be writing up everyone’s reports for a week. He scowled at the back of Brian’s head.

  The young, squeaky-clean kiss-ass was fairly new to the force, but he should have known enough to fear talking face-to-face with Detective Marklin, especially while the man had a serial killer on his hands. He and Brian had no business stepping into that office, a needless interruption of the murder investigation Marklin was trying to solve.

  Brian cleared his throat. “Good morning, sir.”

  “What do you want, Temple?” Marklin asked.

  Aaron rolled his eyes. Here we go. By his count, Brian had already wasted sixteen seconds of the detective’s time.

  “Well, I was thinking—”

  “Is that something new for you?”

  Brian’s face reddened. “I was thinking that maybe we could try another angle on the van, sir.”

  Aaron swallowed hard. His and Brian’s job consisted mainly of arresting shoplifters or handing out speeding tickets, maybe breaking up the occasional bar fight. They were supposed to leave homicide investigations to more qualified cops.

  “Oh yeah?” Marklin sat up. “What’s that?”

  “Well, my friend works for the highway department, and he says that they have several unmarked vans available for employee use. Every time an employee takes one out, he has to sign for it. They can take the van out for days or even weeks at a time. The vans all have government plates, blue like ours, and none of them have any commercial-type markings. They’re plain white.”

  “We don’t know if the van in question has government plates.”

  “I know. If it does, though, we have a ready-made list of potential killers. Most of the state’s departments have similar systems. My friend estimates that the Commonwealth has no more than ninety of them in use at any given time, but that’s across the state. There would probably be only ten to twenty of them in this area. We could check out the highway department’s list and do minimal surveillance on each person. It shouldn’t take long to rule most of them out. I only suggest this because almost every one of the unmarked white vans I’ve seen belongs to the Commonwealth.”

  Marklin scrunched up his nose. “Do you have gas?”

  Aaron studied his reflection in his polished boots. He wondered if the detective had heard a word Brain had said.

  “Yes.” Brian’s face turned a dark shade of red. “S-Sorry. My stomach keeps turning.”

  “Do you think using our limited manpower to acquire these lists and spy on those whose names appear on them is worth the department’s time and energy?”

  “Me? Um, I think so.”

  “You don’t sound too confident.”

  Brian’s teeth dug trenches into his lip. “Yes, I think it’s worth a shot, sir.”

  “And you, Pimental?”

  “I-I-I—”

  “How eloquent.”

  “Yes,” Aaron managed then added, “sir.”

  “Good. Then get to it. Have Stravenski help you if you need an extra hand. Good work, Temple. Showing initiative like that is how cases get solved.” He shot a glance at Aaron that was easy to read: You should take a page from your fellow officer’s book.

  “Thank you, sir.” Brian turned to leave.

  “Oh, and one more thing. Clean your pants.”

  When they left the office, Aaron retreated to his desk. Fifteen minutes later, Brian came over with a faxed list of all Highway Department vehicles in use. Aaron nodded and got up to go with him, thinking that a chance to do some real poli
ce work for once might be a good thing. They signed out a squad car, and Brian set the GPS for the first address on the list.

  “So who’s up first?” Aaron asked. “And thanks for picking me to help you with this.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Brian replied. “You were just in the right place at the right time. I needed some backup going in there. First up is Gabriel Torres.”

  At that moment, Aaron’s phone exploded with light and sound.

  Brian shook his head. “That has got to be the most annoying, God-awful ringtone ever to disgrace a cell phone.”

  “Tell me about it. Just give me a second.” Aaron put his phone up to his ear. “Hello?”

  “What’s happening, bro?”

  “Craig, what do you want?” Aaron asked.

  “Rick and I are heading to the mall. Wanna come?”

  “Unlike you and Rick, I have to work. I’m in the middle of an assignment.”

  “Sorry, dude. I won’t take up much of your time. One question, though?”

  “What’s that?”

  “How can you tell if someone is following you?”

  “Jesus Christ, Craig! I don’t have time for this.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that I see a white van just like the one they say the killer drives everywhere I go.”

  “You and half the city who calls in useless tips every day. Don’t you think you’re being paranoid?”

  “Yeah, that’s what Rick said. I guess you guys are right. Sorry to bother you.”

  “No problem, but I have to go.” Aaron ended the call and stuck his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry about that,” he told Brian. “My friend thinks the killer’s after him.”

  “I heard. Your friend sounds like a wuss.” Brian laughed and pulled over to the curb. “We’re here.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “I guess we wait until he leaves the house then follow him.”

  “Oh. Which house?”

  Brian smirked. “The one with the white van parked in the driveway.” He pointed at a van two houses down and across the street from their position. The house was a modest gray single-family ranch.

  Aaron nodded then tried to sound official. “The van’s the right color, no markings, sliding side door. It fits the description. How long do we wait?”

  “As long as it takes. Haven’t you ever seen a stakeout in the movies?”

  Aaron stared at the house. A couple of times, the shade on one of the front windows moved, but he couldn’t make out who or what was causing its motion. Nearly fifty-two minutes passed before the front door opened.

  An elderly man rolled his wheelchair down the driveway and straight up to Brian’s car window. “Why are you two officers watching my house?”

  “We’re investigating a crime. Sir, please… move away from the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them.” Brian’s hand was on his sidearm as he exited the patrol car.

  Aaron got out and walked around the car. “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Gabriel Torres. Who’s asking?”

  “I’m Officer Pimental, and this is Officer Temple.”

  “Can you tell your idiot partner to relax?” Torres snapped. “He looks like he’s about to pull that gun on me. I’m too old for that shit.”

  Brian’s gun hand dropped to his side, and he pointed with the other. “Do you drive that van?”

  Torres rolled forward, almost on top of Brian’s toes. “You’re damn right I do. It’s handicap accessible, shit for brains.”

  Aaron eyed the van and spotted the handicap hanger on the rearview mirror. Way to pay attention to detail.

  Torres shook his head. “You mean to tell me you didn’t notice the handicap plate staring you right in your stupid faces? Good police work, fellas. You do those uniforms proud. Oh, and next time you want to spy on somebody, perhaps you should do it a little farther away—and don’t be so obvious. Probably lose the police car, too, jackasses.”

  Aaron said, “Let’s go, Brian. I think we can cross Mr. Torres off our list.”

  “But he could be faking—”

  “Don’t go there, Brian. Let’s just leave.” Aaron flapped a hand at the wheelchair. “We’re sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Torres. You’re free to go.”

  “No wonder you guys haven’t caught that killer yet.” Torres cackled. “With morons like you keeping the peace, it’s a fine time to be a criminal.”

  Brian looked as though he wanted to respond, so Aaron gave him a nudge toward the car. Brian got behind the wheel, and Aaron went around and climbed into the passenger seat. Hell, the old man was right. They were in way over their heads. But he could learn. “Let’s get my car before heading out to the next one.”

  Brian nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  The next name on the list was Dennis Norton, a machine operator for the highway department. Aaron pulled up to Norton’s house in his almost-paid-off Subaru. The driveway was empty, so Aaron and Brian got out to look around.

  “Maybe he’s not home,” Brian said, peering into the garage window. “No van in there, either.”

  “Well, I’m not going to wait this time. Let’s just ring the doorbell.”

  “Think we should?”

  “Fuck if I know, but it sure as hell beats standing around with our dicks in our hands.”

  “You had your dick in your hand?”

  Aaron rolled his eyes. “It’s a figure of speech, man.”

  He walked right next to Brian as they headed toward the door, drawing strength from the other’s support. If they were any closer, they would have been arm in arm.

  No repeats of the last screw-up. Aaron stood up straight, trying to look dignified and poised. We couldn’t possibly fuck up that badly again. He rang the bell.

  The behemoth of a man who opened the door took one look at them, yelled, “Oh fuck!” and slammed the door in their faces.

  We got him! Only the guilty run, Aaron thought, though he knew Arianna would disagree. She’d argued that many people run from the cops simply because they’re afraid of them—cops who would plant evidence, abuse their power, and arrest people for no other reason than their being a minority. But Norton was Caucasian, and for a big guy, he could move.

  “Go around back!” Aaron shouted. He took a step back from the door, grinning. I always wanted to do this. He kicked the door beside the knob, but the hard wood won the battle. The force made him stumble backward, and he would have tumbled down the steps if his flailing hand hadn’t caught the railing. Angry and embarrassed, he regained his balance and slammed his shoulder into the door. It took two more attempts to break the lock. Not bad for a first try.

  Pulling his gun from the holster and holding it in front of him, Aaron entered the residence. A creaky screen door at the back of the house closed slowly, and he hustled toward the sound.

  He ran out the back door and into the yard, where he heard the wails of someone in serious pain. He looked around but only saw Brian, who had climbed halfway up the six-foot wooden fence and was peeking over it. The screaming was coming from the other side. Aaron holstered his gun and started to climb up beside Brian. His partner’s face had gone ghastly white.

  “What’s wrong?” When Aaron’s hand touched the spiked tip, he grabbed something with the texture of a smashed cherry. Gross. He wiped his hand on his pants and started over.

  Brian grabbed Aaron’s sleeve and gulped. “Careful. H-He’s seriously hurt. H-He got caught… I saw him when he went over…”

  Aaron shrugged him off. When he got one leg over the top, he spotted a large man curled up in the fetal position and moaning on the ground. He assumed it was their suspect.

  “What do you see?” Brian asked.

  Aaron twisted around and whispered, “I think it’s Norton, the guy who lives here. He must have fallen and hurt hi
mself when he climbed the fence.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, he—”

  “Just jump over and help me, will you?” Aaron couldn’t draw his weapon while perched on a fence. The guy hadn’t looked up while he was talking with Brian, so Aaron decided to just jump down there.

  Once he landed, he noticed a reddish splotch darkening the inside of the guy’s pants leg. The man’s hands were covered in blood as he cupped his groin.

  Aaron felt a bit nauseous when he realized the guy must have come down on one of the spikes as he straddled the fence. He felt an impulse to reach for his own crotch and check his balls. When he realized just what it was that he’d gotten on his hand and wiped on his pants leg, he gagged.

  Brian landed beside the man, who had stopped screaming and was sobbing. “We’ve got to get him to a hospital.”

  “What? In my Subaru? Forget it. He won’t fit anyway.”

  The injured man looked up at Aaron. It was definitely Norton. A machine operator needed a lot of strength to do his job, and Norton certainly had it. He looked as though at any moment his shirt would rip, his skin would turn green, and “Hulk, smash” would become the full extent of his vocabulary.

  “Guess we should have stuck with the patrol car,” Brian said.

  “Yeah, well, hindsight’s always twenty-twenty. Call for an ambulance.”

  Brian walked a few feet away and used his handheld to radio dispatch to send support.

  Aaron glared down at Norton. “We got you, you sick son of a bitch.”

  “I’m sorry.” The big man whimpered like a little girl, still clutching his crotch, probably to prevent his remaining testicle from falling out. “I’ll never grow it again. Just save my balls, please.”

  Grow? Aaron looked around, and his mouth fell open. He’d stumbled on the mother lode. The big guy was lying at the edge of a field in which a familiar plant grew in amounts far too great to have been natural, not that any amount of ganja was indigenous to Fall River. A poorly camouflaged greenhouse off to the left probably housed the chemically enhanced shit.