A Life Removed

by Jason Parent

  “I said, cuff him,” Jocelyn ordered.

  Pimental shook his head. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  She wasn’t certain whether he was apologizing to her or his friend, but she would bet it was meant for Fournier.

  She recited the Miranda rights for the man, making sure to include and enunciate every word. Fortunately for Pimental, the bear-sized suspect didn’t resist. The officer’s hands shook as he cuffed the suspect. He walked Fournier to the police car and loaded him into the backseat.

  CHAPTER 22

  Jocelyn stared at her suspect through the two-way mirror. He’d killed all those people—she knew he had—but she couldn’t detect the slightest sign of cruelty, hatred, or even madness. Douglas Fournier was a killer of the scariest kind, one who not only felt no guilt, but couldn’t conceive of a reason why he should.

  “He’s not saying a word. Playing the tough guy, I suppose. Maybe he’s smarter than he looks.” She rubbed her forehead, hoping to massage away her stress. Or maybe we’re not as smart as we think.

  “Nevertheless, we need to get something out of him,” Bruce said. “He’s already used his phone call to contact an attorney. Still, he hasn’t officially invoked his right to counsel. We’re free to question him until he or his attorney puts a stop to it, not that it’s doing us a whole lot of good.”

  Jocelyn’s earlier optimism had become lost in a quagmire of red tape. She wondered if they’d been too eager in making their arrest. Sure, they had enough to charge Fournier, but she didn’t know if it was enough for a prosecutor to make the charges stick. Getting Fournier down to the precinct had been the easy part. Keeping him there was turning out to be much harder.

  Depending on the offense and the reasons for the hold, Massachusetts law required a prosecutor to make an independent decision on charges within so many hours of an arrest. If the prosecutor didn’t charge Fournier in the applicable time frame, the detectives would have to release him. The clock was ticking away as they scrambled to get lab results back for both fingerprint and DNA analysis on the seized items to be presented as evidence. Even on their best day, the lab rats could take up to a week on DNA results. While they waited for the lab and the indictment, they worked on Fournier.

  “Let me talk to him. Maybe he prefers a woman’s touch.”

  “You know how to be feminine?” Bruce teased.

  “Sexist pig.” Jocelyn feigned offense before heading into the interrogation room.

  Fournier sat awkwardly, too big for the small aluminum chair, which bent beneath his weight. Every facet of his face was still, as if he weren’t even breathing, a blank sheet empty of emotion. In his deadpan stare, Jocelyn saw nothing.

  She tossed her jacket over the back of the chair opposite her suspect. “Would you like a smoke? Perhaps a glass of water?” Both offers were merely ploys to get a DNA sample. She and Bruce had been able to keep one piece of evidence secret: skin cells found underneath Eliza Ramirez’s fingernails. Even power-washing her body and filing her nails had been insufficient to destroy the evidence completely. All Jocelyn needed was a match.

  Fournier didn’t respond.

  No matter. Jocelyn knew the lab would find a DNA sample in the van. One hair was all they needed.

  She’d been trained in the art of interrogation, but adopting a persona that was contrary to her own was not her forte. She slammed her palms onto the desk, doing her best to appear tough but in control. Her shirt was partially unbuttoned, exposing her cleavage when she bent at the waist. “We got you, you psychopath. We know all about your sick extracurricular activities.”

  She decided to take a chance. If she revealed a little information, maybe she would get a little in return, maybe even get a rise out of him or trick him into revealing the whole sordid story. “Tearing out hearts, sacrificing your victims to appease your god. Well, let me tell you something. God doesn’t approve. He agrees with the rest of us that you’re nothing but a worthless piece of shit. The only hope you have is to confess and turn over your co-conspirators. Then maybe, just maybe, we can convince the Commonwealth to cut you a deal. Otherwise, your size won’t help you in prison. The cell blocks are loaded with plenty of guys your size and bigger. You can prepare yourself for the butt-raping of the century.”

  The threat of sodomy intimidated the hell out of the softer types, but Fournier didn’t flinch. He raised his head slowly to meet Jocelyn’s stare. His gaze cold, uncaring, he leaned back in his chair. Jocelyn couldn’t read him. She wondered if he had any emotions to read.

  Still, she pressed on. “Or maybe your friends will turn on you first. You think Carter Wainwright is going to stay loyal when we throw him to the wolves? You bet your ass he won’t. He’ll be gossiping like a teenage girl, and you’ll be left squealing like a pig, Deliverance style. Maybe he’ll be sweet and come visit you and your new boyfriend in prison. You can show him how big your asshole has gotten. Won’t that be nice?”

  Again, Jocelyn’s attempts to rattle Fournier bore no fruit. The suspected murderer just looked away and sighed.

  Well, nothing’s sacred here. Let’s kick it up a notch, see what makes him tick. “Or maybe he’ll be off fucking your woman. How is the little wifey doing? Don’t think for a moment we don’t know she’s involved.”

  Fournier jumped out of his seat, heaving like a gorilla as his face reddened. “Kelly has nothing to do with any of this!” he shouted. “You leave her out of it.”

  Jocelyn flinched but quickly recovered. She bit into her lower lip as a smile wormed across her face. At last, she’d found the chink in his armor. This guy can be broken.

  But before she could continue to needle him, Fournier’s rage subsided. He sat down slowly, the metal chair creaking beneath his weight. “You’ve had your fun. I’m not saying another word without my attorney present,” he said through clenched teeth. He pressed his lips together, as if reminding himself to keep them shut.

  “Your attorney can’t do shit for you, so I suggest you start cooperating.”

  “I beg to differ,” a voice said sharply behind her.

  Jocelyn had been so focused on the interrogation that she hadn’t heard the door open. Standing in the doorway was a woman in a sharp-looking business suit.

  “Now, I’m sure you don’t intend to continue interrogating my client after he’s invoked his Fifth Amendment right to counsel, do you?”

  Jocelyn glanced at Bruce, who entered the room behind the lawyer. “As he just now invoked that right, we’ve received no statements from Mr. Fournier.” The woman’s answer was evasive but accurate.

  Defense lawyers. Soulless swine, the whole lot of them. Prosecutors were different. They performed a great public service. But the rest of them—and especially those money-grubbing private defense attorneys—were criminals representing criminals at a high price. The worst of the worst.

  “Will you be formally charging my client?” the lawyer asked.

  Jocelyn was at a loss for words. They had arrested him for the murders of six individuals, and they had handed over to the prosecutor everything they had. Why hasn’t he come back with charges yet?

  Sure, the detectives themselves had debated releasing Fournier, but they couldn’t reach a definitive answer in order to cast their net around his cult. They had plenty of evidence against Fournier but didn’t know if they could take down his accomplices.

  Bruce wanted them all, not just the one. “Releasing this animal back into the wild may be our best course of action,” he’d argued. “Now that he knows we’re on to him, he might lead us to evidence or to the others in an attempt to cover his tracks. When he does, we’ll be watching. With any luck, he’ll make our case for us.”

  Jocelyn had disagreed. She always favored the bird-in-the-hand philosophy. “Or we could be letting a killer escape justice, or worse, he might get out and kill again. We could have him formally charged and arraigned in the morn
ing. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and the judge will deny bail.”

  Neither had budged, but if a decision had to be made, Jocelyn would defer to Bruce. But it appeared the Commonwealth was making their decision for him.

  What could be taking her so long?

  To her surprise, Bruce did an about-face. “Yes, Ms. Medeiros. We have already processed him and requested that he be formally charged. In all likelihood, we’ll be transferring him to the Bristol County House of Corrections tomorrow morning. We thought we’d talk to him first, give him and you time to discuss his circumstances. We don’t believe your client has acted alone. I’m sure the Commonwealth will take into consideration his cooperation should he implicate—”

  “I told you,” Fournier growled. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

  Medeiros smiled tightly. “Say nothing else, Doug. Let me handle this.” She smoothed out her suit skirt. “I would like some time to talk with my client. Alone. I’ll keep in mind your offer, but it seems premature without an indictment.”

  “Of course.”

  “Bruce, are you talking deal?” Jocelyn said. “We have enough to—”

  “It’s okay.” Bruce grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her from the room, letting the door swing shut behind them.

  Jocelyn shook her arm free. “We’ve got enough to put this guy away for life. He doesn’t deserve a deal. You think the families of his victims would give him a deal? What if it were my husband he’d killed? My daughter? You just don’t get it because you don’t have a family.”

  Bruce’s mouth dropped open.

  Jocelyn immediately regretted what she’s said. “Bruce, I’m so sorry. I… I wasn’t thinking. I just got caught up in the moment.”

  He patted her arm in an awkward display of affection. “Don’t even think twice about it. I get it. But you have to remember how these things work. We get him to roll on his accomplices, and we put away the whole damn lot. Fournier won’t exactly walk away with a slap on the wrist. In fact, given the severity of the crimes, he’s likely looking at life even with a deal. Maybe they’ll offer him an extra pillow for his cart.”

  “Even that’s more than the son of a bitch deserves.” She let out a long breath. “Well, I suppose I should be happy—one scumbag off the streets. It’s not like he’s going anywhere. There’s no way in hell he’s gonna get bail. That’s assuming we ever get an indictment. What gives? This is the most important case this area has seen in the last decade. We basically hand those pencil pushers a serial killer on a platter, and none of them over at the DA’s office has the guts to prosecute it?”

  Bruce stroked his chin. “Yeah, I don’t like it. Something’s not right. We’ve sent away many with less. This should be a no-brainer.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Hang tight. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  As her partner walked away, Jocelyn stared through the soundproofed room’s window at the fancy-pants lawyer and her killer client. He’s gonna walk somehow. I can feel it. It doesn’t make any sense.

  Aaron couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He must not have heard her correctly. He couldn’t have heard her correctly.

  Arianna stared at the floor, unable to look him in the eye. She must have known her action wasn’t going to go over well.

  “You did what?” he shouted.

  “This could be a huge break for me,” Arianna countered sheepishly. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

  “Overreacting?” He paced the length of the kitchen. “Overreacting! Arianna, he may have murdered one of my best friends!”

  “He needed a lawyer, and I’m the only one he knows. Besides, you said yourself that he couldn’t have done it. You should be happy that I agreed to help him out. Plus, you know how much I want to open my own criminal law practice. And this is such a high-profile case! It could make me.”

  “Or it could break you,” Aaron retorted. “Never mind what it’ll do to us. Why didn’t you discuss it with me first?”

  “Because I knew what you’d say. I knew you’d be like… like… this.”

  “And how the fuck am I supposed to act, huh? My own girlfriend, sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Don’t you care at all what happened to Craig? Don’t you give a shit about how I feel? Fuck!” He swiped his arm across the kitchen counter, spilling its contents onto the floor. Pens, notepads, the mail he’d brought in—all of it slid across the tiles. A newspaper stopped at Arianna’s feet. He snorted. Doug’s face was on the front page.

  “You’re scaring me,” Arianna said flatly. She didn’t sound scared.

  If he hurt her, he knew he would regret it. But that didn’t change the fact that at that moment, he was so full of rage and hate that he just wanted to grab her by the throat and—

  He took a deep breath. Not worth it, Aaron. Not worth it. The roiling waters of his anger went from boil to simmer. She pushes too far. If he were honest with himself, Aaron had found it difficult to believe Doug was some heart-stealing psychopath plastering dead bodies around town. But that was before his superiors had seized that van and everything in it. Since then, he didn’t know what to think. And the only person he thought he could trust—aside from Ricardo—ups and joins Team Doug without even having the common decency to discuss it with him first.

  “I’m taking the case. You can either deal with it or—”

  “Or what?” Aaron pounded his fist on the table. He wanted to hit her. No, he wanted to kill her.

  “Or leave,” she replied softly.

  He was tired of being depressed… of letting the world beat him down. He didn’t feel like being life’s toilet, always getting shit on. Anger felt so much better than melancholy. So much better. All that he dealt with alone, so many dark thoughts he kept bottled up inside. Why should I be miserable alone? Why shouldn’t I share it with those who make me miserable?

  Yes, anger was so much better.

  Still, he’d never once laid a hand on Arianna. He rarely even raised his voice to her. Is the unspoken tension between us finally rearing its ugly head? He gritted his teeth. Well, fuck it, and fuck her.

  “Fine! Your fucking ambition always comes before us, doesn’t it? It always has, always will. Know this: if Doug is the killer and he gets to someone else, it’s on your hands.” Aaron charged toward the door. If Arianna hadn’t stepped aside, he might have gone through her to reach it. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 23

  “They’re watching us,” Carter whispered as he pretended to demonstrate a throw on Doug, who had just been released from custody earlier in the day. Doug had thanked him for it, thinking he might have had a hand in it. Carter would have sooner tattooed a penis on his forehead than paid a penny of his own funds to bribe, cajole, or otherwise deter the DA’s office from filing an indictment. “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” was the only response he’d given, content to let Doug believe he’d helped. But someone had interfered, undamning he whom Carter had damned. He shrugged, willing to reap the benefits anyhow. His most useful pawn was back in play.

  “I didn’t think we should have class tonight, but I wanted it to appear like business as usual.” Tuesday night always meant his jiu-jitsu instruction in Somerset. On that Tuesday, only Carter, Doug, Kelly, and Ricardo were there.

  The patrol car parked in front of his Somerset dojo was so noticeable that it must have been intended. The officer in the driver’s seat sipped coffee, staring at them through a window. Not wanting to raise suspicion, Carter had left the blinds open.

  “First off,” Carter said, “they probably have some of our phones tapped or are using listening devices. So let’s keep it down. No more conversations on the phones or anywhere, if it can be helped.” Carter realized he was overstating the local law enforcement’s level of sophistication and technological savvy, but he wanted to stress the need for caution, even if that meant making his
crew paranoid. “If we keep our heads and act normal, this will blow over. They’ve got nothing on us. Let’s not give them anything.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Kelly said loudly. “Your vehicle wasn’t impounded. And how was that box cutter left there anyway? Which one of us messed up that badly? Carter? Ricardo? I saw that bitch detective toss it in a plastic bag.”

  “Shhhh!” Carter hissed. We have dissension in the ranks… it’s too soon. I’d better keep up the harmony a little longer. “Keep your voice down. If you remember, I never rode in the van that night. So let’s not point fingers. I don’t know how it ended up there. Are you even sure it’s the same box cutter? Either way, if it was enough to pin something on us, the police would have done something about it by now.”

  “You keep saying us,” Doug said. He’d lost weight and looked as though he hadn’t slept. “Now, please don’t think for a moment I don’t appreciate you getting me out. I do, and so does Kelly. I don’t know how you pulled it off. Those detectives were so mad when no one showed with an indictment. I thought the little vein in that one guy’s forehead was gonna burst. But they will keep trying, so sticking around here just isn’t smart. The cops didn’t come to your house. They didn’t haul you off to jail… or any of the rest of you, for that matter.”

  “What are you saying, Doug?” Carter feigned innocence yet again. The others didn’t know that the police had also paid a visit to his home. They didn’t know how much he wanted to scream out to the world, “Yes, I killed those people—them and many more. And I’m going to kill a whole lot more. I’ll keep on killing until your gods shed tears of blood and your children would rather crawl back up their filthy mothers’ crotches than face the world I create.” Well, maybe not quite all that. “You’re not alone in this. We’re all with you, come what may. More importantly, he is with you. God will protect you. He’ll protect us all.”

  Doug sighed. “Carter, I’m no Judas. You know I’m part of this team. I believe in the importance of our work. I always have. But I see Kelly’s point. How does me rotting in jail best serve God or carry out our mission?”