With Cruel Intent

by Dennis Larsen

  Relieved that nothing happened, he cautiously inserted his gloved hand through the small opening until his elbow was at the door, bent his hand down and quietly spun the dead bolt. Once done, he reached to the handle and unlocked it as well.

  “Obstacle two breached,” he thought.

  The thief was in. It appeared the only light on in the entire two-story structure was the small hood lamp over the stove. His entry from the back door had placed him in the kitchen, with a sunken media room to his right. He removed a small LED light from his pocket and turned it onto the lowest setting. Light filled the room, much more than he’d expected, and he wrapped his hand around the end of the small device to mute the display. He held it in this fashion as he moved throughout the lower level. There was nothing unusual, only living space, with no bedrooms. Before he ventured up the stairs, he returned to the pack sitting near the back door and removed the pepper spray and hunting blade, snapping the latter to his belt just in case.

  Flicking the light on again, this time his hand already in place, he moved to the stairs. His new socks slid quietly on the tiled kitchen floor, the carpet on the stairs was plush and would mask any noise from his steps. He moved a stair at a time, waiting a few seconds between each step; this was painstaking work and required the utmost patience. Finally, he stood at the top of the staircase, a long hallway before him, with doors on either side, none of them were closed, but one. He crouched low, keeping the light from the LED showing the way, but just barely. The first room to his right was what his mother would have called a craft room, pieces of fabric covered tables, with a sewing machine and ironing board taking up space, nothing of interest to him there. He stepped to the other side of the hallway, another open door, a computer room with a large desk, leather chair and bookshelves lining the walls.

  “Possibly worth a look,” he thought, but moved on.

  Each room of the upper floor was investigated and evaluated for possible objects of value. Ultimately, he came to the room he was looking for, the last room at the end of the hallway. The door was shut and no light could be seen underneath. He held his ear close to the door for any telltale signs of breathing, snoring, sex or the like. ‘Rob’ was pleased to hear nothing, but this brought some degree of concern. Had he been lucky enough to hit a night when the owners were away, or were they expected home at any minute? A small degree of panic set in and he looked at his watch.

  “Hold it together, stay cool, stay cool!” Ran through his mind.

  He turned off the light and placed the small device in his pocket, took the pepper spray in his left hand and slowly turned the doorknob with his right. The sound of the latch moving against the metal of the jam made him stop and listen; he could hear nothing, so he forged on. A moment later the two disengaged and the door pivoted inward, an inch, then two, as he applied enough force to soundlessly open the door. Again, he paused, before entering the darkened space. Still nothing. Making him as thin as possible he moved through the opening. Ghostly shadows danced on the walls as large windows allowed moonlight into the bedroom, slipping through angular tree branches swaying easily in the wind. The bed appeared to be unoccupied and no other sign of life, with greater confidence; he took the light in hand and turned it on.

  “Yes!” he said, making a fist and pumping it forward in a crouched position like he’d just scored the winning goal of the Stanley Cup Final. “Nobody here but us would be millionaires.”

  He wasted no time, knowing exactly where most people kept their most valuable possessions. He scoured the room looking for gold, silver, anything that he could sell easily. Pulling the casing from one of the bed pillows he collected his bounty, quite happy with what he was finding. The woman obviously had remarkable taste in only the finest of jewelry, which pleased him, as he stuffed her items into the bag. Satisfied that everything he wanted or needed was cleared from the bedroom, he trotted down the hall to the office. Again, he looked through the drawers, cupboards, closet, until he found a .38 caliber handgun hidden in the bottom drawer of the desk, sitting atop a strongbox, designed to be screwed-down to a concrete floor, but this one was free floating.

  “Either new, or the jerk is too lazy to take care of his shit,” ‘Rob’ thought. “His loss is my gain.”

  Unfortunately, it was locked, but not so heavy that he couldn’t just take the whole thing, which he did. He was surprised that the owner had not foreseen this. He also included the gun, tossing it in with the other items collected from the bedroom.

  "Now to the business of scaring the shit out of the neighborhood."

  The intruder returned to the kitchen, with his booty in tow, placed the pillowcase on the table before stuffing the lockbox into the backpack for later discovery. He surveyed the kitchen looking for two important items, a large butcher knife and a carving fork. Finding both, he removed a can of spray paint from another pocket in the pack, the same red that was used to write, ‘We’re Back’, in the Criddle home. Then he bounded up the stairs, two at a time, to finish his work. In the bedroom he had previously noted a picture of the loving couple standing at the back of a chartered fishing vessel, a large fish, most likely a tuna or halibut, hanging from the rear fin and the couple smiling broadly, standing on either side, fishing poles in hand. Next to this picture was a 14x11” studio styled portrait of the man of the house, and on the other side of the fishing picture, a similar sized photo of the wife. Taking both pictures he smashed the frames on the side of the end table and removed the picture of the man first. He looked it over carefully before positioning it above the headboard of the bed, and drove the carving fork through his face, embedding the tongs in the drywall. With the man symbolically murdered, he turned his twisted attention to the female portrait. Positioning the picture symmetrically above the headboard, he drove the knife a good 6 inches through her face and into the wall. He stood back at the end of the bed and studied his work.

  “Perfect! Time for the artwork,” he thought. He shook the paint can, listening to the ball bearing moving throughout the can, mixing the paint. Aiming the nozzle at the wall he began to spray. Large ten-inch letters began to fill the space on the wall between the pictures, “DEATH TO RICH PIGS”, again he examined his handiwork and was pleased with the results.

  A moment later he was standing at the kitchen table collecting his thoughts and his things, when he heard the sound of a garage door opening. He looked toward the front door to see headlights fill the large windows and scan the walls moving from right to left. Sheer panic gripped him. No time, no time! He slung the backpack over his shoulders, took the pillowcase in hand, just as he heard car doors slam. ‘Rob’ swung the back door open, exited quickly, but took the time to close the door behind him. He ran for his freedom, with the pillowcase in the right and shoes in his left. Reaching the fence he tossed both over, sensing lights being turned on behind him. Climbing the obstacle was much tougher without shoes on but he managed just as the kitchen light came on, then the back porch light. He found his shoes, slipped them on without tying the laces, and at a dead run weaved his way through the pecan trees, headed back towards the church. He’d covered about 50 feet when he heard the first blood-curdling scream from the bedroom, followed by another, and another.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Thursday morning Beverly Davis sat at her kitchen table enjoying a cup of her favorite coffee, she’d had another sleepless night. The loss of her husband eight years ago and the ongoing battle with his stepson, Jeremy, was adding pounds and wrinkles to the middle-aged woman. Her Day-Timer was open before her, nothing too pressing, needed to talk with Blanche Delaney about a couple of condos that just went on the market in the new area south of the base, also needed to check the status of the estate sale. She was anxious to get her hands on the money after so many years of legal battles but she was certain the war was not over. The coffee was just what she needed to get going this morning. Taking another drink she let it swirl around in her mouth before swallowing it down.

  “Wish I ha
d a donut to dunk in this,” she thought.

  Her cell phone rang and ‘Dixie’ played, she flipped it open, “Good mornin’, this is Bev,” in her sweetest, what the hell do you want already this morning, accent.

  “Morning Beverly, this is Earl Tidball, I’m calling on behalf of the Okala Development Group.”

  Her ears perked up. This was the group that had been in negotiations in regards to a large tract of land, that she had the realty rights to, a few miles from Moody Air Force Base. She was sure it was a done deal and was waiting for the finalization of some paperwork, title searches and such.

  “Yes, Mr. Tidball, I’m well aware of who you are. How are you this morning? I was hoping we might wind things up this week and get that property transferred to your group.” She always tried to put a positive spin on every deal, even if it wasn’t a firm offer yet.

  “Yes, well, that’s why I’m calling. We, or shall I say, the purchasing department, is having second thoughts about the timing of this transaction. In the past week alone we’ve seen the number of condominiums on the market skyrocket in the properties adjacent to this particular section of land. The group is concerned that perhaps the area is already saturated and our intent would be to put more multiunit housing projects in place. We’ve also noted a downward trend in the real market values of the homes in that particular area as well. This is a difficult trend for us to navigate when considering a purchase so very close to this unusual local phenomenon.” Not allowing Ms. Davis a chance to ask any questions, he pressed on, “I’m sure you’re well aware of the problems they’re having, which seem to be escalating, and we realize it could all well be over within a day or two but there is the remote possibility that it could be years. We are just not willing to assume the risk, at least not at this time. We are terribly sorry, we understand that you’ve put a great deal of work into the sale and our negotiations, but we are well within our legal rights to withdraw our offer, which is what we intend to do, in writing, this morning.”

  It felt, to Beverly, like someone had just run a dagger through her heart, chest pain, unable to breath, anxiety and anger rising, “I thought, I mean, this is coming out of left field. Just yesterday we were on track and there were no problems. Surely the little blip in condo prices is not enough to pull out of such an amazing opportunity. This is literally one of two parcels of land that will ever be available to develop in the Northern Valdosta Region. The upside is huge! I can’t believe you’re considering withdrawing your offer. Perhaps if we just met this morning and addressed your concerns we could....”

  He cut her off, “Ms. Davis, unless you can assure us that the serial predator stalking the people and homes in that area can be stopped before we sign on the dotted line, it’s just not going to happen.”

  “What are you talking about? You mean that thing with the guy that did those break-ins over the past couple weeks? He’s harmless, a prankster, hasn’t hurt anybody. The cops think it’s just a couple of kids playing games. You are seriously going to cancel a multimillion dollar deal because of that?” she incredulously asked.

  “Ms. Davis,” he said, in a stern, attention getting voice, “Have you not seen the news this morning or read the paper? This guy is for real, no college prankster; the police are issuing warnings for people living in that entire region. It’s just more than we wish to engage at this time. Our lawyers will be in touch with your office later this morning. Again, we are truly sorry, but business is business. Good day.”

  She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard, another nail in her financial coffin. The sale of the property would have meant hundreds of thousands of dollars in fees she would have collected, the largest sale of her career, now squashed by some pervert getting his jollies. “Shit, shit, shit,” she hammered out with increasing volume, “Why now?” She circled the table talking to herself, “I can’t frickin’ believe this, not now, not when we were so close. Now what the hell am I going to do? I’ll never find another buyer like Okala.” Her mind going a hundred miles an hour, she tried to focus. What had he said about the news, what news? She switched on the local broadcast.

  A strikingly beautiful blonde in a business suit, just cut low enough to entice the male audience, sat upright behind a large, expansive desk, computer monitor to her right and a stack of papers in her hands. She looked to be all business this morning, no sweet, sheepish grin, no funny banter with the co-anchor, just right to the facts. “Again, the Sheriff’s Department, by way of Sheriff Lupo himself, has issued a strict warning to the people living in the area south and west of the Air Force Base. There is a very real threat, as they’ve concluded a serial predator is working the aforementioned area and every caution should be taken to secure your safety and the safety of your home and family.”

  “What has happened?” she thought. “Come on, tell us what the hell has happened since yesterday!” Bev screamed at the television.

  As if the female anchor had heard her, she continued, “Let’s recap that story again for those just joining us. Last night a house on Lori Street was broken into while the owners were out. The home appeared to be ransacked in a search for valuables and the couple has identified numerous items missing from the premises. Based on evidence at the scene, the authorities believe the couple returned home while the perpetrator was still inside. Fortunately there was no confrontation, but significant damage was done to the home and the department was unable to release more details this morning. They will be holding a press conference later in the day to keep the public apprised of the investigation, however, they did specify that this latest break in is a significant escalation in the violent nature of the crimes to date. They are asking the public to report suspicious individuals or behavior, particularly in the area we’ve been talking about. The Sheriff’s Department has set up a hotline that you can call and we’ll put that on the screen for you momentarily.”

  Beverly sat back in her chair staring blankly at the woman on the screen. She was lost for words. She had worked her ass off the past ten years, married a husband with a defective heart, inherited a jackass of a stepson, gained fifty pounds, given up every opportunity for another man in her life, and for what? To have it all pulled out from underneath her by a little prick breaking into people’s homes. “Damn it!” she yelled, sweeping her arm across the table sending the now empty coffee cup sailing through the air, shattering on the kitchen wall.

  * * *

  Blanche casually swung back and forth on the porch of Caroline’s B&B enjoying the light early morning breeze as it helped dry the droplets of perspiration that were still forming on her skin. She’d kept her promise to herself to get out and run this morning, had been more difficult than expected but still felt great to stretch out and feel the sun on her back as she maneuvered the sidewalks, for three miles, that felt like ten. She had only been enjoying the porch swing for a few minutes before Mrs. Muir joined her.

  “Room for two?” she asked.

  “Sure, if you don’t mind sitting next to me while I sweat like a pig,” Blanche said, with a smirk.

  “Beautiful morning, just love it when there’s enough of a breeze to dampen this stifling humidity. Too bad the news this morning is such a downer,” Mrs. Muir said, trying to read Blanche to see if she’d heard the latest details.

  “Yeah, it is beautiful this morning, but what news are you talking about?”

  Happy that she got to be the bearer of the bad news, Mrs. Muir expounded, “Well, you know what’s been happening in those homes up by the base, right?” She didn’t wait for Blanche to reply. “There was another one last night and they almost caught him. Was in the house when the couple got home. The Sheriff isn’t saying much but I phoned that friend of mine, you know the one I was telling you about? Anyway, she said, and she has very good connections, don’t you know. Well, she said that the home of Mrs. Criddle, the lady with the fake leg and the mustang, she said, there was some warning written on her living room wall in pig blood. Can you imagine?” she said, excit
edly.

  “I hadn’t heard that, are you sure?” Blanche questioned.

  “Oh, I’m sure, she’s very reliable. Then last night, and don’t tell anybody, cause this isn’t supposed to be out, but last night he killed something with a butcher knife and a carving fork, I think she said it was a pig, then wrote another warning on the wall. Is that creepy or what? Don’t know what this world is coming to.”

  Blanche, at this point, had stopped the leisurely sway of the swing and listened intently to what the older woman was saying, knowing to take it for what it was, as she considered the source. “Was anybody hurt, do you know?” she said, staring into the street ahead of her.

  “Sounds like the pig didn’t fair very well,” she replied

  “Those poor people, must have been such a shock to them when they got home. What kind of a person does this kind of stuff? It sounds to me like he’s getting bolder with each outing.” She nailed it without knowing.

  “Lots of f....ing punks out there, that’s for sure,” the older woman said, followed by, “Excuse me dear, don’t normally like to use that word but sometimes I just get so riled up.” They laughed as Blanche reached over and patted Mrs. Muir on the knee, assuring her it was understandable.

  They started up the swing again, swaying back and forth in silence, each putting into perspective the information they had just shared. A few minutes later, Blanche noted a small truck motoring down the street in front of the B&B, the driver blasted out a recognizable greeting with the horn and Blanche stood and waved as Jasper sailed by.

  * * *

  “Alright people, hold it down, quiet down. Quiet down!” the Sheriff elevated his voice above the commotion in the main level conference room. “Let’s have it quiet so we can get started.” He waited for the chairs to fill and order to be restored to the adrenalin filled room. “Thank you, I know we’ve all been up long hours already,” he said, looking at his watch, 1:00 p.m. “I’d like to start with an overview of where we are with the first two cases before we jump into the one from this morning.”