Purgatory (Jon Stanton Mysteries Book 11)

by Victor Methos

  “What’s recently?”

  “I don’t know. A couple of years at least.”

  “No,” he said, taking a drag.

  “How about last year?”

  “Nope.”

  “This year?”

  Kale thought a moment. “Sorry, compadre. You know I appreciate what you done for us. But ain’t no way I’m givin’ up a brother. If they killed this dude, he probably deserved it.”

  Stanton watched him for a moment. “What do you want?”

  “What?”

  “You want something to help me find this man. What is it?”

  He grinned. “That’s why I always liked you. Direct.” He took another long puff. “I got a brother inside right now, drug distribution. I want him out. He’s got a parole hearing coming up.”

  “I don’t have control over the parole board.”

  He lifted his shoulders. “Then I can’t help you.”

  Stanton thought a moment. “Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, I somehow get the parole board to release this man. What will you do for me?”

  “I’ll find the dude. If he’s currently a brother, you’re outta luck. I ain’t handin’ him over. But if he’s been exed, I’ll give you his name. Them boys that leave ain’t got no loyalty, and I got no problem handin’ ’em over.”

  “So I’m supposed to get this guy out and just hope you happen to give me a name?”

  “Sorry, that’s the best you’re gonna get. The brother doesn’t get out, no biggie, I can wait until next year. Sounds like you in a rush though.”

  Stanton made a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth. “Fine. If you screw me, Kale…”

  “Never. I’m a man of my word,” he said with a wide grin.

  31

  The ground was hard, and Rachel breathed quietly, closing her eyes as the sound of the engine approached. For a moment, she prayed, then she felt guilty praying after everything she’d done. God had no reason to help her.

  The engine kept getting closer in the darkness. It made her heart jump every time it slowed down, then she would take her breaths when it sped up again. It was almost to her.

  She buried her face in her hands and quietly sobbed as the sound came near, loud now, not more than twenty feet away from her… and then it passed. She gasped and looked up through her fingers. The jeep was speeding up the road away from her.

  Rachel waited until she could only see the headlights in the distance, then she got up and ran. She ran hard and tripped, cutting her legs and hands so badly that she wanted to scream. But she kept it together and kept running.

  To make it easier on her feet, she left the side of the road and ran on the dirt shoulder. Pumping her arms, ignoring the burning in her chest and legs, she dashed toward the lights in the distance as fast as she could, and then she heard it.

  The noise of the engine was getting louder again. It had turned around and was heading toward her.

  “No,” she mumbled, “no, please. Please.”

  She didn’t want to look behind her. For a good ten seconds, she kept running but then realized she couldn’t outrun a jeep. She dove back into the low shrubbery and flattened herself again.

  This time, the sound was loud, much louder than it was before. They were racing toward her. She figured they had seen Mackie out looking for her. Rachel covered her mouth and waited.

  The jeep sped past her again and stopped somewhere down the road. She needed to look, but something inside her wouldn’t let her head come up. The image of her mother came to her, when she would sit on a stool next to her and watch her make pies for Sunday dinner. Her aunts and uncles would come over, and she loved serving them the pies her mother had made that would bring other people joy. That feeling had been lost to her as an adult, and she wondered how her life would have turned out if she had kept it.

  The jeep engine turned off. She couldn’t wait anymore; she had to look. Slowly, she lifted her head.

  The jeep was parked about fifty feet from her. No one was inside. Glancing around, she figured they must’ve wandered off farther than she could see. She rose to her knees and as she did so, she heard the click and felt the pressure of something pressed against her head.

  Her blood turned to ice, and she couldn’t move. Even her breathing stopped.

  “I told you not to run,” Dane’s voice whispered. The only thing she could think was that he sounded terrifying when angry.

  “Please don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t kill me.”

  “I don’t know. I think you might be more trouble than you’re worth.”

  Her eyes closed, her lips moving involuntarily, she just whispered over and over, “Please don’t… don’t.”

  She could hear Dane breathing. There was no breeze, no people, nothing but the distant sound of the rolling waves below the cliff and his breath behind her. She swallowed and slowly turned her head toward him.

  “I know how to… I know what men like. I know what they like.” She turned around on her knees. “I know what they like.” She reached up and began to undo his pants when he grabbed her hands.

  “I don’t need that. Stand up.”

  She rose. Dane stared into her eyes. He withdrew the gun and held it low.

  “I won’t run again.”

  He leaned toward her, so their faces were only a few inches apart. “If you do, I won’t talk next time. I’ll just put a bullet into the back of your head. Do we understand each other?”

  She nodded.

  “Say it.”

  “I understand.”

  He took her arm and led her back to the jeep.

  32

  Though it was getting late, Stanton had the cell number for someone who could help him. Michelle Kaiwi was a deputy prosecuting attorney, who happened to be married to the chief prosecuting attorney for the city and county of Honolulu. Stanton found her more reasonable than her husband, and if he ever had an emergency and needed something right away, he called her.

  “This is Michelle.”

  “Michelle, hey, it’s Jon Stanton.”

  “Hey, how are you?”

  “Good. Thanks. I’m not bugging you, am I?”

  “No, just getting home. What’s up?”

  “I need a favor. It’s a big one.”

  “What is it?”

  Stanton hesitated a second. “There’s someone coming up for parole, for drug distribution. I need that parole to be granted.”

  She chuckled. “You’re kidding, right? You know I have no control over that.”

  “I know. But you do have influence. I mean, a call from you would go a long way with the board.”

  “Jon, I can’t do that without looking up the case and this guy’s history and—”

  “Then do it. Do it and get back to me tomorrow.”

  “What is this even about?”

  Stanton decided if he told her the complete truth, she would instantly deny him. So all he said was, “I need him out for a case. I’m working a homicide, and he can help me with it.”

  “And he can’t help you from inside?”

  “Afraid not.”

  She was silent for a few seconds. “All right, I know the head of the board. Let me call him.”

  Stanton gave her the name of the inmate and the date of the hearing. She told him she would get back to him tomorrow.

  He hung up, sitting in his car in H Town, and the boys outside the bar were staring at him. Stanton was afraid just watching them: they were missing something, some faculty that stopped normal people from acting on every impulse. Any one of these men would kill him in a second if they felt he was disrespecting them. Stanton felt shame at the fear and anger toward them for making him feel that way. He thought about confronting them, seeing how far they were really willing to go with a detective, but held himself back. Instead, he got out of the jeep and brushed past them again. He went to the cashier and ordered noodles with a side of rice. The man didn’t move, not until another man at the door nodded a
gain.

  Stanton sat away from the door and any windows. He didn’t want prying eyes, though he wasn’t doing anything. The cashier said something to the cook in Chinese, and the cook said something back before the cashier glanced at Stanton.

  Stanton leaned his head back as the pulsating thrust of a migraine began to creep from the back of his head to the front like some slug enveloping his skull. He ran his hand over his head, closing his eyes, pressing as hard as he could, trying to prevent whatever was overtaking him. But he couldn’t prevent it. The migraine kept coming and squeezed his head like a vice. Putting his forehead down on the table, he focused on the pain, hoping the attention would reduce it, but it did the opposite. He opened his eyes and sat up again. Kale stood in front of him.

  “What you doin’?”

  “I haven’t eaten. Just grabbing something quick, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Kale sat down across from him. “Best Chinese in the city.”

  “It is actually. Why put in the effort?”

  “When I do somethin’, I do it right. Fresh ingredients, clean kitchen, the works. Most Chinese places are the dirtiest fuckin’ places you’ll ever eat. Find band-aids and shit in the salad, fingernails in the kung pao chicken, it’s a mess. I make sure we clean as your mother’s ass.” He lit another marijuana cigarette.

  “Guess it doesn’t hurt that you’ll probably break your cooks’ arms if they don’t listen to you.”

  He grinned as he took a puff. “Tends to motivate people.” He blew out the smoke, his eyes fixed on Stanton. “Why you a detective?”

  “Good retirement.”

  Kale chuckled. “Bullshit. I looked into you last time. I like to know what cops I’m dealin’ with. You got a damn PhD. I ain’t never seen a cop with no PhD. So why? To stop men like me?”

  Stanton shook his head. “Men like you are dangerous, but you’re not who I’m after. You don’t pick up children from school and rape and murder them. Maybe send some part of them back to the parents to torture them…”

  “Shit. You seen that?”

  Stanton nodded. “His name was Bel Dubois. He kidnapped a nine-year-old girl from her school, pretending he was a policeman and that her mother had been in an accident. Every week, he would send some part of her back to her parents in a box with a bow on it. A red bow. Every week, the parents opened the box. They couldn’t help it.”

  Kale leaned forward on his elbows. “How’d you nab him?”

  “We spun our wheels for a few weeks, trying to trace where the packages came from. But he was too careful. Forwarding address after forwarding address, after anonymous mailings from different cities. It was impossible. One night I was staring at the little girl’s finger, which he’d sent to them that week—her name was Keri. And I thought that for someone like this, it wouldn’t have been enough to imagine the parents’ faces. He put in all this work, he would want to enjoy it. The packages came every Monday, so one Monday I sat on the roof of the neighbor’s house across the street and watched. The package was delivered by the mailman. The parents took it in, and out of nowhere, this man ran up to the house. He went into the front yard and stared through the window. It was… chilling, I guess. That he would risk so much, right out in the open, just to see the faces and the suffering he caused.”

  Kale remained silent a long time. The noodles and rice were brought out by the cashier, but Stanton didn’t feel hungry anymore and pushed them away.

  “How long ago was that?” Kale asked.

  “Almost a decade.”

  “You remembered her name,” Kale said. “The little girl. You remembered her name after ten years. This shit haunts you. You see their faces in your sleep? The little girls and boys? The women?”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  Kale stared down at the food and took a breath. “I see the motherfuckers I iced. See, I don’t give a shit about ’em, or I think I don’t, but they’re in my dreams. I wake up sometimes at night and I’m sweating.”

  Kale suddenly leaned back and cleared his throat, as if he had revealed too much and needed to recoil as much as possible.

  “So you out there chasin’ monsters. Well, good on you. I’m glad I don’t have to do it.”

  Stanton rose. “I’ll let you know tomorrow about your man.”

  “You don’t want to eat?”

  “I lost my appetite.”

  33

  Rachel sat in the jeep, silently shaking as the house came into view. Mackie stood outside with a handgun. The jeep pulled up, and he pointed the weapon at her.

  “You fucking bitch!”

  “Put the gun down,” Dane said calmly.

  “I’ma just put one in her, man.”

  “You’re not doing anything. Put it down, Mackie.”

  “No.”

  Dane got out of the car and put his hand on Mackie’s shoulder. Just the touch seemed to calm him, and he lowered the weapon. Dane took it from him and said to Rachel, “Get out of the jeep and go inside. It’s almost time to leave.”

  “And go where?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Rachel went inside and sat down on the couch. The three men stayed outside talking, and she tried to make out what they were saying, but she couldn’t hear. She thought about running again, just going out the back and seeing if there was any way down the cliff to the water. One thought she kept coming back to was that she would just jump and take her chances. The rocks were invisible from up here, and she had no doubt there were plenty just under the surface, but it was better than remaining with these three.

  Before she could stand, Dane had come back inside. “We’re leaving. Let’s go.”

  She followed him out, the thought of the cliff still in her head, but Bobby, seemingly sensing what she was thinking, got behind her. They helped her into the jeep and started it, all three men piling in, Bobby sitting next to her. The jeep did a U-turn and headed down the mountain.

  Before long, they were close to the lights of the city. If she could jump out near some people, she could scream and get their attention. But it would have to be timed perfectly. The jeep was easily doing sixty, and she could crack her head open if she didn’t land right.

  “I wouldn’t,” Bobby said.

  “I wasn’t doing anything.”

  “You were thinking about it. They all think about it. But I wouldn’t. We’re going fast enough that you’ll break something and won’t be able to move. And calling for help doesn’t do anything. You’d be surprised how few people actually run over when someone’s calling for help.”

  She swallowed and looked out over the city lights. How often had she thought about leaving this city? About how much she hated this island that other people saw as paradise but had become a prison for her? And now she thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She would give anything if she could just be there one more time, eat at a restaurant, go on a date, see a movie…

  “Is Dane going to kill me?” she said without taking her eyes off the sparkling lights.

  “No, not Dane.”

  “Then you?”

  “Not me either. It’s not up to us.”

  “Who then?”

  Bobby didn’t respond. Instead, he put in earbuds, tapped an app on his phone, and closed his eyes. His thigh was pressed against hers, and she knew he had done it on purpose to sense if she was about to jump out of the jeep.

  They descended the mountain and were now back in the city. They were heading downtown, where they’d be surrounded by people. All that had to happen was that they would hit a red light, and she could jump out, screaming her head off.

  Excitement tickled her belly at the thought, but then she almost jumped as a burning pain entered her leg. She looked down to see Bobby holding a hypodermic needle, emptying the golden contents into her leg. She tried to pull away, but it was too late. He’d emptied the syringe.

  Her vision swirled, and she felt like she was floating.

  “The sedative is powerful,” Bobby s
aid. “Better to go with it. If you struggle, it’ll make you vomit.”

  Fighting dizziness and nausea, she leaned over the side of the jeep to fall out, hoping a car behind them would stop and the driver would get out to help. But Bobby gently put his hand on her and pulled her back in. She was too weak to fight him off.

  “Easy,” Dane said, turning to look at her. “It’ll all be over soon, one way or another.”

  34

  Stanton pulled into his driveway. He sat there a moment and listened to the waves crackle against the shore. This late at night, his neighborhood was quiet. Affluent neighborhoods always were. He wondered how much depression and anxiety in the poor was caused by the inability to experience silence.

  He’d stayed in Manhattan for a few nights once, and the city never quieted. Not once. After a few days, he found himself snapping at people and battling with a worsening bout of depression. He had to cut his trip short and leave as fast as he could.

  Inside, his house was still, and he knew Julie had slept over. The dishes were always put away and the carpets vacuumed when she slept over. Hanny lay on the couch, half asleep, and he looked up at Stanton. Stanton sat next to him and held him awhile, the dog snuggling against his ribs. He gave him a kiss on the head and headed upstairs.

  He saw her in his bed, sleeping on her side. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched her for a long while. Whatever love was—and he wasn’t certain he knew anymore—he felt it for her. She complemented him in a way his ex-wife never had. Julie seemed to understand that the job took its piece of him, and he needed time to recover before he could devote himself to her for a while. Solitude gave him strength, and she somehow instinctively knew that. Love… he never thought he would feel that feeling again, but there it was, sneaking up on him and taking over.