by Karine Green
Kathy paused and watched him as he started mixing up some scratch pancakes, with bacon bits in it. She smiled.
"Continue," he said, noticing she was staring at him. "Please don't let me interrupt."
She sighed, "Randy locked him up for assault, which violated his parole. He would go back to prison for a long time," she raised her eyebrows, "a very long time."
"Why, if she assaulted him? Why would he even think to lock him up?" Jason looked confused.
"He said...He said...something really stupid, and really untrue about blacks. I really can't bring myself to repeat it, even if it is only a retelling of the situation," she said, unable to repeat the words out loud without bursting into tears. "It was all just so untrue! So surreal! Randy had never, ever said such ignorant and hateful things."
She had no clue he even harbored such thoughts, let along the capacity to act on them. She had been devastated, because she had looked up to Randy. What sort of person did that make her, if she chose such a person to mentor her? She paused, and then continued, "He was offended that the man had been out on parole, but even the victim, now turned suspect, had admitted that he had turned into a role model citizen."
"It isn't his place to be offended. The function of the criminal justice system is to rehabilitate criminals. The job of the police is to gather evidence. The job of the parole board is to decide who can be let out of jail. It sounds like he lost sight of that fact. So why did you cover for him?"
"I didn't, I just made it so the case couldn't be prosecuted, everything had to be dropped, even the parole violation. I knew Randy for a long time. I know he hated his father, but he never spoke of the specific reasons. I don't know if that had to do with his actions? I don't know why he snapped like that? I needed more information before just burning his future."
"See, that is the mistake. It wasn't your place to falsify evidence to cover for a racist, while trying to protect the innocent. Did you mean to assist the real suspect in this case in getting away with domestic violence, having used a weapon?"
She shook her head. "There was no way her husband would have ever testified against her. He was already formulating some sort of bar fight story, and he was sticking to it. She wasn't going to be prosecuted regardless. He sincerely believed justice had finally been served."
"You really owe your Captain for protecting you. Randy should have been allowed to go down for what he did, and you should have notified the chain of command immediately, and not wait to have been asked to tell the truth."
"Well that sounds familiar! Thanks, Chief!" Tears welled in Kathy's eyes. "I didn't want anyone to have trouble, not for the victim, not for Randy, not for the man's wife, not for me, not for the department, not for anyone. I just didn't want the injustice of someone wrongfully headed back to prison. You know what I did want? I didn't want to know that my longtime friend and mentor was like that on the inside. Something so bad was going on in Randy's life that he would rather everyone think he was racist than let any of us know what the real story was, because he had shut me out long before he was fired. I think his wife was beating him. I just wanted every..."
"Everyone to have everything," he said, smiling at her.
She offered a weak smile back. Normally she would have flipped with joy at the look in his eye, it was obvious he was falling in love with her too. Right now it was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears.
"I testified against Randy, immediately. I never lied. I answered questions as soon as the man's lawyer complained about it, and when the parole board started asking questions I answered them. I was the one who reported the situation to the Captain. He heard it from me first, and I think that is what saved me. Although, if I had remained silent, they would not have been able to prove anything against Randy. He would have gotten away with it. He said that like fifty times! He would scream at me constantly asking why I didn’t stay shut-up."
"You didn't because you are a decent person, who wants to do the right thing. And sending a rehabilitated non-criminal back to prison is not the right thing."
She sighed loudly, and glanced at her new, perfect tile floor.
He poured the pancake batter into the pan, "Coffee," he pointed to the coffee maker, "Please, don't let me interrupt the story."
"Randy was fired. He lost everything. His wife was so disgusted with him she left him. Honestly, I think they were both disgusted with each other long ago." She paused. "You know one thing I have learned as a homicide detective; anyone can be pushed to do anything, given the right set of circumstances. Do you think it could be Randy? Jesus have mercy! Randy had literally lost everything, and being a homicide detective, he could easily pin this on Milton's so-called ghost murderer! Especially with as superstitious as everyone in this town is. Oh God! Please don't let him have killed an innocent man in order to cover up what he hopes to be my murder!"
"You know, probably better than his wife, if he is capable of it? You after all, have spent more time with him than anyone, at any point in his life. Long term police partners know each other better than siblings."
She nodded, barely able to hold back the tears. She wasn't someone who cried easily. But once she started she turned into a blithering idiot. She did not want Jason to see her like that, even if he was being a questioning schmuck right now. "I wouldn't have thought he would really act on those stupid comments he made, so I am clearly not the best judge of what Randy would do."
"As soon as we eat, we are collecting that book and quilt as evidence. Do you have any reports Randy wrote? Perhaps we can compare the handwriting in the book. Meanwhile you are coming to stay with me until this is sorted. He won't look for you at my place."
"I can take care of myself. I was a SWAT sniper for three years."
"Fine, if someone needs shooting from a half a mile away, I will leave you to it." He took two steps toward her, and cradled her face, "I'm just going to put myself out there and hope for the best. I am crazy about you, and I would want to die if anything happened to you. Please don't stay alone here, with a stalker having such easy access to the house. There must be twenty glass doors here, with only 18th century thumb locks. Even though they are new, they are still just thumb locks. And if you remember your physical science class correctly, glass breaks. And, you are surrounded by it."
She leaned up on her toes, and kissed him. The timer beeped. He backed off, and served the pancakes.
When they returned upstairs the book was gone. She checked her phone, there was just a photo of her side table, and there was no book.
"We're leaving. Now. I am not taking a chance that whoever is stalking you is still in the house." He leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I don't have my gun with me. Just walk out casually, in case it isn't the Dark Lady playing us again."
"You aren't actually believing that stuff? This is an elaborate set up. Randy's a history buff, and ghost stories fascinate him," She grabbed her Glock 40 automatic pistol, and extendible nightstick from under the mattress.
She handed him the Glock and nightstick, and then pulled her M-16 sniper rifle out of a locked trunk at the foot of her bed. She loaded and then press checked it. "Let's go,"
"What are you doing with an M-16?" he asked, with an excited hushed whisper. "You are definitely the most interesting woman I have ever met." She didn't look big enough to handle the weapon, but clearly looks were deceptive.
"Clearing my house; no one runs me off my own property, cover my six. I have all this SWAT training, may as well use it to my benefit." she said, shouldering the rifle at low ready for quick and accurate firing. She moved forward like a cat hunting a mouse. The Special Weapons and Tactics police training had been required for her short stint in Vice. She had been annoyed when she was sent, but was now glad she had it.
Jason fell in behind her. He was feeling very torn about wanting to watch her house clearing techniques, and just picking her up and running out of the house.
It took nearly an hour for her to be satisfied that
the house was clear, and the suspect wasn't doubling back on them through one of the many passages, or doorways that seemed to connect and reconnect every room.
"Let's check outside for footprints," Jason suggested.
She nodded, and slung the rifle over her shoulder. She doubted there would be any useful footprints since the house painters had been in and out, and all around.
They walked around, it was dry and there were very few prints. Too bad it hadn't rained last night. That would have washed away the old prints and left fresh mud for new ones.
"Look here," Jason pointed out. "It's like the one by the uncavey, sinkhole."
Kathy put her foot next to a faint, but fresh footprint that appeared to match the ones by the cave, there was even the 'Rocky' logo in the center, with the same wear pattern.
Then a thought struck her, "Randy is about the same size as me, but a bit heavier. He is shorter than most of the other male officers I worked with. He had borrowed my dress uniform shoes once for a promotional interview. His foot is the same size as mine! And, fired or not, he would still have his uniform boots! Oh hell no! Someone I loved and looked up to like a brother is after me! And not just to kill me, but to horribly maim and torture me!" She took in a quivering breath. "To have actually done that to a poor innocent father! His poor family, it was closed casket. I am supposed to be closed casket!"
Jason reached forward and held her. She was shaking. "I am not going to let him take you away from me. Not when I have waited this long to find you." He kissed the top of her head. She clung to him crying and shaking for quite some time.
"Poor Milton, if I had never come here he would be alive. His little girl would still have her father. I am a curse!" She whined.
"That is not true. You cannot think that. You are smart, funny, caring, and wouldn't hurt a mouse."
"Most people wouldn't say that about a sniper," she whined. "Maybe I deserve it!"
"No one deserves that."
When she regained her composure, he called Mike to bring a casting kit to make an impression of the print.
He eyed the rifle, she still has a great deal of her police stuff; and her whereabouts was unknown for the time frame of the Lawrence murder. She didn't arrive to be with the movers until they had taken at least two loads into the house. "Did you keep your Rocky Boots?"
Kathy stared at him working very hard to ignore the accusing look he was giving her. She would burst into tears again. "Did Lauren have police boots as part of her uniform, or just the dress shoes?"
He straightened up. "Boots, she was school patrol, that involves walking. The boots are designed for that. She also wanted this house! Kathy, do you still have the closing papers! What happens to the house if you die? Lauren is an attorney, what did she write into those papers? It has to be Randal, or Lauren; but why kill poor Milton? What's he got to do with this, there just wasn't a reason for it. My brain just cannot accept that Milton was just a meaningless decoy."
Kathy nodded and went to get the papers while he watched the foot print. She returned almost instantly they checked the closing papers and deed restrictions.
"That is what I thought," Jason said, pointing to a size two font clause that indicated that if Kathy died, the house reverted to the president of the local historical society for preservation.
Kathy huffed, "Let me guess, Lauren is the Prez. Is this even a legal clause?"
Jason shrugged, "That would be for a judge to decide." It was a relief to see her regaining her normal demeanor.
"That's a cop answer if I ever heard one," Kathy said grinning. "Now I'll have to get an attorney, file a suit, and have that overturned...I mean...stricken...removed. Whatever it is that is an aggravating waste of time."
Mike pulled up to the stable doors. "Hello," he called.
"Hello. Did you find one?" Jason asked.
"Yup." He brought the kit over and handed it to Jason.
As Jason mixed the kit for casting, he noticed Mike texting someone. "Stacey?" Her due date was about a month out. If history repeated itself for the fourth time this is the part where Mike loses his mind waiting on the baby. His brother wasn't a patient man.
"No, mom. You're wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Your hair is a hot mess, and the whole outside here smells like your bacon pancakes. Dude I can't believe you can eat those, and don't' weigh a million pounds." Mike finished texting.
Jason finished pouring the cast, and then straightened up. "You're tattling on me for staying overnight with a girl?"
Mike nodded smiling. "Yupper! You stayed overnight...with a girl...in the Caine Plantation. That alone warrants some sort of announcement."
"Don't you have somewhere to patrol?" Jason put his hands on his hips. "I'll turn in the evidence myself, if it means you'll get out of my face with the texting mom crap. Besides, I am sure you would rather call her, and it would be easier from your patrol car." He pointed toward Mike's patrol car. "Over there."
"Yes sir." Mike put the phone to his ear as he walked back to his car.
Jason shook his head. "Sorry about that."
Kathy giggled, and then hugged him around the waist. "I am an only child, so sibling dynamics are fascinating to me."
He smiled. "Well, twenty minutes for this to dry." He sat down at her little bistro table.
"Yup, like watching paint dry."
"Yup."
They waited for it to be completely dry, and then packaged the cast as evidence. Kathy pulled Jason back into the house. "Come with me." She led him back upstairs, put the guns away, and then dug out her old uniform boots from a wardrobe box she hadn't unpacked yet. It was still sealed with packing tape.
"What are you doing?"
"Giving you an answer to a logical question that a judge would ask, and quashing that look on your face from earlier," she said, taking the footprint casting and holding it upside down next to her own boot. "Shoe wearing is almost as individual as finger prints. Even two people, wearing the same brand and style boot, with the same outside step would have different wearing elsewhere. Here, notice up by the ball of the foot on this one, it's also worn on the inside. Even though my boots have inside wearing, I have no uneven wearing anywhere else on the sole." She pointed to her boot's still pristine ball, and tried not to be irked at the look of relief on his face. "You know, my captain did tell you that he drove me to the airport...in New York."
He blushed deeply, and nodded, "Why are we seeing a judge?"
"To get a search warrant for Lauren's boots. We need to rule her in, or out. Someone is after me, and I need to find out who...and I need to know right now."
"Do you think that bony, skinny, psycho could physically do something like that?"
"We're about to find out. If it isn't her, then we can focus on Randy."
****
The Dark Lady had watched them drive toward the road. The new Mistress was so much like her beloved Mistress. The need to rescue ran strong in both of them. She had risked everything to save an innocent, just like Marissa had, and since she left the house, she would risk it all again.
The two of them were sleeping so soundly this morning that they were completely unaware of the intruder. She had moved the curtains over a bit to alert them to the intruder. She hated to give up the hope of making them believe in ghosts, but to believe, they needed to be alive. She needed to do for this Lady of the House what she could not do for Marissa. The new lady could still be saved! This was Dark Lady’s chance to finally free herself of this world and set Sable Boy on a steady path. She needed to let go of her hatred of the Caine’s.
Dark Lady smiled at her beautiful wallpaper. What a gift from the new Lady! It was so peaceful to be in the foyer or up on the mezzanine now.
There was the creak of a footstep on the back porch. Dark Lady jerked her head toward the parlor. It was the Angry One. Someone was invading her home with a malice that was so deep it reminded her of Percy! She hated the Angry One. Thoughts of murder tainted the Angry One's every breath.
The Dark Lady smiled, a horrible bloody smile, and whisked to the parlor.
"May I help you?" she asked, allowing blood to flow freely from her eyes. The scars on her face reopened, exposing her cheek bones. And blood spattered her beautiful gown.
The Angry One held up a cross, and then began saying prayers.
It wouldn't work; the anger was more powerful than the prayers. Anger was the only thing this one could feel! Prayers required an inner surrender to God. Anger that crossed over into loathing and hatred was the direct opposite of Holy Surrender. That was a fact Dark Lady was well familiar with.
Dark Lady charged the Angry One, knowing that charging through a living soul would cause pain to the soul. The Angry One shivered, and fell passed out on the ground.
Dark Lady leaned within an inch of the Angry One's face, waiting for the Angry One to wake up. Her bleeding, bone-exposed face would be only inches away when the Angry One awakened.
She was worried about the new Lady. She should have stayed here! This would be over now, if she had stayed. If the Angry One was able to escape, harm may befall the new Lady before she could officially clear Dark Lady of murdering Mistress Marissa. She needed people to know she wasn't a murderer.
A Conspiracy of Opportunity
Two hours later, Jason and Kathy sat in Lauren's living room going over each one of her shoes.
Lauren had cussed at Jason when he knocked on her small, over-the-garage apartment door and handed her the warrant. She didn't qualify for a nicer apartment because of the foreclosure on her credit.
Lauren sat on her couch fuming as she read her copy of the warrant. "I told you I threw the boots away after Sir Tease-A-Lot fired me. I have no reminders of ever having been with the force, unless you want to include this kind and thoughtful warrant as scrapbook worthy!"
Kathy shook her head, this was becoming useless. "Let's just collect the most worn shoe and send it to the lab for wear comparison. I don't know what they can do if the shoe is different, but..." she trailed off shrugging. "We'll see. They can at least tell us the wear pattern."