by James Somers
Richard breathed and walked onto the field. His steps fell silent—cushioned by the manicured lawn. He supposed anyone sneaking up on him would also be silenced by it. Richard stopped, whipping around three hundred and sixty degrees. No one there. He continued walking further onto the football field.
Richard noticed something on the grass ahead of him. The closer he got, the more he realized it was a man. The man wore dark clothing, but did not move. When Richard came within fifteen feet, he spotted a dark stain around the body—blood. Richard’s hands began to tremble, causing the flashlight beam to quiver on the body.
The stadium lights came on above him, blinding him. Richard turned around, trying to find a target. As his vision focused again, he saw ten victims lying strewn around the field. Some may have tried to fight their attacker, while others clearly had tried to run. Most had weapons lying nearby, but none of them had made it.
Motion, near the white, press box caught Richard’s eye. The door on the left side had opened and now closed, very slowly. The door paused halfway, then slammed shut. Richard put his flashlight down, searching his pockets for his cell phone. He gritted his teeth and swore under his breath. He had left it charging on the car adapter.
Richard was alone. He surveyed the bodies again, before leaving them. Going back to the car was not an option. He didn’t want to take a chance on the perpetrator getting away.
Richard jogged forward, favoring the injured knee. He watched all directions, then stopped just beyond the grass. Before him, stood a set of concrete steps leading up to the entrance of the press box. Richard climbed slowly toward the long building, perched above the final row of bleachers.
Every other step brought an ache from Richard’s knee and a spike of fear down his spine. He kept the gun aimed ahead, his eyes darting from the bleachers to his destination. The door on the end of the rectangular building creaked and slowly swung open. Richard cocked the hammer on his gun. The wind had the door. It banged against the handrail, then swung away again.
Had the wind caused the motion in the first place? He couldn’t be sure, but it wasn’t likely. The wind certainly hadn’t killed those people. Richard thought of his wife. Would he ever see his Lily again? He breathed, mustering his courage. This was the job. He’d faced down countless murderers before. But none like this one. That thought echoed in his head. He started climbing the steps again.
Richard reached the handrail and the last set of steps leading up into the press box. The open doorway stood dark and ominous, before him. He breathed. “Dr. Hallowed?” he said, testing the waters. “This is Detective Link. I know you’re probably scared right now, but if you surrender peacefully, I’ll do everything I can to see you’re treated fairly.” He’s scared? Who am I kidding?
Something leaped at him from the doorway. Richard fired his handgun. An object hit him in the shoulder. He jumped back, scanning to see what had happened. A football, with a huge bullet hole in the side, wobbled on the bottom step. He stared wide eyed at the ball, gasping for breath. His heart stampeded inside his chest.
Laughter from the darkness. Richard’s weapon snapped to attention. He heard the voice, from somewhere on the far end of the building. Richard stumbled up the stairs, getting inside the door before he lost his courage. A bar of white, from the field lights, invaded the room through the main window, midway down the length of the building. Rather than help him see the perpetrator, the white light only served to blind him to the darkness beyond. Laughter again, but closer now.
Richard remembered his flashlight. He shined it down the length of the room. The beam blended with the light from the field. “Give it up, Doc. You don’t have to do this,” Richard said.
“Have to?” the voice mused. “I want to.”
The voice sounded different than Trenton Hallowed—deeper, menacing. Something moved across the room, just beyond the light. Richard fired three times. The man cried out in the darkness. A loud thump on the floor. Got him!
Richard’s heart raced with excitement. He found a light switch on the wall, toggled it, nothing happened. He stepped toward the light coming through the window. He slid his back along the large window pane, trying to avoid the killer getting behind him. Richard’s shadow cast along the floor, a huge version of himself, with his gun at the ready.
He searched the room beyond, trying to see where the killer had fallen. Another shadow rose up, swallowing his on the wall. Shadow hands outstretched, ready to take him. Richard fired before realizing the man must be behind him. He turned.
Shatterproof glass exploded toward him. Richard fired his last two shots. Powerful arms fastened to his body, heaving him out of the building, over the rows of metal bleachers. He flailed against the air, screaming, the world tumbling around him. Landing near the first row of bleachers, Richard Link became victim number eleven.
7 AFTERMATH
Michael Stamos wiped a stray tear from his cheek, watching the Coroner’s technicians place his partner, Richard Link, into a body bag. He thought about Richard’s wife, Lily. She had woke him in the night, wanting to know why her husband had not come home.
Michael turned away, as the techs worked to disentangle Richard’s broken leg from the metal bleachers. The press box stood above him, fragments of its main window clinging to the edges of the frame. Forensics officers worked within—bees in a hive, collecting essential data. Richard’s gun had been found near his body. All six rounds had been spent, yet not one drop of the killer’s blood had been found.
Michael turned, when he heard the zipper on the body bag behind him. He caught a final glimpse of Richard Link’s face, before it was swallowed by heavy plastic. “Goodbye, old man,” he whispered. “I thought you told me you were invincible.”
Michael flipped Richard’s badge over in his hand. He noticed a smudge of blood and wiped it away with his thumb. He couldn’t give it to Lily like that.
Michael looked out over the football field. Some of the other bodies had already been removed, but not all. They had been dealing Joy, when it happened—another vigilante killing. Richard made it different for Michael. Now it was personal.
•••
Jonathan Hallowed spun his Bo staff clockwise, then stopped it low to block a strike by his trainer, Ethan Williams. The wooden staffs cracked together eight times in rapid succession, as Ethan drove Jonathan back. He struck high, low, and at his midsection. Jonathan evaded, or blocked him, each time. He hadn’t studied under Ethan ten years for nothing.
Jonathan back flipped over a leg sweep, landed in a crouch, jabbed long, blocked a strike, then rolled backward up to his feet again. Ethan maintained relentless pressure on his student. He didn’t get paid five hundred dollars per session, for nothing.
Jay sat on the side of the floor mats, typing on his laptop computer—as in tune with his craft, as Jonathan was with his.
“Jay, you had better pay attention,” Jonathan said, blocking two more strikes from Ethan’s Bo staff. “You’re going to be next.”
Jay rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”
Jonathan parried, then ducked another swing. “Martial Arts is a great way to stay in shape. It sure wouldn’t do you any harm to at least try it.”
“I ain’t no Jet Li.”
“Me neither.” Dodge, spin, thrust. “It helps you focus, gives you discipline.” Swipe, evade. “You’ll be a more productive person in everything you do.”
Jay smiled. “Oh, I’m very productive.”
“Time!” Ethan said. Jonathan and Ethan stopped sparring and bowed to one another—both of them dripping perspiration.
Jonathan walked over to Jay, sitting on the floor. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jay spun his laptop around on his knee, so Jonathan could see his handiwork. “I hacked your IRS file.”
Jonathan ran his hand through his sweaty blonde hair, staring dumbfounded at the LCD.
Jay grinned wide. “You could whip me, Jackie Chan, but I could erase your existence.”
> Jonathan gave a quick twirl to his Bo, pointing it at Jay. “Not funny.”
Jay exited the program and closed the laptop. “Just proving my point. We’ve all got our talents, and mine isn’t ka-ra-tay.”
“Well, anyway, we had better get ready,” Jonathan said. “Trenton is sending a limo soon and I’ve still got to take a quick shower before we go to this exhibition of his.”
“Oh yeah? What’s it about?” Jay asked.
Jonathan grabbed a bottled-water from the workout room refrigerator. “Something to do with genetics. I’m sure you’ll find it more interesting than I will. But hey, he’s my cousin, and that’s what he does. I guess, if I’m part owner in the company, I might as well see what’s going on there.”
“How did you end up owning a genetics lab, anyway?” Jay asked.
“Genetic Corp is just one of three companies my father and uncle started together. They were both killed in a plane crash, when I was six. Since then, Trenton has been running them, but Genetic Corp is his baby.”
“Well, hurry up and get a shower, or put on some deodorant, or something,” Jay said. “That sounds like something I’d like to see.”
Jonathan tossed him a bottled-water. He walked Jay out of the workout studio, the boy wafting his hand in front of his nose.
•••
Michael Stamos left his unmarked police car parked in the circular drive of Jonathan Hallowed’s home. He walked up to the large, intricately carved, wooden door, thinking how the rich didn’t really understand what problems were. He paused before knocking. Captain Monahan had told him to leave this all alone.
“You’re off the case, Mike,” Captain Monahan had said, his temporal artery pulsing with every heartbeat.
“Richard was my partner. I can’t just let Hallowed walk away from this.”
“That’s exactly why you’re off the case. You’re too close to this, now. I’m putting somebody fresh on it—somebody who can still think straight and catch the real killer.”
“Trenton Hallowed is the killer. I can prove it. Just give me a chance to—”
“No! You’re done, Mike. End of discussion. As a matter of fact, I’m putting you on leave for a week. Go home. Get some rest and get your head straight.”
Now Michael was on his own time. If he knocked on this door, he could be in for big trouble down the line. He thought about Richard—years of dedicated service, a family man leaving a widow behind. Michael knocked on the door.
The older gentleman who answered the door didn’t exactly look like a typical butler. “Yes, sir, may I help you?” He wore a business man’s suit and could have been a senior partner in a law firm, as far as Michael could tell.
“Yes, my name is Detective Stamos. I would like a word with Jonathan Hallowed, if he’s available.” Michael flipped his badge out for the butler to scrutinize.
“Come in, Detective.” The man ushered Michael inside to a large foyer with a hanging chandelier. “I will inform Mr. Hallowed that you are here.”
“Thanks.”
The servant left him standing there. Michael noticed his own reflection in a floor length mirror. He looked awful—unshaven and tired. “The butler’s got a better suit than I do,” he mumbled.
Michael took in the available view of Jonathan Hallowed’s home. Everything in sight had clearly cost the guy a mint. The place had been professionally decorated. Michael could not imagine a guy making it look this good.
“Detective Stamos?”
Michael turned to find Jonathan Hallowed approaching with the butler following. “Joseph tells me you wanted to see me about something.”
“Mr. Hallowed, I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I just wanted to ask you some questions about your cousin, Trenton.”
“Look, Detective, I know you and your partner believe Trenton may have killed some drug dealers down in Donalee, but I can—”
“My partner is dead, Mr. Hallowed.” Michael choked on the words.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Detective.”
“It happened late last night. He was on his way home, but for some reason, Richard decided to check out a high school football field where drug dealers are known to hang out. We found him very early this morning, along with ten known dealers, all dead.”
“I can see that you’re upset, Detective, but what does that have to do with my cousin?” Jonathan asked. “Maybe these drug dealers were responsible—maybe your partner was able to kill them, before he died.”
“No, Mr. Hallowed. The coroner’s report of the incident is clear. The others died from severe trauma, unlike anything a normal person could inflict. Richard didn’t kill any of them. He discovered them murdered. The killer threw him through the window of the press box. His body was thrown further than anyone should have been able to manage, according to the coroner. The fall broke his neck and severed his spine in two places.” Michael fought for self control.
Jonathan stood quiet, obviously at a loss for words.
“Mr. Hallowed, I don’t know how your cousin, or any other man, could do what’s been done to these people, but someone is responsible for these killings. It’s my job to find out who it is.”
“I understand your situation, Detective, but I don’t see how I can help? I don’t believe Trenton is a killer. I’ve known him my whole life and never seen anything that would lead me to that conclusion.”
“What kind of research is Dr. Hallowed involved with at Genetic Corp?” Michael asked.
“Genetic research of some kind. I can’t really be more specific than that. I’m not a scientist. I think it has something to do with helping mankind battle diseases.”
Jay came into the room opposite the foyer. He walked over to Jonathan and Joseph, keeping a wary eye on Michael. The boy looked as though he thought the conversation might be about him.
Jonathan turned to the boy. “Jay, I’d like you to meet Detective Stamos. He’s working on a murder investigation in Donalee.”
Michael noticed the boy relax instantly. He’s guilty of something.
“Are you related to Mr. Hallowed, Jay?” Michael asked.
Jay glared at his obvious sarcasm.
“Jay is staying here as part of a mentoring program, Detective,” Jonathan said. Jay simply nodded.
“I see.”
Joseph looked beyond the door to the driveway outside. “Sir, I believe Dr. Hallowed’s car has arrived for you.”
Jonathan walked over to the door. “You’re right.”
“Were you on your way to meet Dr. Hallowed?” Michael asked.
“We’re expected at an exhibition for Trenton’s research,” Jonathan said. “Evidently, he’s made a big breakthrough and wants to show everyone.”
“Really? That sounds very interesting,” Michael said. “I wish I could tag along.”
Jonathan looked at Joseph and Jay, then at Michael. “Well, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t, Detective. After all, Trenton doesn’t have anything to hide. If it will help you see his innocence, then by all means, join us.”
Michael walked past Jonathan, toward the door. “Mr. Hallowed, I’d love to.”
8 UNINVITED
The limousine pulled up to a circular drive at the Genetic Corp building. Today was a special day and Jonathan, as part owner of the company, was expected to be present for Trenton unveiling his breakthrough discovery in genetic research. All Trenton had told him was it could change the course of human events, from today forward. Jonathan, not being a scientist, did not know what that might mean, but he hoped Jay would be interested.
Jay had been using his laptop during the car ride. Jonathan knew he was bright—perhaps a little too bright in some ways, and he wanted to give him opportunities—at least legal ones. He hoped Trenton’s research exhibition would spark with the boy and maybe give him some direction to pursue in life.
Jonathan watched Detective Stamos squirm in the seat opposite him. He didn’t appear comfortable, riding in a vehicle like this. Stamos exited fir
st, when the door was finally opened for them.
Jonathan got out after him. “Don’t go too far, Detective. They won’t let you in the building, unless you’re with me. If you happen to be carrying any weapons, you’ll have to check them at the door. Security is very tight today.”
“All this for a science project, Mr. Hallowed?” Michael asked.
Jay spoke up as he got out of the car, followed by Joseph. “This sort of thing is big business, Detective. Some people do a lot of work trying to steal the kinds of secrets these places hold.”
Michael looked at Jay. “Yeah, I’ll bet there are all sorts of little creeps doing espionage to sell it to the highest bidder, huh?”
Jay glared at Michael. Jonathan walked toward the door and the others followed. A doorman, dressed in a formal uniform, opened the clear glass door bearing the Genetic Corp name and double helix DNA symbol. Jonathan walked through into a lavishly decorated lobby area.
“Does it always look like this?” Michael asked.
“Just today, Detective. After all, Trenton is celebrating a breakthrough,” Jonathan said.
Michael surveyed the room and the guests assembled for the celebration. “I suppose you must hope to attract investors with this gala affair.”
Jonathan nodded. “It takes a lot of money to fund good research, Detective.”
Michael gave a wan smile. “I’ll bet.”
“Jay, why don’t you try out the buffet tables over there,” Jonathan said, pointing toward the back wall between the double staircases.