This was all assuming that she was interested in going, of course. Any night that was convenient for her would be fine. I was flexible, but did have to work around my kids’ scheduled nights. They visited me two nights a week, and then every other weekend for three nights.
I, then, asked her if she were okay and if she were able to speak. It was at that moment that Hannah realized she had not said a single word during the entire interaction. Rather, she had simply stood staring at me, perplexed. She did not appear blown away by me, as I stood there gawking at her, waiting for a response.
Hannah was feeling like a schoolgirl being asked to the prom and wanted to run inside and call her friends. She had finally been asked to the big dance, and her only thoughts were about what to wear. She found her ability to speak and responded back saying she would be delighted to go to dinner someplace close one night this week. We settled on next Thursday evening together and decided to go to Straights, a local eatery/bar down on Burlingame Avenue.
Hannah explained the situation to Laura and received Laura’s solemn vow that she would keep her mouth closed. Nobody at school would know anything of the impending date, and nobody would get an inkling of any news as long as Laura was filled in with all the details of how it went.
Hannah was a little worried about Laura. It had been a long time since she had seen the flash of hope and sparkle emanating from her eyes. Laura, more than Stephanie, missed her dad who they had not seen now for several years. Hannah had little contact with anyone from her hometown and was not even sure that he was still alive.
Laura wanted a dad. She wanted pancakes in the morning and stockings above a fireplace at Christmas. She, more than Hannah or Stephanie or maybe even both of them combined, wanted that house with a white picket fence and the security of knowing a dad would protect her and ensure she was always safe. Laura loved her mother with her entire being, and Hannah knew this. But Hannah also knew Laura wanted a father.
An Interesting Week
I enjoyed the time with my daughters, and as usual the moment came all too soon when they needed to leave and would now spend the next two nights with their mother. I felt mixed emotions of relief and calmness, as well as anxiety over their being gone. God, I missed them the second they walked out the door. My oldest had decided to stay with me. She was not talking to her mother, and it was with trepidation that I allowed her to remain.
She seemed to be slipping into bad behavior and was losing the ability to respect people. Back in my day it would have been a swift smack to the head and all would have been healed, but in reality that did not adjust an attitude that needed help and nurturing. She was crying out for assistance, but both her mother and I were moving forward in a fog, lost as to what to do or how to guide my beautiful daughter back to safety.
A ship is only as good as its captain, and the growing pit in my stomach was continually telling me that neither my ex-wife nor I were any good at the treacherous waters filled with rocks jutting up at every angle. I could only hope and pray that my daughter was going to come out on the other side whole and at peace. It seemed the odds were against her and all other kids. I wonder how any of them make it through to adulthood.
I informed my daughter that she would be on her own for one evening this week. I had a work function/dinner in San Francisco, and I would not be coming home. She was 14 and going to be 15 soon, so being on her own was not unheard of. I had misgivings about the timing of my dinner, but also knew that it was important to keep up the appearance of being a good corporate citizen. I also was completely aware that if I did not soon find a release for my anxiety that I would explode in a thousand pieces. My ex-wife had established a full frontal assault and was pulling out all the stops at deception and manipulation now that my daughter no longer wanted to return home. I still am utterly flabbergasted at her seemingly unending ability to lie to anyone and everyone we had ever known. Oddly enough, the worst part was her extraordinary aptitude for convincing herself that her lies were actually truthful.
My work group outing included the typical gang of five. There was George, the Cognos guru, who navigated all of our corporate reporting. He was a recent addition, having only joined the company a few months ago. He was the level-headed, silent leader of the motley crew. Samantha was our local environmental planning expert, who helped with model building and data navigation. Ingra, who no longer worked at my company but was from Bulgaria, had a knack for showing up at these events. Patel, who also no longer worked at our company but had come from the accounting side, and Dan who was the new guy on the block rounded out the group. Dan was recently from Apple and had the real potential to shine down the road. Linda, our other analyst, was not able to attend the evening’s events, as she was currently occupied with her Navy husband’s something or other event.
We all met at the restaurant House located downtown and were shown special seating. George’s sister and husband owned and ran the local establishment. George was a San Francisco native and was well acquainted with the surroundings. He was a great guide to anything and everything one might want to do in the Bay Area. As was typical for our dining experience, appetizers were waiting and the exquisite tasting, palate-pleasing morsels were almost greater than the average man could handle. I have no idea how a restaurant like this goes unnoticed. It is extraordinary.
The evening went as expected. Ingra is wonderful company, somewhat earthy, although she takes offense to the term. All the women try to avoid Patel as he is the touchy one, grabbing, hugging, and feeling anyone or anything that is near him. It does make some people uncomfortable if they do not know him and, at times, even if you do. He has a good heart and is a devoted, underappreciated friend. George is married and has kids at home. Deep down, though, he still enjoys time out with a little kick now and then. Samantha is an anomaly. She has a sensual side, yet, at the same time, has issues dealing with controversy or stress. Her life has been broken and hard, as she has dealt with a drug-addicted ex-husband, and the child that she gave birth to at the ripe age of 16.
She is the one who has overcome the most adversity in the group and the one who also seems to have the most scars. Scars never really heal. I think they only fade, but resurface the minute old wounds are brought back to life.
As with most groups in my opinion, we are a bunch of misfits. Wanting and needing to feel connected, but not knowing how or what is missing in our lives. I play my designated role as boss to some and friend to all. I appear as a wandering lost soul to everyone I meet. I wear my shortcomings as a comic wears his jokes, supplanting humor to avoid intimacy and leading with sarcasm the minute things get too tough. I, as are most, am lost in the world that seems too big to wrap my hands around most of the time and am left wondering about the vastness of what will happen next.
The night went well, and we had several rounds of drinks and wine. We all seemed to enjoy each other’s company, but at times that did lead to inappropriate feelings that had to be squelched before the night turns to day and people regretted going too far. We said our good-byes and headed back to our broken homes and shelved ambitions. We would see each other tomorrow and with a pat on the back start the process all over again.
Everyone except me, that is. I took this opportunity, as planned, to seek out a small, dark alley with the hopes of leveling the playing field in my tumultuous mind. My volcanic side was building to levels of erupting proportions. I drove down Market Street and found a nice place to park. It was easy to find homeless people; they were everywhere, it seems.
I parked my car on a relatively lit street and got out of my SUV. I was careful where I parked in downtown San Francisco. I used to bring my ex-wife to plays in the theatre district. We enjoyed the live entertainment and a tasty meal at one of the many top-rated restaurants that the city has to offer. We once had the bright idea to save on parking and found a great spot on a local street. I remember marveling at the amount of glass on the street as I secured the car and how odd it was that there was an abundanc
e of excess parking.
After dinner and the play were completed, we returned to our car only to find our rear window smashed and everything that was removable gone from the inside of our vehicle. The particles of smashed glass covering the asphalt beneath us now made perfect sense. I remember commenting at the time that at least the intruder was thoughtful and smashed the back window versus the front. It could have been worse. My wife took her typical negative route and complained nonstop about the event. You would have thought it was her car versus mine.
I looked around and marveled at the eclectic individuals that wander the streets late at night. I, then, removed the necessary essentials and, as again luck would have it, only needed to walk less than five blocks before a perfect opportunity presented itself. Two bums in a dark alley appeared to be rummaging through the trashcans, looking for what must be their next meal.
It was not easy to see them in the dim lighting, but they appeared to be young adults prematurely aged well beyond their years. They didn’t appear to be violent, but were absolutely high on something—that is never a good idea. To corner a cat and watch it brandish its claws is the same as cornering somebody on meth and assuming that you can beat your way out. Meth or heroin addicts are not people you would want to rile when they are in an agitated state—or as the term is nowadays “tweaking.” I have a friend on the police force who tells me stories at times, and they are not stories you want to be a part of.
I observed the two for a while and caught glimpses of their black-orbed sunken eyes and their bony exterior frailly held together by a thin layer of translucent skin. They obviously must have track marks up and down their arms and seemingly have little ability to feel pain. One inadvertently picked up a shard of glass and didn’t even notice as the blood started dripping down his arm, running past his elbow to the ground below. They were bickering nonsensically about something that I couldn’t decipher.
I walked into the dimly lit alley and simply raised my gun, deliberately aiming it at the first victim and pulled the trigger three quick times. He dropped quickly and easily; and I, then, moved my now fully extended arm toward the other gentleman who was still busily rummaging through his stash of tasty morsels. I pulled the trigger twice, and he fell into a crumpled mass three feet from his recently dead friend.
I walked over to inspect each body and looked into the eyes of both, sensing the relief they must feel to be free from their addiction and life of saddened hardship. I stopped for a couple of minutes, taking in the scene and the surroundings, wondering how one wakes up and finds himself or herself a part of this environment. What happens to a person when drugs are the most important thing in his or her life? They give up all ties to family and friends and relinquish any hope for a future all for the next stab of a needle into their scab-ridden arm.
I wondered about how many times the two have been in rehab, only to fail and wander back to their one true love. How many times had they stolen and lied to their families and placed their siblings in danger. How much hard-earned money had been wasted on these two, as they continually made promises they had no intention or ability to ever keep. The diseases that probably coursed through their bodies as they spread STDs with their needles appalled me.
I placed the weapon back in my coat pocket and silently glided back to my car. I removed the gun, placing it in the trunk, and walked to the driver’s side. I started my vehicle and exited the scene, leaving behind only the salvation I had given these two leeches on society.
On the drive back home, I realized the satisfaction I felt is much greater to me than anything else I have ever done. I felt justified in my actions. Unlike taking a life that is worth living, I had now forcibly reaped the just rewards on these two people that should have been sown long ago. I tried to imagine the pain and injustice they must have inflicted on their families. The lies they must have told to anyone who would listen enabling them only to get their next fix.
Their brothers and sisters would now grow up in peace, without fear that their older sibling would return home and steal from their piggy bank just to by another tiny bag of stones. I should have gotten a plaque nailed to city hall for the service I just performed for this city. I expunged a portion of a plague from our society and now felt like a true god that had found his calling. I did not know what my next event would be, nor could I foresee the future. I did know that I would from this day forth incorporate the eradication of any drug addicted homeless person from the face of this planet. I was like the Lone Ranger who now stood up for justice when other people were afraid to face facts.
I made it home in my contained state of euphoria; and, luckily, my daughter was asleep. I jumped into the shower, which was slowly becoming a custom of mine after these events and, afterward, threw myself into my newly acquired queen-size bed. I felt exuberant and was looking forward to sleeping soundly, having performed a civic duty.
The rest of the week was somewhat uneventful, save for my bike ride Sunday afternoon. I had finally decided to ignore my daughter’s warnings and move forward with asking Laura’s mom on a date. “Laura’s Hot Mom” they called her. How could I not try and make a move on somebody with that acronym.
After a great bike ride, I made it home and settled in to get cleaned up. My oldest was doing her homework (or pretending to) and stated she was almost finished. I decided to make some pasta for dinner and promised as soon as I was out of my shower I would commence the preparation of the feast. It had been a good week. I had managed to loosen the valve and free my built up frustrations, all the while making positive strides in my home life and on the romantic front, as well. All in all I couldn’t complain.
FBI
Sudhir spent the next morning pulling his facts together from the three different cases. He consolidated the four murders, laying out all his details, and he had to admit even to himself that his theory was a little farfetched. The pieces just did not easily link one to another. There were too many holes in the bridges he was attempting to build, and he really only had his gut instinct telling him that somehow, someway this was the same man performing these different acts.
After a few hours, he decided to go to his captain and lay everything on the table and get his advice. Who knows, maybe there was something he was missing in the pile of paperwork.
Sudhir’s captain was a small balding man in his mid-50’s and was about four years away from retirement. He had seen a wide spectrum of events in his 26 years on the force, and his main goal at this stage was to make it to 30, retire, and spend his afternoons fishing up in the mountains. He did very little to stir the waters and went by the book on most all decisions.
Sudhir got 10 minutes with him as he was heading out to see the local district attorney on an issue with another detective, hoping to clear the air and stop a dilemma before it went any further. Politics plays a role in all occupations and all companies in the world as everyone is concerned with themselves, first and foremost. Sudhir presented his hypothesis. He was very open in his description and agreeably stated that the odds were against him, but he also could not contain the continuing feeling that somehow these were all linked together. The Volvo was really the only key, which he admitted was flimsy.
Sudhir had not spent much time with his captain. He respected him, but in all honesty Sudhir had not focused that much effort in his job. This was the first time that he was motivated, driven to a resolution. His captain spent more time discussing Sudhir than he did the case. He told Sudhir how impressed he was with his dedication and how he felt Sudhir might have the makings of a good detective.
He also admitted that this was a surprise to him and everyone else. He, personally, could not remember how many cases had been solved by instinct and intuition. Sometimes filling in the blank spaces of a case with what you felt ended up being the only way to bridge the gap and move forward. In the end, facts were needed; and you could not finalize a solution until your details added up, but getting there took more than just adding one plus one to get tw
o.
He gave his permission to talk to the FBI and concurred with Sudhir that having the profiling skills involved at this stage might be the right thing to do. He also gave Sudhir a piece of advice as he was stepping out the door on his way to his next appointment. He stated it was the small things that solved cases – watch for the little intricacies that could be overlooked or passed over. It might even be something that caught Sudhir’s eye, but he was not giving it his full attention. The details are what catch a killer. Everyone is good at covering their tracks on the big issues, but nobody can think through all of the minutiae. Look at the mundane trivial pebbles, and that is where you will find the killer.
Sudhir made his way back to his desk and called his friend Jason at the FBI. He caught him on a break and told him his story. Jason was a local. He was in the process of going through a divorce, had two kids, and his soon-to-be ex-wife was a very good-looking woman. They were currently working through custodial issues and living arrangements, as his parents kept their house in a trust. It was proving difficult to figure out how to make everything work for everyone.
Jason was married to his job. He inhaled details of a case into his very being from the beginning to the last. The smallest piece of evidence was catalogued until it reached the final resolution. In the end, this had done in his marriage to Sherene. He just did not have the time or the energy to have two marriages in his life; and try as he might, he was incapable of giving up on bringing killers to justice.
Jason had a knack for piecing seemingly unrelated events into a bigger picture. He was good at solving puzzles that nobody believed until, in the end, he always proved them true. He had started out in the Bay Area, but was now a part of the national profiling team; and if there were ever a highly publicized investigation, he was involved at some level.
Duncan's Diary Page 15