[No Justice 01.0] No Justice

by Sean Platt

  Seconds later, Harriet returned and buzzed Mal in through the employee’s entrance.

  Mal stepped passed the threshold and into a wall of memories. She nodded, waving at both familiar faces and new ones, passing six neat rows of cubicles into the Sheriff’s office in the back.

  Gloria Bell was standing outside of her office. She greeted Mal with a hug.

  Gloria looked pretty much the same as when Mal had last seen her, though a bit worse for wear. She’d been sheriff for nearly three years, and as both the first female and black sheriff in Creek County, Gloria had broken many barriers. But it wasn’t her only battle. Shattering ceilings and walls was an ongoing endeavor. After a while, the stress appeared on her face and the weight yanked on her shoulders. Gloria had been an excellent cop, one who told it like it was and didn’t suffer fools. Mal wondered how Gloria managed to navigate the tricky waters of dealing with the public, and county and city commissioners, while still getting actual police work done.

  “Mike told me you have something?”

  As if on cue, Mike popped out from behind his cubicle wall to join them.

  “Yeah. Ashley’s killer sent me something,” Mal said.

  Then she pulled out the flash drive and showed them.

  **

  Mal and Mike sat opposite Gloria behind her desk as they waited for the station’s resident tech guru, Aanya Batra, to safely extract and duplicate what was on the hard drive. As they waited, Mal came clean about how the killer had reached out to her a year before with the photos.

  She withdrew the year-old envelope from her jacket and slid them across the desk to Gloria.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Gloria opened the envelope. Tears filled the corners of her eyes as she shuffled through photos from Ashley’s final days.

  “It had been a year since her murder. I didn’t want this to become a big story.”

  “Isn’t this around the time that you did that TV interview with Presley Jennings?”

  “Yeah, I did that as a favor, and believe me, I regret it every day. It was right before the anniversary. Maybe that interview is what drove the killer to send the photos. He saw me break down and wanted to fuck with me more.”

  “Jesus,” Mike said, now looking through the photos. “You could’ve told us, Mal.”

  “I wanted to handle it myself.”

  “Yourself?” Gloria asked, eyebrows arched.

  “I was hoping he’d come back this year. I was waiting for him last night. But … I had too much to drink and fell asleep.”

  Mike shook his head, likely wishing she’d told him of her plans so he could have been there.

  Mal pulled a second thumb drive from her coat — copies of the surveillance video. “I got video of him coming into my house, standing over me, and putting the gun against my head as I slept passed out.”

  “Shit,” Mike leaned forward in his chair. “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “He was wearing a hoodie and mask. But maybe you all can get something, I dunno.”

  Gloria shook her head. “You should’ve come to us earlier.”

  “Well, I didn’t. But I’m here now. And maybe you can get something off the flash drive. I also have the box he delivered it in, though I doubt you’ll find any prints.”

  Gloria looked at Mal for a long moment. Then, “What were you going to do if you caught him breaking into your house?”

  Mal met her eyes. She wasn’t sure who was asking the question. Was it Gloria her friend, asking out of concern? Gloria the sheriff, asking without really wanting to know the answer? Or Gloria the politician, asking so she could find the best way to spin the situation?

  “I was going to arrest him,” Mal lied.

  Gloria looked into her eyes for a long, uncomfortable moment. Mal wasn’t sure what she saw. Gloria’s bullshit detector was one of the best, and Mal hated lying to her. But what was she going to do? Tell the truth? That she planned to murder the bastard the second he stepped foot in her house and she verified that he was the monster she’d been hunting? That wouldn’t go over well.

  A knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Gloria said.

  Aanya held up a laptop. “You were right not to plug this into your computer. There was a RAT installed.”

  “A RAT?” Mike repeated.

  “A Remote Access Trojan, a back door allowing the user to take over your computer, spy on you with your webcam, pretty much anything they want. Anyway, the only other thing on the flash was a video file. I haven’t watched it yet. I brought it right over.”

  Aanya handed the computer to Gloria. She placed it sideways so everyone could see the screen then looked up at Mal.

  “You sure you want to watch this?”

  Mal nodded, heart in her throat.

  Mike leaned back and closed the door so nobody could walk by and see whatever they were about to watch.

  Gloria pressed Play.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 13 - MALLORY BLACK

  Mal watched the computer screen as the video began to play.

  “Is it on?” Mike asked.

  The screen was still dark, and the scrub bar along the bottom was crawling. Suddenly, an orange glow illuminated a small, narrow hallway.

  A man’s voice crackled to life on the speakers, singing Happy Birthday as he continued down the hall to a doorway. The camera panned to a birthday cake with white frosting, pink flowers, and ten lit candles.

  The camera briefly showed a padlock on the door before the video cut to it slowly opening.

  The man continued to sing as he entered the bedroom.

  “Rise and shine, birthday girl.”

  The camera moved closer to the bed and a girl sleeping beneath the blanket.

  Mal held her breath as the shape beneath the blanket moved, then revealed itself.

  Ashley!

  Ashley looked at the man, his cake, and the camera, confused, and scared. “What’s happening?”

  “It’s your birthday, sweetie.”

  “Am I going to see Mommy today?”

  “Yes, yes you are,” the bastard lied. “Do you want to say something to Mommy? I’m sending her this video.”

  Ashley smiled. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, but she seemed otherwise okay. “Hi, Mommy! Uncle—” a shrill scream cut out whatever name she said, as if edited in from some horror movie like a censor’s beep. Mal wondered if the scream was Ashley’s death cry. “—said I’m going to see you for my birthday. I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much!”

  “Anything else, Ashley?”

  Hearing the man say her baby girl’s name felt like someone defiling her grave. Mal wanted to reach through the computer and strangle the fiend.

  “I love you, Mommy.”

  The video cut to black.

  Mal leaned forward even more, watching the black screen, waiting for something, anything, as tears streamed down her face.

  “Is there more?”

  Gloria pressed play again and the video started.

  Mal stared at the screen, her throat tight, a cold chill squeezing her spine.

  Her heart was pounding.

  Her face was flush, hot.

  And her hands, folded in her lap, were trembling.

  Her throat tightened further as if a building knot of seething rage was making it impossible to breathe.

  She tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

  So Mal screamed, unleashing countless pent up emotions.

  She wanted to lash out. Wanted to break stuff. Wanted to smash the laptop into a million little bits. Wanted to find the killer and do the same to him.

  But she couldn’t break the computer because it might be their only lead to finding Ashley’s murderer. So Mal had only her scream.

  She got up and fled the office, fast as she could before Gloria or Mike tried to wrap an arm around her for comfort.

  But that’s not what she wanted.

  Mal wanted revenge.

  Needed the
fucker dead.

  **

  Mal sat in the parking lot, trying to calm herself. She wanted to leave but knew she couldn’t. She had to compose herself, go back inside, talk to Gloria and Mike, and see what else they could do to catch this guy.

  She reached into her purse, found the pills, and took one, swallowing it dry. Just something to take the edge off.

  She closed her eyes, waiting for the pill to calm her.

  Rain began to fall, pelting the roof her car with a calming sound.

  She thought about taking another pill, but a knock on her window arrested the thought.

  She opened her eyes.

  It was Gloria, smoking an e-cigarette.

  Rain fell harder.

  “Can I come in?” she asked.

  Mal nodded.

  Gloria ran around to the passenger side, opened the door, and took a seat beside Mal. “I’m sorry.”

  Mal stared out her window, watching rain drizzle on the glass, not wanting to meet Gloria’s eyes and break down into tears.

  “No, I’m sorry. I should’ve stayed up last night. Shouldn’t have gotten drunk. What the hell was I thinking?”

  “Maybe you were drinking because you were scared of what you might do?”

  Mal wasn’t sure what Gloria was getting at, if anything, but she supposed it made sense. “I wasn’t going to kill him if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m not sure I would’ve been that strong. Then again, I never had a kid, so I suppose I can’t know what I’d feel.”

  Gloria had tried to have kids twice. Both miscarried, killing part of her and all of her marriage.

  They sat in silence until Mal finally broke it. “You’re right. I should’ve come to you guys. I was just afraid that if he saw cops hanging around, he’d get spooked.” At least this was partly true. “But maybe his boldness would’ve blinded him. Maybe we could’ve caught him.”

  “Maybe,” Gloria said, taking a drag.

  Mal laughed morbidly, “Well, there’s always next year. Wonder what gift he’ll bring then.”

  Mal couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Ashley on the video. It was likely the last video of her little girl still alive. She’d watched countless videos of Ashley since her death, and in every one Mal wished she could somehow freeze the moment, go back in time, and warn herself. Tell herself to pick up Ashley from school.

  She thought of the phone call from the mystery man who did exactly that. They could never trace the call or get any information on who made it. There were two theories. One was that it was the killer himself making the call, probably after he’d already kidnapped the girl, just to fuck with Mal and/or the police. Mal had acted, called the school, but was too late to do anything.

  The other, less popular, theory was that it was someone maybe working with the killer. He might’ve grown a conscience or gotten scared off from kidnapping and killing a cop’s daughter.

  “It wasn’t him,” Mal said.

  “What?”

  “The man who called to warn me. It wasn’t his voice on this recording. It’s two different people.”

  “You remember his voice?” Gloria asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I hear it in my head all the time, wondering why the hell I didn’t answer sooner.”

  “So, you think we should look into that caller again? Maybe put something out there to try and appeal to his desire to help?”

  “Maybe.” After a long moment of trying to figure out how to bring up the Jessi Price case, Mal laid it bare. “I saw your press conference on Jessi Price, and how her father was a person of interest. I don’t think it’s him.”

  “What?” Gloria said, brows raised.

  “I think it’s Ashley’s killer.”

  Before Gloria could object, Mal continued, “Both girls vanish around the same time, two years apart. And both girls were taken just before their tenth birthday.”

  “We looked into it, but didn’t come up with any leads.”

  Mal didn’t want to throw Mike under the bus by saying how much she already knew about the investigation, nor could she let it go.

  “Did you interview the registered sex offenders?”

  “We talked to a few. But no, not all of them.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not going through the details of an active investigation with you, Mallory. But believe me, we’re doing everything we can.”

  “Everything?”

  Gloria glared at her. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

  “I’d like to help.”

  “That’s a bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Really? I need to spell it out for you? First, you don’t work here any—”

  “Bring me on as a consultant.”

  “Second, this would be a conflict of interest having you investigate a case which could be connected to your daughter’s murder.”

  “So, you admit they’re connected?”

  Gloria stared at Mal, then finally said, “I’m leaving, Mallory. We’ll be in touch if we get anything in regards to your break-in.”

  “Jessi Price is going to die in four days if you don’t catch this man.”

  The Sheriff met her eyes. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have gotten drunk off your ass last night. Maybe you would’ve caught him. Why don’t you get your own house in order before telling others what to do?”

  Gloria opened the door, stepped out into the rain, and slammed it shut.

  Mal’s fists tightened as she watched Gloria head back into the station.

  She screamed, punching the steering wheel with both fists.

  Hard.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 14 - PAUL DODD

  Paul sat on the toilet of his tiny work bathroom looking at the telephone, checking to see if there was any news on Mallory Black.

  He wondered if she was even awake, given how much she reeked of alcohol. If she was, had she seen the flash drive? Had she watched her security footage to see him creeping through her house and putting the gun to her head?

  Paul couldn’t wait to get home and check one of his computers to see if she’d installed the drive, which would have, in turn, uploaded a RAT onto her computer and granting him total control. He didn’t think she’d be that dumb, but you never knew. She had yet to discover that he’d hacked into her security system and could watch her whenever he wanted.

  Most people weren’t especially tech savvy, which surprised him given the frequency of hacking and related stories in the news. You’d think some of these people would brush up on their security and knowledge, or maybe change the factory settings on their home’s routers and devices. He found it entertainingly ironic that as more people turned to high tech security solutions, they failed to implement the most basic common sense in securing these devices designed to safeguard their lives. But most people were stupid, and that made it much easier for people like Paul to operate in shadows.

  He didn’t see anything new regarding Mallory. She probably wouldn’t go to the cops. She’d probably be too embarrassed. She’d see the footage, freak out, then get drunk and/or high again. Such a waste of life.

  He’d felt such a rush standing over her, with the power to extinguish the whore’s existence. She was long past her prime, now little more than a wretched drug addict. If anyone deserved to be put out of their misery, it was her.

  But he didn’t want to grant Mallory Black such mercy.

  He wanted to make her suffer, and he wasn’t even sure why.

  Paul usually knew why he did the things he did, as fucked up as they might make him. He at least understood why he was fucked up, why he was attracted to little girls, and why he needed to end their lives before they became bitches who did nothing but ruin all that they touched.

  But he couldn’t understand his obsession with Mallory. It was the first adult he’d ever obsessed over, and it wasn’t sexual. People obviously found her attractive, particularly given the number of men and women she’d slept with, but Paul found her
repulsive, like most of the loose women of this era. Maybe the obsession with Mallory was a way of reliving his moments with her daughter, Ashley. At least that made sense.

  He thought about Ashley and began to get hard, his heart racing, lust and desire swirling like a vortex, demanding that he exorcise them.

  Paul grabbed his cock with one hand and flipped through his phone’s directory with the other until he found the encrypted folder.

  He looked at his pictures of Jessi, lying in bed, asleep and drugged. He’d removed her shirt, but he hadn’t yet touched her because he didn’t want to spoil her birthday.

  He stroked himself faster, flipping through his directory until he found what he was looking for — video he took of his night with Ashley, when he’d undressed her and finally made love to her.

  The phone shaking in his hand, he barely managed to press Play.

  He didn’t last thirty seconds.

  Shit.

  He stood, wiped himself off, cleaned the wall with paper towels and Windex, then washed his hands, sorted himself out in the mirror, and returned to his desk for lunch.

  **

  After eating a turkey sandwich at his desk, Paul closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to ease his swelling headache before his break ended and chaos ensued.

  He’d already taken two Tylenol and was thinking about swallowing a third when Tracy Adams from next door stepped into his room.

  “How’s it going?” she asked, smiling. Tracy was in her late twenties with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cute smile. She was easily the most attractive of his coworkers, and sometimes he wondered if she had a crush on him, even though the girl was engaged.