Justice for Hire

by Rayven T. Hill

  It was far enough from the city, no one would likely wander here, but if anyone happened upon it, its innocent front would cover any suspicions there could be more to this place than seemed.

  And anyway, the guard would keep trespassers away.

  He pushed open the door to the building and stepped inside. As he passed the parked Escalade, his guard, a hired thug really, stood, and Craig could see his hand tucked under his jacket, his fingers no doubt resting on the weapon concealed there, just in case.

  The guard relaxed and sat back down when he saw Craig. He picked up a magazine he’d been reading and flipped it open. Craig assumed he was looking at the pictures. The goon didn’t look like he could even read.

  Craig crossed the room, pushed open a door, and went down a long hallway to the lab. It had been several days since he’d been here, but he knew it was in capable hands.

  Wolff, who was pulled up at a desk studying some paperwork, looked up as he entered.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  Craig didn’t answer immediately. He glanced around the sterile laboratory before speaking to Wolff. “Everything seems to be running efficiently,” he said.

  Wolff pushed back his chair and looked up at Craig through round-rimmed glasses. His stooped shoulders were evidence of many years spent poring over research. He pushed back a wild wisp of gray hair, and said, “Everything is going according to plan, sir.”

  “You’ll be well rewarded, Wolff.”

  “The chance to carry on your father’s research is reward enough, however I do appreciate the financial side.”

  Craig dropped into a chair at the end of the desk and faced Wolff. “Our last operation went rather well. I have to commend you on your excellent work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Is Muller here?” Craig asked.

  “He’s with a patient at the moment. A young girl, who seems to be an excellent candidate. He thinks she’s ready and is now putting her through some final testing.”

  “And what of the new acquisition?”

  “He has a strong will, sir, but I believe he’ll prove to be outstanding in time.”

  Craig dropped a hand on Wolff’s shoulder. “Excellent. Excellent.”

  Wolff accepted the praise with a slight smile and a nod before speaking. “The entire process, from procurement of the subject to completion of the training, is being done in record time. I’ve never seen such exceptional results. We’re making rapid progress.” He waved a hand toward a row of binders overcrowding a shelf behind the desk. “All thanks to your father’s research, of course.”

  “I couldn’t do it without you, Wolff.”

  Wolff leaned forward and pulled a small stack of papers toward him. “I have a progress report here for you, sir.” He licked the tip of his thumb, leafed through the papers, slipped one out and handed it to Craig. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “Thank you, Wolff,” Craig said, as he took the paper and glanced over it. He folded it, tucked it into his shirt pocket and stood. “I’ll think I’ll have a look around.”

  On his way from the room, Craig stopped at a bench containing beakers, burners, tongs, clamps and other equipment he didn’t recognize. He leaned over, peered into a microscope and saw a mass of small red objects. Waving like tails from each were black filaments. They dashed so rapidly his eye could hardly follow them. Craig had no idea what he was looking at.

  Above the bench, a wall mounted storage cabinet bulged with bottles and beakers, filled with chemicals, potions and powders. All were a mystery to Craig.

  He was fortunate Wolff knew exactly what he was doing, and fortunate to have found him. After he had discovered a path to power in his father’s notes, and with Wolff to interpret them, his plans began to evolve.

  He left the lab and went back to the hallway he had previously come through. A half dozen rooms, three on each side, led off the well lit passageway in front of him.

  Each door contained a sliding panel that would open a small peephole. Craig opened the panel on the first door and peered through the bullet-proof glass. Against the far wall he saw a young boy, lying on his back on a small bed. His eyes were closed, possibly asleep. He shut the panel and looked at a label above the opening. In hand-written letters, he saw the name “Haines”.

  The next room was occupied as well, but was darkened. He knew total darkness for a period of time was one of the necessary steps to achieve the optimum results. Craig couldn’t see anything through the panel, so he closed it again and moved on.

  Across the hall, on another door, Craig saw the bolt lock was not secured. He looked through the peephole and saw Muller, sitting upright in a fold-up chair, his back to Craig. A girl was sitting on the bed facing him. He could hear the murmur of conversation but couldn’t make out what was being said. This must be the girl Wolff had said was ready.

  He had no immediate plans for her, but there were several possibilities at the moment. He would have to go over his strategy and see how best to proceed.

  Of the three remaining rooms, only one was in use at the moment. It contained another boy who appeared to be in the latter stages of the process. His hands and feet were strapped to the bed and he was going through severe convulsions. His body contracted and relaxed rapidly, as he shook in a violent manner. Occasionally, he heaved up as far as the straps would allow, and then dropped and continued to shake. His moans and intermittent shrieks filled the room.

  All effects of the drugs, no doubt, combined with the necessary amounts of torture. Craig knew it was normal and nothing to be concerned about.

  He closed the panel, spun around, and looked in at Wolff before leaving. He was bent over his desk again, no doubt checking and double-checking the procedures. He back-tracked up the hallway, entered the garage, nodded to the guard and left the building.

  He’d seen enough to know everything was operating at peak efficiency.

  Chapter 30

  Thursday, August 25th, 10:22 AM

  THE PRESS, AS WELL as the general public, had been demanding some resolution to the string of murders that had unsettled the city during the last few days. In an attempt to relieve the general unrest, Hank had arranged for a press conference at eleven o’clock.

  Jake and Annie dropped by the precinct early, and as they entered the bustling main room, Annie could see Hank at his desk, probably going over notes of what he wanted to address at the conference.

  Hank looked up and grinned as they approached his desk. “Grab a seat.”

  Jake dragged a couple of chairs closer and he and Annie sat.

  “It looks like the vultures have started to gather,” Jake said.

  Hank leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “There hasn’t been a lot of news for them to print lately. They’re getting bored.”

  As well as the innocent victims in this string of murders, Annie was concerned about David Haines. “Hank, did you find out anything about David today?”

  “Not a thing. He skipped school yesterday and no one has seen him around. Apparently, it’s unusual for him to skip a whole day. Usually, when he skips out, it’s just for the last class or two.”

  “So, I assume he didn’t return home last night?”

  Hank shook his head. “Nope. We still have some uniforms out patrolling the streets, but so far, no luck.”

  “What about the John Does?” Jake asked. “Any IDs on either of them yet?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “And Cheryl Waters?” Annie asked.

  “She’ll be seeing a psychiatrist, as ordered by the court, and we hope to have a report on her in the next day or two. So far, she hasn’t remembered anything.” Hank leaned forward, picked up his notes and shuffled them. “It’s my hope the psychiatrist will help her remember something that’ll give us a lead.”

  “A lead would be nice. It’s frustrating when we have so little to go on,” Annie said.

  Jake leaned forward. “Hank, can you get me a couple of photos of the killers, as w
ell as of David?”

  Hank nodded and spun his chair around. He called across the room, “Callaway, bring me a couple sets of those photos.” Hank turned back around. “You have an idea?”

  “I may do a little canvassing on my own.”

  Hank shrugged. “It can’t hurt.” He looked up as Callaway approached the desk and handed him a manila envelope. “Here you go, Hank.”

  Hank took the envelope and handed it to Jake. “Here’s a couple of packages the uniforms have. They contain photos of the killers as well as of David. There’s a photo of Cheryl in there as well.”

  Jake peeked inside the envelope, and then set it on the desk and leaned back. “I may show this around the mission as well. There’s bound to be someone, somewhere who has seen him. Not everybody watches television or reads the newspaper, and the cops can’t cover everywhere.”

  ~~*~~

  DAVID HAINES lay on the narrow bed and stared at the ceiling. He counted the white tiles above him for the thousandth time. He always got the same result, but it didn’t matter. It kept his mind off his predicament and helped him keep his sanity.

  According to his watch, he’d been confined for almost twenty hours, and no one had been to see him to give him any indication of why he was being held.

  He knew for sure it wasn’t ransom. If his abductors had checked out the small house they lived in, or the job his father had, which barely kept food in the fridge, they would know there’s no money to be made. But what could be the reason?

  He had held back his tears, and although he struggled with periods of fear, and then anger, he’d been able to sleep most of the night, regardless of the constant bright lights that lit the room.

  He thought of his parents. Generally, they were good to him, and the berating he got from his father on occasion, seemed to be of little consequence. He would be overjoyed now to hear his father’s voice.

  And the hugs his mother gave him, the times he would push her away when she showed her affection; he would welcome that now. Thinking about her threatened to make him weep. He shook it off, swung from the bed and paced the floor of the small white room.

  He had given up hope of trying to escape; the concrete walls and the solid ceiling made sure of that. He had tested the thick metal door, but it was impossible to budge, secured from the outside. He had pounded it with his fists earlier, and shouted until his voice was hoarse, but it had been futile.

  Right now, he wanted something to happen. Anything.

  He kicked at the wall in frustration and only ended up hurting his toe. He cursed the wall and cursed his captors.

  He was hungry, too. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and that’d been a small breakfast. He wondered if perhaps their plan was to starve him to death.

  Would that happen? Would anyone ever come to free him, or would he die here, all alone?

  He panicked at the thought, and then fought it off and threw himself onto the bed. He lay there a moment before crawling to his feet and pacing some more.

  He should be in school now, and as much as he hated being confined in a classroom, it was considerably better than this place.

  He pummeled the door and yelled, “Let me out of here.” His voice echoed in the small space, as if mocking him. He continued to pound until his fists were sore.

  He felt a little better. But not much.

  He went to the sink, filled the styrofoam cup with water and took a long drink. At least the water was cold, but it didn’t do much for his hunger.

  He wiped his brow on his sleeve. He was a little warm, but not uncomfortable. The air was stifling and smelled sterile, but the small ceiling vent kept the room from becoming unbearable. He could hear the muffled hum of a fan, somewhere in the air duct, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

  He was afraid, angry and frustrated, and wished someone would come through that door and tell him the joke was over, and he could go home.

  Not likely.

  He dropped to his knees, his head in his hands, and let the tears flow.

  Chapter 31

  Thursday, August 25th, 11:00 AM

  THE WIDE STREET in front of Richmond Hill Police Station was clogged with news vans, cars and the curious.

  Yappy was directing traffic, and doing a remarkable job of it. The curious rubberneckers steered by, as they craned their necks to get a hint of what was afoot.

  Vehicles parked at arbitrary angles, further impeding the already congested flow of traffic.

  Reporters ambled across the street, and some milled about in front of the podium being set up at the foot of the steps leading into the precinct. All carried cameras or notepads, recorders and mikes, killing time until the main event.

  The city wanted news, and the faithful gathered to hear the latest on the killing spree.

  Lisa Krunk claimed her spot in front of the platform, Don dutifully at her side, his camera primed and ready.

  The precinct doors burst open, and one by one a hush fell over the crowd. Reporters made a final scramble for position; their heads cocked upwards, pens, pencils and recording devices poised.

  Captain Diego and Hank were first out of the doors. They made their way down the steps and stood behind the podium. Jake and Annie followed, but stayed back from the platform, and to the side. A couple of uniforms positioned themselves at each end, like wooden soldiers, more as show, than as security.

  Hank looked around at the crowd of reporters. He recognized a lot of local faces, as well as several from Toronto news outlets. He took one step forward and placed his notes on the podium.

  The bundle of microphones, secured to the stand, picked up his voice. “Welcome, and thanks for coming. My name is Detective Hank Corning.” He motioned toward the captain. “And you all know Captain Alano Diego.” The crowd murmured as Hank continued, “I’ll make a brief statement, and then open it up for your questions.”

  The swarm waited.

  “As you know, Richmond Hill has been hit with a string of murders in recent days. Three, to be exact. In all cases, the perpetrator has been apprehended. At this point, there seems to be little, or no connection among the victims in all three incidents.” Hank paused a moment. “However, we are making some progress in understanding the situation.”

  The crowd murmured.

  “I want to assure the people of Richmond Hill there’s no need to be concerned. We have no indication there’ll be another murder, or that anyone is in imminent danger.”

  Hank had little else he could say. He was stumped, and with no obvious connection he could see, he couldn’t honestly guarantee anyone’s safety. However, he didn’t want to alarm the people and cause undue panic throughout the city.

  “Please use normal common sense until we have all the facts in. Don’t go out alone at night, and if you're driving home alone, use caution. Keep your doors locked, both at home, and when in your vehicles.”

  Hank paused and glanced at his notes. There was nothing else to say. He looked up. “I’ll take your questions now.”

  Many voices spoke at once, like children trying to be heard the loudest.

  Hank ignored them and pointed to a raised hand in the second row.

  The selected newsman spoke, “Detective, we are aware, in the case of the first murder, the perpetrator claimed no knowledge of what she was doing. Is that still the case?”

  Hank paused. “Yes. At this point, she still claims she was unaware of her actions.”

  “Does it not seem, then, the other two may have been unaware as well, considering they killed themselves?”

  Hank weighed his answer. An affirmative answer could cause undue fear. He elected for vagueness. “We have no indication the other two were unaware of their actions.” He selected another reporter, this time from a television station.

  “Detective, you said the victims were unrelated, as far as you knew. But what about the killers? Did you find anything that connects them?”

  Hank had to be careful with this answer as well. For no
w, he thought it best not to share the fact the guns were all from the same lot. “We’ve established a connection of sorts. All three perpetrators were young, and the MO, method of operation, was similar. We have other reasons to believe there’s an underlying relationship in all three occurrences.”

  “What other reasons?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say at this point.” He pointed to Lisa Krunk, who was uncharacteristically biding her time, waiting patiently, her hand raised. “Yes, Lisa?”

  “Detective Corning, I see the Lincolns are in your entourage. How are they involved in this case?”

  Hank glanced at Jake and hesitated before turning back. He leaned into the mikes. “They are involved privately on behalf of one of the victims. We’ve worked successfully with them in the past, and they are privy to certain information. They are, however, still private citizens and have no authority to either speak, or act on behalf of law enforcement.”

  Lisa stuck her sharp nose in the air. “So what then, is their role?”

  “Their role is partially on a consulting basis, as they have certain expertise, and in the interests of justice, we’ve elected to give them access to many of the facts of the case.” Hank hesitated. “Now, if we can get back to the relevant discussion.” He pointed at another raised hand.

  “Is there any evidence of drug or alcohol use with the killers?”

  Another touchy area. Hank thought quickly. “We don’t have the complete lab results from all three victims and perpetrators yet, so any answer I would give you, at this point, would be premature.”

  “So you aren’t denying it?”

  “Let’s wait for the lab results, shall we? And now, I thank you for your time. That’s all for now.” Hank turned from the podium and climbed up the steps toward the precinct doors, followed by the captain and the Lincolns.

  The reporters remained unsatisfied, and they continued to call out questions. Questions Hank had no answers for. Answers he wanted to find more than anything.

  And he was determined to get those answers.