No Remorse No Regret (Counterstrike Book 1)

by Ian Worrall

  Like a lot of Catholic churches, stained glass depicting various scenes in the life of Jesus Christ are vividly displayed, from birth in the manger to his death on the cross.

  The large crucifix with Jesus on it stands behind the altar and to the left are the confessionals. Knots form in her stomach as she looks up, feeling as though the statue on the cross is looking down on her. Passing judgment on what I’ve become? Can You forgive what’s happened? You brought the murderer who died on the cross next to You with you into heaven, didn’t You? There was no choice, a nineteen-year-old girl who…

  On her knees in the church pew, she starts talking under her breath, “Lord Jesus, I am what I was made to be. You see that, don’t You?”

  One of the confessionals opens and a man leaves, kneels at the altar, and starts his Hail Mary’s. Is this where I killed the priest who molested the altar boys? It’s all starting to blend together. What has drawn her back into church after ten years? Was it simply a matter of convenience being close by? Yes, that was it. Only came in to escape the police.

  Melissa enters the confessional, needing someone to talk to, to make her lie come true. She won’t see Danil for a few hours. Closing the door and sitting down, she hears the Priest open the slide.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  “How long has it been since your last confession?”

  “Ten years.”

  “Why so long?”

  “Very busy with lots of work. And I don’t know if I have the right to ask–”

  “The Lord forgives all sins, my child. What is it you wish to confess?”

  “I have killed many men.”

  “I see. What number is many?”

  “Maybe sixty or more. I’ve lost count,” she says.

  There is a long silence as the priest takes in the news.

  “Father?” Melissa asks.

  “I’m not certain I can truly believe that number. But I will humor you. What got this started?”

  “I am a survivor of The Drowner serial killer ten years ago.”

  “Really? I wasn’t aware there were any survivors.”

  “Well, there was. And it was me. Since then I have killed men who have abused women.”

  “And you think this justifies the taking of life?”

  “Who is to protect women from abusers? Don’t tell me God. If it was he, he would have given us equal strength to men.”

  “True. It is a man’s Christian duty to protect women. Particularly his own,” the priest says.

  “His own? We’re still owned by men?”

  “No. Are you looking to be absolved of your crimes?”

  “Not sure if I want to stop.”

  “You must, child, for the sake of your eternal soul.”

  “Are we absolutely sure there is a heaven and hell?”

  “I believe it by faith, as you should too. But if you want to live like there’s no God, Satan, Heaven or Hell, you might want to start praying that you are right.”

  “I’m in a situation I can’t get out of.”

  “Well, you must go to the authorities and ask for assistance.”

  “They can’t help me.”

  “Unfortunately, my child, I cannot offer you absolution from a sin you wish to continue. I can only pray for your eternal soul. Please return so I can help guide you back to the correct path.”

  “I will.”

  Melissa gets up and leaves the confessional. As she leaves the church, she passes the man who left the confessional before she entered. Dark hair, leather jacket, sunglasses, and dark ball cap was all she could make out as he turns away from her.

  Is this a tail on me? She continues walking down the church aisle. But if it wasn’t her, she muses after her conversation with the priest, there would have been someone else doing her job.

  As she exits the church, she can see that the emergency workers are still at the scene. They’re probably going through his apartment now. The cop who stopped her saw a dark-haired woman. If anyone saw her going to his place, they’d seen a blonde woman.

  She gets in her car but doesn’t drive off. Wait a bit for leather jacket guy to come out. It’s a ten-minute wait. His ball cap and sunglasses are off. Odd, wearing sunglasses inside but not out. She snaps a picture of him on her mobile phone, he doesn’t look like any of Danil’s crew. So, this will be a mystery if he’s following her for some reason. As long as he’s not a cop, could be his last mistake.

  Chapter 11

  W earing latex gloves, Mitchell puts the letter he received earlier in the day into an evidence bag, a task he’s done too many times. Wouldn’t it be great if a homicide detective got laid off for lack of work?

  “Let’s see if the Identification Team gets something off this,” he says to Jackie.

  Jackie hits the save button on her report for the death of Gary Taylor.

  Sealing the evidence bag, he hands it to a lab tech.

  “We’ll get back to you with anything.”

  Mitchell nods as he closes his eyes.

  “We’ll get the old letters to you from ten years ago,” one of the Identification Team members says.

  Mitchell responds, “Run for DNA too, in case he was stupid enough to use his tongue to seal it.”

  “Will do.”

  From her desk phone, Jackie dials Evidence Storage. “Hey, Detective Cruze here. Send all the files for The Drowner up to Burnlee and me.”

  The voice on the other line says, “It might take a bit, you need it right away?”

  She rolls her eyes and says, “Yes, right away.”

  As the lab tech leaves, Jackie brings up files on The Drowner case that were digitized. Her eyes are narrowing and she’s biting down on her pen. After twenty minutes of perusing the electronic files, ten boxes are wheeled in next to their station. They wanted to cover all bases just in case something was missed in digitizing the files.

  Mitchell looks up at the man wheeling the cart. “Thanks.” He opens the top box and pulls out several files.

  He spreads the files out on his desk, they are numbered one through five, he picks up number one. This first file reads six young women found dead in sports gear bags, ages seventeen to twenty-three, thrown into bodies of water. Four other possible victims that fit his preferred victim type, but were never found. Young and petite, tallest was five feet three, heaviest was one hundred and fifteen pounds.

  “This is our top priority now,” Jackie says.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do we do about the rapist killer?”

  “Investigate as much as possible. But the return of the serial killer will dictate our priorities for us. At the same time, we should probably let any sex offenders know about the vigilante.”

  Jackie purses her lips as she breathes out. “Bad thing about being a cop. Have to protect the bad guys too.” She opens her email program and sends a message to the head of Sex Crimes about the vigilante.

  Jackie gets to a list of names. One spot on it looks like it was blacked out. “What’s this here?” she asks Mitchell, pointing to the empty spot where the eleventh name should have been.

  “I’ll have to check out my notes from that time.”

  “Oh yeah, you were on the original task force.”

  “Yeah,” Mitchell says, wondering how she would know that. “I’d just made detective two weeks before. Nothing like a trial by fire.”

  “I remember this case very well. It’s why I became a cop. I was seventeen at the time. My friends and I were close to the age of his victims. You came to our school to tell us about it.”

  “We went to a lot of schools then,” Mitchell says.

  “I was the smart ass who made the joke about you encouraging underage drinking.”

  “Don’t remember that one.”

  “Why the ten-year wait between victims?”

  Mitchell shrugs. “Could be any number of reasons. Might have been incarcerated somewhere.”

  “And no DNA hits on him?” Jackie asks
.

  “At the time, it wouldn’t have been taken if he wasn’t in for a sex offense. He could have moved out of the city.”

  “I’ll do a VICAP search on any similar murders.”

  She opens the computer program that links to the FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension Program and types in parameters of The Drowner killings. Women found in sports gear bags in or near bodies of water, three stab wounds below the left collarbone. Six cases in New York come up.

  “Got something here,” Jackie says.

  Mitchell starts taking the boxes off the cart, checking the labels on them.

  “What are you looking for?” she asks.

  “My notebooks from that case should be in one of these boxes.”

  “And?”

  “The blacked-out name might be in there.”

  “Wasn’t there a fed who was on the case?” she asks.

  “Zach Steese? Put in the call and ask if he can come down.”

  As Jackie picks up her desk phone and starts dialling, Mitchell finds four of his notebooks in the third box. Against the list of names on the computer, he starts checking the names in his notebook.

  The electronic list of confirmed victims reads:

  Christine Clements

  Sara McKee

  Laura Jones

  Michelle Thompson

  Rachel Ferguson

  Lynn Taylor

  The four suspected victims are:

  Carrie Frigault

  Jessie Bennett

  Victoria Robbins

  Anita Rhodes

  The confirmed victims cover the first two notebooks. He writes them down on a separate piece of paper. The next two notebooks cover the four suspected victims and one not on the list from the computer. The eleventh name from his notebook is Celine Charlebois.

  “Hey kid, I think I got the girl.” He looks up from his notebook as Jackie puts her hand up in a wait-a-minute signal.

  “Really? Any way we can contact him?” She writes down a phone number, 703-555-1499. “Great, can you send the files you have on The Drowner case to Darrenport PD for detectives Cruze and Burnlee, please?”

  Hanging up the phone she looks up at Mitchell.

  “Agent Steese is no longer with the FBI.”

  “Did they say why?” he asks

  She shakes her head. “What were you saying?”

  “Celine Charlebois, not on the list. My notes have her with her boyfriend, Max Kehoe. I interviewed her in the hospital. They claimed her wound underneath her collar bone was from kids playing with a bow and arrows.”

  “And?”

  “And she was petite, maybe one hundred pounds. I wrote here she was blonde, looked like her hair was cut hastily.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I’m a married man. I know that women take getting their hair done seriously. I know a home job when I see it.”

  Jackie laughs, “Fair enough.”

  Mitchell takes his cell phone from his belt holster swipes it open, presses the contacts icon then scrolls down the page.

  “Who are you calling?” she asks.

  “My contact in the FBI to find out the story on Zach Steese.”

  Jackie’s cell phone rings, “Hello?” she answers. “OK thanks.”

  Mitchell leaves a voicemail asking his contact to call him back.

  “No fingerprints or DNA on the letter or envelope,” Jackie says.

  “Didn’t think there would be.”

  A heavyset man with a balding head and comb over walks up to their station just as Mitchell sits back down in his chair. Captain Jacob Maloney, the head of Homicide, is clenching his jaw and fists while breathing deliberately slow as he looks down on them.

  “So, is it true?” the Captain asks.

  “Looks like it,” Mitchell says.

  The captain continues to clench his jaw and fists. “Let’s get him this time. I’d like to retire next year with this off the books.”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  “That you will. Everything else is on the back burner. I’ll get our best on this.”

  Mitchell breathes out slowly as the captain turns away to his office. He opens a new file on his computer titling it “New Victims of The Drowner.” His first name is Jennifer Rangdom. The second space is empty. He has a suspicion that more will come.

  Included in the new file is the missing person report for Jennifer. Last known location—Jennifer was leaving work as a cleaner at the health club near her home. Another missing person report is for Dale Cavanagh, missing for two days, not yet found.

  Jackie’s phone rings. “Hello,” she says. “OK, we’ll be there in ten.”

  Mitchell looks over at her as she hangs up the phone.

  “The family is here to ID the victim.”

  The two of them leave the office and ten minutes later they are in the morgue. A man and a woman, possibly the parents of the victim, are there. The body lies on the gurney covered with a sheet. Mitchell knocks on the window indicating to the medical examiner the family is ready. The medical examiner pulls the sheet off revealing the face. The two parents break down, the mother burying her head in the father’s chest.

  “That’s my little girl,” the father screams in anguish as he punches the window and closes his eyes as tears stream down his face.

  Mitchell and Jackie’s eyes both well up with tears. They turn away to give the parents space.

  Chapter 12

  S itting on the toilet, Quincey receives a toilet paper roll under the wall from the next stall over. The roll contains five-thousand dollars along with directions to the dead drop of ten-thousand more. The code phrase “Quincey is back in the game” was spoken before he received the money. Outside the washroom, heavy metal music blasts through the walls. The toilet paper roll also contains a note:

  What’s new?

  Quincey writes his own note and rolls the toilet paper back under the toilet stall.

  I got the names of the remaining Black Roses and the next six busts planned for you.

  He’ll certainly appreciate this.

  Back and forth they exchange notes.

  He better they’re not onto me yet

  Good

  I might need an escape if they ever do

  Don’t worry. You’ll be taken care of

  The door to the washroom opens with the music getting slightly louder.

  “Yo, dude,” calls a male voice. “Great band. Bet these guys will be as big as Metallica.”

  “No way they’ll get that huge,” a second guy replies.

  “Got the stuff?” the first one asks.

  “Yeah, this is righteous coke”

  Receiving a note under his stall, Quincey reads it.

  Going to bust them? Kind of ironic, some would say where’s a cop when you need one?

  Quincey sends a note back.

  Ha, ha

  They hear the two men chop some lines on the bathroom counter, then the sounds of them snorting cocaine before the closing of the washroom door signals to the hidden conspirators that they are alone again.

  Quincey, a grey-bearded man with shaggy shoulder-length hair, gets up from the toilet, flushes it for show, and leaves his stall. The other man hears the sink tap running and the paper towels being drawn. When the door closes, he gets up from his own stall and leaves the washroom.

  Chapter 13

  S tepping up to the bar inside The Max House, hip hop music blasts from speakers reverberating in her throat. Melissa has her eye on the first of her next ten targets.

  The bartender, a little man of three feet tall, stands on a stool. “What’ll it be, sweet tits?”

  Melissa gives him a sideways look and pauses for five seconds. “A screwdriver, shorty,” Finally met a man I can say that to.

  “Coming right up.”

  The bartender jumps off the stool and onto a trampoline, somersaulting in the air as he grabs a glass off the hanger above the bar. Landing on the trampoline, he does a back flip and gra
bs a bottle of vodka off the bar behind him. As he flips in the air, he pours a shot of liquor into the glass. Landing, he replaces the liquor bottle back on the bar and, with his next flip, he sprays orange juice into the glass.

  For his last move, he places a metal top over the glass and does a somersault in the air again mixing up the drink. He lands on the stool and hands Melissa her drink.

  “How’s that for presentation, sweet –”

  Melissa puts her finger on his lips. “It’s miss or lady or I rip your teeth out.”

  Taking a seat at a nearby table, she is about sixty feet away from Marcus Taylor, younger brother to Gary. With Gary’s death, he has taken over the leadership of the gang. The police, knowing that the gang will be targeted for murder, were obligated to inform them. Thus, they have taken extra security measures, making Melissa’s job that much harder.

  The impending war between The Black Roses and the Russian Mafia was creating a moral conundrum for the police. For the most part, people who enter the police force do so to protect society from the evil that both gangs represent. Many feel as though when one criminal kills another it makes their job easier. At the very least it saves taxpayers’ money. Plus, the cops can spend more time with their families when there’s peace between the criminals.

  Melissa tunes out the music as she observes Marcus getting a lap dance from one of the strippers the club employs. The dancer is naked and gyrating on him as Marcus licks her breasts.

  Melissa tightens her grip on her glass as she breathes slowly out through her teeth making a low hissing sound. Why would any woman let a man treat her like that? Useful only for sex or whatever a man wants to do with her. It will be especially pleasing to kill this asshole. As for the woman, allow a man to do this to you, you deserve what you get.

  Marcus, you’ve got double the security around you as compared to what Gary had, as though that could really prevent what’s coming. Each of those guards is probably wishing it was them playing with that girl. Would any man ever respect a woman and care about her needs and desires? Of course, they never would.