Guilty Crime

by W L Knightly

  “What else do you remember about it?”

  “Just that the trial was much too brief. As soon as it hit the media, it was around just long enough for everyone to be horrified, and then it’s like once the senator’s son got into the mix, it dropped off of the face of the earth and out of the public eye. I remember it was all the talk around here. Everyone was mixed up, remember? They thought it was the husband before they found the senator’s son was involved. Put that man through hell. Then, of course, the evidence went missing as soon as it pointed to the senator’s son.”

  “Which senator was it again?” he asked.

  “Oh, what’s his name,” she said, trying to remember. “Sharp dresser, beady eyes.”

  “You can’t remember his name?”

  “No. Sorry. He wasn’t from around here but another state. Most everyone knew he got that kid of his off. Probably paid handsomely to do so. But there were still some who believed that the father was guilty. I never believed it, though. A man might be able to do something that horrible to his wife in anger, but never his child. At least, I’d like to think he couldn’t.”

  Hearing her talk about it was like someone telling him about a movie he’d only watched the previews of. He tried desperately to fill in the blanks and had hoped that the things she had to share would trigger something to make the memories come back to him.

  “Do you remember the father’s name? You have the best memory I know.”

  “No. I’m sorry. If it was tuna on wheat maybe. But you have to understand something, hon. I remember things here because I do this day in and day out. I’ve got the menu and the regulars memorized through repetition. I wish I could help you more.”

  Her reminding him of the senator was huge. “No, you’ve been very helpful.”

  “And I still don’t know anything about this new case.” She sighed and gave him a weary smile. “You know, if you got some rest, and I don’t mean just sleep, but focus on something else for a while, it might put things into perspective.”

  “I’ll try. But trust me on this, you don’t want to know anything about this case. It’s pretty horrible.”

  She gave him a nod and started to her feet. “I’ll trust you on that one, hon. I’ll check on your order. It should be about done.” She patted his hand and walked away.

  He tried to call Jo again but still got no answer. He couldn’t believe that he had just gotten a pretty big lead to help him find the right casefile, but he couldn’t get in touch with her to share. He decided to go to the office and see if he could find anything else connecting a senator or his son.

  But first, he’d have to get his food to-go. “Ruth Anne?” He got her attention.

  “Yeah?” she asked, pouring a fresh cup for a man at the bar.

  “Could you wrap it up for me?”

  “You bet,” she said. “Did I spark a memory?”

  “Not quite, but you gave me a lead, and now I should be able to find what I’m looking for.” If what he was looking for still existed.

  He hurried out to the car, and when he got inside, he tried to call the chief, but he didn’t answer either. He started the car and headed to his office.

  After making the drive and snacking on his fries, he arrived at the station. When he walked in, he didn’t expect to see the usual crew, but there was Dannie sitting at her desk with her head in the computer, while Sam looked over her shoulder.

  “What are you two doing here today? I thought you had Saturdays off.” He knew he wouldn’t be in unless he absolutely had to.

  “We’re using the computer to plan our trip to Vegas.”

  “Vegas?” He gave Sam a look like he had lost his mind. “You two are going to Las Vegas? For what?”

  “Gambling and a good time, my friend.”

  “My cousin is getting married, and Sam is going as my date.” She turned and looked at the cop with stars in her eyes.

  “Ah, well, in that case, have a good time.” He hoped they wouldn’t come back as the bride and groom.

  On his way to his office, another overachiever was at her desk. As he walked past Chief Milner’s office, she looked up. “Hey, Detective Thomas. I was just wondering about the case. Have you come up with any leads?”

  He wasn’t sure if he should tell her about the senator or not. With so many people in the department connected to each other, as well as outside forces, he didn’t know if she might have a relationship with the senator.

  “Nothing new, but I’m going to work on it a bit.”

  “Where is your partner, Detective Calloway? I usually see her in and out at odd hours.”

  “She had a few things to do on her day off.”

  “When there’s a case, there’s never a day off.” She gave him a pointed look and eased back from her desk. “Whenever you get a lead, please let me know. I’d hate to think this case isn’t being handled properly with two detectives on it.”

  “I can assure you, Chief Milner, we are doing everything, and this is definitely a case where two heads are better than one.” He was done talking, so he walked away. She could pull her powerplay bullshit with someone else.

  Her went to his office and sat in his good chair for a change, and after he opened the nearest file to skim it for what he needed, he took out his burger and finished his lunch.

  When he was done, he started to worry about Jo. She had a few errands to run, but why would she ignore his calls?

  He picked up the phone and dialed her number one more time.

  “Hey,” she said in a hushed voice.

  “Hey, I’ve tried to call you but—”

  “I know. Look. I’m with my father. He’s not in town much longer, and he’s been pressing me for time. He’s taken me shopping and gets very annoyed when I’m on the phone. I’ll call you later?”

  “Sure.”

  “Look, if I don’t get to call, I’ll text before bed. But I’ll see you Monday for sure.” She sounded harried, and he knew that her father put her in a bad mood.

  As much as he wanted to tell her all about the evidence, he didn’t want to upset her time with her father or put any more burden on her until Monday. “Okay. See you soon.”

  At least she was all right, and that was all that really mattered.

  Chapter 23

  Clay

  After hours of working the gag from his mouth, he was finally free. He spat the dirt, lint, and God only knew what else from his mouth and breathed a sigh of relief. He had heard the Hangman leave, or so he thought, and while he had no hope of getting untied, each moment he was alive was a plus.

  He wasn’t about to go out like this, trapped inside a fucking basement and tied to a chair. He needed to piss, but he didn’t want to wet himself or sit in it for no telling how long. He hadn’t had anything to drink, and with the nasty rag in his mouth and the amount of spit he’d lost, he needed water.

  In the distance, he heard the sound of a truck and let out a long breath, knowing the asshole Hangman was back. This time, he’d mind his fucking mouth. Lesson learned.

  And as if to taunt him, minutes later, the Hangman appeared at the top of the stairs. “I wondered if you got the gag out. Let’s hope I don’t have to shove it back in that pie hole.”

  Clay looked up at him. “You made your point.”

  “And yet, you speak,” he said, walking down the stairs and disappearing for a moment in the shadows. When he emerged, he had a bottle of water. “Drink.” He uncapped the bottle and put it to Clay’s lips. And even though he had to piss, he didn’t dare say so.

  “We’re going for a ride,” said the man with his rough voice. Clay knew it had to be an injury from his suicide attempt, but he had decided not to goad him about it again.

  “I don’t want to piss in your car, but I can barely hold it.”

  “I’ll unzip you when you get outside. You piss before then, and I’ll mop it up with your face.” He pulled him to his feet and dragged him alongside him. Clay fought to stay on his feet, but it was hard to
do with his ankles tied.

  He got out to the car and was winded when he could finally stop and take a piss. He was at the point where he had no dignity left when the other man reached down and undid his pants. He felt the cool wind on his cock, took a deep breath, and let it go.

  “Don’t piss on your feet.”

  “Care to aim it for me? Otherwise, I’m doing the best I can.”

  “I brought the rag with me.” The Hangman waited until he was finished and then managed to do up his pants without touching his cock, which was so ready to go back inside his pants it practically put itself away.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Change of plans. Since you warned me about the others, I can’t exactly stay here.”

  He hoped that they would be able to find him no matter where he went, but if he got too far off the grid, it wasn’t going to happen. He tried to focus on his pockets and hoped his phone was still on him.

  As long as it was, Michael would have a GPS to find him.

  “Oh, and in case you’re wondering about your phone, I left it back in the basement. I’m pretty sure they’ll think you’re down there disposing of my body.”

  Clay’s jaw clenched so hard it nearly cracked. He tried not to let the Hangman see his disappointment and hoped that wherever Michael was, he was paying attention. They hadn’t discussed a check-in call, but knowing his boss, he would want results fast.

  The Hangman opened the door of his truck and manhandled Clay into the cab. He fell into the seat and felt like a fish out of water, flopping around without the use of his hands and legs.

  “Sit tight.” The Hangman slammed the door and then went around to get in the cab. “I suggest you stay on your own side. If you try anything, I’ll kill you.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t have a death wish. Besides, I’m curious to see where we’re going.”

  “I can promise it won’t be a field trip you’ll enjoy.” He took a blindfold from his pocket and tied it around Clay’s eyes. “The scenic route doesn’t apply.”

  Clay groaned, but he tried not to bitch and complain.

  After what felt like a twenty-minute drive north, down roads with no fucking traffic, at least none he could hear, the car slowed, and they made a left-hand turn, hitting bumps and jarring Clay.

  When he finally parked the car, Clay listened to see if there were any sounds around him that might give away where they were. But there wasn’t anything significant that stood out to him.

  “We’re here,” said the Hangman. “Now, cooperate, and this will go easier for us both.”

  Clay wondered why he didn’t just drug him, but then as he dragged him out of the truck, he realized it was probably easier for him not to have to support his weight. If Clay could do it himself, it would make it much easier. He’s tired. But what from?

  What have you been up to, Mr. Hangman? He had been gone a while, and Clay knew now that he’d been busy with something. Was that where he was taking him? Had he needed time to prepare the game for him?

  He had always thought that when death came knocking on his door that he might feel something, but he didn’t. He didn’t feel a goddamned thing and never had. Why should now be any different?

  He was dragged along beside the Hangman, still blindfolded, still unable to see where he was. But he soon stepped into a place that was much darker, even through the blindfold, which he was trying his damnedest to see through and around.

  “Take a step up,” said the man. Clay struggled but took the step, and when he did, he was soon pushed down into a sitting position that had him jarred. “Sit.”

  The commands of the other man were like sandpaper on his nerves. Each word spoken in anger was another blow, and Clay marked it down on a mental list of reasons why he had to survive and kill this motherfucker.

  Clay ground his teeth. His wrists were on fire from the restraints, his feet falling asleep from being bound together and the long ride over.

  The Hangman took off the blindfold and then forced the bottle of water back up to his lips. Clay drank. He wondered why the man had even offered him any water or relief. But he was keeping him alive for a reason. He had a bigger plan for him, just like he’d had for the others.

  “Are we going to play a game now?” He tried to read the man’s reactions just like he’d tried to pay attention to his trip over from the house. He had a pretty good idea that he could give instructions for someone to find him, but he had no idea where he was. There sounded to be a hum in the distance, but he couldn’t tell if it was water or the wind blowing through the trees.

  The Hangman looked at him. “I wouldn’t be so eager to play with me. Your time will come though, just like the others. Just like Michael Young, your beloved boss. After what he did, he deserves it more than any of the others.”

  “You really think he was going to let his own kid fry for what he did to your family? They shouldn’t have been there. His plan went south, and he panicked. But what his old man did? That’s a father’s way. Wouldn’t you have done anything for your child? Walked through fire? Begged, borrowed, stolen, killed?”

  “I did walk through fire trying to find justice for my family, and instead of the law working for me, I got burned. Believe me. I am killing for her. For her memory.” He backhanded Clay, his strong hand making contact like a brick had been smashed against the side of his face, the inside of his mouth splitting on his back teeth, his gums jarred to the point of bleeding. He spat thick, red blood at the Hangman’s feet. “Next time you talk about my daughter or what I would do for her, I’ll show you by ripping out your fucking tongue.”

  Clay had to give it to the motherfucker. He was doing more for his daughter than his father had ever done for him. In fairness, he had never been given the opportunity to have a relationship with his dad. By the time he was old enough for bonding, his old man was in prison.

  The Hangman secured him to the chair and then put a rope around his neck.

  “Why hanging?” he asked, wondering if the man would tell him all about how he’d tried to end his own life. He knew better. The fucker wasn’t going to go into story time with him.

  “My victims kept evil men from facing the death penalty, and I figure since hanging is still a legal option for the death penalty in Washington, I’d put it to good use. Besides, I know how bad it hurts. I know how scary it is to dangle there, struggling for breath, praying that your neck will snap.”

  Clay wanted to make a jab at him, but he saw the rag hanging out of his back pocket like a reminder of why he needed to mind his manners.

  The Hangman met his eyes. “Don’t worry, Clay. Your time is coming soon. I have decided to try something new. And you’re going to be in the game with my next victim.”

  “Your next victim? Who? Michael?” He struggled against his ropes, thinking that the asshole had already gotten to his boss. He had been fucking with him the entire time.

  The Hangman laughed at his attempts, but the restraints were only getting tighter with Clay’s struggles. He had three zip ties and a series of ropes around him too. When he got done securing him in the chair, it was even worse. He could barely breathe, and his back was screaming from the position he was in. The asshole walked across the room, and from the shadows, Clay could see that he wasn’t alone.

  Chapter 24

  Jake

  After poring over the casefiles well into the night and still coming up emptyhanded from the lack of evidence, he raked his hand through his hair and looked back at his phone to the text Jo had sent the night before. He had been excited to hear from her but wished she had called.

  He got to his feet, stretched, took his mug to the coffeemaker, and brewed another cup. He waited while it brewed and noticed he needed to buy some of those little cups to replace all of the coffee he’d drank through the night.

  He hadn’t expected to stay in his office all night, but it had just happened. He had slept for a good two hours, restlessly, but then he covered up with
a sweater that Jo kept on the back of her chair and managed another two, nice and deep with no scary interruptions.

  He walked over and picked it up, breathing in the scent of her perfume, which put him at ease. He wasn’t sure if it was because it reminded him of her or if it was some kind of strange aromatherapy at work, but he needed a bottle of it to douse his pillow at home. Or you could just invite Jo into your bed, he told himself.

  He still hadn’t remembered anything, and with the casefiles hitting a dead end, probably because someone had tossed out every shred of evidence of there ever being a case.

  He sloshed his coffee onto the desk as he brought it over. With a sigh, he grabbed a tissue out of Jo’s colorful box to wipe it up. Then he turned to toss it in the trash. As he saw the Speed’s bag from his meal the day before, he remembered something that Ruth had said. She had told him to rest his mind. He had heard this advice many times, to take a step back, but his life wasn’t exactly filled with distractions, so he had never taken it.

  What he wouldn’t give to be back on that lake. He looked over at the sun which was already shining into his window. He thought about how peaceful the lake was, how pretty. Jo would have liked it.

  That was when he knew what he had to do.

  He got up from his desk, grabbed his keys, and took one last sip of his coffee before deciding to just take it with him. Why not? Nothing was stopping him.

  He got in his car, and while he was planning on making his escape alone, the phone rang, and he saw that it was Jo. “Good morning, Sunshine.” He put the key in the ignition, and with a turn, his engine roared to life.

  “Good morning to you too,” she said with laughter in her voice. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I just had to give him my undivided attention.”

  “It’s understandable.”

  “Well, thank you for being understanding. Am I interrupting something? Are you on your way somewhere?”