The Last Hope

by C. C. Jameson

  She couldn’t remember her dad’s voice anymore. But she remembered that he always made time for her every Sunday.

  It was their precious daddy-daughter time. Never missed it once... until she turned thirteen and everything changed.

  Her mind flashed to that fateful day.

  She and Luko had spent the whole afternoon in nearby caves, pretending to be explorers from centuries ago, discovering new life forms in small ponds and sometimes just playing with their flashlights, making finger shadows and telling each other scary stories.

  She didn’t know she was about to walk onto the scariest scene of her life a few hours later.

  Luko’s calculator watch had warned them that they were running late for supper. They’d both be in trouble if they didn’t return home right away, so they had run back to their respective houses. They lived a few hundred feet down the road from each other. They had raced back. They were both excellent runners. They’d normally call the other to determine who got to their house first.

  But the winner never got to brag on the phone that day.

  Kate had opened the front door of her house, out of breath, and shouted, “Sorry, I’m late,” before taking off her muddied shoes by the entrance.

  She’d instantly realized something was wrong: The house was trashed. Her mom’s records were scattered on the living room floor, lamps on their side, broken glass everywhere. Stuff was missing from the mantel.

  “Mom?”

  No reply.

  “Dad? Bobby?”

  Still nothing.

  Kate had never been so scared.

  She hadn’t known what to do or where to look for them.

  Her instinct had led her upstairs, to see if Bobby was still in his crib. After running up two steps at a time and pushing his bedroom door open, she found her baby brother, but he’d never been that quiet before. The silence was nothing short of terrifying.

  “Bobby?”

  Kate carefully turned him around in his crib and found him with his eyes wide open, his neck bruised. She grabbed him, a cold and lifeless lump of flesh in baby clothes.

  “Bobby!” she cried out, hugging the baby and running down the stairs with him.

  She went to the kitchen, her brother pressed against her chest, but she stopped in her tracks when she stepped into the room.

  Maybe the phone rang at that point. She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t able to move.

  All she was able to focus on was her mom and dad sitting on their kitchen chairs with silver duct tape tying their ankles and arms to their seats. Her dad’s favorite blue tie was wrapped around his face, covering his mouth. His head was hanging backward, way too backward. His neck displayed a big gap in it, and his suit was covered in blood.

  The whole kitchen was covered in blood. The wall behind him, the table in front of him, the tiled floor.

  Kate’s mom was looking down, her long blonde hair falling and hiding her face, but the bottom six inches of it were matted and dark red.

  There was blood everywhere.

  Her mom’s dress was ripped open.

  Blood everywhere.

  Kate didn’t remember what had happened next. She didn’t even remember her own actions, but she knew her childhood innocence had ended right there and then.

  Kate sat quietly and closed her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  She focused on her breathing.

  1-2-3-4-5-6 in, hold it; 1-2-3-4-5-6 out.

  1-2-3-4-5-6 in, hold it; 1-2-3-4-5-6 out.

  “I’m okay. I’m safe. Things will be all right,” she told herself out loud.

  She took out her phone, and without taking a second to reconsider, she sent Luke a text message:

  I’m stupid. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

  She turned her phone off, not wanting to deal with his reply or get anxious over the lack of one. She’d said what needed to be said and now she just wanted to escape and forget. Make the images of her past disappear, at least for now.

  She went to her medicine cabinet and grabbed two Clonazepam tablets. Her prescription was running low, so she made a mental note to get a refill. She swallowed them, followed by a tall glass of water.

  As she waited for the meds to kick in, she thought of Kenny and how she’d failed him this weekend.

  There were only four days to go before his trial on Friday. Could she uncover something to prove his innocence before then?

  It no longer seemed possible.

  Chapter Fourteen

  July 15, 2015

  Kate Murphy

  Kate’s Apartment, Boston

  On Wednesday evening, with a cup of herbal tea in hand, Kate turned on the TV to wind down and get ready for bed. She couldn’t stop thinking about her uncle. She hoped the TV would distract her.

  He was due to appear in court in two days, and she hadn’t managed to find anything solid that would help with his defense. Of course, George would do the best he could to prove he was innocent, but deep down, she knew Kenny was going to be sentenced to decades in prison.

  Her lack of investigative skills could be to blame. Maybe that was why she never passed the interview to become a detective. She didn’t know how to dig deep enough, what questions to ask or where to look.

  She took deep breaths and continued sipping her tea when the anchor suddenly stopped reading the teleprompter and brought his index finger to his right ear.

  “We interrupt this newscast for a breaking news story: Clark Ferguson, one of Boston’s leading mayoral candidates has been found dead in his downtown apartment. His body was discovered tonight by his wife Tracy Ferguson, a well-known prosecutor, when she returned home from a business trip. So far, police officers on site have only stated that the suspicious death occurred several days ago and is being investigated.”

  Whoa. This is a political victim for sure.

  Kate couldn’t help but wonder if it could be connected to her own investigation. Now, she regretted not having followed the city’s election more closely.

  What kind of person was he? Was he extremist in his views?

  Would Fuller let me in on the case?

  She stopped her hopes from escalating. She knew he wouldn’t want her there, and this time, Capt. Cranston wouldn’t overrun his decision.

  On Thursday morning, after going for a short run, Kate stretched her muscles with the news playing in the background. The police had released a tape showing a man heading to the victim’s apartment. The tape didn’t incriminate the man, but the police needed the public’s help in locating him for questioning.

  There was something about the man’s face that rang a bell in Kate’s mind.

  They paused on the best angle they had of his face. The video was black and white, but the man’s hair wasn’t really dark. His eyes were probably blue or green; he had a fairly large, pointed nose. Kate took out her phone and snapped a photo of the image on TV. Maybe she’d remember where she’d seen that man before.

  Speeding ticket? Domestic disturbance? Out around town?

  The newscaster said that he was Caucasian, probably in his forties, about 6'2" and 180 pounds.

  Tall and skinny, Kate thought to herself... where had she seen that blond man?

  Didn’t matter right now, she had to get ready for work. Maybe more information would become available later.

  Kate busied herself with work: answering calls, filing reports, and running plates. But she kept her eyes and ears open for anything having to do with Ferguson’s murder.

  Once she got home, there was much more information to read. The media was all over it. She went through every blog post and article—even those printed in newspapers—and watched each of the major news channels to make sure she knew everything.

  They covered Ferguson’s electoral platform: better roads, more frequent and less expensive public transport. Fewer “Happy Holidays” and more “Merry Christmas” greetings was one of the things that had gotten him some media coverage, but Kate didn’t think people would kill over t
hat. There was nothing offensive or extreme enough to warrant killing him, but he could have had connections, and once in power, could have made things happen for them.

  Kate focused her search on who he knew and hung out with. Being in politics, Ferguson was often photographed with people, so all she had to do was find some extremist friends of his.

  Easier said than done.

  It wasn’t like they’d write that in the caption.

  After a couple of hours, she called it quits. There wasn’t any dirt on him or the people he associated with.

  Not a single thing, which was a little weird.

  What skeletons were in his closet?

  Nobody was perfect in this world, and whatever dirt existed on politicians usually came out during their campaigns. He must have done something illicit at least once in his life, right? His electoral support team had done an excellent job hiding it, whatever it was.

  Then again, he also had lots of family money and connections. Enough to buy anyone and everyone’s silence.

  On Friday morning, Kate still hadn’t remembered where she’d seen the blond man, but it didn’t matter anyway. The TV anchor reported that the mysterious man had stepped forward and volunteered to answer the detective’s questions.

  At 9:55 a.m., Kate walked into the courthouse in her police uniform, after having locked her weapon and radio in her patrol car. She’d been granted a couple of hours off to attend her uncle’s trial and wanted to be there for him.

  Luke was slotted to testify that day, along with one of the detectives. She searched the room, hoping to find Luke and apologize in person, but there was no sign of him. His testimony would probably be heard later on.

  She made eye contact with her uncle, though. He had on his best smile, but he looked pale. She wondered if he’d gotten over the flu or if he was still fighting it.

  Before she could make her way to the front to talk to him, the court was called to order for the arrival of the judge. She took the first available seat once the judge and everyone else sat down.

  George and the opposing lawyer voiced their opening statements, and the prosecution carried on with presenting evidence to the court. Kate didn’t like the facts that were being introduced, but she knew that somehow the evidence never lied. It didn’t look good for her uncle.

  At 11:55 a.m., the alarm on her phone vibrated to remind her that she had to leave and get back to work. She’d have to call George later to learn how the rest of it went.

  She walked out of the courthouse and headed to the nearest coffee shop to refuel her mind before returning to her patrol car, and sensed that something was odd: people were acting strangely on the streets. They weren’t behaving in a dangerous or suspicious way, but the men and women she encountered were way too agitated and talkative.

  She walked into a coffee shop and stopped in her tracks. Everyone, including the barista, was gathered around tables, watching videos on people’s phones and tablets. Based on the screams and cries heard coming from the devices, along with the dropped jaws, covered mouths, and wide eyes on people’s faces, Kate concluded they were all watching the same awful video.

  She walked to the closest group and poked her head in so she could glance at the screen. A naked, prepubescent girl, probably seven or eight years old, was lying on a large bed, with her wrists and ankles tied to the corners. She was screaming and crying for her mom. A naked man then approached and placed a piece of duct tape on her mouth. His face never appeared in front of the camera—probably on purpose—but he had a pale complexion and short, wavy brown hair.

  Caucasian or a light-skinned Hispanic man, perhaps?

  His body was toned but not bulky. After disappearing from the shot, he reappeared again, blocking the girl from view as he stepped between her and the camera.

  “Oh no!” Kate couldn’t help but say aloud.

  The young girl was wiggling her legs and arms, at least as much as the restraints would allow her to, and her muffled sounds made everyone in the group gasp, swear, or turn away from the screen. Kate didn’t want to look, yet at the same time, she couldn’t stop. She had too many questions running through her mind.

  Who’s this creep? Why is everyone looking at this video, right here, right now? Did the world go mad while I was sitting in court?

  “I can’t believe he was capable of such things,” a lady in front of Kate said before walking away.

  Kate turned around and touched the lady’s arm to get her attention. “Who’s in this video?” Kate asked.

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “That’s Ferguson,” the woman said. “I can’t believe I was going to vote for him.”

  Holy shit. He had it coming.

  As soon as her shift ended, Kate rushed home to scour the Internet. Nobody was talking about her uncle’s trial. All the buzz was about Ferguson’s pedophile rape tape.

  No one seemed to know how it had leaked, or if it was indeed Ferguson in the video, but photographs of him at the beach with his wife suddenly appeared, and made it clear to most—or at least to Kate—that he was the man in the video.

  She was closing her browser window when her phone rang. Caller ID read “George Hudson.”

  Finally! Some news. Let it be good.

  “Hi, George.”

  “Kate, how are you?”

  “Fine.” Kate’s mind was spinning fast. No time for small talk. “How did it go? I left at noon. What happened after?”

  “Well,” George said then exhaled into the phone.

  That’s not good.

  Her mind slowed. “Is it over already?”

  “No, it’ll resume on Monday, but it’s not looking good. They’ll probably wrap up the case on Wednesday or Thursday next week,” George relayed.

  Kate let his words hang, hoping that silence would somehow change them.

  “We both knew that going in,” George continued. “I’m sorry.”

  “Any chance they’ll go easy on him because he’s old and frail?”

  George sighed again. “In their eyes, he’s a killer, so no.”

  “Well, thank you, George,” Kate said. “I know you’re doing your best in an impossible situation. How’s Kenny holding up?”

  “He’s tired. I told him to catch some sleep and to rest as much as he can. He needs it.”

  “Please call me when you get the verdict. I’ll try to pop in, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”

  “Okay, Kate. Try to have a good weekend anyway.”

  Kate wished him the same and hung up. She needed a friend right about now. A friend like Luke.

  She grabbed her phone again and pressed the home button.

  “Siri, call Luke O’Brien,” Kate said.

  Her phone answered in the semi-automatic voice she’d grown accustomed to. “Calling Luke O’Brien, mobile.”

  She brought the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?” his voice made her heart skip a beat.

  “Hi Luko, it’s Kate.”

  “Hi,” he said like a flatlining heart monitor.

  An awkward pause ensued.

  “Did you get my text message last week?”

  “No. What text message?”

  “Oh... I wanted to apologize for... my trust issues.”

  “No, didn’t get any message from you.”

  Kate frowned. “Weird. I don’t know why it didn’t go through. I’m really sorry for how I treated you. You deserve better. How can I make it up to you?”

  It took him a moment to respond. “I don’t know.”

  “Let me buy you dinner. I could really use some company right now.”

  He once again remained silent, bringing Kate’s anguish up a notch.

  “Luko?”

  “I’m thinking. Can I call you back with my answer?”

  “Sure, I guess,” Kate said. “Talk to you later, then?”

  “Later, Kate.”

  After he hung up, she tossed her phone onto the coffee table. />
  Did he mean later today or later never?

  Before she met her ex-husband, Matt, she’d had her fair share of the latter. She had an assortment of male first names on her phone to prove it. Kate made a mental note to delete them one day. They certainly weren’t going to call her back now, years later.

  At 10 p.m., after spending four hours checking her phone for a potentially missed call, Kate gave up.

  Guess he meant later never. Fucktard.

  She didn’t know if her inner insult was directed at him or herself. How could she keep being fooled by men?

  Kate didn’t feel like cooking, but she was hungry. She opened the drawer of her coffee table, looked through the assortment of take-out menus, and then settled on pizza and beer.

  Kate shot up in bed as though her brain had been struck by lightning.

  “I know where I saw him!”

  She ran down the stairs, found her wallet, and then emptied it on the kitchen island. Receipts, loose change, and cards spread across the counter.

  She found the business card that Sheriff Wallace, the officer at the gas station in Ohio, had given her then grabbed the phone and looked at the time on the microwave: 4:04 a.m.

  Shit. Way too early.

  She put down the phone and headed back to bed, but her mind wouldn’t fall back to sleep.

  Can’t be the same guy, though... First, one died more than a week ago, the other is alive and talked to the police yesterday. But they look so similar. They have to be close relatives. Brothers? If the body still hasn’t been identified, the sheriff may care about talking to one of the dead man’s relatives.

  Her tip could be useful. But then again...

  Kate realized she didn’t even know the name of the person of interest who had talked to the police yesterday, so she got out of bed to see if his identity had been released to the press.

  By 6 a.m., she had given up, gotten dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and headed to the station. She could ask around and find out the identity of that man.